Lust (2 page)

My knight. What had happened? God, what did I do? Did
I go home with him?

Opening one eye to bring the room into view, I sighed with
relief that I was, in fact, in my own bedroom. But how the hell
had I gotten here? From what I could feel, I was in a T-shirt and
panties but nothing else. Who had undressed me?

Uhh, Mr. Spank Me Now had undressed me, and I wasn’t
even conscious for it. Way to go!

I didn’t recall having sex. Then again, I was so obliterated I
couldn’t possibly remember. Oh, but how I wanted him. That
I recalled; that memory was clear as day.

Sadly, he had never come around to telling me his name,
so I couldn’t even Google the guy. With the expensive suit
and the town car parked in VIP outside the bar, he had to be
someone that would easily be found with a Google search.

Well, at least he was on the top of the list for daydreaming
and definitely for masturbation visuals. And so it began: every
moment my eyes remained shut, my visions were of him, this
Feeling the smirk growing on my lips, I tried to compose
myself before a giggle slipped out. Because of my mental comedy
show, I almost forgot that I wasn’t alone and, even worse, I
didn’t even notice that Derek was whispering or rather mumbling
something to me. “I’m sorry. What was that? Were you
saying something? I was dozing off.” Yup, lying again, and I
was now completely ignoring his presence, or more like his
existence.

Derek smiled through the darkness. “I guess I took a lot out
of you. All that passion and energy must have worn you out,”

he said, very sure of himself.

What is wrong with you? Are you out of your damn mind? Ten
minutes in the missionary position, in slow motion none the less, and
you think you drained me of my passion and energy? I wasn’t even close
to an orgasm, damn it. God, I should be fucking “The Knight” right
now. I’m sure he could teach you a thing or two.

My mind was ready to pick his ass up and throw him out
the window, but I had to calm myself. He was trying to be
sweet.

“There you go, thinking again. Tell me what it is; you know
you can share your feelings with me. You would think that after
three months of being together that you would be an open book
to me,” Derek mumbled to the darkness in front of him.

OK, just kill me now. When did men turn into little bitches?

“Ah, Derek, three months is not really that much time together.

I mean, if you were to count the actual total time we’ve
spent together in three months, it would actually be…um,
maybe one month.”

Perhaps this verbal affirmation of how little time we’ve actually
spent together would spark some reality check instinct in
Derek, where he would realize that this hadn’t been a lifetime
and that we most likely wouldn’t get to see what a lifetime felt
like together. The last half hour in bed with him sure felt like
an eternity though, or maybe more like purgatory, waiting in
a timeless existence to see whether or not I’d be going to hell.

“I knew you felt the same. I am so glad we are on the same
page.” Derek leaned in, trying to kiss me passionately, a kiss
that most women dream of but right now felt like the kiss
you would get from the fat, pimple-covered nerd in sixth grade
when you got screwed during a game of spin the bottle.

“Derek, I’m not sure we are on the same page, what I’m
trying to say is—”

Derek cut in and began rambling again, only this time
with a conviction in his voice that sent a chill down my spine.

This chill went from my spine to my stomach and right up to
my throat, causing a gag reflex as he continued. “The last three
months have flown by. It didn’t feel like three months at all.

We fit so well together. I mean, the love making is so intense
and—”

“OK, Derek, I really need you to go. I’m sorry, but I have
to get up in three hours for work, and I have a really hectic day
ahead of me. So, I apologize, but can we continue this some
other time?”

Pray, Eva. Pray to the gods, Saint Anthony—wait, Saint
Anthony helps you find lost things. Nope, I want him to get lost.

Jesus, Allah, somebody get him out of my bed and out of my house, I’m
going to—
“My enthusiastic, hard-working girl. Hmmm, I can’t wait
to take care of you so that you won’t have to get up early and
work hard all day. But, I know you are a go-getter and successful
in all you do, so I’m going to let you get some rest.” Still in
the dark, a wet kiss landed on my forehead, like I was five all
over again. Thankfully, I felt shuffling of sheets, and then the
bed moved.

He was going. Hurray! “Thank you for understanding. Can
you please lock the door on your way out? I just have no energy
left to get me out of bed to see you out.” Smirking, I had to
bite the sheet in my hand to truly push down the deep desire
to laugh out loud.

Derek dressed—it couldn’t have been fast enough—and
bid me good night. As the door eased shut, the sound of the
slow click of the lock was golden.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with men? What
does it take to get laid around here by someone who knows
what the hell they are doing? OK, I give up. Shit. Damn, I
have no luck!”

Utterly annoyed, I reached for the TV remote and turned
the television on. The light made my eyes wince for a moment
as I had been staring at and talking through the darkness for
the last half hour. And at the time I had thanked God for the
darkness, but now I needed to truly tire myself out so I could
get at least a few hours of sleep in before I had to roll into work.

Flipping through the channels, nothing was on of course.

It was 3:30 a.m., and the only happening thing was QVC. The
porn even sucked at this hour, and not literally. The porn at
3:30 a.m. showed photo shoots of centerfolds that could make
your average person want to kill themselves with a mirror. I
continued to flip through the channels and then, “Finally, a
movie! Aw, damn it. It’s a chick flick.” But, chick flicks definitely
bore and tire me. So, hey, why not.

After about twenty minutes, I realized that I was actually
watching the movie, and I was almost into it. OK, I have to
be shot. The movie was Something Borrowed, a love story based
on an Emily Griffin book. I had once been in awe of authors
like Emily and loved Nicholas Sparks up until my early twenties.

After finding my purpose in life and making a success of
my career in business, I guess I just refused to make time to
hope, dream, or believe in Prince Charming and his fairy tale
endings.

Yup, I’m a cynic at best! Truth is, I still adore Griffin and
Sparks as authors, but I’m just too cynical to believe that their
plots could ever be possible.

This particular movie was about four friends. To simplify
it, we’ll call them:

Hot Guy

Hot Girl

Normal Guy

Normal Girl

Normal Girl was in love with Hot Guy but didn’t think
she was good enough for him, so she somehow unintentionally
set him up with her Hot Girl friend, and they ended up
getting engaged. Normal Girl and Hot Guy were secretly
in love, though. They flirted, they made out, and eventually
started sleeping together, nothing to go into detail about. Hot
Guy broke off the wedding with Hot Girl and moved in with
Normal Girl…happily ever after. Hot Girl, while all this was
going on, got knocked up by one of Hot Guy’s random friends,
and she ended up with him…happily ever after I guess?

Then, out of the blue, the fourth friend, Normal Guy,
comes out of nowhere and confesses his love to Normal Girl
but admits that he knows she loves Hot Guy and will still be
her best friend. Yeah, this guy is stuck with a bottle of lube and
his right hand! Moral of the story is that if you wait for this shit
to actually happen to you, you’ll be watching this movie alone
and telling your dreams to a house full of cats.

It was all annoyingly overwhelming, but luckily my eyes
started to flutter shut, and the last thing I recall was the blinking
time on the DVR box 4:43 a.m.

CHAPTER TWO

Ugh, that alarm is so loud, I thought. My thoughts had obviously
woken before my body did.

It was 5:30 a.m., and having gone to bed less than an hour
ago, I could neither move nor open my eyes to see. Reaching
clumsily for my iPhone, I tried to dismiss the alarm only to
remember that dear, sweet Derek had put the phone in the
kitchen to charge so that I didn’t risk having the battery die
out and miss a call or text or e-mail from him. The thought of
him only pissed me off now.

Not only did he screw me (not literally) out of good sex
last night, but he was the reason why I went to bed in a nasty
mood, the reason why I hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and, to top
it all off, he was the friggin’ reason why my ears were bleeding
from the sound of the iPhone alarm that I just couldn’t get up
to shut off.

OK, I need to get out of this bed, and wash off this stink of attitude
and get my ass to work. With truly no energy, I heaved myself up.

“Ugh, get up, cranky. Another day, and another dollar.”

My feet dragged across the room and to the master bathroom.

Thank God the bathroom is as close as it is, because if I had
to walk downstairs right now, I’d have had to throw myself down the
stairs to get there before ten o’clock. I walked right past the large
mirrors over the double vanity, as on days like this when the
day started badly, looking at myself before I was well awake
and showered and clean would set a not-so-nice precedent for
the rest of the day.

The day was going to be tough to get through, and not
having been able to wake up an hour early for prep and coffee
time, the least I could indulge in was an extended shower in the
hopes that would help the day get better.

The master bath is truly spacious and luxurious. The dream
of buying a home always revolved around things like this master
bath. It had to be a dream home, one I could enjoy. And, I
did. This is my second favorite room in the house. The first is,
of course, the kitchen. I have always loved to cook. Even as a
child, I would stand by my mother, trying to be just like her.

Even now on the holidays, which are really the only times I see
my parents, I enjoy getting together with my mom and filling
the house with aromas of sweet and salty treats that are just
filled with love.

After my forty-eight hours of failed sexcapades and my
inevitable annoyance with the male gender as a whole, my
thoughts came to my father. As far back as I can remember he
would say, “Eva, Papa tell you something,” in his very strong
and broken American-Italian accent. “Eva Bella, Papa no a rich
man, but I work every day to make sure you have all you want
and all you need. But, if you want to be happy, it’s no money
that’s going to bring you happiness. It’s love.” Those thoughts
of love carried with me, bringing me dreams of happiness all
through my youth.

And then, society changed my focus to the flip side. His
speech had changed quite a bit; in my mind, that is. My beliefs
found a turning point, around age twenty-five to be exact.

Though love might bring you happiness, money made this life a
hell of a lot easier to live. So, determined and focused, I strived
to reach that which was easier and within reach—money and
success. If love came, it would find me, but I would not waste
my time or lose myself looking for love. Unfortunately for me, it
seemed that good sex was also hiding out along with true love.