My need to be near Holland was torture like I’d never known before, and I couldn’t tell if it was the best part or worst part that she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and for that, I had to reluctantly hand to it her, because from what I could tell, new Holland was all about her goals. When she had one in mind, she tackled it.
And as much as it fucked me right now, I had to admire that.
“Ooh, I’ve never been to Cincinnati.”
I didn’t look up from my phone as the redhead across from me feigned interest in my trip.
Then again, it may not have been feigned, considering I was sitting at the hotel bar with my colleague from the agency, Miles, who had mentioned the fact that we’d be flying private tomorrow morning. He was newly-divorced and eager to get laid, which was why he’d in fact mentioned several things. Like who he was. Who I was. Which star athletes we represented.
I’d watched the redhead’s friend openly Google me on her phone before looking at me with eyes that lit up like she’d just won the jackpot.
She hadn’t stopped with the whole giving eyes thing since.
“I lived in Cincinnati for two years,” she purred, touching my arm. “I loved it.”
It was a fact that would have been far from captivating to me on a regular night, but tonight, it was actually painfully boring. I was normally better—outstanding, in fact—at feigning interest, but that particular skill was on hiatus right now as I watched the ellipses blink and disappear on my phone, indicating that Holland was replying to the text I’d caved and sent her ten minutes ago.
Where are you now?
After the second picture she’d sent this afternoon, the remainder of my day had become a test of will. Whether I had the self-restraint to abstain from texting her back and risking the receipt of another photo that would undoubtedly piss me off as much as it would turn me on.
Thanks to back-to-back-to-back meetings from three to nine, the test had gone well.
Of course, within twenty minutes of downtime here at the bar, I’d discarded the entire day’s efforts by firing off that four-word text.
“That’s nice,” I told Red’s friend just as Holland’s reply came in.
HOLLAND: Still out :)
HOLLAND: With my hair over my boobs
“Girlfriend?”
I didn’t know which of the women asked, but Miles provided the answer—“he’s single”— as I thought about the fact that Holland’s hair hung just past her shoulders. It wasn’t long enough to cover her tits, but I wasn’t going to point out the obvious to her.
ME: Send me a picture.
HOLLAND: It’s dark!
HOLLAND: Phone is dying
I clicked my phone off and looked away for a moment, annoyed with both her dying phone and the fact that I was actively wasting my own time.
Picture or not, I couldn’t be where she was at right now. I was in Boston now, I’d be in Cincinnati tomorrow, and I couldn’t throw my jacket over her no matter what picture she sent, which meant I was knowingly torturing myself. Voluntarily getting myself all tight and wound up.
It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to feel this way that I couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation for a bit.
My blood humming in my veins. The restless buzzing in my muscles.
Once upon a time, I had a way to take care of this feeling. Generally with fucking, fighting or speeding, whether on my board, my bike or in my car. Obviously, the last two weren’t things I took part in anymore. Aside from the fact that I was no longer a reckless piece of shit, I had a career now. I was head of a high-profile agency representing clients who saw me as their prime example of exemplary behavior. My advising them to stay out of trouble wouldn’t hold quite the same weight if they knew about the things I used to do, which was one of the reasons I didn’t do them anymore.
The fighting and speeding had been abandoned a long time ago.
Which of course left me with just the fucking.
It had worked fine for me over the past five years, when I had a long-term relationship with a woman I didn’t care about. She enjoyed it as fast and hard as I liked to give it, and I enjoyed getting off as much as I always did. Fucking Keira did the job when I didn’t have that same steam to blow off. When I didn’t allow myself to get riled up past a certain point.
Of course, whatever point that was, I was past it now.