Seductive Chaos
Page 10
I thought back to the hundreds of times before when I would do exactly what he was waiting for me to do right now.
I looked back to my friends, each of them were staring at me, wondering what I was planning. The guys were less obvious but I knew they too were poised and ready to intervene should it come to that.
When had I become such a joke?
I swallowed thickly and picked up my purse from the floor.
I gave Gracie a thin, fake smile. “Can I have your room key? I think I’ll wait up there until it’s time for us to catch our flight,” I said tightly.
I couldn’t help but notice the way everyone around the table sagged in obvious relief. No sideshow today folks.
Gracie handed me the key card and I got to my feet, noticing that Cole was heading my way. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I was just really, really tired all of a sudden.
I turned on my heel and left the restaurant.
“Viv!”
I kept walking, knowing what would happen if I stopped.
“Vivian! Hold up!” Cole called out.
And for the first time, I didn’t wait for him to catch up. I didn’t give him the chance to dance his way out of trouble and into my pants.
This time I kept on walking.
3
“How’s this skirt?” I asked Gracie as I modeled the fifth outfit I had tried on that morning. I was getting ready for my first day at my new job and I was having a near coronary as I tried to figure out what I was going to wear.
Clothing was essential. It could either make or break a first impression. And I was looking for competent yet sassy. But I was having a difficult time finding the right outfit to showcase my personality.
Everything seemed to say trying too hard or gettin’ my club on.
“It’s a little working the corner don’t you think?” Gracie asked, screwing her face up. I pivoted around, looking at my reflection.
“Really? I love this skirt,” I complained. I had really hoped this one would work. But Gracie was right. Flashing my hoo-hah when I bent over would not project the professional image I was going for.
I unzipped and slithered out of the confining fabric. I stood in my garters and thong, not embarrassed in the least. Gracie had seen me in less. Modesty was not my thing anyway.
“I wish we were the same size, G. Your blue skirt and white, lace blouse would be perfect,” I muttered, rooting through my considerable wardrobe to look for a suitable ensemble.
My phone chirped from where it lay on the dresser. Before I could reach for it, Gracie snatched it up and tapped the screen.
“Ahh!” she shrieked, tossing the phone onto the bed.
I grabbed it, wondering what had elicited such a response from her. I swiped the screen and started laughing. Because staring back at me, was an up close and personal picture of Cole’s junk. I’d recognize that vine tattoo and slight bend to the left anywhere.
And I swear to God it was winking at me!
Trying to stop giggling, I quickly deleted it and turned off the phone with a roll of my eyes.
Gracie looked mortified. “I could have gone my whole life without seeing that!” she groaned, making me laugh harder.
“Glad you find my disgust and horror so amusing,” she snipped.
I shook my head. What could I say? Disgust and horror went hand in hand with Cole. As well as frustration, irritation, annoyance, knee trembling, palm sweating, dissolving into a pile of pent up sexual frustration…
“Does he do that a lot? Send you pictures of his penis?” Gracie asked primly.
“This is Cole we’re talking about here,” I said. And she nodded. That was all the explanation she needed.
After I had locked myself into Gracie’s room on Sunday, I had spent the next hour ignoring my ringing cell phone. Cole had bombarded me with texts and calls.
I didn’t answer right away. I was feeling touchy and upset and I couldn’t pin down the exact reason.
Was I mad at Cole? Hell yeah. Though to be fair, he hadn’t been doing anything unusual. He had just been behaving in typical Cole Brandt fashion. But that had been the problem.
The typical was getting old.
Because this time, instead of being angrily aroused, I had felt painfully empty.
Gracie had finally returned to the room and being the great friend that she was, she didn’t ask about Cole or mention what had happened after I had left the restaurant. We had gotten our things together and taken a cab to the airport. And then we had flown back to home.
I had spent Monday trying to get my head straight. Maysie had called and said the show was great. She mentioned that several local newspapers and online blogs had covered the concert and the boys had gotten some great press. The indie label they were signed with was already pushing for a bigger album release than they had originally planned given the increase in media attention the Rejects were getting.
Great things were coming. We all knew that.
I was really proud of the boys I had known for years. I was proud of Cole most of all, stupid bastard that he was. I knew how much this meant to him.
So when he called me the next time I had answered. We spent the first ten minutes going through the customary banter
“What the hell is your problem?” Cole had demanded.
“You’re my problem, dickhead!” I had responded.
Insults were hurled, frustrations were voiced. And then when our anger had finally abated and when we normally would have run out of things to say to one another and hung up, we actually began to talk.
I looked back to my friends, each of them were staring at me, wondering what I was planning. The guys were less obvious but I knew they too were poised and ready to intervene should it come to that.
When had I become such a joke?
I swallowed thickly and picked up my purse from the floor.
I gave Gracie a thin, fake smile. “Can I have your room key? I think I’ll wait up there until it’s time for us to catch our flight,” I said tightly.
I couldn’t help but notice the way everyone around the table sagged in obvious relief. No sideshow today folks.
Gracie handed me the key card and I got to my feet, noticing that Cole was heading my way. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I was just really, really tired all of a sudden.
I turned on my heel and left the restaurant.
“Viv!”
I kept walking, knowing what would happen if I stopped.
“Vivian! Hold up!” Cole called out.
And for the first time, I didn’t wait for him to catch up. I didn’t give him the chance to dance his way out of trouble and into my pants.
This time I kept on walking.
3
“How’s this skirt?” I asked Gracie as I modeled the fifth outfit I had tried on that morning. I was getting ready for my first day at my new job and I was having a near coronary as I tried to figure out what I was going to wear.
Clothing was essential. It could either make or break a first impression. And I was looking for competent yet sassy. But I was having a difficult time finding the right outfit to showcase my personality.
Everything seemed to say trying too hard or gettin’ my club on.
“It’s a little working the corner don’t you think?” Gracie asked, screwing her face up. I pivoted around, looking at my reflection.
“Really? I love this skirt,” I complained. I had really hoped this one would work. But Gracie was right. Flashing my hoo-hah when I bent over would not project the professional image I was going for.
I unzipped and slithered out of the confining fabric. I stood in my garters and thong, not embarrassed in the least. Gracie had seen me in less. Modesty was not my thing anyway.
“I wish we were the same size, G. Your blue skirt and white, lace blouse would be perfect,” I muttered, rooting through my considerable wardrobe to look for a suitable ensemble.
My phone chirped from where it lay on the dresser. Before I could reach for it, Gracie snatched it up and tapped the screen.
“Ahh!” she shrieked, tossing the phone onto the bed.
I grabbed it, wondering what had elicited such a response from her. I swiped the screen and started laughing. Because staring back at me, was an up close and personal picture of Cole’s junk. I’d recognize that vine tattoo and slight bend to the left anywhere.
And I swear to God it was winking at me!
Trying to stop giggling, I quickly deleted it and turned off the phone with a roll of my eyes.
Gracie looked mortified. “I could have gone my whole life without seeing that!” she groaned, making me laugh harder.
“Glad you find my disgust and horror so amusing,” she snipped.
I shook my head. What could I say? Disgust and horror went hand in hand with Cole. As well as frustration, irritation, annoyance, knee trembling, palm sweating, dissolving into a pile of pent up sexual frustration…
“Does he do that a lot? Send you pictures of his penis?” Gracie asked primly.
“This is Cole we’re talking about here,” I said. And she nodded. That was all the explanation she needed.
After I had locked myself into Gracie’s room on Sunday, I had spent the next hour ignoring my ringing cell phone. Cole had bombarded me with texts and calls.
I didn’t answer right away. I was feeling touchy and upset and I couldn’t pin down the exact reason.
Was I mad at Cole? Hell yeah. Though to be fair, he hadn’t been doing anything unusual. He had just been behaving in typical Cole Brandt fashion. But that had been the problem.
The typical was getting old.
Because this time, instead of being angrily aroused, I had felt painfully empty.
Gracie had finally returned to the room and being the great friend that she was, she didn’t ask about Cole or mention what had happened after I had left the restaurant. We had gotten our things together and taken a cab to the airport. And then we had flown back to home.
I had spent Monday trying to get my head straight. Maysie had called and said the show was great. She mentioned that several local newspapers and online blogs had covered the concert and the boys had gotten some great press. The indie label they were signed with was already pushing for a bigger album release than they had originally planned given the increase in media attention the Rejects were getting.
Great things were coming. We all knew that.
I was really proud of the boys I had known for years. I was proud of Cole most of all, stupid bastard that he was. I knew how much this meant to him.
So when he called me the next time I had answered. We spent the first ten minutes going through the customary banter
“What the hell is your problem?” Cole had demanded.
“You’re my problem, dickhead!” I had responded.
Insults were hurled, frustrations were voiced. And then when our anger had finally abated and when we normally would have run out of things to say to one another and hung up, we actually began to talk.
