Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Oh…nothing.”
“For Christ’s sake, Jackson. You called me three times for nothing?”
I clear my throat. “Where are you?”
“Walking to the subway. I just got done doing some shopping.”
“Great. Can you meet me for dinner?”
“I don’t know, Jackson.”
“You’ve got to eat.”
She sighs. “I guess I am pretty hungry. I haven’t eaten since that smoothie I had with you this morning.”
“Why don’t I swing by your place and pick you up?”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.”
“Great. See you in about an hour.”
…
My jaw drops when Mandy opens her door. I even ignore Roger, which I never do.
No. Mandy is totally not wearing a black-and-blue corset. Absolutely not. Not my Mandy Cake.
Except she looks completely gorgeous. Her tits are pushed up by black lace, and the blue brings out the lovely color of her eyes. I’m instantly hard.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asks dryly.
“What the hell is that, Mandy?”
“I think it’s called a corset. Or a bustier. I’m not quite sure of the difference.”
A corset cinches, while a bustier boosts. But I’m not about to tell her that. She’ll want to know how I know.
Mandy’s wearing a corset.
Mandy’s wearing a goddamned corset. A goddamned corset that looks fabulous on her.
Fuck.
“You can’t wear that to dinner.”
“Why not? It’ll keep me from overeating.”
“That’s not the point, Mandy.”
“What is, then, Jackson? All my parts are covered.”
“For God’s sake, at least put on a jacket or something.”
“Well, I was going to. It’s a little chilly outside.”
Thank God. “You’d really be a lot more comfortable if you’d put on something normal.”
“Jack, I’m actually quite comfortable. It’s the weirdest thing. I feel like my posture is better. Like everything is where it’s supposed to be.”
Everything is where it’s supposed to be all right. My cock is noticing as much as I am.
My God…
Mandy grabs a white sweater that looks great when she layers it over the black-and-blue lace. Like something angelic over something dark and dirty. Damn. With her curves, the corset totally does its job.
Mandy’s a beautiful woman.
You’re the other half of me.
Damn those words.
Are they true? I certainly didn’t say them with the intention of lying to Mandy. They just came out of my mouth that day. That day when I left her to move forward with my life.
“Where do you want to go?” she asks.
“Sushi?”
“Sushi sounds great. Even though I had it twice in the last week.” She laughs.
“I love your laugh,” I say. “You seemed… I don’t know. Unhappy this morning.”
“I was unhappy this morning, Jack. Because you were being an ass.”
Touché. She’s absolutely right. “I’m sorry.”
“Look. You told me that what happened between us would never happen again. I accepted it then, and I accept it now.”
“I know that.”
Except part of me—a really big part of me, the part that controls my cock—doesn’t want her to accept it. I’m having a difficult time accepting it myself.
Ben was right. I’m like a six-year-old boy chasing the girl I like around the playground.
Man, I never imagined…
Never in a million years did I imagine Mandy would be…
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
Mandy and I leave her building and walk together to another little sushi bar a couple of blocks away. We know all the sushi places near her place.
We find two seats at the bar, and Mandy walks toward them, but I say, “Let’s get a table.”
“Jack, we always sit at the bar.”
“I know. Let’s do something different.”
She shrugs. “Okay. Whatever.”
We wait for the hostess to seat us at a two-top. I was actually hoping for a four-top, but since we’re a party of two, I can’t make a fuss. A two-top seems so…intimate.
The contradiction inside me is driving me to drink. For a moment, I feel like that mythical creature from Dr. Dolittle, the Pushmi-Pullyu.
Before I can say a word to Mandy, a waiter accosts us, asking for drink orders.
“Sake?” I say to Mandy.
She huffs softly. “You know I hate the stuff, Jack. I think I’ll have a…dirty martini.”
I widen my eyes. “Not a sidecar? I thought you said martinis taste like rubbing alcohol.”
“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” she says coyly. “Make it a dirty vodka martini.”
“Dirty vodka martini for the lady,” the waiter says. “And for you, sir?”
“Konteki Tears of Dawn, please.”
This time Mandy widens her eyes. It’s an expensive sake, but it’s one of my favorites. Mandy makes decent money working for her romance author, but I probably make four times what she does. Still, she winces whenever I buy something expensive.
It’s kind of how we’ve always been. She grew up a lot more modestly than I did. Our mothers were best friends, and when they both got married, they lived in the same neighborhood on Long Island. But then my father made it big in a tech start-up, and we moved to a different neighborhood. A much more expensive neighborhood, but still close enough to Mandy that we went to the same schools.