What the hell?
Suzanne had given phone sex talk to Mr. Luthor Thorne, and now I didn't know what way was up or down, and my loins were aching, painfully frustrated.
“Thanks,” I said to the waiter. He scurried off quickly, before he could be embarrassed by us again.
Suzanne handed me back my phone, saying, “That was … different.”
I took the phone and said, “Why did you say you loved him?”
Suzanne threw her head back and laughed. “Good grief, Lexie, you must have potatoes growing in your ears. I certainly did not tell him I loved him. I told him he had a fantastic body, a gorgeous voice, and that it had been my pleasure giving him pleasure.”
“Oh.”
I stared down at the silly-looking drinks in front of us. They had actual umbrellas in them.
Suzanne turned back and tried to get a peek at the gentleman at the bar who'd sent them over, but whoever he was, he'd disappeared.
I sipped my drink, which was an ice-blended concoction that tasted of strawberry.
The strawberry taste was so vibrant, so good. I felt like I'd never truly tasted strawberry, never understood it, until just then.
Suzanne took her pink yoga jacket off and draped it across the back of her chair. In a silly pseudo-British voice, she said, “If I do say so, I did rather a good job on that fellow of yours. Was it Jacob? It didn't sound like Jacob.”
“Someone else.”
She frowned. “You're not telling me, which makes me suspect he might be married. Listen, Lexie, you do not mess with another woman's husband.”
“He's not married,” I said.
She relaxed visibly and sucked on her drink. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had a pretty good idea about how hot and bothered she'd gotten. Her husband was really going to get it tonight.
I asked her, “Why were you so nervous? In the phone sex fantasy?”
She gazed up at me, her blue eyes looking puzzled. “I wasn't nervous.”
“But you kept saying you were trembling, or your legs were shaking.”
“Hah!” she said. “You must have been hearing things. I said no such thing.”
“Weird.” I slurped the strawberry drink again, feeling incredibly surreal. Each taste of strawberry made the vision I'd had even more real, only it was me behind held up and f**ked against the wallpapered wall, and me getting pistoned. On Mr. Thorne. Held up in his strong arms.
Pistoned.
Yeah, that was the word for it. And it had felt so good, in my mind. So f**king hot.
My crotch started to ache as I replayed the scenario, this time with a slightly taller, darker-haired girl. Me. Standing with my back to the wall, my legs trembling with excitement. Parting my legs and awaiting Mr. Thorne's inspection, and his strong tongue burrowing into my folds.
Suzanne was still talking, saying how if the professional organizing business didn't pick up soon, she might look into the phone sex business, since she was a natural entrepreneur.
“Good idea,” I mumbled.
As I looked at my pretty friend, all pink and flushed with sexual energy, I felt irritated and angry. How dare Mr. Luthor Thorne talk to Suzanne? He should have refused.
If I ever saw him again, in person, I was going to make him pay for f**king her against the wall in the nice hotel room, even if it had just been my imagination.
He'd said dirty things to her over the phone, and that part had been real.
He'd be sorry.
2: Perfect Timing
On Tuesday, Mr. Luthor called again for phone sex.
He grunted, “Candy.”
“Not available. Do you want Mitzi?”
“Sure.”
I nearly threw the phone across the room. I was knee-deep in clutter, helping a rich old lady rearrange her boxes of collectible porcelain figurines.
The old lady tsk-tsked me and shook her head. “You young people and your telephones. You can't not answer it, can you?”
I ended the call and turned the phone off. “Sorry, Mrs. Chong.”
She clapped her hands together and surveyed the mess. Tissue paper and boxes were everywhere, because we couldn't just inventory and stack her collectibles, but she had to take each one out of the box and actually show it to me!
Mrs. Chong said, “How about I have Chef whip us up some lunch so we can take a much-needed break?”
We'd only been at the organizing for less than forty-five minutes, but I was hot, sweaty, and agitated, so I agreed, even though I didn't like to waste time when I was on the clock.
On Wednesday, I was hip deep in Mrs. Chong's collectibles, anticipating spending the rest of the week there, when Mr. Luthor Thorne called. Again. Wanting phone sex.
I excused myself to Mrs. Chong's washroom, shut the door, and said to him, “If you want something from me, ask me on a date.”
He said, “You sound cranky. Is Mitzi there?”
I ended the call and turned the phone off.
On Thursday, Mr. Thorne did not call.
On Friday, Mr. Thorne did not call, and I felt sad.
I didn't want to feel sad, or lonely. After work, I called up Jacob, my fireman friend.
“Lexie, I don't know. I'm exhausted from working out,” he said, his voice so tired it was making me feel tired. “And I have to get up early ...”
I held the phone away while he made excuses. I cut in, saying, “I'll suck your dick like it's a diamond ring.”
He cleared his throat.
“Jacob?”
“Why don't you come on over? I think I'm getting a second wind.”
With a big grin on my face, I ended the call and raced to grab my keys from the bowl beside the door.
I was at his place in less than ten minutes. Both of us being in the same neighborhood was probably why the arrangement worked so well. We'd met at a club and been introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Jacob and I had hit it off, for the night, at least.
We'd attempted to go on a date, once, but he'd come up to my place to pick me up, I'd yanked him inside the door, torn his clothes off, and that was about as far as dating went for us. We'd talked about our needs, and both agreed we weren't into anything serious. Our arrangement was good. Though it wasn't the sort of thing I could tell my mother about, it was honest, and we really were friends.
When I got to his place, he was walking around his bachelor apartment, holding up his cell phone with one hand and running an electric razor over his face with the other.
I went to the fridge and grabbed myself a bottle of beer. He finished shaving, clicked off the razor, then said into his phone, “I gotta go, sweetie, my friend is here.”
After he put the phone away, I said, “Sweetie?” We weren't exclusive, but I did want to know if someone else was in the picture.