The What If Guy Page 18

  Amelia furrows her brow. “Like, an author? Or a cartoonist?”

  Okay, maybe it’s not completely easy. “A woman. A woman I like. I’m dating someone.”

  “Oh. Is she nice?” Amelia says, asking the simplest of questions.

  I give the simplest of answers. “She’s great. She’s kind and smart and funny, and she loves cats. And I’d like for you to meet her.”

  Amelia smiles. “She sounds cool. You should give her a gift. I like gifts. I’m going to go on the swings now. Bye.”

  And she runs off to the playground a few feet away.

  Well, I guess that was easy.

  As she pumps her feet to get the swing going, I send a text to Bryn.

  * * *

  Logan: Amelia says you sound cool. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

  * * *

  Bryn: She’s correct. I am cool. Also, same to you. :)

  * * *

  Then, an idea pops into my head, and I know an excellent gift for Bryn.

  29

  Bryn

  As the wheels touch down on the tarmac, I stretch my neck from side to side, grateful to be back in New York a little earlier than expected on Wednesday.

  While we taxi, I turn my phone back on, and the emails slide into my inbox like coins in a slot machine.

  I cruise through as many as I can, replying to my friend Paisley about her blog, then spot one that makes me sit up and actually say oh out loud. It’s from Hadley, the former owner of The Dating Pool. She’s asking if I’ll take a look at her new blog about amusement parks. You’ve always had such great insight on what works. Blinking, I click on the link, surprised she came to me for advice.

  Surprised and impressed. It’s more than a little blog about rides. It’s a whole travel site, with road trips and suggestions, and it’s utterly delightful, but it needs some work to iron out the clunkiness.

  I send a quick reply telling her I’ll send her details later, but I’m grateful she asked.

  Then, as the plane rolls to a stop, I spot a new text.

  * * *

  Logan: Any chance you could be free tonight? Casey has a thing tomorrow and wants to see if we can meet this evening instead. Also, hope you had a safe flight, sweetheart. And I can’t wait to get you on your knees, rope my fingers in your hair, and tug it hard while I fuck you to many, many orgasms. <3

  * * *

  I laugh privately, a burst of naughty tingles rushing through my body.

  * * *

  Bryn: You are filthy, sweet, and businesslike all in one text.

  * * *

  Logan: I am a multitasking master.

  * * *

  Bryn: Yes, I can meet tonight. Flight arrived early.

  * * *

  Logan: Good. I can see you, and then I can bend you over

  the bed later tonight, since I am kid-free.

  * * *

  Bryn: And once more, he shows off his multitasking.

  * * *

  Logan: Bet I can fuck you and kiss you at the same time. Want that kind of multitask?

  * * *

  Bryn: Do you truly have to ask?

  After I’ve freshened up, I head to Speakeasy in Midtown, saying hello to the redhead who owns the bar. “Hi, Julia. You’re looking fabulous.” I blow her a kiss.

  “And you look like a goddess,” she says, her eyes traveling with approval over my black skirt and silvery top.

  “Takes one to know one,” I reply, then I make my way to the table in the corner where Logan is seated with a pretty blonde. For a few seconds, I get to savor the view of my man—his stubble, his fuck-me do, his soulful eyes—as he listens intently to her. I love that he’s a listener, that he pays attention to whoever he’s talking to.

  Casey notices me first and waves. When Logan’s face turns in my direction, his lips curve up and his eyes twinkle with dirty deeds and sweet nothings. He quickly schools his expression. Puts on his professional face.

  They both rise as I reach them, but Casey goes first, extending a hand. “So good to meet you at last, especially after all our emails.”

  “Good to meet you too.”

  Logan gestures to the chair. “Good to see you, Bryn.”

  “And you, Logan,” I say, feeling a little sheepish as we pretend in front of her.

  We sit and order drinks, and Casey tells me, “I feel like I know you already after all our exchanges.”

  “I’m glad you reached out. I think we can do great things together, as Logan mentioned.”

  “He did share some of your thoughts, but mostly he said you’d already put together some great ideas for a content partnership, and I’d love to hear them.”

  “The floor is yours,” Logan says to me, and I take it.

  I slide right into my vision for the strategic pair-up between her sex toy company and our dating and relationship site. “I’m imagining articles and how-to guides for both our couples’ content and our singles’ content. Sex toys are something most of us are interested in, but frankly, some of us don’t know how to use them. Don’t know where to start. Have you ever tried a toy that has fourteen speeds and ten settings, and figuring out how to use it in the heat of the moment kills both the heat and the moment?”

  Casey smiles, lifting a hand. “That’s been known to happen from time to time.”

  “And I think even if your site has those guides and that sort of how-to-use info, I feel strongly that readers’ sex and relationship lives would be enriched if other sites, like The Dating Pool, could incorporate that into what we do,” I explain. “Likewise, I could see providing some content on your site—like fun and sexy date suggestions, how to talk about vibrators, how to introduce sex toys early on, or later, or any time—will only drive more sales of your products.”

  Then, I dive into the specifics of how I see this coming together.

  Pun intended.

  “I love it,” Casey says when I’m done.

  Logan smiles. “Told you she was brilliant.”

  I smile proudly, glad they both like my strategy for how we can work together.

  “You did,” Casey says, then takes a beat and draws a breath, gesturing from me to him and back. “Also, you guys don’t have to pretend you’re not a thing with me.”

  I blink, straighten my shoulders, and say nothing.

  Logan fixes his lips in a straight line.

  “Oh, c’mon,” Casey says, with a chiding smile sent in his direction. “I picked up the vibe the second she walked in, Logan. The way you look at her gave it away.”

  He rolls his eyes, shrugs, looks to me, and smiles.

  I turn to him and grin. “Good to see you.”

  “Very good to see you.”

  “Knew it. Called it.” Casey licks her finger, then the air, making a sizzling sound.

  Later that night, Logan and I are making the sizzling sounds when we go to my place and reconnect.

  We don’t even make it to the bedroom. The kitchen is as far as we get. He pushes me up against the counter, hikes up my skirt, and tugs my panties down to my knees.

  “Leave on the shoes,” he instructs

  I bend over the counter, my black heels on, my ass in the air. His hand slides between my legs, and I gasp, swaying against him the second he makes contact.

  His voice is rough, smoky. “Oh, you do want this, sweetheart.”

  “I want you,” I tell him, trembling with desire.

  He reaches for my wrists, sliding them along the counter. “Keep your hands on the counter and hold on tight.”

  I do as he says, my face turned as I watch him. He doesn’t even undo his shirt. He unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and takes out his cock. I shudder when I see how hard he is, how ready he is. And how suited-up sexy he is with just his zipper undone and his crisp shirt and silk tie still on. He tosses the tie over his shoulder.

  “I’m not going to be gentle,” he rasps out, as he rubs the head of his cock against my wetness.

  “I’d never expect you t
o.”

  “I’m going to fuck you hard to show you how much I missed you.”

  I bow my back, lifting my ass. “Show me. Show me now.”

  And he does, shoving inside me. I’m barely able to hold on to the edge of the counter as he takes me like it’s been months instead of days.

  But I like his sense of the calendar. Oh, hell yeah, do I ever like it, as he fucks me like he owns me, and when he makes me scream his name as I come, I’m sure he does—own me.

  The next morning, I’m sure, too, that I’m ready for the meeting with Isaac. Ready to tell my staffers who Mr. Smolder is.

  What I’m not ready for is how they find out.

  30

  Logan

  On the way to my meeting at The Dating Pool offices the next morning, I pop into Your Little Loves, since I’m early and have a few minutes.

  The shopkeeper calls me over, her cheery voice floating across the store. “Mr. Clarke. I did a little research, and I think I might have a lead for you on the gift you were looking for.”

  “Excellent,” I say, joining her at the register as she gives me the details.

  “I’ll know more later today.”

  “You are the best, Maria,” I tell her.

  She smiles like it’s no big deal, then holds up a finger. “I have something else you might like. I put this aside for you.”

  She bends and reaches for something behind the counter. With glee in her eyes, she lifts it and waggles a Calvin and Hobbes lunch box.

  I grin. “That is perfect. I’ll take it.”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  She rings me up, and I tell her I’ll check in later on the other gift. I head to the building next door, as my phone rings with Casey’s number. Before I step inside, I answer it.

  “Hey, Casey. Admit it, you were blown away by us,” I say.

  My colleague laughs. “More like blown away by her. No wonder you’re hooked, lined, and sinkered. She’s gorgeous, kind, and smart.”

  “She is indeed.”

  “And that’s why I called to say yes to the pitch. But there is something I want.”

  “Tell me what it is,” I say, turning away from the lobby to walk down the block as I listen to her outlining her wishes.

  I nod as she talks, taking it in.

  “You know what to do next,” I say. “Put it in writing.”

  I can sense her smile. “I will. Talk to you later.”

  Then I swivel around, head inside, and make my way upstairs to the conference room. There’s a VP meeting shortly, but right now, the editorial staffers are filing in, so I pop in to say hello.

  “Great job on the home page this week. That new scientific study on how love evolves is terrific,” I tell the crew. “Advertisers loved it.”

  “Thanks so much,” Rosario calls out, then peers at my hand, eyes narrowed. “Is that a Calvin and Hobbes lunch box?”

  “I love Calvin and Hobbes,” Matthew adds, eyes widening as he checks out my purchase.

  I hold it up higher so he can see. “My daughter loves them too. I got her this just now. She’s kind of on a lunch box kick.”

  Matthew tilts his head to the side. Rosario’s mouth parts. Quentin purses his lips, and James raises a finger.

  Oh, shit.

  I’ve said the wrong thing.

  What have I done? My brain is scrambling to fix this when Bryn strolls in.

  She stops, staring at her freeze-frame staffers, then at me, then them again. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

  As if they are synchronized Olympic swimmers, they all point to me. “He’s Mr. Lunch Box?” Rosario asks.

  “Mr. Smolder,” Matthew adds.

  And the sigh that falls from Bryn’s lips says it all.

  “He is,” she says heavily.

  And today wasn’t supposed to go like that.

  31

  Bruce

  Day 905 in Prison

  * * *

  Bruce had been warned.

  His whole life, he’d heard the cautionary tales. Had been told to practice the three basic skills.

  Barfing on their pillow.

  Meowing in the middle of the night.

  And the third . . . The third one always worked. Sitting on the keyboard when they typed.

  But what had he done instead? He’d heeded the siren call of the human. Her voice had worked wonders on him. Her touch. Her entire attitude.

  This morning she was in some kind of wondrous mood. She looked like she might don a frock and twirl across a field of flowers while singing.

  And if she did, he might very well watch. Maybe he’d even hum along. Tra-la-la-fucking-la, with a couple of meows on top.

  Yes, he would have to tender his resignation from the resistance. Alert the others. Let them know he could no longer be counted on to hold the fort.

  Even as she scratched his chin while typing, he didn’t feel compelled to sit on the keys. All he wanted was to receive pleasure.

  “Today is going to be a good day,” she said as she stroked his chin. “I sent Casey the detailed proposal. I gave Hadley a list of tips for her site. And I reviewed Paisley’s presentation for her upcoming conference. And you know what? I’m going to keep kicking butt when I meet with Isaac and tell him I’m dating the CEO.” She laughed, then her laughter ceased. “Sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

  He purred, louder and louder.

  Hmm. The thought was surreal to Bruce—that she could elicit such ferocious purrs, such a powerful reaction from him.

  What was that all about?

  Did he want to be this cat?

  A cat who liked a human?

  A cat who relished companionship?

  “Huh.”

  He turned in her direction as she made a noise.

  “Do I want to be this person?” she asked again.

  He tilted his head.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it, Bruce? Do I want to be someone who dates the CEO?”

  Her voice, it had grown on him. It soothed him. Made him feel . . . understood.

  “Or do I want to . . . be the CEO?”

  She stayed still, as if lost in thought.

  She shut her computer, leaned closer, and dropped a kiss to Bruce’s head. “I’ll see you later, Bruce.”

  When she left, he curled up in a ray of sunshine, content at last.

  For so long, he’d tried to be one thing—a member of the cat resistance. But he knew what he was. He was one of the fallen.

  Bruce had fallen for a human.

  And he was as happy as a sunbathing cat.

  32

  Bryn

  As I leave my apartment, I call Teagan. “Can you meet me at the coffee shop before work? It’s a friend-mergency.”

  “Does that mean I can order anything I want?”

  “Obviously.”

  I walk toward the office, soaking in the sunshine, absorbing the sounds of the city, drinking in all that Manhattan has to offer. As my shoes click-clack on the sidewalk, I think of my mother’s advice in all its myriad forms.

  Her sassy little sayings, like If looks could kill, women wouldn’t need frying pans. The more straightforward ones, like Go big or go home. The adages delivered at a roadside diner, like Don’t let anyone stand in the way of your dreams, your dream jobs, or your sweet dreams.

  There were others as well—anthemic ones about not needing a man.

  She was right there too. As I walk through the city on my way to work—to a job I earned, a job I love—I realize something powerful.

  Something true.

  I don’t need a man.

  I absolutely don’t.

  But I want one.

  I want one man.

  And I want to be under that man at night, in the kitchen or in his bedroom.

  But I don’t want to be a woman who works under that man.

  That’s not because of him. And it’s not because I’m worried that others will see me as less powerful, or that my identity is
tied up in what my team thinks of me.

  This choice is mine. It’s about what I want.

  I don’t want to work under any man, or any woman, or anyone.

  I don’t want to do that anymore.

  When I see Teagan waiting in the coffee shop with two lattes, I march up to her, grin, and say, “I have this crazy idea that I need to run past my best friend in the whole world.”

  “All ideas must receive the friendship stamp of approval. So lay it on me.”

  As I drink the latte, I tell her, and she practically shakes pom-poms and does cartwheels.

  Then, I go into the office and straight to see Isaac, giving him my two weeks’ notice.

  33

  Bryn

  Isaac sighs heavily but smiles. “We’re going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together. “I knew it was only a matter of time. You were never ours to keep.”

  I laugh softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “And I know you are going to do big things.”

  “Thank you.” I clear my throat, draw a breath, then tell him one more thing. The hard thing. “Also, since I don’t want you to hear this from anyone else, I’m dating Mr. Clarke.”