Passions Prologue

By Dana Keylits

Chapter Fifteen: You've Got Mail

Day Eight

I was sleeping in for the first time in weeks and of course the phone just had to ring, it's ear-piercing, 'da-da-da-da-da,' echoing loudly from the cinderblock walls. I reached on the floor beneath me, my eyes still closed, my fingers splayed out, and instead of picking the damn thing up I sent it spinning beneath my bed.

I groaned.

Yesterday was the first day I'd not had any time with Bette, unless you counted the time we'd spent on the phone. Or, the time she'd been in my mind. In my fantasies. Doing things to me.

Sinful things.

I smiled, remembering, a spark of desire needling me there, a twinge, the ghosted memory of her lips on my flesh, a slight flushing of my cheeks.

Mmmmm.

I'd spent the day before studying, catching up on all of my reading. I'd even managed to get some time in at the library doing research for the term paper that was due at the end of the semester, a date that was fast approaching, and so I didn't get to sleep until nearly 2 a.m.

Of course my dreams had been filled with her. With her hands and lips, her scent, her whispers of sin and pleasure, secrets and forbidden desires. She had been all long legs and flowing hair, and she'd occupied me, stolen me, taken me places I'd never even dreamed, and at one point, in the middle of the night, I'd awoken with a start, an unexpected orgasm crashing through me.

Holy fuck.

But, now my phone was yelling at me from beneath the bed and all I wanted was to sleep in. Whoever it was had better have a good reason for calling me so damn early, I'd thought. Groaning, and with one eye open, I launched myself out of the bed and reached beneath it, my fingers curling around the spindly antenna, pulling it towards me as I knelt beside the bed.

Blowing an errant strand of hair out of my eyes, both of them open now, I knelt at the bed, my elbows against the mattress, and checked the caller I.D.

It was mom.

I rolled my eyes.

No matter how many times I'd tried to remind her, she'd always forget about the three hour time difference and call at the ungodliest of hours. Every time I complained about it, she'd apologize and vow to remember next time.

She never remembered.

I climbed back into bed and said a sleepy 'hello', hoping this was going to be a quick conversation so I could get back to sleep.

But, mom had other ideas, as she usually did, and I ended up on the phone for over an hour talking about everything under the sun, including some mysterious new case she was working on. She didn't say much about it, just something about righting a nine-year old wrong, which, pretty much described every case she'd worked on.

I didn't tell her about Bette. I don't know why. I wasn't ashamed, but, I just didn't want to have that conversation. I wasn't ready to make any bold declarations about who I was, or who I loved (loved?), or how I identified myself, which, I still didn't know myself. And, while I didn't see being with Bette as a big deal, I knew my parents would.

So, until I knew where I stood with Bette, I'd decided it was better to keep those cards close to my vest. I was going home during winter break, to spend Christmas with my parents, if things with Bette were still progressing, I could always tell them then.

Yawning but wide awake, I wrapped myself up in the homemade blanket my mom had insisted I bring to school with me, and stumbled over to the coffee maker to prepare a pot of my favorite brew. Then I settled in at my desk, firing up my computer. I was hoping that maybe Bette had emailed me during the night, as she sometimes did, to seduce me with her innermost thoughts, her carnal observations. My cheeks grew hot with anticipation, a familiar stirring in my belly, my lips curving, my breath shallow, hoping, pining , praying to see something from her.

You've got mail!

Damnit! As I scanned the page, I could already tell there was nothing from Bette.

I slumped against my chair, disappointed, and scrolled down the list of emails in my inbox. There was an email about an upcoming Nebula-9 convention, a couple of emails from my mom and dad, and then a junk email that I was about to delete but didn't because something caught my eye. It was about an authors reading and signing event at a bookstore in San Francisco.

And, it was Richard Castle.

My heart skipped a beat, my stomach flip flopped, and I looked closer at the screen. The event was today. I glanced at the clock in the lower right hand corner of the screen. I had plenty of time to get dressed, jump on my Harley, and get there in time for the reading.

But why?

What was it about this guy that intrigued me so much?

As I heard the last drops of coffee plunk into the pot, I unfolded myself from my task chair and sauntered over to pour a cup, then I picked up Bette's copy of Dead Man's Chest, Castle's ninth book, and turned it over in my hands. I found myself staring at the back flap.

Man he was ruggedly handsome.

I was nearly finished with the book. It was good, it was very good, and I'd been meaning to buy some of his earlier novels, to dive right into his body of work, and maybe today was the perfect opportunity to do that.

And, while I was at it, maybe I could meet this Richard Castle in the flesh.

'You've got mail!'

I spun around to stare at the computer screen, and then tentatively wandered over to it, not wanting my hopes to be crushed.

I shouldn't have worried.

It was Bette.

She wanted me.

A/N: I apologize for the delay between updates. I needed a bit of a vacation from writing. But, I'm back now, and will resume my regular schedule. Thanks for sticking with me. And, thanks to KJ for all of the ideas she's going to be sending my way! Yes, I am expecting GREAT things! :-)