Avoiding Mr. Right (5 page)

Two hours after leaving the bar, I can barely nod my head politely while Tall- Handsome-and-Dumb
speaks. He might be pretty, but I have no desire to take him home. I politely exit
after our meal, pleading an early morning meeting and files I need to review. Brian
and I exchange numbers, but I doubt very highly either of us will call. The chemistry
isn’t there.

Didn’t have that problem with Andy, did you?

Could I be wrong and there really is something between us that could spark the sheets
on fire? I push the thought aside and refuse to linger on the idea. Counting on any
man is a mistake, and one I intend to avoid.

Pretty soon I’m home alone, snuggled up with comfy clothes, a cup of hot tea, and
ready to start a book Heather recommended called
Suddenly Beautiful
. Last week, she raved about the paranormal story and the hysterical antics of the
heroine. I gamely agreed to give it a shot.

A few chapters in, I’m so fully engrossed I don’t glance at the screen when I pick
up my ringing phone.

“Hello?”

“Carla, it’s me.” Andy’s voice comes over the line, slightly distorted by background
noise.

A sigh escapes me. I really can’t handle drama tonight. I hear the bitchiness coming
out in my voice before I rein it in. “What is it, Andy?”

“I need you to meet me at the bar. I want to talk to you about the Stringer account.”

“Seriously? Can’t we just talk on the phone?”

“No,” he says, and hangs up.

Bastard! He better not be playing a game or I am so going to report his ass at the
office. With the recent increase in the campaign budget, I could request to work with
another accountant. The idea fizzles the moment it comes. They’d never switch him
off the account without a very good reason. And I don’t have one,
yet
. I’d never report his flirting, especially after I slept with him. Being a bitch
to chase him away is one thing, messing with his career is another.

I debate on changing out of my yoga clothes and decide against it. Not like I’m going
to impress anyone. I run my fingers through my short hair and head out.

Sure, and you’re fluffing your hair to make sure you look good for who…?

Ignoring my inner voice of obviousness I continue to the bar.

Sexually frustrated from my aborted evening with Brian, I scan the packed establishment
for my co-worker. “Question on the account, my ass. Where is he?” Grabbing my cell,
I dial his number.

“Carla?” His voice sounds softer than the noise of the bar around me.

“Yeah. Where are you?”

“I’m in the back, down the hall. It’s quieter here.”

“Fine. I’ll come to you.” Pressing my way through the throng, I make it to the dark
hall leading to the bathrooms. “Andy?” A hot hand latches onto my arm and pulls me
into a side storage room. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You want something spicy, and I’m giving it to you.” A strip of dark cloth covers
my eyes and I’m pressed against a shelving rack. Rough movements tie the material
at the back of my head and a hard body presses into mine from behind. “You’ve been
a bad girl, Carla.”

Excitement cascades up my spine, but I’ll be damned if I tell him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Let me go or I’m going to scream.”

“Oh, you’ll scream, all right,” he plants a soft kiss on my neck, “but not in fear
or anger.” Hands reach around and grab my breasts over my snug cotton top. Despite
what I keep telling myself about this frustrating man, my body responds and my nipples
tighten.

“Not funny, you bastard.” I’m uncomfortable with the power this exciting moment holds
over me. “Look, I know you’re not a rapist. You should stop before you do something
illegal.”

Clever fingers twist my hardened peaks through the lace covering them, drawing a gasp
from me.

“I know what you need, Carla.”

“Really? If you did you’d be letting me go, right now. I don’t like this kind of shit.”

My shirt slides up and cool air tickles my exposed flesh. “Hah!” his voice barks out,
rough with desire. “You don’t know what you like. You fumble with the wrong men and
think commanding them will get you what you need.”

His comment strikes too close to reality, especially after I shouted orders at him
during our brief encounter. Grasping fingers have worked the cups of my bra down,
and stretch my elongated aroused nipples.

The inability to see him touching me feels freeing. Like the experience is not quite
happening to me. Moisture gathers in my panties, and despite my complaints, I can’t
deny this is turning me on.

“Andy—”

“Shh… Don’t say a word. Just
feel
for a few minutes.” He removes his hands from my breasts and guides me to hold onto
one of the shelves I’m pressed against. “If you are afraid and don’t want me to continue,
say so and I’ll stop.”

My yoga pants are pushed down around my knees, and strong hands guide my bottom to
tilt out, on display. He rubs the exposed skin, while waiting for me to answer. Not
knowing what will come next and being open to other senses feels…arousing—and not
just physically.

Big hands massage my backside, sparking gooseflesh in the air-conditioned space. The
heavy storage room door muffles the noise of the bar and the dust tickles my nose.
Cold steel under my hand and the trapped feeling of my pants around my knees invigorate
me.

“Well, Carla? Are you ready to live a little? Silence is your acceptance.”

Anticipation tightens every muscle in my body. For once I’m speechless. Do I protest
or give it a try? The blindfold makes me feel safe, unexposed. I bow my head slightly,
unaware if he sees my actions, but I know what I’m doing…. I’m accepting. The rubbing
on my bottom ceases and the cool air rises goose bumps.

Whack! Andy’s hand slaps my right ass cheek.

“Ow!”

Smack! Another blow lands on the left cheek. “Shhh… you speak and I’ll spank you.”

“That’s—”

Smack!

The sting from his firm hand sends a thrill up my spine. He’s not hitting to cause
damage. Just hard enough to get my attention and show he means it. Heat races to the
enflamed skin and a blossom of sensation spreads.

The tingle creeps to my wet center, alerting me to the throbbing in my clit. Each
pulse of blood pumping to my punished flesh sends a jolt of arousal to the little
bud as well.

“You’ve been naughty, Carla. Picking up men in bars.” His warm palm caresses my stinging
butt, fingers curving around the firm globes, reaching in toward my thong-covered
crotch.

“Oh yes, that’s right—”

Three hard slaps follow, rapid fire, leaving me gasping.

“Quiet. Control yourself and then you’ll get pleasure.”

Wiggling my ass, I silently beg for one of the soothing caresses to smooth the pain
away. I never thought I’d be one to like spanking, but the stinging slaps make me
feel alive. More alive than I have in years.

“Very good.” His voice oozes like honey in the darkness. “You like that, don’t you?”

Afraid to speak and feel his hand again, I nod my head, hoping he’s looking. The cocooning
blackness of the blindfold releases me from worrying about my body—how I’ll look,
how he looks…and makes me
feel
everything. When he reaches beneath my panties and probes my slick folds, a whimper
of want escapes.

Tension fills me—could the sound count as speaking? Will he spank me again? I can’t
decide if I want another smack or not.

Apparently the whimper doesn’t count; he continues to push a thick finger into me.
Steadily, he pumps in and out as I struggle to remain still. The elastic straining
around my spread knees allows a few inches of space between my thighs. I rise onto
my tiptoes, trying to tilt my bottom back for better penetration.

One hand on my hip pushes me down, lowering my feet flat to the storage room floor.
“No, Carla, you let me decide what you feel or I’ll leave you hanging.”

Outrage heats my face, would he really do that? “No!”

Slap, slap, slap! “Shush, baby, or you’ll never get there.”

Annoyance courses through me as the sting in my ass settles down. Who in the hell
does he think he is? If I want to come then I should be able to do whatever the hell
I want to get myself there. A second finger plunges into my depths, stretching me
and pumping faster. The hand on my hip reaches around and rubs my nub through the
cotton crotch of my underwear.

All of my anger fades as a small circling starts. “More,” I say.

Wet fingers pull from inside me.

Smack!

The hardest slap yet. Five more follow quickly and tears sting my eyes. The circling
pressure on my clit doesn’t stop the entire time, it increases, pushing me higher
and into a wild state of frenzy.

Soft moans and whimpers spill from my lips and I worry he’s never going to put those
fingers back in. A short caress of his hand soothes where he spanked and then he sinks
two fingers into me.

“I’ll tell you when to come. And you’re going to cream over my hands when you do.”
His soft voice sounds just above a whisper, sending a chill racing down my back. “I
know what you need, Carla.”

Desperate to hold myself as still as possible, I clench the shelf as another gasp
escapes me. A third finger stabs into my depths, driving me higher and closer to the
brink.

“You want it, baby. I feel your muscles inside gripping my fingers.” The hand working
my clit stops circling and pulls the fabric roughly to the side. “Just like if my
cock were working you deep.” Light pats to the aroused flesh pulls my focus from his
plunging fingers.

“Uh... uh…” Low guttural noises reach my ears, foreign sounding and far away. Good
God, they may be coming from me. Pleasure spirals up my spine to course through my
body and I bite down to clamp the begging word
please
from spilling into the night.

“That’s it, Carla. You’re ready now.”

Rubbing starts on my clit again and the sensations rocket from my crotch in wave after
wave of tingles. A scream bubbles forth and echoes back in the small room.

“Come for me, baby.” Desire pours from me, coating his hand like he said. The pumping
continues and my orgasm drags on and on, wringing the very life from me.

Collapsing forward, I catch myself by locking my elbows for support. The blindfold
at my head is loosened and stars fill my vision. Tender hands adjust my underwear
and pull my pants and shirt into place.

Andy wraps himself around my back and wedges his face near my neck. “Consider that
your first lesson.”

My phone rings as I’m getting ready for work. A slow smile creeps across my face as
I reach for it, hoping it’s Carla. She refused to come to my place last night and
practically ran out of the bar as fast as she could. My musings stop cold when I see
the call is from the nursing home caring for my mom.

“Your mom’s condition has worsened. We think you should come see her today if you
can.”

Pressure fills my chest as I grip the phone. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

I call work to schedule a personal day and then call my sister, Andrea. She answers
on the first ring. “Did they call you, too?” she asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Yeah, I was about to leave. Want to go together?”

“I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

Twenty minutes later and we’re driving to the home in Brooklyn. “Talk to me Andrea.”
I close my fingers over her hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “How are
you doing with all of this?”

A heavy sigh escapes my sister. “As good as can be expected, I guess.” She takes her
eyes off the road to glance at me quickly, the bright blue orbs piercing in their
intensity. “It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming.”

Once more, I grasp her hand on the gearshift, grateful I’ve got her by my side, not
dealing with it on my own. “She’ll be with Dad soon.”

We spend the rest of the day at the facility, alternating between sitting at our mom’s
bedside and double checking the paperwork to make sure her wishes will be met when
she passes. She and my father even picked out their headstone together. If there were
ever a more pragmatic and loving couple, I’ve never seen one.

In a way, watching them as we grew up was a blessing and a curse. Andrea and I never
doubted we were loved—our parents were older when they underwent fertility treatments—but
we witnessed such a powerful connection between a married couple that we could never
settle for less in our own lives.

I’ve wondered if searching for what they shared has kept my headstrong sister single
all these years. She may be a pain in the ass at times, but she’s still an amazing
woman.

Even though I’m here with Andrea and our mom, my thoughts drift to Carla. I’d like
nothing more than to call, just to hear her voice. Whether or not she’d be happy to
hear from me is another story altogether. We’re not there yet. And I don’t know if
we ever will be.

I’ve watched her for months, slowly falling for the headstrong woman so like my sister.
Carla has a softer side, too, one she doesn’t let out much. But I’ve seen it nonetheless.

I’ve witnessed her race from the office when her friends needed her. I’ve heard her
on the phone with the charity she feels so strongly about. I forwarded the email she
mistakenly sent to me for donations to my sister who happily sent some older suits
to the cause. I’ve seen her return from a yoga session during lunch, with the inner
glow of contentment shining from every pore.

She’s like a spiky durian fruit: her thorny exterior hiding all the sweetness within.
Sweetness no other man but me has taken the time to notice. If they had, they wouldn’t
have given up after one round with the bossy hellion.

Carla has ignored my casual advances for months, and rather than put me off, her behavior
has intrigued me further. No woman has mentally challenged me as much.

As I sit here next to my dying mother, one of her favorite sayings comes to me, “Anything
worth having in life requires hard work.” Our parents encouraged us to follow our
dreams, to never be afraid of failure, and to never give up on what we wanted most.

The doctor came in a little while ago and assured us she is holding steady, out of
the worst part of this recent decline. We can leave and not worry she’ll pass in our
absence. But they did advise us to stay in town to be easily reached when her condition
changed.

I lean forward and kiss my mom’s forehead. The waiting is awful, but I know she’ll
soon find peace in my father’s arms.

The car ride home is quiet, each of us mulling over our own thoughts. Soon we’re minutes
from my building and I realize I don’t want today with my sister to end. “Want to
go to an early dinner? I’d like to hear about your work.”

Andrea shrugs, the gesture somehow elegant on her. “Work is work, up and down at best.
Got an article coming up about the rise in education for women through online courses.”
Andrea started out of college as a journalist and now writes independent pieces for
various online news reporting agencies.

“Good for you. Steady work is all that matters.”

Her mouth contorts into a grimace. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to contribute more
for Mom’s care.”

I glance out the window, hoping we can find a place to park. “We’re getting by fine.
Don’t worry so much.”

“You say that… but only you are sacrificing your dreams. It just kills me.”

“If music paid the bills I’d be happier, sure, but I’ll get back to it eventually.
This accounting gig isn’t permanent.” I motion out the window. “There’s a spot, grab
it.”

My sister maneuvers her old Honda into the tight parking space. “It certainly seems
like it after two years. I don’t know what we would have done if we had to pay the
medical bills on what I make as a writer.” She looks at me and smiles, “Probably have
to start consolidating expenses, like moving in together.”

A shudder runs through me at the thought of living with my perpetually messy twin.
“Hey, now, let’s not get hasty.”

She laughs as we exit the car. “Wouldn’t want me to cramp your musician lifestyle?”

I think of Rocko standing at his doorway last month, a mid-twenties bar groupie hanging
on his tattooed arm while he tried to give the woman the polite shove off the morning
after a gig. Do I miss the one-night stands? I shake my head while joining my sister
on the sidewalk. I outgrew those empty encounters years ago.

“Not at all. More worried your slovenly habits would push me to kill you in your sleep.”
She shoves me hard, laughing the whole time. “Let’s go inside,” I say, motioning to
the closest restaurant. “I’m hungry.”