Mister Weston

Not giving it a second thought, I hit “call.” It rang once. It rang twice, and before I could come to my senses and hang up, he answered.

“Hello, Gillian.” The deep, sexy sound of his voice caught me completely off guard. “Hello? Gillian?”

“Yes?”

“I believe you called me.” There was a smile in his voice. “May I help you with something?”

“I’m having a bad day and I really need someone to talk to.”

Silence.

“Don’t worry, you’re my absolute last resort and you technically don’t have to respond to anything,” I said. “I just need to get a few things off my chest and then you can hang up. Are you there?”

“I shouldn’t be.”

I took that as a yes.

“Well, first—” I adjusted my pillows and lay back. “I’m sorry for standing you up in Dallas the other day.”

He laughed. “Surely that’s not one of the things you need to get off your chest, Gillian.” He sounded as if he was in bed, too. “And I would be more inclined to believe that you were sorry if you weren’t continuing to text me, “Fuck you and your lack of talking,” every couple of days since.”

I smiled and held back a laugh.

“I have a flight in six hours,” he said. “Hurry up and spit out all of your unnecessary words so I can hang up and go to sleep in peace.”

“Okay...Wait. Can I ask you something minor first?”

“No.”

“Who in your family was it?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure the word ‘no’ has a pretty standard definition...”

“Who in your family, or who close to you, was an English teacher?”

He was silent for a few seconds. “What makes you ask that?”

“The way you talk, your obsession with grammar in simple emails and texts. Not to mention the fact that you clearly have a thing for definitions. I wanted to ask you on Wednesday but—”

“You stood me up.” He cut me off, sounding slightly upset, but then his tone changed. “It was my mother.”

“Are the two of you close?”

“I’m hanging up in ten minutes, Gillian. Say whatever you have to say about your day.”

“Right...” I let out a breath. “I hate my family. Every single one of them. I literally cringe when they call me, and I wish I’d been born to anyone else, anyone else with the semblance of a soul.” I heard the soft sound of TV conversations in his background and continued. “They only call me when they want to feel better about themselves, when they want to remind me that I could’ve done something more with my life. And I hate that I wasted my first few years in New York trying to accomplish something in spite of them, all to end up being the same disappointment they first marked me to be...” I stopped right there, remembering all my hopeful blog posts from years ago, how they came to a sudden, necessary end.

“Are you finished now?” Jake asked.

“Yes. You can hang up now. I actually feel somewhat better. Thank you for listening.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I wasn’t going to hang up, though.”

“Were you going to give me some advice?”

“You don’t need advice,” he said. “I think you’re well aware that some families are simply poison and there’s nothing you can do about it. Although, I think you’re being slightly overdramatic and you don’t really hate them. I don’t think you have any idea what true hatred of someone could mean.”

“You got all that from that story? Would you like me to tell you another one?”

“No...” His voice was a demanding whisper. “I’d rather hear the story about why you didn’t show up to fuck me, why you think I’m going to continue to put up with that shit.”

“I was upset with you...I was trying to teach you a lesson.”

“Was the lesson how to piss me off? How to leave my cock hard and waiting for pussy I never got?”

“No...” I felt my cheeks reddening. “I was just angry with you.”

“Then you ‘just’ really should’ve showed up.” His voice was low. “I waited for you for an hour because I though you were playing games like before. I was looking forward to burying my face in your pussy, tasting your clit with my tongue.”

I was silent, but my fingers were tracing the hem of my soaked panties.

“You can’t decide to randomly break our rules when you want to—especially not when it gets between me having you.”

“You say that as if you really like me.”

“I really like your pussy,” he said. “But seeing as though I have yet to experience your mouth around my cock, that may be subject to change in the future.”

I bit my lip as he breathed heavily over the line, as he sounded even angrier.

“You’re not going to say shit about fucking up my entire weekend for the second week in a row?” he asked. “Making it so I have to wait another full week for you?”