9 inch addiction, p.6
9-Inch Addiction, page 6
Betrayal summed up how I felt. I’d kept all of Monty’s secrets. We’d had late night conversations about life and shared glasses of whiskey and even a few puffs of cigars. (Those were in my younger days.) He’d told me many times he considered me one of the family.
All that had been a lie. He’d been leading me on about a raise while paying exorbitant salaries for all the other employees. My legs ached, but I was only fifteen blocks up from my apartment. I needed the walk any way.
The streets were quieter up here, but the noisy din from the apartment buildings filtered out. Salsa music coming from one apartment and screaming from another. The scent of fresh bread and coffee wafted into the streets.
A chill came over me as I noticed how isolated I was. The sounds from the apartment buildings quieted and now there were only two sounds: my heels and my breath.
I clutched my purse tighter to my side and glanced over my shoulder. No one. I must have lost Chuck long ago. I shook my head, but secretly worried about being alone. My anger had subsided enough for me to become painfully aware of my surroundings.
I should have taken a cab. I thought.
Ten blocks away, I got the sense that I was being watched. There was no one around me, so I chalked it up to my imagination. Every sound of the city sent chills down my spine. If I’d had the energy to run, I would have sprinted all the way home.
Calm down. Why are you acting all scared.
I toughened up. Nothing was going to happen out here. Sure, it was late, but I was only a few blocks away from my place. More importantly, I didn’t see anyone behind me. I shrugged off the nagging feeling but as I walked the next two blocks, the sense only grew stronger.
I heard footsteps running towards me. Before I could turn around, a thick arm grabbed mine and then my purse.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll blow ya fuckin’ head off.”
Thick, Italian accent and a growling guttural voice that told me he was serious.
I dropped my purse, too scared to scream and everything I owned fell to the ground. The man bent to pick everything up but I stood frozen, too shocked to move. Before I could gain my wits, Chuck’s voice came from a side street.
“HEY BUDDY, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!”
The man stealing from me — who I’d presumed was armed — froze up like an angry house cat. He turned towards Chuck, his eyes widening as he saw the tall man running towards him at full speed.
Deciding my purse was more trouble than it was worth, he took off, fleeing down the street faster than anything I’d ever seen. Chuck took off after him, screaming at him until the guy had disappeared out of sight.
Chuck heaved and came to a stop, trotting back to where I stood in surprise as my possessions lay strewn on a Manhattan sidewalk.
“You okay?” Chuck asked, squatting to the ground to put my tampons and wallet back into my purse.
I stood there, shaking just a bit.
“I-I-I think so. That guy took me by surprise.”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you I’d make sure you got home safe.”
“Yeah,” I replied, coming to my senses enough to bend down and help him pick everything up.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
No problem. We stood to our feet at the same time and he handed me my purse. He gripped me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes, reflecting lamplight.
“You don’t look okay.”
“Really,” I replied, “I’m fine. Only seven blocks off.”
“Good. I’ll walk with you.”
“I can’t believe you really followed me home,” I said.
“It’s not safe for a lady at night.”
I didn’t protest this time because I didn’t want to risk going the rest of the way home alone. That guy could still be there and the thought of running into him again and being truly alone terrified me.
“Fine,” I replied, “You can walk me home. But you aren’t coming inside.”
“No problem.”
We walked a few blocks.
“You know, you didn’t have to run off like that.”
“I did.”
“If you quit, dad will never forgive me.”
I snorted, “Your father doesn’t deserve me.”
“He doesn’t,” Chuck agreed with me, “I was serious about helping you.”
I cast him another skeptical glance.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“He’s gone this long paying me like this. What makes you think he’ll change?”
Chuck laughed, “So far you’re the only person I can’t win a negotiation with.”
“Winning? Is that how you see everything in life?”
“Like you don’t see it that way, Miss Corporate?”
He had a fair point. Both of us had succeeded due to our tenacity. Chuck had a head start, but his brother was nowhere near as successful. Hard work played a huge part in his position at the company.
“Even if you do this,” I warned him, “That won’t change things between us.”
“I know,” he replied, “You’re determined to play coy with me.”
I shot him a glare.
“Joking. I can handle it if you’re not interested.”
I cast him a disbelieving glance.
“I promise.”
“We’ll see.”
We kept walking until we reached my apartment. We stopped outside and I realized how cold Chuck must have been. He ran all the way after me without his blazer and he snuck through the streets of Manhattan in the freezing weather dressed like that.
“Do you want to come in and warm up before heading out?”
Chuck nodded, “Please, I’d like that.”
“But no funny business Chuck. I’m serious.”
“You’re the boss,” he winked.
I unlocked my apartment door and led Chuck inside.
“Cozy!” He commented.
When white people say cozy, what they really mean is “tiny!” Chuck wasn’t wrong. I was a single woman who owned on my own. I didn’t have money for more than “cozy”. But my single bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were more than enough for me. I had a small desk in the corner for late night work and a luxurious vintage sofa set. Cozy, but I owned everything in it.
We took our shoes off.
“Tea?”
“Sure,” he replied.
I put on my electric kettle and we stood in my kitchen together, thawing out from the frigid air.
“Are you always this dramatic?” He asked.
“Hush,” I muttered.
The water came to a boil.
“You have walls up that must be over ten feet high.”
“Try a hundred,” I snorted.
“Green tea or black?” I asked.
“Black,” he responded.
I poured us tea — both cups black and invited him to sit in my living room.
“I appreciate what you did for me out there.”
“I’m just glad I got there before he hurt you.”
I sipped my tea. He’d exposed a sliver of his protective side and I couldn’t help but bask in that vulnerability.
“I’m a tough girl. I kick box you know.”
Chuck laughed, “You? No way.”
“What? You think I’m too tiny to kick box?”
“Au contraire. I can’t believe they aren’t afraid you’ll kill someone.”
“Very funny.”
He shrugged, “Being honest.”
“So that’s your thing, huh? Honesty?”
“You could say that,” he replied, “That and making a ton of money.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So do those lines really work?”
“Which lines?”
“You know, your whole cocky rich boy act. Does it work?”
“Clearly not,” he said, winking at me.
I buried my face in my mug, pretending I didn’t notice his gesture.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I won’t leave if you don’t feel safe.”
“We could finish up our work here,” I offered meekly.
“Great. That sounds great.”
“I’ll need something stronger than tea,” I said, standing to my feet.
My living room started to feel too cozy with him in it.
“Just what I was thinking.”
He stood and stretched before combing through his brown hair with his fingers. The smell of his shampoo filled my small living room and I stepped out to make some coffee.
“Hazelnut okay with you?”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Who actually drinks flavored coffee.”
“I do,” I said, “It tastes better.”
“No thanks.”
“I guess you spent time in Europe so you look down on us mortals.”
“Europeans have the right ideas about coffee,” he assured me.
“Grab my K-cups from the top shelf would you?”
He reached up effortlessly and handed me my box of K-cups. I selected two of them and picked out co-ordinating Columbia mugs from my collection.
He wrinkled his nose again.
“Really, Columbia? This is sacrilege for a Princeton man, I’ll have you know.
I rolled my eyes.
“I should smack you just for that.”
“I’m a loyal man, what can I say.”
“Get another mug then. I think I have one that says ‘Joy’ on it.”
He searched for the mug and found it. By that time, my coffee had been prepared so I slipped his cup into the machine and set up the next batch.
“I had no idea you could really be such a gentleman,” I mused.
“What, chasing that guy off?”
“Uh-huh.”
He shrugged, “I’m a bit of a mad man I suppose. I’d do anything for someone I care about.”
Click. His coffee was ready. I handed him the mug and hurried past him towards the living room. He’d agreed to stay up with me and work, nothing else. If I had any hope of keeping things platonic with Chuck, we’d have to get to work.
We curled up on our separate leather chairs. I drank coffee while I poured over Chuck’s work and he poured over mine.
“I like what you did here,” he interrupted the silence after a while.
“Where?”
“The deliverables.”
“Oh yeah. That worked well with the Delhi company.”
“It’s brilliant.”
Silence fell again, until my upstairs neighbors started their nightly ritual. I spent so many nights at the office that I’d forgotten about it. Nights when I was home, I was too tired to stay up and listen to them.
It started off as shuffling. Then loud salsa music played. The shuffling increased and it sounded like a crowd was stomping over head.
“Geez, they’re loud,” Chuck grumbled impatiently.
“Mmhm,” I hardly heard him as I focused intently on double-checking Henry’s budget for my department.
“OHHHHHHH!”
A loud noise from my upstairs neighbors startled both of us. Heat rushed to my cheeks. Oh no. Please tell me they aren’t going at it right now.
“OHHHHHH!”
Chuck smirked.
“Someone’s loud.”
“Ignore them.”
Ignoring them grew more difficult as the distinct sound of a bed moving across the floor thudded through the room. After twenty minutes, the thudding and the slamming bed against the wall stopped.
“Finally,” Chuck muttered.
We kept pouring over our work. Chuck made it a point to comment on work he thought I’d done well. We had another cup of coffee and before long, we were stretched out on my vintage L-shaped couch together.
My heavy lids threatened to drag me into a deep sleep. Chuck tapped my thigh.
“Wake up, we have a few hours until 3.”
“Ugh,” I grunted, “Do you know how hard it is for me to stay motivated after finding out my secretary makes more than I do?”
“Okay,” Chuck sat up, crossing his legs. His fair isle socks struck me as particularly quirky
“I’ll make you a deal,” he continued.
“What kind of deal?”
I hoped he wouldn’t start flirting again. I’d already grown too tired to resist him if he tried.
“You fall asleep right here. If I need you, I’ll wake you up. If not, you can sleep ’til morning.”
“That’s not fair, I can’t let you handle all of it.”
“For once, don’t argue with me Ida. Take a load off. I can handle it.”
His warm eyes and the smiled that cracked away at his bad-boy façade soothed me enough for me to agree.
“Fine,” I replied, “I’ll leave it to you.”
“Great.”
“Sure you can handle it?”
He snorted, “Yes, I’m sure.”
To Chuck, even the most difficult tasks were like child’s play. I allowed my lids to fall shut, secretly grateful he hadn’t gone anywhere. The man grabbing my bag surprised me and I hated to admit it, but the experience reminded me of one of the reasons I hated being single in New York.
Being alone made you a target. Being alone meant the men watching in the shadows knew they could dare try something with you. That fear was why I’d picked up kick boxing. I’d have to tell my trainer about what happened and see if I can fix my problem with my nerves getting the better of me.
I don’t recall thinking too much more after that. I just drifted to sleep, waking up thirty minutes later to Chuck asking me if I had any whiskey. I told him that I did not and he settled for another cup of coffee. As the earthy, comforting scent of black coffee filled my apartment, I drifted into a heavy sleep.
That night I didn’t dream. Neither nightmares nor pleasant fantasies crossed my mind. Throughout the night, I was aware of a warmth on the couch, but I didn’t mind it, nestling deeper into what felt like my wool blanket.
A muffled noise suggested my wool blanket lived. I wriggled my hips and inhaled before my blaring alarm cloth thrust me out of my deep REM.
BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.
I gasped, attempting to sit straight up but finding Chuck’s arms wrapped around me and pinning me down to the couch.
“Chuck,” I called, “Chuck, wake up.”
I shook his arm but he didn’t budge. Of course he’d be a heavy sleeper.
“CHUCK!” I yelled, shaking his arm.
“Hm?”
He fluttered his eyes slowly.
“Where am I…”
“Ida’s. Your arm. It’s crushing me.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
He sat up.
BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.BEEP.
“Can you turn that bloody thing off,” he grumbled.
I reached over and slammed down on my back-up alarm.
“We’ll be late if we sleep in any more.”
“I’m up,” he muttered, “I’m up.”
“Did you finish?”
“Hm?”
“The proposal?”
“Almost done.”
I swung my legs over onto the floor. I worked hard to disguise how nervous I felt. We’d just woken up in each other’s arms. While I knew nothing had happened, the situation was overly intimate. We were supposed to be moving towards more professionalism — not cuddling.
“I’ll be out of your hair then,” he said.
“Wait,” I touched him on the arm, “Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”
I don’t know what came over me, but it felt like the correct thing to do. Chuck glanced over at me, surprise plastered on his face.
“You don’t have to do that,” he replied.
“I know,” I replied, “But I’m making breakfast.”
“Mind if I have a shower then?”
“No, go ahead. Fresh towels are above the toilet. Left is hot. Right is cold.”
“Cheers.”
He ambled out of my living room and I went into full panic mode. What was I doing here with him?! I didn’t even like Chuck. He was abrasive… arrogant… always thought he was right… had glowing green eyes… soft brown hair… delicious lips.
“Ida, stop it,” I whispered.
That didn’t stop me from whipping up the biggest breakfast I’d cooked in my kitchen since last summer. I made a large omelette, rye toast with organic butter, pan-fried crispy bacon and fresh squeezed orange juice.
I heard my shower shut off and Chuck’s footsteps shortly afterwards. He stood in my living room — naked — and calling my name.
“Ida.”
I turned my head and stifled a yelp. Chuck had only a white towel wrapped around his waist and his body…
“Chuck!”
“Sorry… I meant to ask if you have any men’s shirt’s kicking about.”
“Men’s… huh?”
I wasn’t listening. Chuck’s abs captured my attention the moment I noticed them and I couldn’t look away. He had a washboard stomach with a pulsating chiseled chest and strong thick arms. His legs also stocky and defined were concealed by the towel.
“A shirt. For work?”
“Oh… Oh yeah.”
“Mind telling me where it is.”
“I’ll show you…”
I flipped the omelettes onto our plates and walking him towards my dresser. I opened the bottom drawer where I kept Ray’s old things (yes, after all those years).
“Here,” I handed him a lime green button down, “This should fit.”
“Fantastic.”
“Old boyfriend’s,” I explained, even if he hadn’t asked me too, “Never thought it would come in handy some day.”
He held onto the shirt and walked out into my living room.
“Gonna put that thing on?” I asked as I walked to the kitchen.
“Maybe,” he winked.
I shot him a glare and he slipped his arms through the sleeves. He buttoned up the shirt and motioned to drop his towel.
“Chuck!”
Towel drops.
“What?”
Underneath his towel he already had on a pair of boxers. Not perfect, but at least he was covered up.
“You thought I was going to flash you?”
