Trusting Jay

1





“Dammit,” I let my arm flop to the side and opened my fingers. The vibrator rolled out of my hand and thudded onto the floor. Orgasms were getting harder and harder to achieve without having another warm body against mine. My resolve to stay far away from men after what Matt had done was softening.

I peeled myself from my bed and plodded into the bathroom. Ugh, the oversized vanity mirror, I hated it, and there was no way to escape its reflection.

I'd shifted some of the weight I’d gained during my six-year relationship with Matt, though I still wanted to lose enough to get back into the jeans I’d worn when I met him. I even keep them at the back of my closet, for when that day came. At twenty-eight my breasts were still pert, at least. My roots needed doing.

I stepped into the shower and anxiety kicked in about the workday ahead. The water pounded off my forehead as I contemplated the fastest way to get the dreaded Weeksend report over and done with. My manager, Calvin, required an end of week report every Friday. He thought he was clever ‘It's a week send off at the week's end’ but I failed to see the point of it, other than Calvin got a little tingle every time he said the term Weeksend. Fridays used to be something to look forward to, before he got the job.

I did my hair and makeup then pulled on a tight navy skirt (to remind myself to pay attention to what I ate) and a cream blouse. After sticking my navy pumps in my bag, I locked my condo door and walked the fifteen minutes to my office in comfortable shoes. The commute through Chicago’s busy downtown was my favorite thing about the job, at least it has been since Calvin became my boss.



“Morning Sam.” I smiled to my co-worker and cubicle-mate as I slung my bag into my chair. I slipped the sneakers off and pulled out my heels.

“Hey! It's Friday, all ready for the Weeksend report?” Sam asked with a wink.

“This is what I'd like to do to the Weeksend report.” I made a hammering motion with the shoe in my hand.

“Yes, this requires coffee, shall we?” Sam swung her chair around and stood, her long curls bouncing with the movement.

“Most definitely.”

We made our way to the little independent coffee shop on the corner by the office. Friday mornings were always super busy and we got in line.

I listened to Sam order the jumbo deluxe chocolate mocha, which sent my mind to my already tight waste band. I should hang those jeans at the front of the closet, for the extra motivation.

“Skinny regular,” I said to the clerk.

“Uh-huh, your name?” the frazzled looking clerk asked.

“Abbie.”

“I think our drinks may take a while, be right back,” Sam apologized and sprinted to the washroom. She always needed to pee before eating or drinking, as if her body needed to make room for the new stuff.

I shuffled towards the drink collection area, though it was impossible to get anywhere near the counter due to the horde of people still waiting for their caffeine fixes. I ended up leaning against the wall. Through the heaving crowd I noticed a gorgeous man stirring his coffee for a ridiculously long time. Once or twice I thought I caught him looking at me but decided that I was being silly.

As the other customers left and made space, I moved towards the collection point. At last they called my name and I took the coffee to the preparation area. I grabbed a sugar and tore it open but as I lifted it to pour, I paused remembering the jeans that used to fit and I wanted to fit into again.

“Trying to resist?” a man said, his voice smooth and rich.

“Um,” I snapped out of my thoughts. My eyes refocused and looked to the voice, it was the same man I’d noticed earlier, he still hadn't left the prep area.

"Put it in, you can spare it.” He said, flashing me a brilliant smile.

It was a little unnerving, coming from a stranger in a coffee shop. Only he didn't seem creepy. Maybe there was a legitimate reason for him standing there so long. I sized him up, early or mid-thirties, nice suit, deep brown eyes. He was tall but not crazy tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist.

“You can't stand there all day hovering a sugar packet over your drink.”

I realized my arm hadn't moved and tipped a little of the sugar into the coffee.

“Here.” He handed me a stir stick.

“Thanks,” I said, examining him more. His dark hair had a lot of volume and a slight wave. Executive hair most men would envy. And mesmerizing deep brown eyes.

“No problem. Do you come here often?”

“Closest coffee to the office.”

At that moment Sam appeared and dumped two packs of sugar into her chocolate mocha.

“Screw it, it's Friday,” Sam said as she added a third sugar to her drink. “Ready to face the big C and his damn Weeksend?”