Page 8 of Buying Her Flower

“Did you hear me?” I ask, when she doesn’t say anything.

“Of course I did!” she responds. “I was just kind of sitting here in shock, and in jealousy. You should totally do it.”

“No way!” I say.

“Come on, imagine how much fun it will be, not to mention exciting!” she encourages me.

“I know, and the money would be great too, since it could help me start my own business,” I reply, following her thoughts. “Like you have.”

“I know!” she agrees. “You’ve been wanting to open your own flower shop for a long time. Just like before I wanted to open my bakery and I went for it, but that was with my parents’ financial help. This opportunity could give you the boost you need to do it all on your own.”

But then I shake my head no.

“I don’t know if I could do something like that, though. It’s clearly some kind of escort type thing, right? And, I mean, a prostitute, maybe? Or whatever it was they wanted? It sounds so tacky,” I reply.

I try to picture it in my head, but I still can’t see myself parading around as someone’s arm candy, or exchanging sex for money, or whatever it is, exactly, that escorts even do.

Is that like a fancy word for prostitution? I wonder. Or do they really just escort a man to an event, like the name implies? Maybe I should find out…

“Well, it’s your choice, but I’m telling you the money sounds good, and it could be a lot of fun. Now tell me about his friend; he sounds cute,” she says, acting curious.

We both laugh.

“You’re so crazy!” I tell her.

“I know,” she replies happily. “But I’ve always been curious, and you’ve always been my friend, so I don’t know what else you would expect.”

“Very true,” I have to concede, because she does have a good point.

I glance at the clock.

“I have to go; it’s closing time. I’ll call you when I get home?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m staying in tonight; drive safe!” she replies, before hanging up.

I hang up the phone on my end just as Marsha walks in from the back room, where she had been doing the bookkeeping and tracking the sales for the day.

“Ready to go home?” she asks cheerfully.

“I sure am!” I reply, grabbing my purse.

We both walk out the door together, after she pauses to turn off the lights and lock up.

“Have a good night and stay safe!” she says, as we walk to our cars.

“You too!” I call out, and then she drives off.

I sit in my car, turning the radio to my favorite station. I hum along with the pop song that’s playing. This kind of music always puts me in a happy mood.

The drive from the flower shop to my apartment isn’t a long one, but I stop to get a pizza along the way. I’m in the mood to treat myself tonight.

I’ll eat this pizza, and maybe watch a movie, I think to myself. There’s a nice romantic comedy on TV tonight.

“What’s wrong with me?” I think, as I’m driving.

I’m not usually in this type of a mood. A good, light, fluffy one, to be specific. I don’t even usually like rom-coms.

To be honest, I’ve been feeling a little off since meeting Andrew and his friend Brian this afternoon.

Or should I say I’ve been feeling “on”? I wonder.

There’s no doubt that Andrew, specifically, has revved my engine.

I push him out of my head, though. I don’t want to think about that right now. I’m not used to a guy taking up so many of my thoughts.

Instead, I hurry home and sit on the couch, cozy in my pajamas. I pick at my slices of pizza while watching the movie.

I watch the couple on TV gaze in adoration at each other and surprise myself by thinking it looks a little cute.

I wonder if Marsha and her husband ever do that?

Maybe falling in love isn’t as bad as it seems.

I try to picture myself in that situation and shake my head. Feeling lonesome, I pour myself a glass of wine. I take a sip and set the glass on the coffee table. I lean back against the couch cushions. The movie switches to a romantic sex scene.

I imagine myself in the arms of the leading man. I think about how it feels to have him kiss me passionately. Suddenly it’s not the actor from the TV anymore. It’s Andrew.

I’m shocked but I can’t stop myself from thinking about it. My hand slips inside my pants. I start gently stroking my pussy. I imagine that it’s Andrew instead of me. He’s teasing me, getting me ready for what I really want.

I stroke my fingers up and down, lightly playing with my clit. I imagine him sucking on it. The thought makes me thrust against my hand.

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