“Monica?” Sharon asked across the salon floor, snapping Monica out of her daze. “Where’s your head? Wait, let me guess—Scott” she laughed. “Don’t worry. He’ll be here in a few hours. Damn, you two can’t stay away from each other.” Her giggle tapered when she saw Monica wasn’t amused. “What’s going on, girl?”


“What do you mean?” her voice was low and clipped.


“I’ve never seen you like this,” she went and sat beside her friend as the stylist removed her last hair pins and asked quietly, “You love him, don’t you?” Monica needn’t reply, her nail biting said it all. “What are you afraid of?” she caught a brief glimpse of tears when Monica turned to her.


“I’m afraid that he’ll hurt me and I won’t know how to put myself back together again.”


“Is that all?” Sharon grinned slowly. “That’s the risk we all run. I know Scott! You can trust him. He’s crazy about you. What’s it been? Three months you’re been seeing each other? Shit, you two are virtually engaged by today’s standards.”


Her laugh echoed off the stark walls. “You’re probably right.”


“I know I’m right,” she leaned back in the chair. “Now, I could do with another glass of champagne.


“You better slow down. Mrs. Fitz has a dated lined up for you. I hear he’s good-looking and quite well off.” Monica said proudly—glad she wasn’t in Sharon position. Mrs. Fitz was batting zero with Sharon’s prospects. She all but guaranteed Grant Ellis would be the last match.


“I haven’t heard anything terrible about him,” she shrugged. “He’s reserved.”


“Which means he’s a freak in bed.” Monica pointed out.


“He’s a banker and a benefactor of the performing arts.”


“Which means he’s into role play.”


“He’s a polyglot and travels a lot.”


“Which means he’s gonna have your ass speaking in tongues in different time zones. Girl, I like him already.” Monica closed her eyes and went to her happy place.




Scott looked up from the sunk full of dish to the wall mounted clock, 3:00pm…thirty more minutes to go. Just as he finished the last plate, the alarm went off. His heart sank. Please be a kitten in a tree. Please be a kitten in a tree.


Case swung the kitchen door open. “Sorry to do this to you, buddy. We have a call.”


Scott tossed the towel aside and raced for his gear. “What is it?” Please be a kitten in a tree. Please be a kitten in a tree.


“It’s a restaurant fire. Dunwoody needs backup, its spread to the adjacent businesses. I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can,” Case answered then yelled to the other men. “Let’s go!”


Scott geared up and tried calling Monica but the call went directly to her voicemail. Damn it! He tried Joy and Sharon but there were no answers. Shit, I’m never going to make it on time. He made one last frantic call to Mr. Fitz and climbed on broad. He hastily spelled out his predicament and called his doorman before the sirens went off. There was no way he was disappointing Monica even if it meant calling in a favor.


Mr. Fitz was more than happy to help. He sent his car to Scott’s apartment to retrieve his tux, luggage and invitation, and then to wait at the station for Scott’s arrival. Meanwhile Mrs. Fitz contacted NetJets and had them on standby as well as their driver in NYC. It was the most excitement they’d had in months!




Monica slid the lip gloss wand across her lips and puckered. It was after six o’clock and Scott was nowhere in sight nor had he called. His plane must be in the air, she reasoned. No need to panic just yet. She busied herself and vowed not to watch the clock.



By the time the trucked pulled into the station, Scott’s equipment and gear was completely off and he raced to Mr. Fitz’s car. “Move!” he shouted to the driver without so much as a hello. It was a short flight and if all went as planned, he’d catch Monica en route. He called her but her phone was off. He tried Sharon, the assistants and the hotel. Nothing. Shit!



“Grant’s downstairs. I asked him to wait in the lounge.” Sharon zipped her gown, a black flowy Chanel. “Where the hell is Scott? He should’ve been here by now. It’s almost seven.”


Monica called the car service. The driver informed her that he’d waited for over an hour but Scott never appeared. She called the airline; he never boarded the plane. Her world stopped, only for a few seconds, but in those few seconds all she could hear was her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and when it finally started moving again that’s when the hurt poured in. Her hand still resting on the receiver, she composed herself for Sharon benefit. There was no sense in ruining both of their evenings.


She went to the mirror and admired herself. Her gown was a dazzling shade of champagne with flashes of brilliance. Exquisite beading adorned its fitted crisscross strapless bodice. Soft flowing chiffon created a long lean silhouette which gracefully draped from the empire waist to the floor. Scott would’ve loved it. She smiled to her reflection and summoned one last smile and called to Sharon. “We’d better go. We don’t want to keep Grant waiting.”


Grant was as Monica pictured: Tall, ruggedly handsome in a Clive Owen kind of way. His tux was expertly cut showing off his discriminating taste. He introduced himself and Sharon almost melted and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He was polite, articulate and charming and not at all uneasy with the idea of escorting two ladies instead of one. He and Sharon filled the time on the drive over with nonstop talking. There was an instant connection. Monica gave them their space, her thoughts wandered back to Scott and why he’d stood her up.



Meanwhile Scott was in a race against time. By the time he’d showered and dressed onboard, the plane was landing. Realizing they’d missed them at the hotel, the driver wisely drove straight to The Museum of Modern Art where the cars were lining up.


“I can’t sit here,” the driver announced pulling up to the curb. “If she’s here then she’s already inside. I’ll take your bags to the hotel. You have my number; call me when you’re ready.”


“Thanks!” Invitation in hand, Scott rushed from the car.


Monica tucked her arm into Grant’s and the walked into the grand atrium.


“I’ll take it from here,” Scott said to Grant and placed his hand on the small of Monica’s back. “Hey pretty girl. I hope you didn’t think I’d disappoint you.”


Monica’s eyes lit up in a way they hadn’t done since she’d arrived. “Of course not,” she rolled her eyes at Sharon’s “bullshit” cough. “I knew you’d make it.” She quickly introduced Grant and they made their entrance.


Though fatigued from his shift and harrowing flight, Scott couldn’t imagine not doing it again…if for nothing else than seeing the reaction on Monica’s face. Dinner was spectacular, company and conversation was relaxed and pleasant—not at all stuffy as he’d expected.


Sharon and Grant left shortly after dinner under the pretense of going for coffee. Monica, however, was in her element. She schmoozed with the snobs, made the contacts she’d come for, sealed two unexpected deals and turned her attention to Scott. She stood and watched him. He sparkled and captivated everyone he spoke with. It was his ordinariness which endeared others. What you saw was what you got. No BS or airs. Scott 24/7, take it or leave it.


He came and led her unto the dance floor. They danced one arm around the other while the other lie clasped together them. “Sorry I was late.”


“What happened?” she asked.


“We had an alarm minutes before I was planning to leave. I tried calling you but your phone was off.”


“I turned it off while I was in the salon…” then it dawned on her. “and I forgot to turn it on. Well, way didn’t you all Joy or Sharon?”


“I tried but I couldn’t get through.”


“You should’ve kept trying.” She teased.


His nose wrinkled and he spoke as though he were explaining the theory of relativity to a Neanderthal. “I was a little busy battling a fire—a big fire with lots of scary flames. I needed to focus on the task at hand because contrary to popular belief: I’m flammable!”


She snickered and her worries faded into the warmth of his chest. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”


“I’m dead on my feet but I would’ve have missed being here with you for the world.” The hope in her upturned eyes broke his resistance and his words tumbled forth but stop just shy of disclosure. “I missed you.” 



                                                        ******


Sharon half expected Grant to refuse her offer to spend the night, but he accepted. Where had the offer come from? She never moved this fast. She’d asked a man she hardly knew to spend the night…with her…alone in her room. On what level of horniness had the request seemed a reasonable? Very very horny level was the correct answer. Now she lay in bed, covers clenched under her chin, listening to the sound of the shower in the next room. He was handsome, what else could she do? It wasn’t everyday she met someone like him and had an instant attraction.


Why not do it? It’s only for one night. I’m in New York, she made her case. No one’s going to find out. I may never see him again. I’m getting mine! Her hand moved down between her parted thighs, she was already wet and before long she was masturbating. Her fingers rhythmically circled her clit, her breathing increased as the thought of her secret liaison with Grant brought her closer and closer to orgasm. So distracted, she failed to notice Grant, towel-clad, watching her from the doorway.


He was tempted to watch her cum, but she caught him looking.


Oh God, She was mortified and prayed for the earth to swallow her whole—bed and all. She attempted to offer an excuse but he smiled slowly in response and moved closer until he stood over her in silence. Awkward! Thinking it couldn’t get any worse, it did. He removed the covers, exposing her naked semi-masturbatory body frozen in debilitating shame. Kill me, just kill me. She begged as he examined every inch—every flaw—every pound of her, imagined or other. Now, in her moment of humiliation, going to the gym didn’t seem like such a nuisance.


Leaning over, his hand soothed her hair and he gave her a long sensual kiss, showing her how much it turned him on to see her like this. As he kissed, her hand moved up his glutes, but he pulled away. This time he wanted to make her cum, to help her finish what she’d begun. “Come here. I want to see how wet you are.” He moved to the foot of the bed and beckoned her to him. Naturally she obeyed. He gave her a wicked grin and knelt in front of her, his wandering hands left no part of her surveyed. His small butterfly kisses on her legs, knees, and inner thighs left nothing unkissed.


Sharon's head swam. His lips ignited every pore they touched.


“Are you afraid of me?” he gently parted her thighs.


Maybe. “No,”


“Good,” he kissed her pussy. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’m not going to fuck you. You have my word. I’m going to eat you. You can watch if you’d like or lay there and enjoy. Understood?’


Sweet Sacks of Suga’, YES!! “Okay,” she croaked, wanting him to take her long, hard, any way he pleased. But he took his time. She felt a finger slowly drift up her slit. He kissed her knees, obviously enjoying how aroused she’d become. He was so close to her, she felt his hot breath on her lips, and then his finger teased her shallows and used her wetness to circle her clit. Sharon cried out as he rubbed in silence; her sounds of gratification played in their ears. “Please lick me!” she repeated with a plea in her tone. Suddenly, she felt his tongue, warm and wet, exploring between her lips; licking, tasting, teasing, drinking from her. “Fuuuck!” she came.


“Damn, I could stay down here all night.” Her juices dripped from his tongue as he sucked her lips clean. He parted her legs wide; her fingers ran through his hair, pulling his head in closer. He pulled away. “Sharon, your cum taste so damn good. I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go.” He fingered her to orgasm again.


“Goddamn, you don’t have to let me go!” she held his head in her hands, his intense sapphire eyes stared back at her. “It’s all yours.”


He licked his lips then provocatively sucked each…and every…one of her fingers. “Say it again.”


“Grant, I'll scream it from the rooftop. It’s all yours. I’ve never had a man…Ooohhh!” she cried as his tongue flicked her clit before he continued gorging. “Oh my God!!”


Just then Monica and Scott were returning from dinner and overheard the tell-tale sounds of Sharon having an orgasm. “I needed to talk to her but maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow.” She entered the room.


“That might be a good idea.” Scott closed the door.



Back in the room, Sharon held on to headboard for dear life. She was now riding his face—more or less being held captive by his tongue and suckling mouth. He sucked until she shook, convulsed, screamed, spoken in tongues and eventually came so hard Monica heard her from across the hall.



“Give it a minute,” Scott urged removing his tux. The air was still as they listened for more raucous.


None came and Monica threw on her robe and hurried across the hall with Mr. Fritz’s keys. She knocked and Sharon came to the door looking as though she’d been in a cage match, and lost. “Should I even ask?”


Sharon pulled her robe closed and stepped into the hallway and lowered her voice. “Girrrrl, I think that man swallowed my ovaries.”


“Dang, was it that good?”


Sharon’s face went hard as stone. “Yes, it was that good.”


“Well, I came to give you the keys to the townhouse, but I doubt you’ll be needing them.”


“No,” she tossed back to shattered remains of her hairdo. “I’m checking out tomorrow—I’m going to Grant’s.”


“Whatever,” Monica returned to her side of the hall. “You’d better keep his ass around long enough to find your ovaries. Goodnight and check your voicemail.”


“What?” Scott asked as Monica walked through the door.


“Nothing, just talking trash.” She hung her robe in the closet and stretched out along side Scott. “She’s checking out tomorrow so we have the townhouse to ourselves.”



He decided it was now or never. “Kiss me.”


She gave him a quick peck on the lips.


“No. A real kiss,” he turned her over onto her back and leaned over her. “Don’t look away.” They scanned one another; their eyes, their noses and lips, very detail. Gradually, they filled the space between them until their lips gently touched. He cupped her face tenderly and his tongue found hers. She held the side of his neck and surrendered to a sensation she’d never allowed herself. He softly sucked her bottom lip and recaptured her mouth. She returned his affection with quiet passion.


Finally braking for air, he placed his forehead on hers, “Monica, I love you.” The air left his lungs. To his horror, Monica stared back at him blankly in all-pervasive silence. “Please don’t say anything you don’t mean. I’m sorry; I had to tell you how I felt.”


“No, don’t apologize,” she steadied her tone. “I love you. I’m not afraid anymore. I love you. I mean it.”