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“Oh my, I’m sorry,” she chuckles at her own seeming folly. “I just thought…someone told me…you know what, never mind. You two keep on with what you’re doing.” She begins backing off, but I stand up.
“Oh no, it’s fine, really. We were just about to conclude the meeting,” I call her back. “Travis is yours now.” I smile and she returns it nervously, probably hoping that she didn’t cause any hiccups in her boyfriend’s work life.
I leave with fresh tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I don’t let them. I won’t cry over something as trivial as this. At least it was our first date, and we haven’t gone too deep.
At the same time, though, I swear to myself that this is my last involvement with men, at least for now.
I let out a heavy breath when I realize I didn’t even come with a car. Travis was the one who drove me to the restaurant. For the first time in a drastically long time, I have to wait a few minutes for my Uber Executive to arrive and take the transit home.
All through the drive, my sexual frustration builds. Perhaps that was the end point of all this.
Satisfaction.
It has been almost a year now since I last had a man make me feel special, and honestly, even Thomas’s ragdoll sex doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I just need it, and I need it now.
It’s inevitable then when my mind trails to the person I have come the closest to having sex with.
Jordan, my bodyguard.
I saw his well sized, beautifully curved manhood twitch earlier this morning, and now that I have time to kill in the cab, my mind explores the possibilities of having an affair with him, even though he’s years younger than I am.
I’m hopeless, aren’t I?
5
JORDAN
She pushes the glass of fruit juice to me without looking me in the eye. It’s still rude…but a huge step up from how she normally treats me.
The Rebecca I know would never even offer me a glass of cold juice.
“It’s hot out,” is her excuse for the act of kindness and I let it slide, accepting the glass with an appreciative nod.
She looks around, almost as if trying to make sure no one saw her commit that abominable act of generosity.
Skylar is playing by the pool, and I had to give her a stern look for her to drop the pressure for me to come in with her. We had done it once, where I initially helped her learn to swim, but that was with necessary permission. It just doesn’t seem like my place to do things like that.
Luckily for me, her mother is home today.
She should be taking a rest, but here she is in a swimsuit, ready to take a swim with her daughter.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a dip? I saw Skylar literally begging.” She chuckles.
It’s awkward, her talking to me, making an independent offer that doesn’t involve me doing anything for her. Her only excuse for that being ‘It’s hot out.’ Makes it even more uncomfortable.
Because then, I must make a comment about the weather as well, or risk being rude.
“I’m fine. The heat doesn’t really get to me.” I shrug off her offer, trying to maintain a fine balance between politeness and professionalism.
They might both seem like right actions to take, but in their own rights, each breed a different level of awkwardness.
A professional answer in a polite, informal setting is rude. Especially as you wouldn’t have a smile on your face, trying to maintain the air.
That’s what I try to avoid when I crack up a smile, but I cunningly aim it at Skylar, just so that it doesn’t look like I’m engaging Rebecca too much.
I’m supposed to hate her.
She’s the ex-wife if the man that killed my father. In fact, as at the time of the deed, they were still married.
