Matched

The door closes behind him and I relax, leaning back in my chair.

I close my eyes for a few moments, relieved that he's gone and out of my hair for at least twenty hours. Maybe now I can focus on work instead of imagining what it would be like if the two of us were lovers on top of being business partners.

The next day, after my total-waste-of-time meeting with my staff, I grab my luggage and bag and take a taxi to the airport, checking in and sitting in the lounge to wait for my flight.

Of course, I get a text from Jon.

JON: I'm in the airport in Atlanta waiting for my flight to Washington. You really should have come with me. I have a beautiful first-class seat and you would have had one too if you weren't so damn stubborn.

I can't help but smile at his obvious frustration and attempt to make me regret my decision.

INDIA: You always told me that my stubbornness is why I'm successful. I refuse to compromise. I want the best and am willing to work – or wait – to get it. That's true. I want the best, Jon. In all parts of my life.

JON: You've made that perfectly clear. Let me know when you have your answer. I can wait.

I can tell that he’s frustrated. If he had his way, we'd be going at it in the airport bathroom right now. That thought makes me squirm a bit and I feel a little breathless at the thought. Knowing him, he'd wear me out.

I can’t help but think I want him to wear me out.

I want to feel well-used, my body aching from him and for him.

My trip goes as planned, with only a short delay when I get to Atlanta due to some storms in the region. I arrive in DC and gather my luggage, take a taxi to the hotel we always stay at, and I check in. It's late. I put my suitcase on the stand, turn on the television, take out my laptop, and crash on the bed.

In fact, I'm exhausted. The room is dark except for the television and my laptop. I fall asleep with the channel tuned to CNN and my laptop playing the latest Casey Neistat vlog.

A knock at my door wakes me up and I check my cell. It's after midnight.

Crap. That has to be Jon.

I check my cell and see that he's sent me seven texts that I haven't seen. The sound of the television and the videos must have drowned out the sound of my cell dinging when each text arrived. I scroll through his texts quickly. He sent me a text earlier asking if he can come by and talk.

Yeah, right.

Talk. People don't talk at this late at night.

They fuck.

The next text is from a few minutes later.

JON: Are you in your room? I think we should talk. I have a bottle of wine.

Fifteen minutes later:

JON: It's really good wine. Nice body. I promise I won’t touch you. I just want to talk. No nookie. I promise.

Another fifteen minutes:

JON: Are you purposely ignoring me? Come on, India. We're almost best friends. I need my ABFF.

An hour later:

JON: You haven't answered my text. Are you okay?

Another fifteen minutes later:

JON: Please respond so I know you're alive and not abducted by some serial killer who stalks expensive hotels.

Another text comes, almost two hours after the first.