Loving Ms. Wrong

Loving Ms. Wrong

Red Hot Publishing

P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

Smashwords Edition May 2014

Copyright 2014 C.J. Ellisson

Cover Design by Kim Killion, HotDamnDesigns.com

ISBN 9781938601309

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or
introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or
by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the
copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to Kim
Engstrom. Thanks for being my supporter and I’m honored to call you
my friend.

Table of Contents

Chapter
One

Chapter
Two

Chapter
Three

Chapter
Four

Chapter
Five

Chapter
Six

Chapter
Seven

Chapter
Eight

Chapter
Nine

Katrina

“I don’t know, Gemma,” I say while teetering in the
pink shoes with the zebra striped heel. “I’m not really an
animal-print type of girl. And these things are
loud
.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Ms.
Namaste
. It’s Carla’s birthday. Let loose, have some
fun. Besides, we’re all wearing zebra with pink trim. If you don’t
do it you’ll look like a stuffy fuddy-duddy.”

I hide my grimace of distaste, uncaring what
people think of me if I stand out for not dressing up.

Gemma shoots me a dirty look. “Katrina—I
know what you’re thinking. And Carla will know, too. Didn’t she
help one of your customer’s daughters with
Dress
for Success
when the young woman needed clothes for a new
job?”

Damn, guilt works on me every time. I’m such
a sap that way. Especially when she’s right. Carla has been a good
friend to me, she even helped me move. The least I can do is not
complain about the silly party theme Gemma and Heather cooked up
for her.

“All right. All right. I’ll wear them.” I
sigh and take small mincing steps toward the mirror. It’s been a
long time since I’ve worn a short skirt and heels this high,
preferring the long flowing skirts and blouses I wear while working
the herbal shop. I have to admit, the shoes make my legs look
good.

Gemma smiles. “It’s about time you show off
the body all those long hours in yoga helped sculpt.”

I resist the urge to ignore her
complimentary words and force out a low “thanks.” I don’t practice
yoga to look good. I do it to be strong enough to meditate for long
hours after working in the shop all day. Gemma, Carla, and
Heather—the friends I met at the yoga studio over a year ago—do it
for the health benefits, so I don’t remind her of what they’ve
collectively called my ‘eccentricities.’

They don’t know the real reason I meditate
every day, and I’d rather keep it that way. Sometimes it’s
difficult to admit to a friend what you don’t even like admitting
to yourself. Plain and simple, meditating daily keeps me sane.

“Okay, chica, are we ready to roll?” Gemma
asks.

I turn back to the mirror and check the new
dark blue streaks in the bangs dangling over one eye. The blue
looks fun and hip. I’m glad I did it. “Yup. Let’s go.”

I lock the metal door to the mini-apartment
located in the back third of my store. It’s totally illegal for me
to be living here, but my newly limited finances don’t allow for a
business on this street
and
a place of my
own. Thankfully my friends don’t judge me, or maybe they just don’t
know zoning laws and decided to remain politely silent during my
move last month. Besides, it’s temporary—only until I get more
funds in the store’s accounts. Taking on all the new pharmaceutical
grade supplements, which are used in conjunction with prescribed
medication for various health concerns, really wiped out my cash,
but I have faith it was a wise move to upgrade.

We stride through the darkened aisles of
well-ordered pill bottles, herbal tinctures, powders, teas, and
various homeopathic remedies. Closing time on a Friday night is
eight o’clock, which was thirty minutes ago, and the last customer
left closer to seven.

“Did you get her a gift?” Gemma appears
concerned. She and Heather were so cute with their rah-rah emails
and texts planning this party. I would have been a total shit if
I’d forgotten or cheaped-out due to my tight budget.

I make a detour toward the counter and grab
the gift bag I set there earlier. “Yup.”

Her eyebrows rise in excitement. “What did
you get?”

I laugh and motion her to precede me out the
door so I can lock up. The moist humidity of summer wraps around
us, making me regret leaving the air conditioning of the store.
Hopefully the predicted thunder shower will hold off ’til tomorrow.
“I
can
follow directions, you know.” I
twist the key in the lock and punch in a code by the door, arming
the store alarm. This area of the Village doesn’t need the
roll-down metal screens for security, but then again, I’m not
selling high-end electronics, either. “I bought her gag gifts, as
instructed.” I smile at my friend and loop my arm through hers as
we head to the subway one block down. “You’ll be so proud.
Glow-in-the-dark penis straws and penis candy necklaces.”

Gemma’s dimples appear with her huge grin.
“Awesome! She’s going to laugh herself silly.” She waves her gift
bag in the air. “I got penis shot glasses and a funny girl’s only
card game. Heather has her place all decorated, the cupcakes, and a
couple of other fun surprises I won’t spoil.”

I watch the ground carefully, unwilling to
step in a sidewalk grating or rut with these heels on. “You two
surprised me with all the bachelorette-type stuff. She’s not
getting married, right?”

“Nope. We thought it would be a nice change
of pace. A girls night out theme rather than our standard dinner
and drinks out with friends.”

I like dinner and drinks out with friends,
but hold back my thoughts as the two obviously had so much fun
planning tonight. “Isn’t she dating a guy from work?”

“Yes! A guy named Andy. I haven’t met him
yet. Oh—and I don’t think you’ve heard the latest.”

“What’s that?”

“Heather told me Carla gave him a key to her
place a couple of weeks ago.”

“Get out!” I stumble in my stride, surprised
the self-proclaimed loner took such a big step. “Good for her—I
think.”

We navigate down the concrete stairs in our
heels carefully, the sound and unpleasant smells of the subway in
summer rushing up to greet us.

“She’s happy,” Gemma says. “What’s there to
think about?”

I shrug and look toward the train platform,
unsure what to say. I am happy for her. Maybe even a tad jealous if
I’m honest with myself. I haven’t felt anything more than
friendship toward a man in years. And I’ve tried. Trust me.

But to give a guy a key to your place? I
can’t even imagine doing something similar.
Hi,
care to have a key to my livelihood
and
my
residence?

I bet that would go over real well with a
guy. Good thing I’m not looking for one.

The rest of the short trip is uneventful.
The closer we get to Heather’s stop the more excited Gemma becomes.
She’s sweet, in an exuberant-puppy kind of way.

She grabs my hand and hustles out when the
train halts at the correct street, and then pushes us up the
stairs, obviously in a rush.

I struggle to keep up, crowds can be
difficult in heels. “Slow down, Gemma. I’d rather get there without
a broken ankle.”

“It’s almost nine! Carla is due to arrive at
nine. I don’t want to be late.”

I quicken my pace, feeling more sure in the
heels than I did at my place. “It’s not a surprise party, right?
Did I miss that detail in the dozens of texts?”

When we reach the corner, Gemma looks back
and forth quickly, her long dirty blond hair brushing her
shoulders, then crosses against the light, dragging me with her.
Panic seizes me for an instant before a glance right and left
assures me the street is safe. Jesus, she’s a woman on a
mission.

“Not a surprise party, you’re right. But I
want to be there before her.”

By sheer luck, and a heavy dose of female
determination, we arrive at Heather’s place before Carla.

Heather’s dressed in a zebra print top, a
gauzy hot pink scarf belted at her waist, a short black leather
skirt, and the sexiest platform zebra shoes I’ve ever seen. I would
have thought July in Manhattan was too hot for leather, but Heather
pulls it off well. It’s not like we’ll be partying on the streets,
so I’m betting the heat never came into account when picking out
the skirt.

“You look fabulous, Katrina!” Heather
gushes, a big smile on her face. “Look at those wild shoes. Love
them. Can I get you a drink?” She ushers us into her open floor
plan apartment, the living room on the right, and the dining room
mostly open to the kitchen on the left.

I glance at the two other ladies already
there and note their wine glasses are filled with a dark liquid.
Heather introduces us to the two women, one is Carla’s sister,
Julie, and the other is a woman Carla works with named Bekki.
Heather informs us they’re all drinking sangria and moves to the
kitchen to get us glasses, too.

Heather’s apartment is decorated with
streamers, pink and black balloons, and a few small zebra accents.
I spy other gift totes on the dining room table and deposit mine
there. It’s a little after nine and I’m sure the birthday girl will
be arriving soon. Despite wearing shoes I normally wouldn’t pick,
I’m feeling good about tonight. A girls night is just what I need
to get out of my current routine.

By ten-thirty we’re all a little buzzed and laughing
so hard a few of us are wiping tears away. Julie brought a game
called “Who’s the Biggest Pervert?” And I’m not sure if I should be
appalled or proud that I’m the biggest pervert in the group so far.
Heather and Carla toasted me twice, forcing all of us to drink even
more of the brandy infused wine laced with fruit. It goes great
with the chocolate cupcakes Heather made, so none of us complained.
Then again, doesn’t everything go with chocolate?

I’m feeling no pain when Carla informs us
it’s time to take the party on the road. Festooned with tacky pink
sashes that say Girls Night Out, wearing pink Mardi-gras beads and
the candy penis necklaces, and each carrying our glow in the dark
straws in our purse, we’re ready to paint the town. I’m glad
there’s no mirror near the elevators or I’d probably have second
thoughts about being seen in public wearing this stuff.

“Oh, wait!” Julie shouts. “I have something
fun for everyone to take home.” She wiggles her eyebrows
suggestively. “Might stir up a little ‘magic.’ You never know.” She
reaches into her purse while we enter the elevator and pulls out a
handful of tiny plastic baggies. “Here,” she says while
distributing one to each of us.

Heather opens hers first. “Are these dice?
The shape is odd. What are these little pictures?” She gasps in
understanding.

I look to mine and start laughing. “No way.
Did you get us dirty gamer dice? These have pictures of people
having sex in different positions on each side.”

Carla squeals in delight. “So cool! I can’t
wait to try this later with Andy.”

Conversation and comments swirl over each
other as everyone checks out their die.

“Hey,” Bekki says as we leave the elevator.
“I got a bum one. There’s two spots on here with the guy getting
head. Talk about unfair.”

“Lemme see,” says Gemma while she
frantically searches her die, too. “Dammit. Mine is the same
way.”

We spill into the night, giggling like a
pack of randy college girls. Julie’s laughing so hard it takes her
a second to respond. “Sorry, guys. Should have mentioned I think
these things were designed by men. All of them have the two blow
job sides.”