June (Calendar Girl #6) Read online

  If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t know if I could cut off Wes forever. There was too much there. Things left unsaid and undone, all while attached with the weight of a promise for more. A promise I’m not sure either of us could keep for another six months. For such a short time with him, it felt like years of history sat between us.

  I couldn’t do this over text. With a deep breath and a sigh I hit the “Call” button on my phone.

  Wes answered, a sleepy timber to his voice. “Hey beautiful, I figured you’d be avoiding what happened between us for at least a week or two?” He chuckled, and the sexy sound went straight to my over-taxed libido. Criminey, all the man had to do was breathe and I wanted him with a fierceness that was unmatched by any other.

  “Wes, we should talk about this. What we’re doing to one another…” I let the statement hang heavily between us.

  He sighed aloud, a deep rumbling noise. It reminded me of when I would lay on his bare chest and listen to the beat of his heart and the sound of his breath moving in and out of his lungs. One of the most soothing places in the entire world was being lost in his arms. If only the rest of life could be that comforting.

  “Let’s not make this more than it is. Two people who have a mutual affection for one another, taking the edge of.”

  I huffed. “So that’s how you want to play this?”

  “I’m not playing anything. Nothing has changed. You know where I stand, I know where you stand. That doesn’t mean we can’t meet in the middle now and again to remember how good it can be.”

  The man had a point. “I’m so tired.”

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

  Wes had a way of lulling me into complacency. Making me believe that this thing between us could just be. For now, I had to trust in him and in that. “Washington, DC is filled with nothing but gold-digging whores, and stuffy old dudes with too much money and far too much power.”

  He laughed out loud. “You speak the truth. So what’s the problem? The guy you’re with want you to be something more than an escort?”

  I shook my head and made a gagging sound which was reciprocated by his rich laughter. I loved every bit of it. Without even trying, he made the air seem lighter. “Warren is a good guy. Not at all interested in me in that way.”

  Wes scoffed. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “I’m not his type.”

  “Mia, sweetheart, you’re every man’s type.”

  I rolled my eyes and twirled my hair, inspecting my tattoo while I thought about what he said. “Whatever. It’s just being here is weird. I’m not exactly sure of my place.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, he’s hired me to be the pretty piece on his arm so that he fits in with the other rich old dudes. They all have a young woman clinging to them. But he has this woman at home that he’s been with for years and yet he hides her away.”

  “Huh. That is odd. Why do you think that is?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” The image of the shrine came flashing across my mind. “Not sure he’s over his dead wife. But she died twenty-five years ago. It’s weird. And he has this house attendant that he’s been having a hidden relationship with for years, but he keeps it under wraps. I don’t know, I guess the fact that he keeps a woman as his dirty little secret doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Me either. Think you could maybe make him see the error in his ways? You’re pretty good at that.”

  “Probably be more fun than sitting around his McMansion with nothing better to do than go out and spontaneously get a tattoo.” Wes was quiet for so long I had to check the display to make sure the call didn’t drop or the phone battery had died. “Wes?”

  “Sorry sweetheart, I was just imagining you with a tat. Shit, you got me hard again.”

  I grinned. “Maybe we can do something about that.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Close your eyes and imagine me kissing my way down your chest…”

  Chapter 6

  “Honey, you spend a spell with the other ladies here while the men and I talk business,” Warren said while dropping me off at a table with seven other women. All of them were dressed similarly. Tight little dresses, hair long and luxurious, and some serious sparkles all over their ears, necks, wrists, and fingers. These women were kept and didn’t have any bones about flaunting that fact.

  I waved awkwardly. “Hi, I’m Mia.”

  All but one looked at me with daggers in her eyes. “Hi, I’m Christine Benoit the only one here married to my guy. The rest of the girls are a little bitchy. They don’t like sharing the limelight, do you ladies?” She puckered her lips and sneered then lifted her hand to shake mine and nearly blinded me with the size of her diamond wedding ring.

  “That’s a serious rock!” I exclaimed grabbing at her hand, lacking total grace or tact. I really had never seen a diamond quite so large.

  Her entire face lit up as she held her hand aloft. “I know right? My Daddy takes good care of me. Five karats on top another five surrounding my princess there.” She pointed to the square cut diamond blinding me. I needed a pair of sunglasses to view the thing; the rays of light bouncing off seemed to have their own zip code.

  “Shut it, Christine. Just because old man Benoit finally put a ring on it, doesn’t mean you need to rub it in our faces.”

  I looked over at a scowling brunette. Her ring finger was, not surprisingly, bare of giant jewels. I’m guessing her attitude had absolutely nothing to do with it. I rolled my eyes covertly, pretending to fawn over the ring some more.

  “It’s beautiful, Christine. You said you’re married to Mr. Benoit? You’re visiting from Canada right?”

  A huge buzzer went off in my head.

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  Benoit was one of the names that Warren wanted to talk up. Apparently, the man had ships set all along the Eastern side of Canada. A port in Yarmouth he said was located on the Gulf of Maine in Southwestern Nova Scotia. It was the perfect location to transport supplies from Canada to the United Kingdom, where they’d be loaded into freight vehicles that could run all the way down to Mali, one of the poorest countries in Africa. I knew this moment was not fate. My opportunity to help just hit me upside the head in the form of a ten-karat diamond ring on a tiny little blonde.

  Christine’s surgically enhanced lips widened. “Yes! We’re from Canada. My Frances is here on business. I saw you were with Mr. Shipley.” She nudged my shoulder.“ He’s probably the most handsome of all the men here…aside from my husband.” Her head tipped up gesturing to a man who couldn’t be more than five foot eight on a good day. Thank God, she was petite. In my heels, I’d dwarf the guy. He had a gray mustache and thick gray hair. At least he had hair. The ratio of hair to men was about fifty-fifty in this crowd. I tipped my head to the side and looked at Mr. Benoit and back at the woman who had to be at least thirty-five years his junior.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how old is your husband?”

  Her eyes glittered as much as her diamond. No concern with my question showing on her pretty face. “He’ll be sixty-six this year.”

  “And you are?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  I chewed on that information and sipped at the full glass of champagne I’d tagged before Warren handed me off to the wolves. “And forty-one years difference in age doesn’t bother you?”

  She shook her hand. “Gosh, no. He’s so good to me. Pulled me right off the streets, set me up with a place to live, helped me get my GED then put me in college. Now I have a bachelor’s degree and work at Benoit Shipping Inc. our headquarters.” I nodded, once again unsurprised by her story. “I run all the new marketing campaigns. We share an office, play a little hide the pickle when we’re stressed, and then get back to it.”

  Hide the pickle.

  “Did you just say hide the pickle?”

  She nodded without any concern for who heard our conversation. The phrase ‘an open book’ rang true wi
th this one. “Yeah, when we get tired, bored, or you know, just want to fuck, he bends me over my desk or his, then fucks me stupid. He’s crazy good and makes me come harder than any partner I’ve had before. I think it’s because he, like, takes those little blue pills. Makes him rock hard all the time. I’m happy to oblige. And you want to know a secret?” The lovely thing was alight with energy and excitement.

  A secret. From the woman who fucks a man almost old enough to be her grandfather, who uses the phrase hide the pickle, and has a ridiculously active sex life with an old guy…Yes, yes I do believe I wanted to know her secrets. I was certain they were going to blow me into next week.

  Christine leaned close to my ear. “We’re expecting our first baby.”

  You know that moment in the cartoon where Yosemite Sam blows his top and smoke comes out of his ears? I felt like that happened to me on hearing she was pregnant by a guy three times her age. It started with a buzzing sensation and the need to sit down. Once settled, she felt my head.

  “You’re a little warm, Mia.” She offered looking absolutely concerned for my welfare.

  “Maybe you can lead me to the rest room and we can chat there.” I needed to get this hot tamale alone. Her husband owned the shipping company Warren needed to transport goods to the UK. I took it upon myself to help make that happen. If befriending the pregnant wife was going to help, I’d take one for the team. Besides, she was really nice—if a little misguided.

  ***

  “So you see, these vaccines and medicines are going to save countless lives.”

  Christine gasped, her hand going over her still flat stomach. “My goodness. We have to help!” she said with conviction. I nodded.

  “Well, maybe you could put in a good word for Warren with Frances?” I suggested thinking that was the best way.

  She shook her head. “Oh no, I’m going to do better than that. She pulled out a cellphone from her purse, clicked a few buttons then held it up to her ear. “Franny Snookums…” she giggled. “Sure I’m always ready for your big cock, baby, you know that.” The thought of her getting plowed by the old guy made my mouth sour, the same way it does right before you vomit. “Oh I know snookums, I want it hard too. Real hard. So hard my teeth rattle, but I need to talk to you about something.”

  I waited while she shared pretty much everything that I’d shared about Warren’s project and how they could help. “Yeah snookums, we’ll make it this year’s charitable contribution, and I can even run up a campaign about the good work we’re going to do with Shipley Inc.” She said another few “uh huhs” and “mmm hmms” then turned to the side. Her hand slid from her neck down to her breast where she cupped it boldly. “Yeah, they need to be squeezed. Thinking about you fucking me here, right now is making me super needy. Can you come down and lick me? The baby is making me so horny. I know you already fucked me twice today--” she sighed and then whined, “--but I need your mouth this time...” she practically jumped up and down and clapped. “Okay Franny, I’ll be in the ladies, wet and ready. Don’t keep me waiting or I’ll start playing without you.”

  Then she snapped off the phone. Her chest was heaving. “We’re totally going to do the shipments for the Shipleys.” I wanted to jump up and down and celebrate but she started grabbing at her boobs in a brazenly wanton way. “You into threesomes?” she asked distractedly. “Franny loves when we add another one of my friends. Fucks us both really good, and I’m okay with sharing as long as it’s not in my marital bed. That’s just for us.”

  I opened and closed my mouth almost as if I couldn’t catch my breath. I really couldn’t breathe. The images that were jumping all over each other as I tried to process what she’d said. Christine just propositioned me for a threesome with her husband. Her old, granddaddy-like husband in a ladies bathroom. I shook my head. “Um, nope but I’m really excited about telling my own uh, Daddy, about the Benoit’s involvement.”

  “Cool.” And that’s when she put a finger to each strap of her already miniscule dress and let it drop to the floor standing in nothing but a tiny red thong. Absolutely nothing but a thong. What the fuck? I turned around to give her some privacy at the exact moment that old man Francis Benoit entered.

  “You starting without me pumpkin?” he said, sizing his almost naked wife and me up.

  “Can’t wait. Give me your cock, Daddy, I want to suck on it while you suck on me.”

  “Girl, what have I told you about getting naked in public places,” he scolded, though he didn’t sound that upset. “I’m going to dock your allowance for this transgression.”

  She groaned. “But I can’t help it. I need you.”

  That was most definitely my cue. “Uh, I’m going to go and see my uh…Warren,” I said not being able to call him “Daddy” again. It just grossed me out.

  When I was just at the threshold of the ladies room door I heard Christine sigh and moan. “Gonna ride you so hard, I love you Franny, I love you. Love fucking you.”

  “Get on it pumpkin. That’s right; fuck me until you come hard enough to last until tonight. Jesus this pregnancy is going to kill me.” I heard her husband say, his Canadian accent thick and strong. If it was me, I’d definitely be worried about his health. The heart attack years were definitely upon him and if he was downing those blue pills with alcohol and tons of rough sex with a twenty-five year old, he definitely had something to worry about.

  When I exited the bathroom, Warren was waiting for me. His eyes seemed troubled as I grabbed onto his wrist. “Let’s get far away from here.”

  “Why? Francis said he wanted to talk to me about using his ships for the supplies I need to go to Mali.”

  “I know, I set it all up with his wife. But they’re indisposed and if you go in there, they are going to invite you to join their little public sexy time.” I warned.

  He cringed. “I see. We should wait for them at the bar then. You can tell me all about what was said. Shall we?” He held out his arm like the perfect gentleman. Definitely the way a grandfather would to his granddaughter and not his hot piece of ass. Classy guy. At least I got the good one. Though Francis didn’t seem half bad once I got past the fact that he’d married and impregnated a woman three times younger than he was. I shivered and Warren stopped, took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

  “Thank you.”

  “Any time. Now tell me what happened.”

  ***

  Apparently scoring the Canadian ships was a huge part of the go-live plan for Warren’s project. Together, we sat at the bar at the stuffy event and had drink after drink of incredibly expensive top shelf whiskey. Even Christine sat with us and sucked on her non-alcoholic drinks happily enjoying herself. I guess once the edge of her horniness was dulled, she really was a lot of fun.

  At nearly two in the morning, James the driver had to hold both Warren and me up as we walked up the stone steps singing a ridiculous rendition of “I’m Henry the Eighth I Am” so loud that, when the foyer lights went on, we were both shocked. Kathleen leaned against a bannister, arms crossed over her chest, lips pinched tight.

  “Good night?” she asked, her tone indecipherable.

  Warren moved over to her with the quickness of a man half his age. He pulled her into his arms then pulled each hand out and started dancing with her. Swinging her from one side to the next, dipping her low. I clapped and swayed then grabbed a hold of James who took pity on me and twirled me around the foyer alongside Warren and Kathleen. The four of us danced for a bit until both of our dance partners led us up the stairs.

  “Oh man, wait. Warren, buddy…don’t forget to tell Kathleen about that score!”

  He laughed as I slumped into James. Without further comment, he lifted me into a fireman’s carry, my body a dead weight. I smacked his surprisingly firm ass. “Nice!” I said then remembered I still wanted to say something. “Wait...” I smacked his ass again, and he stopped laughing and tried to grab my hands. “...and tell her about the gross bathroom sex they ha
d!”

  Warren started laughing so hard he sat down in the middle of the floor. I wanted to go help him up but I was already upside down in my own predicament.

  “Kathy honey, you’ll never guess what old man Benoit and his saucy little wife did!” he said.

  She petted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, but first we need to get you to bed.”

  “You know I’d never share you, right?” he said seriously to her, and James started walking again. I smacked him hard on the ass again, and this time, he retaliated by doing the same to me.

  “Will you stay still? You’re heavy enough as it is.”

  I leaned up trying to get a glimpse of his face. “Are you calling me fat?”

  “Hardly. But drunk off your ass you’re not light as a feather!” he quipped.

  Like a child, a cross between a groan and a whine left my lips. “But they were getting to the best part. He was telling her he loves her.”

  James shook his head and held me tight. Time seemed to fly as he took me to my room more quickly than I would have thought possible. Evaluating the passage of time wasn’t my strong suit in my inebriated state. “Everyone knows he loves Ms. Kathleen. He’s loved her for ages.”

  “But the shrine,” I countered, my liquor-loosened lips flapping in the wind.

  “He didn’t know what to do with Ketty’s things. He thought maybe Aaron might take on a wife, kids, and want some of that stuff. Besides, he didn’t want to hurt his son. He’s more sentimental than he lets on.” James huffed, seeming almost put out. Regardless, the information definitely changed things. James flopped me onto the bed. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a tank and pajama pants and tossed them on the bed. “There’s your nightclothes. Please tell me you don’t need help.”