If she checked my phone, this is the shit she’d see:
Taylor: You had lunch with your “neighbor” didn’t you?
Me: Yeah, so?
Taylor: And now your taking the rest of the day off?
Me: *You’re
Taylor: Don’t change the subject by correcting my grammar.
Me: Yes, I had lunch with my neighbor and now I’m taking the rest of the day off, if you really must know.
Taylor: To do something WITH her, or to do HER?
Me: Don’t be a pervert.
Taylor: Um, CELLO, it’s a valid question—the bosses are going to want to know. Honestly, if you told them you were courting a Margolis, they’d probably not only bonus you this quarter, they’d make you partner just to get their foot in the door with that family. Quite frankly, so would I.
Me: Why are you like this?
Taylor: Oh puh-leez, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it helping you at work.
Me: No, actually, I haven’t—not once. And you wouldn’t be talking like this if you met the grandmother.
Taylor: Is she a total queen?
Me: One hundred percent a bigger queen than you.
Taylor: Not possible.
Me: I can hear you flipping your hair. My point is, she would eat me alive if she caught a whiff of this conversation.
Taylor: The queen or the granddaughter?
Me: The grandma.
Taylor: It’s a grandma—how bad could she be?
Me: You obviously haven’t googled her.
Taylor: Google on company time? Me? Never.
Me: Please, Jarod in IT sees all the stupid shit you’re looking at during the day, because instead of googling, he’s spying on US.
Taylor: Well, the shit that comes across my desk is boring. No offense, but until someone gives me an actual chance to prove myself, I have to occupy my time in other ways that don’t involve math, measurements, or angles.
Me: Point taken.
And on and on it goes, and no way can I show a text thread like that to Abbott. She’d skin me alive, leave my dead carcass, and then feed the rest to Nan.
No thanks.
The booze makes it easy to be flirty. “But you can come over here and try to convince me.” It’s a line I’ve used on other women a million times that always works when I want someone to make the first move.
It doesn’t work on Abbott, who eyes me suspiciously.
“I don’t think so, pal.” Her smile is flirty, too. “If you want to show me, you can slide on over here and whisper it in my ear.”
Whoa. That sounded…innocuous, but also sexy as fuck, and if she thought I was eye-fucking her before when I wasn’t, I sure as hell am doing it now.
My gaze scans the room.
Desdemona is curled up on her kitty bed, snoring in a way I’ve never heard a cat snore, not that I come in contact with many.
Strangest feline I’ve ever met.
Abbott pulls her leg down from the sofa, setting her foot on the floor—first one, then the other, spreading her knees, grin on her face. Arms go behind her head, hands intertwining.
She’s daring me to.
Don’t do it, Brooks.
Do. Not. Do. It.
Hands to yourself, bro. She tastes like hot dog, remember?
Keep the mouse in the house—she wants to relationship you.
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
I home in on those boobs, and while I’m not a vain man, or a greedy man, or a selfish man—
I laugh at that last one: not a selfish man? I am a selfish bastard or I wouldn’t be daydreaming about getting my ass off this couch, crawling on my hands and knees to Abbott’s side, and slowly removing those workout pants she’s wrapped up in.
What will she sound like with my mouth on her pussy?
What face will she make when she comes?
Only a selfish bastard would be asking himself that.
I clear my throat when Abbott crosses her legs again. Uncrosses them.
It’s a telltale sign she’s turned on, fire no doubt burning between her thighs.
Desdemona doesn’t move.
Abbott holds her breath.
Aw, fuck it—I’m going for it. It’ll be Christmas in a few months and this will be the gift I give myself since I haven’t fucked anyone in weeks, not since befriending my neighbor.
She’s ruined me.
That’s the last coherent thought I have when I ease myself off the couch and fall to my knees, just like I had in my mind moments ago. Take the few paces to her side, push her legs apart with my giant hands. They look huge on her slender thighs, tan against her light-colored leggings.
“Brooks…” What are you doing?
“Shh.” We’ll worry about it later; let me worship you now.