“It was the right thing to do. And if you need help, you can call me at home. Fuck Victoria,” Peter said and I laughed. He didn’t cuss often. He wasn’t a Quaker or anything, but he had a wife and kids and I think he was just out of the habit or maybe he was just getting more comfortable around me.
“Thanks. You’re the greatest,” I said and Peter seemed to puff up a little. As we ate, he gave me some general advice and told me a little about James so I’d know what to expect. Apparently, James wasn’t the partier he used to be, but he still was a little wild. He’d been married and divorced but he didn’t have any kids. He liked to get his way and usually did. I should have been wary, but Peter’s assessment did nothing to quench my confusing desire for him. In fact, it might have made it worse.
The afternoon went by far too quickly and as five o’clock approached, I found myself dreading my dinner meeting with James even as my body seemed to anticipate seeing him again. Nerves and sexual tension left me feeling unbalanced and shaky. I’m sure the gallon of coffee I’d consumed during the day in the hopes of taking comfort in the heavenly drink and the routine didn’t help. Probably not the best idea, I know. Then I got a call at four-fifty-seven.
“Miss Navarro? You have a client waiting in reception,” came the ominous announcement. I thanked the receptionist and took a deep, cleansing breath as I hung up the phone. I stood and unconsciously checked my clothing. A gray tweed pencil skirt, a white blouse and black pumps that were more comfortable than they appeared. Then I looked in the little mirror on the wall next to the door. My hair looked fine after a little mussing but I wasn’t satisfied with my lip-gloss, so I applied some more. Was I meeting a client or going on a date I wondered as I primped. I didn’t want to answer that question.
I found James in the lobby standing and chatting up the receptionist. I hadn’t seen his butt yesterday but now as he leaned over the reception counter, his black jeans showed his tight, defined ass in all its glory. I fought the urge to let my mind wander and instead caught his attention, surprised at the sharp feeling of jealousy as he talked to the girl behind the counter.
“Simone, you look smokin’. Do you always dress like that? Damn,” James said and I tried my best not to blush but was wildly unsuccessful. The blonde bimbo of the week behind the reception counter scowled as James turned his attention to me instead of her. “You ready?” James asked as he came towards me. I nodded as he approached and I felt as if he was about to kiss me but instead his hand found the small of my back and he led me out of the reception area to the elevators.
“You like meat?” he asked abruptly as the elevator doors opened.
“Huh?” I asked not quite sure where that came from.
“Meat, steak, burgers, ribs, you know, meat,” James clarified.
“Oh, yeah. I’m from Idaho and not the uppity part. Our house was surrounded by cattle pastures,” I explained.
“Cool, Benny has a place near Stanley. It’s nice up there. Steaks it is,” James said as the doors closed. He turned to face me and I instinctively backed against the side of the elevator car to put some distance between us. It didn’t work and James came way to close for comfort, so close I could detect his amazing musky, masculine aroma. James, in turn, inhaled deeply as he towered over me seemingly savoring my essence. He didn’t say a word as he stood over me and sighed. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. James smiled down at me, a devilish grin, and then led me from the elevator with his hand on the small of my back again. I swear I don’t know how my knees didn’t give out as we walked through the lobby.
~4~
“Is that yours?” I asked as we exited the building. Parked out front in the loading zone was the biggest pickup truck I’d ever seen and I’m from Idaho.
“Like it?” James asked like a proud father.
“Um, how do I get into it?” I asked. It was a Dodge Ram, with four doors and a long bed - as I said, I’m from Idaho - with tires that nearly came to my bust line. It was all black, the wheels, the paint, the windows, everything. It wasn’t the lack of door handles that worried me; it was getting into the cab with my tight skirt without aide of a ladder. James pulled the keys to the behemoth from his jeans and pressed a button on the remote. The door clicked and swung open on its own as a set of steps unfolded from underneath the cab. James stood next to the steps and offered me his hand.
I admit I was impressed. Trucks were a big deal in Idaho and James’ pickup would have been the envy of just about every man in my small town under the age of thirty-five. I took his hand and carefully placed a foot on the bottom step and then the other foot on the next. James used his other hand to help me in, placing it on my waist. I sighed as his strong hands touched me and I felt weak again. I looked at him, his eyes nearly level with mine even though I sat in his lifted truck. What was it about him, a man that by all accounts I should have had nothing but disdain for, that drew me to him and made me feel so vulnerable and excited in his presence?