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No one can tell me I’m not getting my money’s worth with Elliot. Three nights ago, when I finally left her place at some ungodly hour of the morning, I felt like I’d been deprogrammed. No stone was left unturned within me.
She told me what to wear, how to act, and then made me go through that. She threw out scenarios, riled me, pissed me off; and each time I started to run my mouth, she stopped me.
And…she did an amazing job. Every time I’ve been thrown some curve ball, I handle it like the kind of responsible, boring adult they want. I’m doing shit I have people for in my own work because this stuff isn’t for me, and it isn’t for the CEO. I’m being tested.
There’s still one more meeting coming up, and I know when I’m given a hot sex pot as a receptionist who’s, ah, very open to other things, it isn’t the test. It’s other women when I’m invited out at night and I go, but always bow out early. I report in to Elliot and…
I want to see her.
I can’t deny that.
She calls to me and it’s not just sex. This is different, but fuck me if I can work out why.
Objectively, I know hotter women exist. But she does something to me. And this woman I once thought plain with an intriguing mouth sets me alight just thinking about her.
I’m meant to be out tonight, but instead, I’m haunting my loft like a horny, frustrated ghost.
Running my hand over one of my guitars, an old battered thing that is beautiful because it was something I bought years ago. It belonged to Long Johnny Slim, one of the best old school Chicago blues men no one outside that scene has heard of. I rarely play it because I don’t have his talent, but the cheap guitar was gold in his hands.
I think about playing something, but I’m not in the mood.
One weird thing has been happening.
Lacey Fox. She of the scandal that landed me here has been texting. I put it down to dear old mother testing me. I just delete the messages without reading. I’m not falling for anything that obvious.
My phone rings and it’s my mother, so I ignore her.
Thing is, I decide as I flop down on the couch, I don’t want to lose Elliot. I don’t want to lose her from my life and right now, I’m thinking I’ll take her anyway I can get her. But what if sex—more sex—with her means I lose her in the end?
I don’t want to lose that friendship. I don’t want to lose the closeness I have with her, the way I can be open with her. That openness that comes from her, too, in those brilliant flashing moments we have.
In a perfect world, I’d throw in, I’d ask for it all, and give her everything she could ever want, including me, because it comes to me that she might feel very much the same about me as I do about her.
Whatever that is, screams, sings, coos, whispers ‘more’.
But I also know myself.
I’m not a good man in that respect.
In bed? I’m great.
Flirting? I’m winning gold stars.
I’ve got seduction and making a woman feel like the only woman worth anything and leaving her still feeling good about herself down pat.
The long haul I have doubts. Huge ones. I’ve never done that.
And what if I get her? What if I get her and we go deep into whatever this thing is and I’m me? Being me, I’d fuck it up by fucking someone else because they catch my eye. It doesn’t matter I haven’t seen anyone since I met Elliot I want to fuck. I might just be the screw up dear old dead Dad and the rest think I am.
If I’m that, then Elliot’s better off without me.
There are a few days left. Lacey still contacts me and I ignore her. And the more I do, I know these last days are critical.
What if she goes to the press?
I find myself online, reading about me, something I never do and I’m gobsmacked.
Elliot might be a goddess. A magical one.
