Page 19 of Stroked
“She’s gay?”
“Oh my God, focus! She was at my apartment! And she has my cell number. And she wants to come back this week. I don’t even know how this happened. How much did we drink last night?”
“I mean, we knocked some back, but still. How? She’sgay? Really?”
“She’s either gay, bi, or horribly confused because she fucked my brains out last night and this morning.”
“It’s not even eight, how did you already fit that in? Never mind, how did this even happen? You never take anyone home.”
“I know! And I don’t know. You left, I finished my beer, and stood to leave. The next thing I know, we are on the sofa and my face was in her crotch.”
“Rude, I don’t need all that. But what happened? She just followed you home? I don’t understand how you went from the club to the sofa. And also, gross. Now I can’t sit there.”
“Oh, like you and Jason didn’t already ruin that sofa,” I shot back.
“Fair. But really, what the hell happened when I left?” Lucy asked.
“Literally, I got up to leave, I was getting cash out for Jaz, then she made a comment she had too much to drink, so I offered to help her get a ride share. She said she thought maybe she could come home with me and drive herself home in the morning. Also, she saidyoutold her it was nearby.”
“I was making conversation. I need her to bring that band back to the club. There’s only so much small talk I can think of. You and Jason are my whole life, you know,” Lucy said.
“Fair. But anyway. At first, I told her I didn’t know if it was a good idea–but, I can’t explain it. She looked at me, and that damn accent…”
“She looked at you? Did she pop her boob out or something? I’ve seen lots of women throw themselves at you and you never lose your cool.”
“No, she didn’t pop her boob out. Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Holy shit. You like her!” she squealed.
“Do I? Is that what this is? I am so all over the place, Luce. And I don’t like it. Literally, everything she said to do, I did it. Like she has some spell over me or something. This isn’t me!” I yelled back into the speakers.Seriously, where the hell is the mic for the Bluetooth?
“Amy, it’s okay to like someone. I know it’s not normal for you, so baby steps. Did you tell her you would call or text her today?”
“She told me to. She wants to come back over for dinner this week. But even if I wanted to have her over everyday, I have so much shit to do at work this week! Why did this happen last night of all nights? And damnit, I’m pulling into the parking lot. But text me stuff. This is not okay.”
“It’s more than okay. Just breathe. Call me on the way home, but maybe just text her at lunch time and let her know if tonight is workable for you. But I want more details later! Love you, bitch.”
“Love you, bitch. I’ll call you later.” I hung up and turned the car off. I grabbed my bag and my coffee and headed inside.
“Good morning, Miss Lindsey,” the receptionist said as I walked past.
“Good morning. Any messages for me?” I asked.
“No, ma’am, but you are quite early,” she replied.
“Big week this week. Can you please hold calls today? I have a lot to do.”
The receptionist nodded as I rushed past her to my office. I shut the door and leaned against it. I think I held it together. She didn’t seem to notice I was halfway hungover.
I tossed my bag down and sat at my desk to login for the day. I reviewed my calendar, checked my emails, replied to the ones that couldn’t wait, and finished my coffee. I pulled a bottle of water from my mini-fridge and drank it quickly. Slamming the bottle down on the desk took me back to this morning, when I was slamming my hands on the counter.
A knock at the door sucked me from my moment.
“Miss Lindsey, are you in?”Shit, it was my assistant.
“Come on in, James,” I answered.
The door opened, and my amazing and flamboyant assistant made his grand entrance. I got to hire my own assistant and we hit it off instantly. I liked that he was young and fresh, not far out of art school and was working on a master’s in business online. Plus, he was pretty to look at. I didn’t romantically like men or find them sexually attractive, but he dressed nicely and groomed his face and hair better than most women I knew. I was an artist, I liked pretty things. He was also bilingual, and I wasn’t.
