Ask Him (Mess with Me 1.50)

I chuckle, only now able to see the design on the cotton. Purple and pink unicorns cover the fabric. As pissed off as I am, I can’t help laughing. Only Casey could wear such unsexy panties and still have me panting for more. Maybe it’s a metaphor for this whole situation. She’s like this mythical creature that I’ve only dreamed up. Hell, maybe I had one too many beers last night and the whole thing was a dream.

Then I’m hit with a visceral memory of her tight, wet heat as I slid inside her, the way she moaned in my ear and shuddered beneath me every time she came.

That wasn’t a dream. It was the best damn sex I’ve ever had. And instead of enjoying more of it, I’m standing in the middle of a basic hotel room with a stiff dick holding the most ridiculous panties I’ve ever seen.

My phone is still on the night stand where I put it last night. I’m checking for messages when it hits me. We never exchanged numbers. I don’t even think I got her last name. I look over at her side of the bed again and that’s when I see the note propped up on the other night stand. I crawl over the bed and snatch it eagerly. It’s just two lines scrawled on the hotel stationery.

Last night was amazing.

You really are my lucky charm.

I stare at the paper in disbelief. That’s it? Just two lines and she didn’t even sign her name?

Then I see that she’s written something on the outside. When I peer closer what I see scrawled there only makes me feel worse.

No, what I see written there makes my blood boil.

“Who the fuck is Andrew?”

9

“Okay, the investigator got nothing.”

Jason sits on the edge of my desk as he delivers the bad news. Not that I didn't know it was coming.

“Our social media team tried to find her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I’m at a loss as to what to do next. I’m this close to calling my ex-girlfriend and asking for her help. No one can stalk someone like her. Trust me. I know this from experience.”

It's been a week and I've tried everything. I waited in the lobby of the hotel that morning hoping she might come back. After that I called ASI, the private security firm we’ve been using while in the States. The owner, Elliott Alexander, took the case personally after his employees failed to find anything. He tried the name Casey, spelled with both a K and a C. He tried the initials K.C.

Eventually he concluded that without a last name, or certainty that I even have the correct first name, it would be virtually impossible to find her.

That’s when I went on the hunt.

I went back to the bar where we had drinks that night and asked around. That just got me thrown out. Apparently asking about a girl when you don’t know her last name or anything else about her other than what her pussy tastes like is considered creepy.

Then I went to the coffee shop where we first met and got nothing for my trouble other than a few more bad lattes. The girl behind the counter kept looking at me like I was a serial killer when I tried to describe Casey. To be fair, it’s hard to describe a sexy woman without sounding like a pervert. If I can’t mention her round ass and perky tits then all I’m left with is brown hair, brown eyes and the ability to make me laugh. A smile that makes me feel warm inside. A kiss that turns me on and also makes me want to protect her.

None of those things have been helpful in identifying her. And each day, I’m losing hope. The facts are in my face and have been getting more clear by the day. Casey either doesn’t exist or she doesn’t want to be found.

I’m not sure which I find more alarming.

Jason sighs. “I get that this is frustrating but it's just one girl. Hell, I'll go with you back to the bar and we can find another one.”

“I don't want another one,” I mutter petulantly. “I want that one. You don't get it. This girl is special.”

“Her pussy was special.” At my glare he holds his hands up. “Not trying to piss you off. I’m just saying. You wanted to get laid. You got laid. Now it's time to move on.”

“Maybe you're right. If I can't find her that has to mean something.”

“It does mean something. Clearly it was meant to be a one time deal. Maybe Casey was just dumped and wanted to have some revenge sex to make herself feel better. Maybe she’s a bored housewife who was using you for a thrill while her husband was away on business. Hell, maybe that’s not even her name and she’s actually an undercover agent with the FBI. Does it really matter? It wasn’t like you really knew her, right?”

His words poke at a sore spot inside that I don’t want to examine too closely. Everything he’s saying is correct. We spent most of our time talking in a loud, crowded bar and then the rest of it sliding our tongues over each other’s skin. Can I really pretend that what we had was some deep, spiritual connection? She didn’t even get my name right. I can blame that one on the crowded bar, but it’s probably a little crazy that I’m this upset over the way our night together ended and she doesn’t even know my name.

It shouldn’t bother me so much but it does.

Jason stands. “You had a great time and now it's over. Count yourself as lucky. Most guys have trouble getting rid of their one-night stands. Yours did the hard work for you.”

After he leaves, I sit for a while taking things in. I’ve been an asshole to everyone for the past week and I’m sure Jason drew the short straw on who would come in here and have a talk with me. This is a critical time for my company. We’re expanding from menswear and working to make ourselves a complete brand that sells everything for men and women, including accessories and even perfume. If there’s ever been a worse time for me to have my head out of the game, I can’t think of it.