I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) Page 13

  Then I heard a man’s voice say, “You look so beautiful.”

  My eyes shot open. Mark stood there above us. I didn’t know what to do. There I was, moved past civilized behavior, enjoying every single lapping kiss my new lover gave the most precious part of me. Staring up at Mark, a man I barely knew, but who had come into my life at a time when I really needed him, I searched his face for judgment and found none. He looked at me like he knew the conflict I was under. He touched my face to let me know it was okay. He bent and kissed me while James slid his tongue inside me and made me cry out into Mark’s forgiving mouth. I begged Mark with my kisses, to understand.

  Then it got weird.

  I noticed that Mark’s eyes were blue instead of brown. He was shorter, too. Confused, I looked to James, buried in me, my panties long gone. He peeked up and his eyes were brown! One was becoming the other, both soon indistinguishable.

  “Switch places,” James said to Mark, standing up and wiping his mouth proudly, like a man who knew he was good. As they crossed paths, I heard James say, “Make her beg for it.”

  “She’ll beg for it alright,” Mark said, half to me, half to James. I felt like I should say something too, but even if I could speak, I didn’t know what to say! I didn’t know what I wanted. I looked to Amy and her expressionless face. Was I like her? Was she like me?

  “Shhh…” James touched his fingers to my mouth to silence me. I hadn’t objected. Did he expect me to? Was I supposed to? Tell me what to do! He ran those fingers from my mouth, down my neck, and over my breasts where he popped open my bra and fondled each, one at a time. Amy leaned to him and he to her. They began to kiss, above me. Should I stop them? I had no claim on him, nor did I feel jealous. Why didn’t I feel jealous?

  Then all robot eyes shot to Mark and I followed to see what they were looking at. Standing in front of me, he pulled out a cock so enormous that I gasped. Oohs and Ahhs came from the audience as he showed it to them and stroked it in front of all of us, his head thrown back from the pleasure, and the exhibition that doubled it.

  I wanted to yell, I’m too tight for that thing and at the same time scream, yes! Yes! Yes! When I felt Mark’s gigantic rock-hard cock plunge into and fill me, I cried out in ecstasy. When he pushed his slim hips up, to get the extra inches deeply in, it felt so incredible I wanted to cry. I turned my head away from our audience, terrified there was something wrong with me, as delicious goosebumps overtook my body. Over and over he hammered me, bringing me off the desk with his size, throwing off James’ hands as I surrendered.

  “Hold onto this,” James said and pulled out his cock from his tight pants. I opened my mouth to lick it, grabbing it longingly with my hands as well. I felt again and again the pressure of being penetrated from Mark while James moaned above me, loving my talent. The audience burst into crazy enthusiastic applause. Amy jumped up and down and yelled, “Bravo! Bravissimo!”

  I let go of James and pointed for everyone to look, because tearing through the crowd, three times her normal size, her perpetual ponytail standing on end like an angered cobra, was The Bitch. “You greedy whore! You greedy fucking slut-whore! You can’t have them both! They’re mine! MINE!!!” she screeched as she grabbed both of my lovers, tossing them half-naked into the air. They disappeared instantly, along with what little clothing covered my body. Completely naked and vulnerable to her, I jumped off the desk to stand in front of her. I was about to confront her for the first time ever. Clumsily, I grabbed a blue folder and a handful of pens to cover myself, albeit imperfectly. Then I yelled, “I may be a whore, but at least I’m not an evil bitch!”

  She roared the words I’ve waited four years to hear: “YOU’RE FIRED!”

  Then I woke up. What does it mean?

  Now, way too early on a Saturday morning, I ride the subway with less than four hours of sleep. I’m holding onto a cup of coffee for dear life, because this yummy little latte-goodness is my salvation. It alone is the answer. It promises to build a beautiful bridge to sanity. As soon as I can drink it, without ripping off a layer of my tongue. Hot hot hot.

  I’m clutching this future blessed happiness while standing in surf-mode as the train speeds through the tunnels below Manhattan. I used to think Amber was a germaphobe nutcase, because she never touched the poles in subway cars. They’re here for people to hold onto, so why not grab on? But no, she’d do what I’m doing now- ride hands-free, bending her knees slightly, swaying with the rocky movement as though riding a ten-foot wave in the Atlantic. I would mock her, to her face. During those rides, she’d tell me I should be more careful. You should be less careful, I’d say. And then we’d laugh like we always did when we don’t agree on something, both thinking this is so US.

  Why have I adopted that which I used to mock? Because one day when Amber wasn’t with me, I saw a crack-addict walk through, yelling his scary rehearsed speech to us, the captive passengers. Slowly and methodically, he touched each and every pole, until there were no more poles to grab. A horrified awareness dawned in me. That awareness told me that yet again, my highly intelligent friend Amber, was right. He had at least five pus-filled sores on his lips from pipe burn. His clothes were soiled with both feces and urine. (He smelled less than tasty.) Studying him in horror, I realized that since his pants had poo and pee on them, why would his hands be saved? I yanked my hand from the pole I was holding, and I have never touched a subway pole, since. I won’t tell Amber that, though.

  As the car slides up the tracks toward 42nd St./Bryant Park, the hum soothes my sleepy mind to a dreamlike state and I ask myself – how it is possible that two fantastic men want to see me at the same time? And more importantly, why aren’t I more excited? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem…hmm. The weird thing is, I barely know either of them. James surprised me yesterday by handling me and my freak out, with aplomb. I can gather from this that he’s pretty good under pressure. Good to know. But what else do I know about him? And what does he know about me? He hasn’t asked me any questions about myself. I’m guilty of that offense, too. Until recently, what little I knew of him was on par with what I know about everyone at the office… nothing. And now, I know only slightly more than that. Our chemistry is strong, that’s obvious. You know what it is that’s stopping me? I feel like he –

  The train is slowing down. Is this my stop? No. Two more to go. I’m so tired.

  What was I saying? Oh yeah, Mark. Mark was easy to get along with. When we went out to Indian food, he was great to the staff, tried all the dishes – even though he was wary of some, at first. We had an okay conversation, mostly weather and stuff. We didn’t go into anything, in depth. Being with him scared the shit out of me, but maybe I was scared only because it was so soon after David’s blow. Plus, his living in San Francisco spelled imminent heartache, despite that fact that our elevator ride made the idea very tempting.

  I can’t date both. I’m not a two-guy girl, regardless of my dream. I’ve had dreams about women, too, but sleeping with a woman isn’t my thing, either. Fun dreams, though. I would go nuts trying to date two guys at once. Look at me now! Case in point. Why is this so confusing?!

  Is this my stop? No. One more. Sigh.

  Life was so much easier when I was living with a boyfriend. The whole “relationship thing” was handled, and I could get a good night’s sleep. I was lied to and cheated on, yes…but I was in ignorant bliss, so I slept like a champ. This coffee smells so good. Maybe it’s cool enough to drink. (sip) OUCH. Ouch. Ouch. Owwwwch. Burnt my tongue. Perfect.

  “You’re going to Fashion Week, right?” a woman’s voice to my left interrupts my self-pity.

  I give her a groggy sideways glance and recognize her instantly as one of the models from the shows. Wonderful. I’m sure I look fantastic right about now. I fake-smile back, holding my cup close to my nose so I can breath it in. Is caffeine inhalable? “Yeah, I’m going. You?”

  Models are mutants. I’m a Midwestern girl, and I’m pretty, but I am nothing compared to this chic
k, so I don’t even try to stand up straighter and compete. Fuck it. As we approach our stop, the model’s unflawed face scans my outfit. It’s nothing special since I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm today. (Story of my life when it comes to work, lately.) I pretend not to see her disappointment. Please leave me alone. I’m sleeping.

  Even her voice is pretty as she says from the heavens, “Yeah, I’m in a couple shows today. You work at the magazine with Brittany, don’t you.”

  It’s more of a statement than a question, so I don’t bother to answer it. Instead I ask, “You know Brittany? Huh. She doesn’t really work there, though. She’s a…I mean… she’s an intern.” Almost said ‘minion.’ Oops.

  “Huh. Well, I heard she was getting hired now. Something about someone putting in a good word for her? You’re Jessica… right?”

  “Yep. That’s me. Are you guys friends?”

  The knowing look in her face is horrifying as she smirks, “I’m her sister. Yeah. She tells me everything.”

  I gulp. I pause. I smell my coffee for comfort. “Everything?”

  The nameless skyscraper mutant answers, her mouth moving in slow motion, “Evvvveryyyyything.” I stare, speechless as she grows horns and a tail. A fire scepter magically appears in her hand and she gleefully spikes it through a window, causing shards of glass to burst and fly into my hair. Or maybe she’s just standing there looking smug. I’m sleep-deprived.

  We all jerk with the train as it stops, except for the devil princess who merely sways. As the doors swoosh open, she looks away first (which I want to kick myself for), and strolls off the train as though all of New York City is her fabulous runway. People clap. They throw flowers. They get out of the way; bow low, to say, “You first, please.” David Bowie appears out of nowhere and sings to her, bent down on one skinny, genius knee.

  Me? No. Me, they don’t see. I’m so invisible in fact, that as I stand there stunned to discover that Brittany hasn’t kept her damn mouth shut like she promised, some oversized idiot knocks into me and sends my beloved salvation flying through the air. “Noooooooooo!” I scream, watching, helpless as it bounces once (just long enough to give me false hope) before the lid bursts off and my coffee explodes all over the platform… lost to everything but the soles of my shoes, forever.

  The surrounding New Yorkers try to dodge it, but few succeed. “Great!!” “NO!” “Shit!” and “Oh, come ON!” are among some of the more tame verbal epithets thrown at me. In Michigan, people would have consoled me. This is bullshit.

  Stepping onto the puddle, I growl, “You all suck.”

  At Bryant Park

  As soon as I walk into the tents, Diego, our photographer, stops me to ask, “Custo Barcelona or Project Runway?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They have shows at the same time.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not kidding you.”

  “When do they start?”

  He looks at me like I’m ill because he knows I normally have stuff like this memorized. “2 p.m.?”

  “Right. Okay. Sorry. I have to check some things and get back to you. Find me later.”

  “You got it. Need some coffee?”

  I grab him, almost burst into tears and squeeze him tight. “YES! I will love you forever!”

  He laughs and wiggles out of my arms, embarrassed. “Go sit outside. Get some fresh air. I’ll bring it out to you.” He takes off. This is the first time he will save me, this day.

  Outside the tents I find a nice shady spot on a bench beneath a tree. I put my bag down beside me and pull out my work iPad. It’s time to go on Twitter, Facebook, and Google + to see audience interaction and hard numbers. Social media will be the deciding factor in who we cover, not talent. So sad.

  An email alert chimes and I pick up my phone to read Mark’s name. Uh-oh. I didn’t respond to him yet, did I? Maybe he’s writing to retract his invite. Nervously, I open it. “Hi. I don’t have your phone number. Hoping you got my email. Not sure. Coming to New York next weekend. Take you out on Friday? – Mark.”

  I look up to the sky for a sign and close my eyes to send a silent prayer. C’mon guardian angels. What should I say to Mark?

  I open my eyes. Across the courtyard, Brittany and her mutant sister stand looking at me and talking to one another with nasty expressions. They’re even doing that shitty thing where they half-cover their mouths to hide their moving lips, making it even more obvious they’re being shitty. I look back down to Mark’s email. Knowing people are talking about me is a terrible feeling. It makes me feel very, very alone.

  Oh! This is my sign! I prayed and got the answer. Quick, too! I’m the subject of gossip because I made the mistake of sleeping with a co-worker. This whole thing with James has been a wild error of judgment and is causing me so much anxiety. From Brittany walking in on us to the absolute TERROR I have in my belly every time I see The Bitch…. It’s just not the best idea to keep seeing him.

  Amber was right again. I won’t tell her that, though.

  So that’s it, then. I choose Mark. I’ll see Mark on Friday. There will be no accidental run-ins with anyone who could inspire stress about dating him. He’ll go back home, three thousand miles away and I’ll be safe from drama and gossip. Safe and alone. This is a good choice. Okay. I feel better.

  I begin to reply yes to Mark, for Friday, but Diego arrives with my coffee. I drop my phone in my bag and take the coffee in both hands. Mmmm…. “I love you! You are the best. Diego, what do you think of Brittany?”

  “Brittany?” He looks over at her just as she walks away with her beautiful snarky sister, off to gossip about little people and the homeless. “She’s okay. She doesn’t like you, though.”

  I blow on my coffee to cool it, holding the lid in one hand, and look at him. “No?”

  “What it is with girls? You guys are so nasty to each other.” He shakes his head and shrugs.

  I frown. “We’re not all like that.”

  He disagrees, “When you guys get mad, you’re out for blood.”

  “You guys beat each other up!”

  “Nah. Yours is psychological. It’s way more fuckin’ badass.” He makes a cat-clawing gesture, complete with stereotypical meow-hiss. I hate that. He has a point, though.

  “So what did she say about me?” I ask ever so innocently and friendly-like.

  “No way. I’m not gettin’ in the middle. No way. Who am I shootin’ at 2 p.m.?” Nice change of subject, Diego. Well played.

  “I haven’t had a chance to research it, yet. You came back with my coffee so fast. You’re my hero, Diego, seriously. I so needed this.” I bat my long eyelashes at him.

  He smiles, “Aww… you looked like you needed it. Glad I could help.”

  “I appreciate it sooooo much, though.” I reach out and touch his arm for half a second. Feminine manipulation. Don’t hate me.

  He smile grows to a sheepish grin and as he goes to leave, he turns, walks backwards and says, “I’d be careful of her though, Jess. I think she’s after your job.”

  She is, huh? Thank you, Diego.

  An Hour Later

  “Psst…”

  I quickly look over my left shoulder at the sound. There’s no one there. I’m pretty sure I heard someone… so that’s weird. I look back to my phone where I’m playing Amber in a mean game of Scramble With Friends. I have a blessed quiet moment in between shows and phone calls. I’m addicted to this app. She’s kicking my butt as usual, getting seventy to eighty words to my fifty or sixty, but I’m learning. One day I will beat her! I swear it.

  “Psst…”

  What the fuck? I jerk my head up, look to where the sound came from, but there’s no one there, only a tent wall. So annoying. Oh no! I didn’t hit pause! My time ran out and I’ve only got forty-eight words found. Dammit. She’s going to think I’m a moron. That’s not fair. She’s already got an advantage over me without my giving her one.

  Oh wait. I look at the tent. I�
��m really dense sometimes. That sound had to be James hiding and trying to get my attention. I scoot closer to the wall, my eyes glued to the phone in an attempt to appear casual. I cough and it sounds loud and ridiculous. It’s a good thing I didn’t go into acting because I’d be terrible.

  “Get in here,” he whispers from the other side.

  It’s not a good idea for me to go in there. But I can’t just leave him there! Can I? Probably not. I should take this opportunity to tell him face to face that I can’t go out with him on Friday. That’s the right thing to do. Here goes. Looking at my phone with far more concentration than is necessary, I wait for the right moment, clear my throat and say, “(Cough) How?”

  “Anyone around?” he whispers.

  A woman walks by and looks at me oddly to ascertain whether or not she just saw me talking to a tent. Time to do yoga. I stretch and pretend I am talking to myself. Giving myself a pep talk. I stretch my arms in the air. Muscles are so tight. Etc. Etc. Have to stretch. “Oh yeah. THAT’S the spot. Much better. Let all the stress just wash away.” When she rounds a corner, I whisper to him, “Yep.”

  From a fold I didn’t see, his hand bursts out, grabs my arm and yanks me inside. I yelp and fall into his arms. He pulls me tightly against his chest. “I’ve been waiting in here for awhile.”

  Nervous laugh from me. He smells delicious. “What are you doing here, anyway, James? Does Human Resources even need to be at Fashion Week?”

  He pauses before he answers, looking into my eyes at this close distance. “Not really, no. I’m here because I like doing things with you in dark corners.”