Layover Rules

Chapter Ten



Holy shit. What have I done?

Those were the first words that came to mind when I woke up the next morning, followed quickly by the thought that I was surprised I’d been able to get to sleep at all.

I checked my phone and found several texts from Alicia. I couldn’t deal with them right then, so I decided to get out of bed and start my day. Maybe if I just got moving…

It wasn’t until I was fully awake, and took a shower that I began to realize the emotion I was feeling about the night before wasn’t the bad kind at all. It was exhilaration. And why shouldn’t I be feeling that way?

As I dried my hair, I stared at myself in the mirror, getting lost in memories of the night before.

I called Alicia on my way to the store.

“I know it’s not even ten there yet,” I said when she answered. “But this can’t wait.”

Since she worked for herself, I tried to avoid calling her too early in the mornings.

“You’re damn right it can’t wait,” she said, “and I’ve been waiting since last night.” She sounded more awake than I’d expected. “What base did you get to?”

I pulled up to a stoplight. “How did I know you would start with the baseball analogies?”

“Because we know each other too well. Now get on with it. What happened?”

I told her everything in the ten minutes it took me to arrive at the mall. I parked and stayed in the car to finish our conversation. I could be late with no consequences, so I wasn’t in a rush.

Alicia said, “Are you going to see him tonight?”

Cars were starting to fill up the parking lot. I saw a couple of the girls who worked in our store going into the mall. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Depends how I feel after work.”

She groaned. “One single one-night fling, and you’re already thinking like a guy. Love ‘em and leave ‘em.”

I laughed and said, “I had such a good time with him.”

“Yeah, yeah. You and your troubles. Rub it in. Oh, get this…”

She told me about a guy who contacted her on Match.com. His messages were interesting, his pictures were cute enough, and he worked at one of the Broadway theaters.

“So,” Alicia said, “I’m thinking this will be interesting. He probably has all kinds of stories about meeting famous people. I didn’t make him wait the usual two weeks. So we meet for lunch and I’m like, is this the same guy?”

“What do you mean? Voice didn’t match the face?”

“No, it wasn’t one of those.”

She had told me about people using fake pictures and how she could always tell if the voice didn’t sound like it came from the face she saw. I thought she was over-analyzing it.

“He hardly talked,” Alicia said. “I had to bring up all the topics. I had to ask all the questions. He wrote me long emails that were smart and funny, and they were about all kinds of things.”

“Maybe he’s one of those guys who gets nervous when he’s face to face with someone.”

“I know, but I just couldn’t take it. At one point, he asked me if I liked milk. Milk! What kind of question is that?”

It was kind of a weird question, but I tried to point out the bright side. “At least he asked you something.”

“Yeah, milk. That’s all. And when I say yes, he starts going on about milk. How he likes milk with his breakfast. How he likes milk with a brownie that’s fresh out of the oven and still warm.”

I started laughing and couldn’t stop. The way she was telling it, her tone and emphasis on certain words, was just as funny as what she was saying.

She said, “I couldn’t believe what I was listening to.”

“So how did it end?”

“I finally just said, ‘Yeah, milk. Gotta love it.’ Something like that. Soooo,” she said, dragging it out. “You skipped the best parts. I want details.”

Alicia and I always shared the dirty details, and as I told her about sex with Sam, I couldn’t help but think how different it was from sex with Trevor….



. . . . .



Early on in my relationship with Trevor, I was under the impression that he was indeed the alpha male I’d think about after reading a romance novel, turning off the light, and drifting off to sleep. That kind of guy existed only in my wandering thoughts during the day and my dreams at night. Then Trevor came along and suddenly it was my reality.

He said all the right things, made all the right moves, had incredible stamina, all of it was there.

It wasn’t long before he raised the topic of his dominant desires. I had already noticed it, of course, but Trevor said it was something we needed to discuss.

We had already had a few experiences with my being a little aggressive, and Trevor losing his desire and ability to continue. And while I had already backed off in that regard, it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—he never gave a reason, never would open up to me about it, but he was very clear about the issue itself.

Having read so much about bondage in those novels, to say I was willing to try it out would be an understatement. I was intensely curious about it, and couldn’t have agreed faster to letting Trevor introduce me to the BDSM world.

He took it slow, starting out with simple things, like tying my wrists to the bedposts using scarves, followed by securing my ankles as well. It wasn’t long before he was using a riding crop and a spanking paddle, but unlike the scarves, those took some getting used to.

There were blindfolds, locking hasp corsets, and cuffs (metal, leather, and a combined version). We rarely used the X-cross, and there was a fur-covered saw horse in the walk-in closet that I had seen a few times but we never put it in practice and I never asked about it.

I drew the line at nipple clamps because, well, ouch. And I refused to let him use the dental forceps because I’ve always hated going to the dentist, plus Trevor, as far as I knew, never spent a day in dental school.



. . . . .



Putting Sam out of my mind turned out to be more difficult than I’d hoped. I went through the motions in the store, but I knew I wasn’t on my game. It was my last full day there, too, which only made things more stressful. My first trip to the Phoenix store, and I was probably going to leave a bad impression.

Corrine called from our New York office while I was having lunch in the food court. “Did you get an interview with Mr. Stein?”

Crap. I didn’t want to talk about this but she must have heard I was being considered for the position, otherwise she wouldn’t have called.

“I’m supposed to meet with him when I get back tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said, not sounding surprised at all. “Well, good luck.”

I really didn’t want to talk to her about this. What I wanted more than anything was to be left alone so I could enjoy the extra-large order of fries on my tray. There was a big puddle of ketchup waiting.

I couldn’t just leave her hanging, though. “How did yours go?”

“Really, really well. But I’m sure you’ll do great, too.” She said it with more than a little barb of condescension in her tone.

“I really need to get back to the store,” I said. I managed to keep the tone of my voice civil, even though I was rolling my eyes and making a disgusted face. “I’ll see you when I get back to the city.”



. . . . .



Later, as I was finishing up at the store and getting ready to head back to the hotel, I figured out what I was going to do about seeing Sam. Though I had left it open-ended with him last night, I had every intention of seeing him again before I flew back the next day.

The rest of my day in the store had been mildly productive. I couldn’t wait for it to be over, and I’m pretty sure it showed in how I dealt with the manager and the store associates. Knowing I would have a few hours there in the morning before flying back to New York, I promised myself that I would leave Phoenix without looking like a distracted, incompetent corporate buffoon, which is how I’d felt all afternoon.

I heard my phone ring, hoping it was Sam, and the day got better as I saw his name on my screen.

“Thank God,” I said when I answered.

“I must have made a good impression last night.”

A smile appeared on my face. Maybe the first real one all day.

“I’ve had a shitty, shitty, shitty day,” I said. Then: “Sorry.” I didn’t want to burden him with the Corrine thing.

“Sorry…for what?” he asked.

“Just blurting out the word ‘shitty’ three times. Real classy. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, Blair? It’s not the first time I heard that word. In fact, I’ve heard ‘damn’ and ‘f*ck’ too, so you can curse all you want.”

I was so grateful for the laugh, I swore I could feel the tension melting away from my body.

“In that case,” I said, “what the f*ck do you want to do tonight?”



. . . . .



There was no dinner. No drinks. No conversation.

When the baseball game was over, Sam finished up the post-game show and came right to my hotel room.

He was still wearing his white dress shirt, but it was untucked and the top two buttons were open, a white t-shirt underneath.

“Do you always wear jeans? Even on the air?” I asked.

He looked down his body, then back up, as though he had to confirm it. He nodded. “The camera only shoots from here up.” He put his hand just above his waist.

“I never thought of that.”

“Well, now you know.”

Something occurred to me. “I wonder if news anchors do that, too.”

“Blair?”

My gaze went from his jeans to his eyes.

He said, “If you want to keep talking about this, I will, but can I at least come in?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

I opened the door wider, moving to the side. Sam entered the room, closed the door behind him, and backed me up against the wall, lifting me up in the process.

I was wearing only a t-shirt, and within thirty seconds of his arrival, it was on the floor, somewhere over near the air conditioning unit.

Two consecutive nights of sex. I was making up for the self-imposed four months of abstinence.



. . . . .



I had promised myself I wouldn’t compare sex with Sam to sex with Trevor, but it seemed inevitable. The thoughts would enter my mind involuntarily, and I would have to make a valiant effort to push them out. Would I be doing that for the rest of my life?

Sam and I were sitting on the bed, enjoying some room service—a decent wine and some great pineapple and Canadian bacon quesadillas. They were Sam’s choice, and it turned out to be a good one. I thought they would make a good addition to Alicia’s catering menu, and I made a mental note to mention it to her.

“Too bad our travel schedules don’t always match up like this,” he said.

His comment came out of nowhere, surprising me for a split second. But a response came to me instantly.

“They could.”

He looked up at me, but didn’t say anything.

We weren’t in a relationship. If anything, it really was more like a friends with benefits situation, which is exactly what I was thinking I needed.

“I make my own travel plans,” I said. “I mean, it all goes through our HR department, they arrange the flights and hotels, but I decide where to go.”

“Sounds like they’ve given you a dangerous amount of freedom.”

“It could be dangerous,” I said.

“It should be.”

He leaned over to kiss me.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “Wait. Before you say anything, I want you to know I don’t have any expectations. You’re busy. I’m busy. We’re two people who like each other. Nothing more, nothing less. And we have an opportunity to spend some time together.”

He didn’t say anything, and I started to get a little worried. Had I been too forward? Maybe I should have let him finish what he was going to say. No, screw that. I was still in control of my own destiny here, and there was no reason to cede that power to anyone else.

Sam sipped his wine, set his glass down, and said, “You’re serious.”

I nodded, a little hesitantly at first, but then more emphatically. “Why ruin a good thing?”

He pressed his lips together, raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side, the way people do as if to convey: You have a point.

I said, “But maybe we should get some things out in the open first.”

“Okay. Go for it.”

This was it. I was about to tell him how I wanted things to go forward. Earlier, I had received another text from Alicia that read: Rebound!

It was becoming some kind of mantra for her, possibly more than it was for me. Maybe she hadn’t been kidding about living vicariously through me after all.

After getting her text, I thought about what I would say to him if the opportunity arose, and here it was.

“Okay,” I said, “first thing, like I said, I don’t have any expectations.”

“Got it.”

“I think we need some…guidelines if we’re going to do this.”

“Blair?”

He had a way of getting my attention by saying my name like a question.

I looked at him, my eyebrows raised.

“You’re beating around the bush,” he said.

I responded without wasting any time: “No spending the night. No kissing in public. No flowers, chocolates, gifts, anything like that is off-limits. No cute notes. No sweet texts—”

Sam looked a little surprised. “You’ve really thought this out.”

“I’m not done yet,” I said. “Basically none of that boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. I just don’t want that in my life now or in the foreseeable future. And no breakups. We’re not together so it wouldn’t be a breakup, but you know what I mean.”

“If one of us wants to end it, just end it.”

I pointed at him. “Exactly. Oh, and one more thing. Since I’m not going to be your girlfriend, no serious personal stuff. Work venting, yes. And you can do the same. But personal lives? Off limits. Unless it’s old stories.”

His brow furrowed. “How old?”

“I don’t know, just use your best judgment. You know what I’m talking about.”

There were a few moments of silence between us and he said, “So, that’s it?”

“I think so. Do you have anything to add?”

“No chick flicks.”

“Fine,” I said, “then no baseball.”

He stuck out his hand and we shook on the promise that if we went to the movies I wouldn’t make him watch chick flicks, and if we were staying in and the TV was on, he wouldn’t make me watch baseball.

“One other thing,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Only on the road. No seeing each other in New York.”

“Why not?”

I’d thought this through pretty thoroughly and felt like I had a good reason for this one. “Well, because we both live there. If we see each other in the city, it will be too much like dating.”

He nodded. “I’m not there very much, anyway.”

“See? That’s why it works so well. So, we’re a…not a couple…we’re a thing, and only when we’re traveling.”

“We’re a thing.”

I nodded.

He said, “I can live with that.”

“So, those are the only rules for now. If we need to add some, we will.” A phrase hit me, something I hadn’t even thought of until that moment on the spot. “We’ll call them the Layover Rules.”

“The what?”

“Layover Rules,” I said. “It’s catchy. You know, a travel term, we have rules…”

My voice trailed off and I suddenly felt a little silly, then told myself to relax. I was doing what I wanted, and having fun with it, so I was entitled to a little playfulness.

Sam frowned. “But a layover means—”

“I know.” I moved toward him, straddled his lap, kissed him. “It’s not like we’re hooking up in the airport between flights. Don’t be so literal.”

“Fine. Layover Rules, it is. I like it…” His voice faded out, smothered in our kiss.