Two shot with basically no plot. Based loosely on a book I browsed on Kindle Unlimited called Booty Call (yes. Seriously). I blame Mobazan for gently pushing me to publish this. It was close to never seeing the light of day...
"Paige just called, they're waiting downstairs," his daughter whirls past, all motion and movement. A quick peck on his cheek serves as her goodbye as she dances past him, roller duffel pulled in her wake. She pauses momentarily by the entry, one hand already on the knob.
"The hotel info is on the fridge, and I'll keep my cell phone on." Her blue eyes pierce him where he stands, lost in the expanse between his office and the main living area. "You'll be ok, Dad?"
His heart lurches, love for this sensitive, beautiful soul bubbling up anew, washing through his veins with a tumult. He's raised a great kid, but she's growing up. Doesn't need him like she used to. And it's a wonderful, terrifying thing.
"I'll be fine, Alexis. Have fun in Boston." He somehow suppresses any quavers in his voice, and she rewards his effort with an electric grin.
"I will, Dad. I'll call and text, don't worry."
He manages a half wave, which she misses as she gambols out the door. It shuts with a loud clang, and he's locked alone in the prison he created for himself. The echo reverberates in his head long after the sound has disappeared from the loft, buzzing through him and fueling the restlessness that's been building for months.
Sighing, he paces into the kitchen, then immediately turns and wanders back to his office. Standing in the middle of the room, he faces the desk where his warden sits: a matte black rectangle one side, a keyboard and blank Word document on the other. He stands, waiting. Waiting for something—anything—to happen.
Nothing changes in this wearied routine. Once again the silence mocks him and he slowly shuffles into his room and collapses on the bed.
It's dark, the afternoon sun blocked by expensive drapery that insulates him from the rest of the world, cocooned in his luxurious cell. Groaning, he beats his fist on the mattress. His life is falling apart.
He'd been so sure, months ago, when he killed off Derrick Storm in what would be the last book of the series. He'd been bored, admittedly. Bored and certain that something new and better was just around the corner. He just had to go find it.
Ignoring the outrage of his publisher (and ex-wife) had been easy, at the time. Now, with the launch of the book imminent and press leaks speculating about what he'd do next, the weight of it all was about to crush him. He'd not found inspiration anywhere he'd looked, and the mounting strain had driven any idle interests far away.
He's capable of more than Storm—much more. He can feel it; taste it at times. But months have passed and his restlessness hasn't led to anything productive.
It lurks, stalking him through the night. Through nightmares with blaring headlines announcing his failure, to others with empty bank accounts and a life without his daughter. He can ignore it during the day—if his mother or daughter is home to distract him. But now, an empty loft surrounds him. His sentence is 4 days of loneliness, thanks to his mother's trip to the Hamptons and Alexis's invitation to accompany her best friend's family.
Jumping back to his feet, he strides back to the office with jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Pulling out the chair with a sharp jerk, he drops to the seat and let's muscle memory take over, fingers poised above the QWERTY keyboard and head bowed, an adept waiting for the maestro to wave his baton so he might begin.
The baton wave never materializes, and like a trickle of molasses his fingers slide off the keyboard, coming to rest in his lap. Shoulders slumped, he creaks the chair in a careful arc until he can stand. So many expectations, all unfulfilled by his impotence.
A low burn flickers to light in his chest.
The words may not be there, but inspiration can be found in many nooks and crannies.
It's time to explore a new one.
He goes through the motion of checking his contact list first, though he knows very well that no one on that list will satisfy. Not tonight. It lets him pretend that he'd made an effort to avoid doing what he really wants to do.
What he's going to do.
"Allison?" Talking out loud is surely a sign of something, but he just doesn't care anymore. "She had great legs, but a laugh like a donkey." Flicking past the braying lawyer, his eyes light up at the next entry. "Carolina, oh yes."
His cock jumps, remembering the incredible sex with the professional cheerleader. Followed quickly by the deflating memory of her new boyfriend. Her outside linebacker new boyfriend. He wasn't desperate enough to risk bodily injury. Besides, he suddenly remembered talking to Carolina. She'd not been much of a conversationalist.
He rapidly rejects the rest, for both reasonable and unreasonable conditions. No one he already knows…or has known…is apt to satiate him tonight. He needs something new.
Someone new.
Taking a deep breath, he almost hums in anticipation as he scrolls through his apps until he finds it. He'd tried it once before, but Alexis had called him while he'd been chatting with his potential partner and he'd had to bail.
His pulse pounds as he looks at the tiny pics of women near him looking for the same thing: a release, a good time. A temporary connection with a stranger. An undamming of his words. The pressure is building within again, and if he can't write, then this is the only way to find relief. And freedom.
He ignores all the redheads—they remind him far too much of his first ex to be an option. A beautiful brunette with long curly hair catches his eye. She looks intelligent, though it's hard to tell from a thumbnail pic. He's at half-mast already, just looking at her picture. Pressing the "Hook Up" icon next to her name, he shivers in anticipation of hearing her voice.
The sultry sound that answers stiffens him the rest of the way. "Hello, handsome."
"Hi there," he returns, settling back against the couch and putting his feet up. "How's it going?"
"Well," she pouts, "I'm having a rough time right now." He loves the teasing note in her voice—it's making his heart pound faster and his cock stiffer.
"I'm sorry to hear that. What's the problem?"
"I'm dripping wet, horny for a big, strong man. But I'm all alone. I don't suppose you could take care of me, could you?"
"It seems we both have a problem, then. You see, I'm sitting here with a cock as stiff as iron and no pussy in sight to take care of me." He unzips his pants and takes his straining prick out, stroking it slowly.
"Sounds like we could do each other a favor, then," she coos. "Want to meet up? I could come to your place."
As if. No way in hell is he letting a stranger into his home. Still, he wants this woman. Needs her. And there are many ways to meet that don't involve his loft.
"I'd prefer a hotel. Somewhere close to both of us."
"You got money?" Her voice has changed, the sultriness gone as a curt, no nonsense tone replaces it. It's as though the tap pumping out scalding water had suddenly turned cold. He stops stroking, focusing on her words.
"I got enough to live on. You got nice tits? Since we're asking and all."
She laughs. "Yeah, honey. I got the perkiest set money can buy. They're fucking fantastic."
"I'd love to find out. What are you offering?"
"The night of your life, big boy. I'll let you do anything you want to me. For two grand."
He sits straight up, feeling like an icy bucket of water had been poured into his lap. "What?"
"Two grand, though if you're big enough to satisfy me I'll knock it down to one and a half."
"I don't pay for sex, sweetheart. Find some other sucker."
He hangs up, disappointed after getting so worked up. Standing, he splashes a generous portion of his best scotch into a glass and knocks it back. Okay, so that hadn't gone so well. Sitting down again, his head lolls back against the cushion as the burn of the alcohol sizzles through his veins. Let's face it: that was a fucking Titanic, iceberg and all. He'd ground against it and sunk. But it still didn't change the facts. He needs a release, and it has to be someone new.
Picking up the phone again, he flicks through some more pics. Faster and faster as nothing appeals, until he almost scrolls past. Holy crap. If this is really her picture, she's beautiful.
No, that's not right: she's fucking breathtaking.
"Don't get any ideas," he cautions his cock. He really is losing it if he's having conversations with Ricky Junior now. "She's probably already accepted a hook up. Woman like that won't last on here."
Ricky Junior pays no attention. He's all for hitting chat and getting the woman in bed. Rick stares at her picture for another moment, then hits the button. Expecting nothing, he nearly chokes when the call is answered immediately.
"Hello?" Her voice is hesitant, unsure. She sounds like she's ready to hang up before he's even said a word. Total opposite of the previous conversation. Which is not such a bad thing.
Tamping down the nervous energy zinging through his body, he takes a deep breath and blows it out. Time for the master angler to go to work. This beautiful fish will be in his net before she knows what happened.
"Hi," he rumbles. It's a fine line to sound friendly but not overeager. "How are you tonight?"
There's a pause and he finds he's holding his breath. His heartbeat speeds up as he waits for her to say something…anything. He's not had to work this hard to get what he wants for a long, long time.
"I, uh—I'm okay, I guess." He hears her sigh. "You know, I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. I've never used this app before."
He gives a slight chuckle. "Me either. Guess I was a little bored. I was looking through the pics and saw yours and…well, I just wanted to talk to you. Can't really explain it."
"You mean—you've never hooked up on this app before?" The doubt in her voice is absolutely charming. It's clear she's still very unsure about this situation. It makes him burn ever hotter to meet her.
"No. I talked to someone on it, but…well, I don't know if I should tell you what happened."
A sharp intake of breath comes through the phone. "What? Tell me."
"I dunno," he huffs, "you might think less of me."
"I don't even know you. What do you have to lose?"
She's interested—or at least she's not hung up on him, so he decides to see if he can reel her in a bit. "Wellll, to be honest? She scared me."
There's a giggle from the other end and he lets himself relax a bit. "She scared you? How could she scare you?"
He lets out a poof of air and continues to spin his reel. "She came on way too strong, you know? Like I was just some bit of fresh meat. It just—just didn't feel right. I'm Rick, by the way."
"Huh?"
"You said you didn't know me. Well, now you do. I'm Rick. Nice to talk to you tonight."
There's a pause, and for a sick second he's sure she's off the line. His grin when she answers would rival the Cheshire Cat.
"I'm Kate. Nice to talk to you, Rick."
"So, what made you decide to try this out tonight, Kate?"
She sighs, but it's like she's settling in for a long talk. He sits back and puts his feet back up on the table in front of the sofa. "It was something my friend said. She's the one who put this app on my phone in the first place. I'd never heard of it."
"Yeah? What'd she say?"
There's a long pause and a distinct grumble. "I'm kind of a workaholic. She said I needed to have some fun, and since I absolutely refuse to let her set me up anymore, she said I should try this."
"She sounds like a wise woman." His voice is deep, channeling gravitas from the national newsmen. He hears her laugh again. It's one of the most charming sounds he's ever heard.
"She is. Wise. Well, sometimes. She's a doctor."
"You should always listen to your doctor."
"Maybe. I still haven't decided if she was right about this."
"What will it take to convince you? 'Cause I'm a pretty convincing guy."
"For one thing, why are you on here tonight, Rick?" There's a note of anxiety in her voice, and his heart gives a lurch. This is it: the moment where it all hinges in the balance.
"I'm lonely." It's a stark confession, and way more real than he'd intended to be. Perhaps her anxiety has bled into him. "I—I've not been in a real relationship since my divorce four years ago. I've got work issues of my own, and it just seems like everyone wants something from me but no one sees that I'm starting to crumble under the pressure. So, I thought that for one night…for one night, I'd let myself forget. Just let go and be with someone who doesn't know me. That I don't owe anything to. I can just be myself."
She's silent, like she's waiting for him to ask. Maybe she's too new to this to be the initiator. That's ok—he has no problem helping her along. "Can you do that for me, Kate? Make me forget?"
The pause is so long, he actually takes his phone off his shoulder to check that they're still connected. He almost misses her reply in the process.
"I can."