I walk down the short hallway to the room with the light on. She’s lying on the bed, naked. The visual alone has my body charged and ready.
“You want to hit the light?” I work the button fly of my jeans.
Her face twists in anger. “What is it with you?” She props herself up on her elbows. “No touching. No foreplay. No lights! What do you think this is? Some quickie with the stripper?”
My hands freeze at my fly. Is she kidding? Of course that’s what this is. I shrug. No use in leading the girl on. “Yeah.”
Her eyes sweep my body from head to toe then back again. “Whatever.” She rolls to the side and clicks the light, plunging us in darkness.
Much better.
I focus on the task before me: Meeting a need, no connection, no feeling anywhere above my waist. A goal set before me, a finish line that I’m racing to breach so I can go home and get some sleep.
She moves for a kiss, and I turn away. She tries to engage me in dirty talk. It’s easy to ignore. Finally, she gives up, allowing our bodies to take what they want.
Still completely clothed, except for the fly of my jeans, I stand from her bed to leave. This girl probably has something more to offer a guy. But that guy ain’t me.
Just the thought of having some needy chick hanging on my arm, making me buy her crap, taking up my time with her petty issues about girl shit makes me shiver. I need to get the hell out of here.
“Will you call me, you know, if you ever want to hang out again?” Her small voice reaches my nowsated brain.
Fuck. This is uncomfortable.
I grab my phone and press a few buttons. “What’s your number?” And your name. She rattles off seven digits, and I pretend to program them into my phone.
“Right, I got it. Go to sleep.”
I have a Jiminy Cricket moment with my conscience. “Thanks for . . . that.”
She mumbles something I can’t quite make out and I slip from her room.
*
Raven
“Holy crud.” Shooting straight up in bed, I cover my ears. “Stupid thing.” I pound quiet my obnoxious alarm.
Usually waking on my own, I forget how that thing buzzes like a swarm of bees with megaphones glued to their butts. Next paycheck I’m clock radio shopping.
The heels of my hands dig into my eye sockets to rub away my sleepy haze. Why did I stay up so late? I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push up with a big, feline stretch.
Coffee. That’s what I need. I step in the direction of my kitchenette and kick the large wooden box on the floor.
“Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie.” Cradling my injured foot, I give the darn box my most evil glare, the evidence of what kept me up so late, punishing me still.
The box is full of every Car and Driver magazine I own. I got sucked into some old issues last night and couldn’t put them down until I kept falling asleep and face planting into the pages.
I shove the box under my bed and stir together my morning pick me up. A few teaspoons of freeze dried granules, cream, and sugar. Voila. A perfectly crappy cup of coffee.
I plop on the edge of my bed and gaze around my small but cozy home: four walls, one window, and one door. The doors to my bathroom and closet are nothing more than shower curtains on rods. Not my first choice, but the rent is cheap, and it’s close to work—like right above it.
Work. I check the time.
“Twenty minutes? Plenty of time.”
After sipping my coffee, I strip out of my PJ’s and jump in the shower. The heat from the shower combined with the caffeine help to chase away the last of my drowsiness.
Wrapped in a towel, I open the top drawer of my dresser and gaze at my bra and panty collection. “Good morning, my pretties.”
It’s my little addiction. Over fifty percent of my paycheck goes toward my balance at Victoria’s Secret. Vivid memories of my mom folding her laundry flicker before my eyes. Yes, her lingerie was appealing, but the reason why she—no. I shake the memories loose. Not going there.
My eyes scan each perfectly matching set. What color do I feel like today?
“How about you?” I grab the purple satin and lace duo and slide them on. Something about wearing beautifully sexy stuff under my uniform always brings a smile to my face.
With a quick dry of my hair, I pile it on top of my head. Throwing on a tank top, I slide my blue uniform coveralls up over my hips, tying the long sleeves around my waist. A swipe of mascara and a couple passes of cherry Chapstick and my look is complete.
Keys in hand, along with a small can of cat food, I’m out the door. Hopping down the stairs to the alley, I scrunch up my nose at the smell of rot and debris from the dumpsters.
“Good morning, Dog.” In a crouch, I pet the black alley cat that showed up at my door months ago.
“You hungry?” I pop the lid and place the can of food on the bottom stair, smiling at his answering meow. Dog scarfs it down, as he does every morning, and I rub behind his ears.