Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Why is that?”
“You’d just be using me for sex.”
I had to ponder whether she was right. The sexual attraction was off the charts. But deep down, I knew this connection with her was far deeper than that. I just couldn’t figure out where it was coming from or what it meant. Soraya had lit some kind of fire in me that I couldn’t extinguish. Getting her naked beneath me was definitely a goal, but it wasn’t just that. I needed to figure it out.
“Not to be a dick, but I can get ass anytime I want from almost anyone. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then, what is it?”
“I don’t exactly know,” I said, truthfully. “But I want to find out.”
She was silent for a few seconds then seemed to withdraw. “I think I should go.”
“Is it something I said?”
“I just need to go.”
“Alright then. When will we talk again?”
“I don’t know.”
Then, she just hung up.
Soraya Venedetta fucking hung up on me. An urge to chase her down overtook me.
Calm your dick, Graham.
My stomach growled, making me realize that incompetent Lynn never returned with my sandwich and coffee.
Approaching the front desk, I asked, “Where the hell is my secretary? She was supposed to be back with my lunch.”
“I’m afraid she notified the agency that she’s not coming back.”
Fucking great.
My head ached from caffeine withdrawal. I returned to my office and grabbed my jacket before heading out to the deli down the street.
Opening my laptop at the table, a brilliant idea came to me. I looked up Ask Ida’s website and decided to submit a question in the hopes that it would reach Soraya. I began to type.
Dear Ida,
There’s this woman I can’t seem to get out of my mind. She texted me pictures of her tits, legs, and ass, but won’t let me see her in person. The only reason I can think of is that she’s really ugly and afraid to show me her face. How can I get her to agree to see me and to understand that not all men are as shallow as she seems to think? –Stuck-Up Suit, Manhattan
Laughing to myself, I closed the laptop and finished my Pastrami on Rye. This woman was even making me eat like shit. I made a few business calls and checked in on Meme at the nursing home before opening my laptop once again. A response from Ask Ida was sitting in my inbox.
Dear Stuck-Up Suit,
It’s quite possible you are drawing the wrong conclusion. There is no evidence to suggest that this woman is ugly. Perhaps, she is just not that into you. You may also want to look in the mirror and consider the fact that an ugly personality is a far greater deterrent than an ugly face ever could be.
Bending my head back in laughter, I marveled at this woman’s wit. That mouth on her…I couldn’t wait to fuck it. Aside from the fact that she was funny, honest, beautiful, sexy, and unlike anyone I’d ever been with, there was a part of her that seemed vulnerable and guarded. I wanted to know more about why she was so afraid of me. This kind of curiosity was not characteristic of me at all. While that was unsettling, my need to get to know her superseded everything else.
***
SITTING ACROSS FROM HER on the train without blatantly ogling her was truly an art form. Much like a ventriloquist who operates a dummy without moving his lips, I had to somehow stare at her without her knowing.
This particular morning, it was really a challenge to keep it subtle, not only because she looked so goddamn hot, but because she wasn’t alone. A heavily tattooed man who looked way more her type than I was, sat next to her. They were talking and laughing, and I wanted to basically snap his pencil neck.
My blood really started pumping when he leaned over and kissed her. I couldn’t tell if it was on her face or her lips because of my only being able to sneak glances. He then got up and exited the train, leaving her behind.
The jealousy within me that previously had been lingering under the surface had now become blinding. It was so blinding, in fact, that I wasn’t even thinking when I suddenly typed out a text.
Who the fuck is he?
She seemed to freeze before slowly looking over at me. Her already pale skin turned nearly white. Her head had lifted and met my gaze instantaneously. She knew it was me.
Had she always known we took the same train?
I thought about it some more. Without any hesitation, her eyes had landed straight on mine as if she knew exactly where to look.
She’d been pretending not to know who I was all this time.
She must have looked up my picture online. I couldn’t figure out how else she knew it was me, but that really didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that I was now face to face with the woman who had infiltrated my mind, body, and soul from the moment she opened her big mouth on that intercom.