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“Megan Reynolds,” she points above my head, presumably to the store sign out front. “Like the store.”
“All right, Megan Reynolds,” I say. “Call if you need me.”
“Or just hit the alarm again,” she laughs.
I pause at the door for a moment. “Just if you need me in a hurry.”
2
Megan
Ican’t get out of the store fast enough. As if having to deal with the police first thing in the morning wasn’t bad enough, between Vicki and Aunt Marla I can’t keep a clear thought in my head. Vicki, of course, can’t get enough of the “hot cop.” Like she hasn’t been falling all over every guy who’s come in the store since I’ve been there.Hello, Vicki, single guys don’t usually go jewelry shopping.Aunt Marla on the other hand stuck to her spinster core of steel and simply berated me repeatedly for hurting the business by having a policeman show up. Telling her the car wasn’t even marked wouldn’t help matters, so I ended up spending most of my time making minute adjustments to the displays, stupidly, considering that was how I’d set off the alarm in the first place. She’d told me a thousand times about the cases, so I couldn’t fault her for being frustrated, but it was my first day. Cut a girl some slack.
I’m not gonna lie, about halfway through my thirty-minute (“not thirty-one, not thirty-and-a-half”) break, I was seriously considering just going home. Sure, Aunt Marla “went out of her way” to hire me, but it’s not like I’m some charity case, and seriously, if I want to just get berated for eight hours I can take literally any other job and be just fine. I only took the job because I thought it would put Mom’s mind at ease. Her little girl off in the big city and all that. Like Arden was dwarfing Miami or something. If it weren’t for the university, half the people, myself included, wouldn’t even be here.
But, whatever. I knew it wasn’t going to be all tiaras and happily engaged couples when I signed on. Besides, it was a set schedule, something I needed with my classes and something I needed just for myself. Which is why, in spite of the whole craptastic day, I’m yet again sitting in the car, debating.
The gym.
What better way to make myself feel more awful than by spending an hour sweating it out on the elliptical while the spindly little stork girls pranced about with their belly-button rings glinting in the fluorescent light?
I’m really not this bitter. I’m not a bad person. I’m not even big, by most normal standards. Curvy. I’ll take that one. Solid is what my dad would say. Thanks, dad. His heart was in the right place I guess.
Either way, sitting in the car and staring at the gym is perhaps the only way to be more pathetic than I already feel, so I sigh, grab my bag, and head in.
On the plus side, it seems to be a slow night. I get my favorite machine, the one by the TV tuned to the news with the captions that are actually readable instead of random wingdings. I put my earbuds in, mostly just to give me an excuse to ignore people, and get to it.
It’s funny in a way, I think as my arms pump and my legs cycle, the most annoying thing about Vicki today wasn’t that she was so gushingly wound up about that detective. It’s that, somehow, I felt like she was moving into my territory. Obviously, he wasn’tmine. Even if he had been, isn’t that supposed to be flattering or something? And to be fair, she was probably more in his age bracket anyway, not that that bothered me in any way. But he was handsome. And he was talking to me. Even if it was because of my own stupid blunder.
Still, though, like, backoffonce in a while, lady.
For a brief second, I think I should give her his card, let her put her money where her mouth is, but even as childish and pointless as that “victory” would even be (if one could even call it that), that card was mine. He gave it to me. And maybe that was dumb, but the beauty of working out by yourself with headphones in is that nobody can hear what you’re thinking.
Maybe I’ll even call him. That would really get her.
Back home,I hang my purse on the desk chair and toss my gym bag on the couch, kicking off my sneakers as I go. Like everything, there’s a new debate on hand. Shower or bath? I know if I bathe I’m going to soak, lounge, probably read, and relax. If I shower I can hit the ground running and try to catch up on some articles I need to review for class next week.
So, bath it is.
Truth be told, I don’t know if this is just me (I’ve never had the courage to ask anyone else), but certain times, well, most times after a good workout, I find myself turned on. I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in my brain or just me being weird, but no matter which way I want to argue it, the real debate about bath versus shower is “play versus no play.” And after today, I need some play.
I get the water started and peel off my workout clothes. I dump some of the bubble soap from under the sink into the tub and then stand for a moment, as I always do, torturing myself in front of the full-length mirror. For some reason, today, though, I laugh. Not a cruel, cutting laugh. More a chuckle, the kind I think my boyfriend or husband or whoever would laugh. The elastic on my workout clothes always leaves a telltale imprint, and for all intents and purposes, I look like I’m wearing invisible lycra.
I run my hands over the ridges, letting my fingers slide over the bumps and lines, then run the backs of my nails down my thighs. The feeling is ticklish almost, and in no way is this something I’d consider sensual. But itisreal. It’s what Ireallylook like after the gym. And, I grin to myself, it really ain’t half bad.
I turn off the faucet and step into the tub, the water almost but not quite too warm. I can feel my muscles relaxing as soon as I slide down under the bubbles. Girls in movies always have candles along the edge of the tub, and maybe someday I will too, but for now, this is all I need. A quiet place, some time, and my imagination.
I think back on the day and am not surprised to find myself returning to the detective. Brady. He was a handsome man, like I said, but in a kind of complicated way. Not his looks. There was no doubt about the stubble, the jawline, and the dark hair. Helookedlike a detective in the movies should look. A little dangerous maybe even. But there was also something else to him; I’d seen it when he swore in front of me. It was like he was afraid he’d offended me as a lady. So under the gruff exterior, was he hiding a different side?
It was my imagination, though, so yes, I decided, he was.
It was a gentler side. A side that, even if he picked me up easily and tossed me on the bed, the hard muscles of his arms would know the lines to cross, the lines to just come up to. I slid my fingers up and down the insides of my thighs, imagining his rough hands, strong yet controlled, decisive but teasing me. I moved my left hand up to my breast, unsurprised to find that, despite the warm water, my nipples were already hard. I pinched at myself softly, pulling at the sensitive skin as I thought of his lips on my body, his teeth nipping playfully, his tongue circling my breast.
I can almost feel the weight of his body on mine, the way I could relax and let go, the way I would almost melt under his touch, the way the water lets me lose some sensation by overwhelming me with another. My fingers slide up between my legs, brushing against my lips, the warmth there matching the water, the wetness mingling. His tongue. His stubble brushing against my thighs as he kissed me there. Slow. Licking in circles, moving with a purposeful motion that would drive me wild.
On my own, try as I might, I’m never so patient as to tease myself that way. I slip a finger inside, moving my thumb up to my aching clit, trying to imagine the brush of his erection, his fingers, his body on me. I hook my finger up inside, rubbing it along my g-spot while my thumb makes brisk circles above.
I can feel my breath quicken, my hand tightens on my breast as the tension builds, builds, builds, and a wave of pleasure and relief passes over me. I sigh, every muscle that was tense moments ago, relaxing languidly in the warm water. I can’t see the mirror from where I’m reclined, but I can feel the smile on my face. I tease myself with my thumb a little more, enjoying the extra sensitive feeling, moving my finger in slow circles with the post-orgasm pulsing.
