Chapter Nine

Alfie

I’m not exactly sure what happened, but things got awkward at the end of our conversation. Although I’d been nervous and unhappy when she walked in, she slowed my racing thoughts, asked cogent questions, and offered the perfect solutions. By the time we were done talking, I was feeling happy, optimistic. Perhaps expansive is a better word.

Then everything stalled, and she seemed ready to leave. If I didn’t know better, I would think Steph and I were having a moment there at the end when our hands were clasped. That couldn’t be true, right? The way she practically ran out of here, it’s as though it was an escape instead of a goodbye.

The moment her car leaves the driveway, when I can’t hear her tires on the gravel anymore, I pull off my clothes. I’m just never as comfortable as when I’m nude. After wandering into the kitchen for a snack, I realize I’m not hungry.

I’m horny.

I haven’t been with a woman since Steph started working for me. That last time I had sex was the night before Ashley, or was it Amanda, interrupted our interview. The women were identical twins. How was I supposed to tell them apart? They said they were a package deal, two for one. I was game. It was fun, but meaningless for all of us.

A low chuckle escapes me when I wonder what would happen if Stephanie, who was scandalized by one woman walking nude in my house, ever found out there was another woman sound asleep in my bed after a night of debauchery.

I head to my bedroom, laptop in hand, with a plan to take care of my needs.

I’m about to enter my favorite chat and troll for someone pretty when my arousal instantly evaporates.

What?

The more I try to picture any of the women I’ve been with, the more disgusted I feel. My hard-on shrinks.

“I must be overtired,” I mutter as I close the laptop, deciding to look again tomorrow.

Pulling my lube from my bedside table drawer, I get ready to pleasure myself. I use my favorite fantasies, the ones that always do the job.

Odd. The more I dive into my mental images, the softer my cock becomes. That’s fine. I have plenty more pictures in my spank bank.

But, although I was horny a few minutes ago, nothing seems to do the trick. For some reason, my mind flicks to Stephanie and our conversation in the living room. She was so earnest, so single-minded in her quest to help me problem-solve.

Although my thoughts have moved from sex to business, my cock decides this is the moment to come back to life.

It takes me only a moment to wonder what’s going on with my body when a little voice in the back of my head whispers, Stephanie.

“Nope!” I practically shout to the empty room. “Inappropriate!”

This is wrong,I scold myself. Not only is there a fucking law against workplace harassment, but it’s also sheer idiocy.

My longest “relationship” was that woman from Morocco who stayed for three days. Even if Stephanie was interested, which she wouldn’t be, I’d have a day or two of pleasure, which would mess up a wonderful working relationship.

“Besides, she’s not my type!”

That makes me pause. My “type” has always been the well-endowed super model. Steph is more the girl next door, wholesome type. Clear skin, luminous eyes, full lips, genuine smile. There is nothing fake or phony about her.

Determined to evict Steph from my thoughts, I open my laptop and scroll to some of my favorite actresses dressed in beautiful clothes. This. This is what turns my crank. Yet my cock begs to differ as it hangs limply on my thigh.

Then I conjure thoughts of Stephanie. She’s smart and, after we got over our awkward first meeting, she’s friendly. She has a good sense of humor and ever since she became comfortable with me, she gives me shit when I deserve it. Why does her giving me shit appeal to me? I guess because it implies a relationship instead of a meaningless fuck.

The way she hurried over here on a Saturday night, then scolded me about offering her money. Who does that? Nice people. Nice people do that.

“Okay. She’s nice and a good assistant. Great. That’s exactly what you pay her for.”

My cock, now hard as stone, is having a parallel conversation. He’s no longer flaccid on my thigh but thickening and reaching past my navel.

I picture that moment after we solved the world’s problems tonight—well, my world’s problems—as we sat on the same couch and our eyes met as she accepted my hand. I’d pegged that as awkward a few minutes ago, but it wasn’t awkward. It was a connection. An intense connection.

“Fuck!” I shout so loud that the crickets outside pause for a moment. “Don’t tell me I’m going through puberty at the age of twenty-six.” I groan. “I have a crush on Stephanie Taylor, and we’re going on a trip to the Zone. Together. Soon.”

Not to mention the trip to Ysaria, although I haven’t invited her yet.