I turned to my back, tucked the covers around my na**d body and I stared at the ceiling.
I didn’t even know his name.
“God,” I whispered, “I am such a slut.”
Chapter One
D-e-a-d, Dead
The next morning I was sitting at my computer in my home office.
I should have been working. I had three deadlines the next two weeks and I’d barely begun on the work. I was a freelance editor. I got paid by the hour and if I didn’t work that hour, I didn’t get paid. I had a mouth to feed, my own. I had a body to clothe, a body that liked all sorts of clothes, it craved them so I had to feed the habit or things could get nasty. I had a cosmopolitan addiction and cosmos didn’t come cheap. And I had a house I was fixing up. Therefore, I needed to get paid.
Okay, that wasn’t strictly true. I wasn’t fixing up my house. My Dad did some of the work. My friend Troy did other work. So, I should say that I had a house I was guilting, begging and emotionally blackmailing others into fixing up.
But still, it needed fixing up and cabinets and tile didn’t march from Cabinet and Tile Land into my house and say, “We want to live with you, Gwendolyn Kidd, fix us to your walls!”
That only happened in my dreams, of which I had many, most of them daydreams.
Like right then, sitting at my computer, one heel to the seat, my chin to my knee, my eyes staring out the window, I was thinking about my Mystery Man, the Great MM. I was daydreaming about changing our first meeting. Being smarter, funnier, more mysterious, alluring, interesting, hooking him instantly with my rapier wit, my flair for conversation, my ability to discuss politics and world events intelligently, my humble stories of expansive charity work all wrapped up with enticing looks that promised a lifetime of mind-blowing orgasms, making him declare his undying love for me.
Or at least tell me his name.
Instead, I was drunk and definitely not any of that.
I heard my doorbell go, a chime then a clunk and I started out of my elaborate daydream which was beginning to get good.
Then I got up and walked through my office into the upstairs hall making a mental note, again, to call Troy and see if he’d fix my doorbell for a six pack and a homemade pizza. This might mean he’d bring his annoying, whiny, constantly bitching new girlfriend though, so I changed my mind and decided to call my Dad.
I got to the bottom of my stairs and walked through my wide living room, ignoring the state of it, which was decorated in Fix Up Chic, in other words dust rags, paint brushes, power tools, not-so-power-tools, cans and tubes of practically everything, all of it jumbled and covered in a layer of dust. I made it through the area without my hands going to my head, fingers clenching my hair and mouth screaming, which I counted as progress.
I got to the entryway which was delineated by two narrow walls both fit with gorgeous stained glass.
Two years ago, that stained glass was my undoing.
Two years ago, approximately six months and two weeks prior to meeting my Mystery Man, I’d walked one single step into this ramble and wreck of a house, saw that stained glass, turned to the realtor and announced, “I’ll take it.”
The realtor’s face had lit up.
My father, who hadn’t even made it into the house yet, turned his eyes to the heavens. His prayer lasted a long time. His lecture longer.
I still bought the house.
As usual, I should have listened to my Dad.
I looked out the narrow side window at the door and saw Darla, my sister’s friend, standing out there.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I hated Darla and Darla hated me. What the hell was she doing there?
I searched behind her to see if my sister was lurking or perhaps hiding in the shrubbery. I wouldn’t put it passed Ginger and Darla to jump me, tie me to the staircase and loot my house. In my darker daydreams, this was how Ginger and Darla spent their days. I was convinced this was not far from the truth. No joke.
Her eyes came to me at the window, her face scrunched up, making what could be pretty, if she used a less heavy hand with the black eyeliner, and the blush, and her lip liner wasn’t an entirely different shade as her lip gloss, not so pretty.
“I see you!” she shouted and I sighed.