Stipulation by Sawyer Bennett
“Do you have your pajamas?”
“Yes,” I say with a smile.
“And toothpaste?”
“Yup.”
“And everything you need in your briefcase?”
“Double-checked.”
“Finally… and most importantly, did you pack sexy lingerie?”
My eyebrows shoot upward at Macy while she gives me a lecherous grin. “There is no need for sexy lingerie,” I admonish her. “It’s a business trip, for goodness sake.”
“Yeah, but an overnight business trip… two nights to be exact, with sexy, hot, and orgasm-inducing Number 134,” Macy points out.
“He’s not Number 134,” I snap at her. “He’s Matt Connover, my boss.”
Macy sighs in pleasure, assuredly replaying all the sexy details of my encounters with Matt, which I ultimately told her about over two bottles of wine. “He’ll always be Number 134 to me.”
“You’re demented,” I tell her. “Demented and sad… but social.”
Macy throws a pillow at me, catching me squarely in the face. “Stop quoting 80s’ movies. It freaks me out when you do that.”
“I did it just to get you to shut up about Matt. You skeeve me out when you start fantasizing about him based on my experiences.”
Snickering, I bend over and zip up my suitcase. I have to meet Matt at the airport in an hour, so I need to get down and get a cab. Pulling out the handle on my overnight and snapping it in place, I start rolling toward the front door. “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”
“I will totally miss you while you’re gone,” Macy tells me. “You’re my girl.”
“I’ll always be your girl,” I tell her, and then amend. “That was Forrest Gump… definitely not an 80s’ movie.”
“Much more palatable,” she commends me.
I give Macy a quick hug, tell her to not get into any trouble while I’m gone, and then head to the airport.
When I get there, I hustle my way through security and toward my gate. Even though JFK is crowded, I immediately spot Matt. He’s reading a newspaper, a briefcase and carry-on suitcase beside him. He’s wearing another perfectly tailored suit, that probably costs more than a month of my salary, and has one leg crossed over the other. He looks like the height of confidence and sophistication all rolled into one.
As if sensing I’m there, he lifts his face up and scans the crowd, coming to a firm rest on me. His whiskey eyes trail down me briefly, and then come back up. The look isn’t sensual, but it isn’t businesslike either. In fact, I might categorize it as wistful. Matt gives me a small smile in welcome as I approach.
I take a seat next to him and ask, “How was your weekend?”
I ask because I still can’t help the inane jealousy that courses through me when I think about Matt hitting up One Night Only as he said he would. I also ask because I’m a glutton for punishment. Because not knowing is worse than knowing the absolute worst thing he could possibly say to me, which I realize is a confusing and spectacularly tongue-trippy sort of thought had I indeed actually voiced it, but since I used my inside voice, it’s all good.
Matt doesn’t disappoint. After staring hard at me for a moment, his lips curl up and he says, “I had an amazing weekend. One of the best ever.”
Bitter acid swirls in my stomach. His comment is pointed, designed to hurt, and also to make sure I clearly remember what he told me. Our time is over, and he has moved on. He apparently had a great hookup with someone and just like that… I’m forgotten.
It makes me a little bitchy, so I say, “What a coincidence. Me too. Gotta love that One Night Only.”