Night Owl

CHAPTER 2

Hannah

LEAVING MICK'S HAIRY ass was the best decision I made in the last five years.

Leaving my job as a teller at Bank West was the second best decision.

The guy and the job didn't respect me—and they didn't deserve me.

No matter how I asked or what I threatened, Mick refused to quit smoking and drinking. He had an infuriating habit of groping me in public and lately the sex was, well, not sex. More like a six-thrust oops!

When I looked at Mick, I had to force myself to remember that I used to love him. I used to find his nerd humor funny. I used to be attracted to his jawless pointy-chinned face and scruffy receding hairline.

Sort of.

As for the bank, I stayed on as a teller for three years while my favorite boss got canned, my friends gradually left, and I was passed over time and time again for promotions.

Good riddance to them both.

And hello to three days on the road going fifty-five with a U-Haul hooked to my Civic, spacing out and thinking about Matt.

"Hellooo?" My sister waved her iPod in my face.

"Huh? What?"

"For the... third time." She turned down my Lana Del Rey playlist. "Can I puh-lease change the music?"

"Oh, yeah. Whatever."

I stared ahead at the highway.

I felt Chrissy watching me as she plugged in her iPod.

"Sooo." She plopped her feet on the dash and hiphop blared from the speakers.

"So what?" I glanced at her. As always, I was struck by my sister's beauty. She's twenty-one and has a dancer's fit body. Much to our parents' chagrin, Chrissy was saving for an apartment and putting herself through dance classes by working at a strip club. She claimed to love it, but I wasn't so sure.

"So, who's the new guy?" She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Our father calls us both heartbreakers, but Chrissy and I are practically opposites. My style is natural. I let my hair grow long, prefer glasses to contacts, wear very little makeup, and work out only enough to define my soft curves.

My sister is punk. She has tats, half a dozen piercings, lives in eyeliner, and dyes her pixie haircut black and blond.

And when it comes to me, she has always been uncannily perceptive.

"New guy? There is no new guy," I said. "Can you turn this shit down? Or at least find a song that doesn't make my ears bleed?"

"Girl, you better get used to it." Chrissy grooved in her seat, lifting her arms. Bracelets clanked down her wrists. "It's what we'll be listening to when I teach you how to twerk."

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen you dance, Han. You need a little help. And then you can show your new guy, it'll drive him nuts. Is he in Colorado?"

Yes. Yes he is.

"What? No! I mean, no there is no guy. You're ridiculous."

"H'okay," Chrissy laughed. "All I know is, you would never have ditched your job and boyfriend without some motivation. Sorry Han, your balls just aren't that big."

I swallowed and focused on the yellow lines rolling ahead of me in the night. I wanted so badly to talk about Matt. I thought about him nonstop while we packed and drove.

Spread your legs. Help me come. God, my heart is pounding.

But what could I tell Chrissy? You're right sis, I met this guy named Matt. Online. I know exactly three things about him. He lives in Colorado, he's an awesome writer, and he gets off talking to scantily clad strangers on the internet. Love at first Skype.

Yeah, that would go over well. Lots of laughing and eye rolling would ensue, and of course the inevitable question: do you know what he looks like?

God, no, I didn't know what Matt looked like.

I knew what Cal looked like—tall, blond, handsome, lean—but Matt could be a three-hundred-pound basement dweller. Ugh, he probably was. Stereotypes exist for a reason and Matt happened to be an internet-trawling male of an indeterminate age who came inside of five minutes when I told him I had big breasts (and who also had a convenient no pictures rule).

What a depressing line of thought.

I gave my sister a flat look.

"Be useful," I mumbled, "help me look for a hotel."

We stopped at 3:00 a.m. in the Cascades. My sister flung herself onto the motel bed and passed out. I sat in the bathroom and checked my email for the one-hundredth time.

Finally! Two emails from Matt. One was a reply to my post. The other had no subject.

Subject: (no subject)

Sender: Matthew S.

Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013

Time: 2:46 AM

Hi Hannah,

I just sent you a post. How's the move going? You're a brave little bird. And hey, you're invading my state. Small world, right?

I want to say that I hope you don't think less of me after what happened (the bathrobe incident, as I like to call it). I know it was seedy as f*ck. I wouldn't be surprised if you did think less of me. I don't know what to think of myself.

Sorry I was a dick about the picture.

I haven't seen you on Skype so I assume you're on the road. I'm going to break another one of my rules. If you want to call, my number is 303-774-5761.

Matt

* * *

Subject: Seedy as f*ck

Sender: Hannah Catalano

Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013

Time: 3:20 AM

Hey, are you still awake?


* * *

Subject: Re: Seedy as f*ck

Sender: Matthew S.

Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013

Time: 3:21 AM

Yeah. I'm waiting.

Matt

* * *

My breath grew shallow as I read Matt's reply. I'm waiting. How could a guy seem so sexy and confident when he was only words on a screen?

He was waiting. Waiting for me to call. He didn't need to say it; I knew it.

My hands shook as I added Matt to my contacts and called the number.

Panic set in as I listened to the ring.

I'm about to talk to Matt.

I'm about to hear his voice.

I don't even know this guy.

What the hell am I doing?

He could be a psycho stalker.

We shouldn't cross this line.

I can hang up.

I can hang up now.

Yeah, I'm going to h—

"Hannah?"

I swallowed and slid down the bathroom wall.

"Hannah, is that you?"

Matt's cool, clear voice swirled in my ear. It was distantly accented—New Jersey, maybe New York—and a little husky.

He sounded sleepy.

He sounded sexy as hell.

I had the overwhelming urge to ask him to keep saying my name. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Help me come. Warmth bloomed between my legs.

"Okay then." He laughed softly. I felt my reason melting at the sound. "We'll play the one-sided conversation game. I'm Matt, it's nice to—" Again, he broke into quiet laughter. His voice was rich with amusement, but not warm. He sounded contemptuous. He sounded ready to laugh at anything, simply for the pleasure of laughing with his silky voice.

I couldn't help but picture the devilish eyes that must have accompanied that voice.

Green eyes, I decided. Dark green, secretive and deep like a forest.

"I was going to say it's nice to meet you," he went on, "but I guess we've technically met online. Now we're meeting on the phone. Maybe..." He trailed off. I heard some shuffling. "God, if this is you trolling me Nate, I swear I'm going to break your f*cking—"

"Hey! Sorry, I—" I scooted over to the bathroom door, opened and closed it, then sat back against the wall. Brilliant. Sorry, I was soaking my underwear while I listened creepily to your voice. "—sorry, yeah. I had to go in the bathroom. My sister is asleep."

Matt was silent for a moment.

"Is that why you're whispering?" he said.

"Yeah. She's really tired. We're at a motel, we just stopped. Pretty sure the wall between this bathroom and her bed is a piece of plywood, so."

"Well... damn. I wanted to hear your voice. I mean, your regular volume voice." He chuckled. "Do you think you could risk a few words? I'll deal with your sister if she wakes up."

I smirked, imagining a conversation between my hotheaded sis and this glib personality.

"I think that would be a bad idea. But, um. Sure. What should I say?"

"With your normal voice? How about, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."

"Okay." I cleared my throat. I was suddenly painfully self-conscious about my voice. "Um. Okay. The... the quick brown fox—"

Laughter exploded on the line. It was loud and sharp, nearly cruel.

"Oh... my god Hannah." I heard a clatter, then some scuffling. "Oh f*ck. You were really saying it. The quick... brown fox... oh god." Matt dissolved into laughter again.

I glared at my knees.

"What's so f*cking funny?" I whispered.

"Hannah. Hannah, I'm sorry."

I heard him take a few calming breaths.

"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry. Ignore me, seriously. I have a weird sense of humor. That... that struck me funny. You have a lovely voice. Go figure."

Go figure? What did he mean by that?

"Look, is there a reason you wanted me to call, or were you just looking for some late night entertainment?"

"Pretty sure this classifies as early morning entertainment, Hannah."

"Okay. Well whatever. Look, I'm not sure why I—"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

His words stopped me cold.

His words, and something in his voice. Honesty.

"What we did," he continued. "Or what you did to me..."

My throat went dry. What I did to him. It should have grossed me out, the thought of a stranger beating off to a few details about my body, but it didn't. It intrigued me. The heat between my legs pulsed.

"You know what I'm talking about," he insisted. An edge came into his voice at the slightest provocation.

"Y-yeah," I managed. "Yeah."

"You enjoyed it."

"Yeah."

"You said you wished I were pounding into you."

"Yeah..."

I couldn't believe this smooth-talking stranger was dictating to me how I felt.

I couldn't believe I was blindly agreeing.

And I couldn't believe my considerable vocabulary had suddenly been reduced to "yeah."

"Hannah, you made me come so hard. And I did it again, thinking about you. Let me return the favor."

His words hung in the silence between us.

Return the favor. Help me come.

"Yes," I whispered. My voice was a thread of sound.

"God, Hannah. Tell me what you're wearing."

Shivers raced up and down my spine as I locked the bathroom door and glanced at myself in the mirror. My skin was flushed. I must have been biting my lips because they were swollen and bright.

"A baby blue cami and a pair of jeans."

"Get out of those jeans. What else?"

My pulse fluttered. I jerked at my jeans with one hand and shoved them down, stepping out of them. I kept watching myself in the mirror. I expected to see confusion on my face—was I out of my f*cking mind right now?—but all I saw was a glazed look of arousal.

"A gray pushup bra and a blue thong with a black lace waistband."

"F*ck, a thong? Perfect. God, you're perfect. Lie down. Put the phone near your ear. I want you to have both hands free."

I obeyed automatically. I was putty in this stranger's hands. Not even his hands! His sexy, soft voice, demanding and encouraging.

I grabbed two clean towels from the rack and strew them on the bathroom floor, then stretched out on top of them and set my iPhone beside my ear.

"I bet your breasts look damn good in that pushup bra, Hannah. Why don't you lift your cami and show them off. How do they look, hm? Pressed together, nice and high? You like to show them off? Squeeze them for me. Spread your legs. Is that the kind of girl you are, teasing men with your beautiful tits? I bet you like it. You liked driving me mad in your bathrobe, making me get hard."

"Yes," I gasped. Yes, yes, yes. I pulled my tight cami up, bunching it high around my chest and baring my bra and breasts to the empty bathroom. I imagined Matt hovering over me. I imagined him smirking and telling me I liked to show off my tits. Was it true?

I squeezed the cups of my bra and bit my lip to suppress a groan.

"Your nipples are sensitive. You told me that." Matt laughed softly. "Twist them, Hannah. Rub them and pull on them. Don't spare yourself the pain. I bet you're drenched."

"I am," I whispered. "God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am."

I could. I could feel the slick, oozing sensation of desire between my legs.

Matt drew a sharp breath.

With trembling hands I unclasped my bra and slid the cups off my breasts. I pinched a nipple between my fingers and gasped. So sensitive! An arrow of pleasure shot down to my sex. Don't spare yourself the pain. I twisted my nipple and yelped.

"Hannah!" For the first time, I heard a quaver in Matt's voice. He was losing control. He was losing control with me. I began to tremble.

"Do it with me," I whispered. "Matt, please."

"I am. I have to. I can't help it. Hannah... god, do it. Spread your p-ssy, rub your *. Come with me. God, I need this. What are you doing to me?"

My nipples were already stiff and aching. I shoved aside my thong and began to slide my finger over my *. Everything between my legs was soaked.

"So wet," I breathed. "Everything. So wet. Matt, god."

"S-say my name again. Again."

"Matt, god Matt, I... I'm close."

I heated with embarrassment. On my own, it could take upwards of twenty minutes to get a good orgasm. Now, with Matt's insistent voice in my ear, I couldn't stop the pleasure from spiraling upward.

"Oh god, Hannah. F*ck, I'm c—"

"Coming!" I panted.

Matt gave a ragged moan. My p-ssy throbbed and pleasure rolled through my body like a shockwave. I shook on the floor. Fluid squirted around my fingers. Bliss.

I don't know how long I lay there breathing, feeling the little aftershocks of ecstasy. My heart slowed to a sluggish pace. I thought I could sleep forever. On the line, Matt sighed and took one deep breath after another. Finally his voice broke the silence.

"Is blue your favorite color?"

"What?" I smiled lazily. "I mean, yeah. How did you know?"

"Good guess," he murmured.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Don't have one."

"Oh, that's a little sad somehow."

"Nah." He chuckled. "I actually have one. You'll laugh, though. I'm not telling."

"What? No way, I won't laugh." Except I did laugh, and I heard my satisfaction and happiness in the sound. This felt like pillow talk. This felt like the kind of thing Mick and I used to enjoy when we first hooked up. Too bad nothing lasts. "It's probably something ridiculous, like... hot pink. Am I right?"

"Not telling. Hey, it's late."

"Pretty sure this classifies as early, Matt."

He laughed.

"Touché little bird. You looking forward to being home?"

"Yes and no. I miss my family. I miss Colorado; it's where I grew up. I'm pretty sure I'll be lonely, though."

"Lonely? You'll have your family."

"Not that kind of lonely."

"Ah." I could hear the smile in Matt's voice. "But there's no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness."

I blinked and sat up.

There is no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness.

"Matt, did you seriously just quote from Ten Thousand Nights?" I laughed. "Are you a Pierce fan?"

I heard a click, then silence.

"Matt?"

I frowned at my phone. He was gone. And it was close to 4:00 a.m. for me, 5:00 a.m. for him. I sent him a text.

Think our call got dropped. Or you awkwarded out and hung up. It's late anyway. I mean early. ;) Goodnight. Good morning. And thanks.

The motel mattress was like a slab of concrete, but I dropped into sleep within seconds. My sleep was full of dreams. My dreams were full of laughing green eyes, whispered demands, and hushed moans.