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23
Lila
Curleduponthecouch with Karma on my lap, I channel-surfed, trying to find something to distract me, but it was like I couldn’t even see the images on the screen. My mind was consumed by thoughts about Hawk. How had he gotten my number? Not just how, but why? What did he see in me? I had looks, but not that much.
My phone, on the couch next to me, dinged. Karma’s head cocked to the side as she looked at it.
Please don’t be him.
Please be him.
Arghhh. I didn’t know which one I wanted more.
Wait! What if it was HR contacting me to fire me? I had been fidgety all day, waiting either for Dr. Creep to get me canned or for Hawk to contact me with the promise of more pleasure. Neither had happened so far.
I grabbed my cell.
Hawk:Your taste still lingers on my tongue. I want to see you. Now.
My stomach did a bunch of somersaults. My fingers started tapping on their own.
Me:Yes.
Nooo. I stopped. Gained control before hitting send. I quickly pressed the delete button about fifty times, even when no letters were left on the screen.
I tapped my foot nervously, causing my whole body to shake. Karma yipped, jumped off my lap, and made her way to the other end of the couch, curling up.
“Sorry, girl. Mommy’s freaking out right now. What do you think? Should I reply? I can’t be rude and ignore him, right?”
Karma had no problem ignoring me as her tiny eyes drooped close, drifting back to her nap. Why was I asking for validation from my geriatric dog?
I had promised Mae I would block his number, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I had tried.
I swear.
I really had.
My finger had hovered over the block button for almost an hour until I convinced myself there was no need because a hunk like him wouldn’t waste more time with me.
Ding.
I stared at my cell in horror.
Hawk:Get dressed. I’m taking you out. Wear a red dress.
I leaped to my feet and reread the message nine times. This was my chance to get him out of my system. Mae would be pissed, but she’d get over it. I started typing a reply but paused.
Mae’s cryptic warnings from earlier blared in my mind. Why was she so adamant that he was bad for me? What if he really was dangerous? Like psycho-murderer dangerous. Suddenly, my jokes about my head stuffed in a duffel bag after a date weren’t so funny anymore.
No. Couldn’t be. He was seeing Mae for some sort of sex therapy, not murderous tendencies. But whatwashe seeing Mae for? He wasn’t impotent, that was for sure. And I had confirmation he knew how to please a woman. My knees weakened at the memory of his tongue dancing across my clit.
I sank into the couch. “My career is my life. My career is my life,” I chanted as I texted my reply.
Me:Sorry. Can’t tonight.
I didn’t think I’d be able to refuse him twice, so I had to remove the temptation. With a shaky hand, I pressed send, then turned off my phone, and threw it on the coffee table.
