No Tomorrow

I’m tempted to call Ditra and spill it all to her, but I know if I do, she’ll tell me I’m being dramatic, congratulate me for finally breaking out of my shell, and then want to hear every detail from the length of his dick to how long my orgasm lasted to when I’m going to see him again. She’ll also want to meet him.

Ditra and I have been best friends forever. Literally. Our mothers grew up next door to each other and have always been best friends. They got pregnant at the same time, and they had Ditra and me a week apart. Back then, they did practically everything together, so we were together all the time and just naturally became best friends, too. But I still can’t bring myself to pick up the phone and tell her about Evan.

It’s not because I’m ashamed of him. I want to covet him. Savor him. Keep him my own little secret. If no one knows, then he’s just mine.

Chapter Five

Thursday, I return to work to find the inbox on my desk piled a foot high with work. I immerse myself in it, grateful for the distraction. I eat lunch at my desk while I work, skipping my usual lunch break.

That doesn’t stop me from wondering if Evan and Acorn are at the park and if he’s looking for me or missing me, but I’m not ready to find out if I was just a quickie for him. I want to stay in my safe bubble of not knowing for a while longer.

On Friday, I do the same ‘I’m going to work non-stop for eight hours’ routine, and by the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m ready to head home, shower, and meet Ditra for dinner. We’re meeting two guys she’s friends with. I suspect one is supposed to be a potential set-up for me, even though I told her I have no interest in being set up with any guys right now. Ignoring my protests, she insisted I meet up with them tonight anyway. I finally agreed because I’ve been feeling stir crazy for the past week and getting out of the house will probably be good for me.

All this is running through my mind as I cross the office parking lot. As I get closer to my car I spot a white note tucked under the windshield wiper. I know it’s from Evan before I pluck it off the windshield and read it.

Well, damn. He knows where I work. He knows which car is mine. Which means he’s been watching me.

My body quivers with fear and delicious anticipation.

He wants me to come back.

I don’t even have to think about it. Tucking the note into my purse, I already know I’ll be going back to the bridge tonight after dinner. Because I want more. Of what, I’m not sure. Just him.

Three hours later, I’m walking into the small but popular pub downtown. Scanning the smoke-filled, noisy room, I spot Ditra and her friends at a high table a few feet from the bar. At the other end of the room, a band is setting up, and I breathe a sigh of relief that we’re not sitting near the small stage. Last time we were here, the music was so loud we couldn’t even hear ourselves talk.

I feel self-conscious wearing tight jeans, high-heeled black boots, and a V-neck sweater as I approach the table because Ditra’s friend, who I’m naming Guy Number Two, has his eyes glued to my chest, and trust me, there’s not much to look at. Smiling, I climb on the empty stool across from Ditra and Guy Number One, who she’s obviously claimed because she’s practically sitting in his lap.

I hope Guy Number Two is just a boob-ogler in general and I’m not giving off any overly sexual vibes. If I see Evan later, I don’t want him to think my push-up bra is an invitation for another bang against the bridge.

“Piper, this is Phil and Mitch. Guys, this is Piper. Be nice to her. She’s shy, but she’s my best friend in the whole wide world, and I’ll kick your balls if you misbehave.”

“Duly noted,” Phil the Ogler says.

“I’m so glad you came out with us tonight.” Ditra leans across the table toward me. “You’ve been mopey all week. Every time I called you, you sounded like a zombie.”

I pretend to be engrossed in the menu. “I told you I was just tired. I’ve had the flu.”

“What do you do for work?” Phil asks.

“I’m an administrative assistant.”

He sips his beer, and I try not to look at his receding hairline, which can’t be a good sign if he’s only in his early twenties. I think of Evan and his long, wavy hair and how erotic it felt tickling my skin when he was feasting on my neck. Closing my menu, I have no idea what I want to eat, but I decide all men should have long hair.