Page 25 of Mr. Match

Right.

“Hey, Ariel,” I say, interrupting the conversation. “I need a landline. Mind if I use your office phone?”

“Sure,” she says, barely looking at me. “Just make sure it’s legal.”

I wince, looking around at my friends to see if they heard that slip-up. They did. Because they are all looking back at me with little squinty eyes. And then Ariel catches her mistake and laughs it off. “Kidding¸ little brother. Whatever.”

She’s drunk. And she made a mistake.

I put both palms on the table and push my chair back, wondering what the fuck is wrong with Ariel. She never makes mistakes. That just doesn’t happen.

I walk away, still bothered by it, and then shut the door behind me once I’m in the office.

She needs to stop drinking. That’s what she needs. She’s got no boyfriend here to keep her in check.

My phone buzzes in my pants, so I take it out and look at the screen.

Ariel: Whoops. Time to get sober.

Me: You bet your ass. I do not need these guys asking me about the “illegal” business I may or may not be doing in here. WTF, Ariel?

Ariel: Sorry.

I put the phone away and slump down in the office chair to wait for the guys to make their way in here. And just out of instinct, I open up Ariel’s laptop sitting there.

I expect it to be shut down, or at the very least, locked. But it’s on, and it’s open to Five’s Finder app. Who has Ariel been checking up on? We don’t use Five’s app unless it’s important. It makes him very nervous to have our business tied to him.

I stay absolutely still, listening for sounds of people approaching on the other side of the door. And then I type in Katya’s name.

There she is. Katya Kalashova. 305 North College Avenue, #602. And it lists two numbers. Landline and cell.

It’s almost like… she wants to be found.

Just like the day we first met.

I seduced her that night. I seduced her with the tree, and the food, and the beer, and the music. My tattoos that transfixed her. The muscles she couldn’t stop touching. She was a girl. It was very plain by the way she let me fuck her that night.

Inexperienced.

Eager to please.

Tiny moans that made her embarrassed. Unwilling to do it standing up, or against the wall, or on the kitchen counter. Protest after protest for every kinky fucking idea I came up with.

Not there. Not like that. Not with the lights on. Not in front of the window. Not in the shower.

It makes me laugh now. Because in the end we fucked in all those places, in all those ways, and she came back for more.

I made my move before I even started cooking. Fingertips on her bare thigh brushing up against her skin. Just the slightest touch as I slipped my hand underneath that little tartan skirt and found the wet spot soaking through her panties. I fingered her through the thin cotton. She wanted to take them off but I was not in the mood to give in that night. I was in the mood to have everything my way. Just the way I wanted. For once.

She came with my fingers inside her. Her body folding against mine, her nails digging into the thick muscles of my shoulders. And then she sank to her knees. Her bare skin on that hard concrete floor.

She looked up at me and smiled.

I got my cock sucked good that night. She let me guide her any way I wanted. Opened wider on command. She let me face-fuck her. She licked my balls, fingered my asshole. Put her hands behind her back and looked me in the eyes.

I figured why not? Why not get one good night out of her?

She wants to be a whore? Make money dishing out the fantasy? I can be her customer.