“I don’t know,” was all I managed to say in response. It was a chickenshit non-answer, an asshole move.
“Don’t you think that after ten years together, you should know?” Her eyes filled with tears, making me feel even lower than I already did.
“Shelby, I said I don’t know,” I snapped, hoping my tone signaled the end of this non-conversation.
For as unhappy as I was in the relationship, I hated hurting Shelby in any way. I cared about her and probably always would, but it wasn’t enough. A part of me knew that I wasn’t being fair to her by staying together. I wasn’t doing either of us any favors, but I wasn’t strong enough to end things. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her dead father or letting her down. And I sure as hell didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t the good person I’d always thought I was.
So I stayed, the weak side of me hoping that maybe one day Shelby would be the one who got fed up and left. That way I wouldn’t be the bad guy.
When had I cared more about perception than right or wrong?
Let’s Go Back
Claudia
I shouldn’t have been so fixated on Frank, but I was.
It had been two days since Britney and I had been to Sam’s, and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Frank. I daydreamed about his deep green eyes and the way they had delved into me, truly seeing me. The tattoos that snaked up his arms had been the subject of more than one fantasy. I’d imagined those arms lifting me as my legs wrapped around his middle, all the hard parts of him pressing against the softer parts of me.
Yes, Frank Fisher was what fantasies were made of. At least, they were what mine were made of, apparently.
An odd sound interrupted my thoughts, and I blinked at the sight of Britney standing in front of my desk, snapping her fingers at me.
Oh God, I’d been daydreaming of Frank at work.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Britney demanded. “I’ve been standing here forever, and your client has been waiting in the reception area for ten minutes.”
“Shit.” I rushed to my feet and straightened my skirt. “Sorry.”
“Ah, crap. I know that look.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “You’ve got a fish wish.”
“A what?”
“A fish wish. You want to be smothered by a Fisher brother. Spanked by Frank.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I sputtered.
She laughed. “Look it up online. It’s a real thing. Hashtag Fish Wish, all one word.”
“You’re joking.” I hope.
“I’m really not. Next time we’re at Sam’s, look around at the women. They all have a crush, and they’re all hoping they’ll be crushed on back. Hence, Fish Wish. You’ll see half the bar with the same look on their faces that you have right now. Hell, I probably had it too before Frank talked some sense into me,” she said with a sad smile. “Go get your client, you fish-wishing floozy.”
I quickly typed the hashtag FishWish into my computer and watched as numerous other Fisher Brother hashtags emerged.
#Dyin4Ryan
#WannaBeLickedByNick
#SpankMeFrank
Laughing, I closed the browser. Maybe I did have a fish wish, but I couldn’t think about that now. I had to help someone make their business dreams a reality.
I looked down at my clipboard as I entered the customer lounge. “Mr. Frankson.”
As I read the name out loud, I stumbled a little on the Frank part of his name. You’ve got to be kidding me. Like I need more reasons to have Frank Fisher on my mind.
An older man stood up from the chair and extended his hand.