9
Savannah
That’s twice now that I have come dangerously close to kissing Alex. If the opportunity comes again, I don’t think I’ll be able to resist. A girl can only be so strong in the face of temptation. And that man is a walking, talking, sex-on-a-stick temptation.
I’ve worked from home more this week than in the office, and I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s mostly so I can avoid Alex. I’ve still seen him at the pool each morning, but he’s been remarkably circumspect with his advances ever since our locker room incident. I’m calling it an incident in my head because if I acknowledge the fact that his cock felt like a rod of steel against my hip, I might spontaneously combust.
The other night with my trusty vibrator was the one and only time I allowed myself to think of him while touching myself. And I’ve never had an orgasm so strong, so intense and powerful. If the very thought of him can bring me to such great heights, I can’t even imagine what it would be like were I to give in to him in real life.
The voice in my head, that of the devil that sits on my shoulder, is growing louder in her insistence that I’m being an idiot to resist him. What harm would it cause to just let go and enjoy the pleasure he seems to be offering? Lord knows he doesn’t seem the type to want a relationship, so could I have a one-night stand and then move on? The answer is a definite no. I suspect Alexander Devlin would ruin me for any other man. Not to mention the whole co-worker/pseudo-boss dynamic. I know I’m not actually an employee, just a private contractor working with him and Brayden, but it still seems inappropriate in a way. There’s a clear power imbalance between me, the poor accountant, and him, the hotshot swimmer turned successful businessman.
But the reality is, this contract with the DC Group could be the key to unlocking the door to many more opportunities for me. Opportunities that could cement my place as a freelance accountant in this city, where I’m a small fish swimming with big, giant sharks. I can’t screw this up. And while I’m not assuming Alex would screw me, and then screw me over, there’s no denying that indulging in any sort of sexual relationship with him would be a risk to my career.
When I finally shut my computer down, it’s late enough that my stomach is rumbling loudly to tell me it’s dinner time. Only problem is, I haven’t had time to get any groceries lately, so the offerings in my apartment are limited to cheap white wine, my emergency stash of Cheetos, and a sad avocado.
With a mug of wine and a bowl of Cheetos in hand, I grab my handful of takeout menus and head back to my favorite spot on my couch. As I debate between tacos and pizza, my phone rings with a video call from my parents.
“Hey, Momma,” I grin as I take in her face filling my screen.
“Hi, baby girl! How are you? Are you eating enough? We miss you so much. Harold? HAROLD?” She turns away from her phone and I hear her calling for my Dad. This happens every time, and it never ceases to make me chuckle. My mom embraced technology when I moved away, but my dad hates it, so he always tries to avoid a video call. Eventually I hear his voice grumbling in the background, then both my parents are there, smiling at me.
“Hey guys, I’m good. Busy as always. Yes, I’m eating Momma, I was just trying to decide what to order for dinner, as a matter of fact.” I settle in under my blanket and open my computer to order dinner through the website from my favorite Mexican place. It’s a taco night tonight.
“Honey, you need a home-cooked meal, not more fast food,” my mother chides. She always tries to bribe me to come home for a visit with food as an incentive. And if it weren’t for my tight budget, I would be on the first plane home. No one makes tater tot casserole like my mother, and it’s been too many months since I had some. For all that I’m happy to have moved away, I do miss my parents deeply.
“I know, I’ll hit the store tomorrow, I promise. I just lost track of time working on the inventory reports for the shelter tonight.”
My parents’ faces wreathe into smiles. They love dogs as much as I do, and they know how desperate I am to adopt Molly. “How is our favorite soon-to-be granddog, anyway?” my mom asks.
“She’s good. I went by there earlier today and took her for a walk.”
My heart twinges when I think of leaving Molly this morning. I hate having to walk away from her at the shelter every time I go. I’m so close to having enough saved for her adoption fee and a year’s worth of expenses. The accountant in me can’t fathom not being financially prepared for a commitment like a dog, even if my refusal to accept help from anyone is the only thing standing in my way of bringing her home.
“Soon, honey. She’ll be with you soon,” my dad says quietly. He gets it. He’s the one who got me into accounting and instilled my strict sense of responsibility.
We’re all quiet for a minute, but I can see my mother shifting in her seat. She wants to give me the money to adopt Molly, but I keep refusing her.
“So tell me what you’ve been up to. Dad, how’s your golf game?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “Oh Savannah, you know better than to ask him that. We’ll be here for hours.”
“Now Darlene, you should be happy I’ve got a hobby outside of the house. You know I could spend my retirement at home, with you.”
I have to laugh at the horrified look on my mom’s face. My parents love each other deeply, but when Dad first retired two years ago, Mom just about went nuts having him underfoot all the time. She basically forced him to join the local golf club, but she still loves to tease him about it.
We chat for a few more minutes, Mom catching me up on some more town gossip from back home, and me filling them in on the parts of my job at the DC group that I can share. Thankfully, I manage to control my blush whenever I mention Alex’s name, so there’s no uncomfortable questions.
After I get off the phone, I sit in the dim light of my apartment for a few minutes as the usual wave of loneliness washes over me. My parents are so in love, even after nearly forty years of marriage. Their connection is what I dream of finding one day.
Alone, in the dark, it’s not a huge surprise to me that Alex’s face is at the forefront of my thoughts. Even though I’m confident he’s not the romantic, marrying kind, I can’t help but think of him. There’s a magnetic pull between us that I don’t know if I can resist much longer.
As if he’s in my head, reading my thoughts, my phone lights up with an incoming text message.
ALEX: Are we okay?
Wait. What? What’s he talking about? I nibble on my fingernails, a childhood stress habit, as I try to discern what he means by that loaded question. I type, then delete, then type again, into my phone several times before I settle on a response that I hope seems innocuous enough.
SAVANNAH: Yes? I mean, I think so? Are we?
