“Isn’t retail therapy awesome?” she sing-songs as she stalks up to a display. She flings her arms out at me, nearly smacking me in the face. We both laugh as I carefully lower her flailing limbs before she points at the mannequin. “This is it. I can feel it!”
The dress is stunning. It’s a glittery wrap-around dress the color of a golden sunset. I almost squeal in delight until I glance at the price tag.
“That costs more than my first car.”
“You drove a piece of shit in high school, so that’s not saying much. Try it on. I know you’ve been working out, and this will accentuate your awesome curves.”
She waves toward the clerk. I don’t bother arguing because Kendall is clearly on a mission, but once I slip on the dress, I’m hard pressed to say I don’t love it.
I’m standing in front of the large floor-to-ceiling mirror when she comes in with another outfit, but she takes one look at me and claps. “It’s gorgeous! Nathan is gonna have a hard-on the size of Florida when he sees you in this!”
I shush her and look around to make sure there aren’t any other customers in the dressing room. “I’d settle for a smaller package if he was into sex.” Because sadly, my ex wasn’t that into it. Maybe that was the problem.
The mention of a big package has me thinking about Josh.
I guess it’s safe to say I’m not grossed out by his blog. Not by a long shot. Not if I’m still thinking about how amazing it would feel to be filled up by a man like him.
Squeezing my thighs together, I try to quell the sudden flutter down there.
Kendall grabs my shoulder. “Elliot was a tool. If I were a guy, I’d bang you all the time.”
Laughing, I try not to choke. “Thanks? That’s… a little weird, but I get what you’re saying.”
“Seriously, if I were into girls, you’d be perfect. You’re passionate about work and the people in your life, you’re witty and unassuming, and I’ve been jealous of your rack since we were teenagers.”
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
She smirks. “I know.”
I’m feeling a little lighter, less worn down, until I think about why I’m getting this outfit in the first place, which sobers me. “Ken, what if I don’t get the invite? I’ll have spent all of this money for a dress I won’t ever wear.”
She nibbles her lip a moment and then brightens. “How about you get the dress because I know this is going to happen for you, but to assuage my little nervous Nelly, we’ll double-check the return policy and save the receipt. Just in case.”
When I don’t say anything, she tugs on my wrist. “Come on. Take a chance. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
I almost laugh because I can think of a few times, but I know she’s right. I need to take a chance. But more than that, I want to take a chance.
The moment I open the front door to the house, my old Australian shepherd Chauncey greets Kendall and me with an enthusiastic tail wag and a little slobber.
“Hey, boy.” I scruff the fur behind his ear. “Sorry I’m home so late.” He flops at my feet, and I rub his belly.
I turn on the lights and let Chauncey out into the back yard before I pour us drinks.
“Still haven’t unpacked, I see,” Kendall says as she looks around.
“Hey, I unpacked the important things. My bed, my books, and the booze.” Yes, I still have moving boxes lining the walls six months after I bought this place, but my job is a total time suck.
I hand her a glass of my finest and motion toward the living room.
“Two Buck Chuck?” Kendall asks, taking a sniff of the wine.
“Nope. I splurged for you and bought the stuff in the box.”
She snorts and takes a big gulp.
We collapse on the couch, and once I get some wine in my system, I decide to tell her about work.
“So I have this potential client, and he could be big, but I’m not sure I can sell him to the partners.”
Kendall kicks off her shoes and tucks her legs underneath her. “What does he do?”
I consider how I need to phrase this to maintain my potential client’s confidentiality.
While I’ll take Josh’s secrets to the grave, like his real identity and anything related to his contract negotiations, there’s nothing illegal or unethical about generically sharing the broad strokes of what I do or who I work for.
“He has a blog.”
She waits for me to tell her more, but I opt for the easy way out. “Just check it out for yourself.” I grab my laptop and type in the web address before I curl up next to her.
Her eyebrows lift as she scrolls down. “You’re fucking with me.”
“God’s honest truth, this guy called me yesterday and wants me to represent him.”
“And you waited the whole night to mention this?” She elbows me hard, and I flinch.
“Ouch.” I rub my arm and laugh. “Honestly, it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Oh, honey, there is nothing embarrassing about this guy.” Her head tilts as she studies an up-close photo of Josh’s manhood. “He’s… wow. He’s…”
For the first time in our friendship, the woman is speechless. I laugh again, slightly mortified, and hide my face behind my one decorative pillow and mumble, “I know I’m crazy for even considering this.” I sink deeper into my overstuffed couch.
“I think I’d do it just to know who’s behind the goods,” she whispers. “Oh, this one is kinda cute too. The way it’s tilted over like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
“That’s his thing. A theme, I suppose.” In between pics and gifs of him jerking off are fairly beautiful shots of his dick as the Eiffel Tower, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water, or the Burj Khalifa.
When I lower the pillow, Kendall is still staring at the screen, but now her cheeks are slightly flushed. “You’re turned on.” I snicker.
“Uh, yeah, I’d say so.” She wheezes, her eyes wide. “Can you introduce me to him so I could be his fluffer?”
“Fluffer?”
“You know, stroke him so he’s hard and ready for his shots. That way he won’t strain his wrist.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“No, we definitely don’t want that.” She sits up straight and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Tell me everything, Evie—well, everything you’re allowed to tell me—and I’ll help you come up with a plan to get those old geezers at your job on board.”
I smile, relieved, because Kendall could probably talk the devil into doing her bidding. And I’m probably going to need a little of her magic if I hope to reel in this big, uh, fish.
4
Josh
Monday morning at 8:01, my cell phone rings from a 503 Portland area code number that I don’t know. Whoever’s calling me isn’t in my contacts, and I’m suspicious since I normally don’t give out my personal number except to family and a few close friends. Everyone else gets routed through my secretary, who doesn’t come in until nine, like the rest of my employees.
Right now, though, I’m the only one in the office, and I stare at the phone ringing and loudly vibrating on my glass-topped desk, questioning whether I should answer it.
What kind of person is this? Who the hell calls first thing Monday morning? And who the hell calls a cell phone?
Civilized people text.