A mixture of proud anger and adolescent shame filled me for the following few days. I worked with Sheila over the weekend, but never seemed to be able to be alone with her. She was sweet and smiling the entire time, flirting with me as much as she always had before, but it always appeared to work out that we simply could not spend even so much as ten seconds alone.
On Sunday, we both worked the day shift. Typically, Sunday afternoons were busy. As soon as church let out – and there were more than a few in the area – we invariably filled up. I liked my Sunday shifts, since I made good money and usually had the night off. And, having checked Sheila's schedule, I knew that she had the night off, as well.
After four days, I was looking forward to being with Sheila once again. There was, after all, at least one more 'number' on her list. As much as I loved Number Four, Five promised to be . . . exquisite.
Toward the end of the shift, as the evening crew was taking tables and I was cleaning up after my last guests, I heard a squeal of surprise from the bar area. That squeal sounded very familiar. I had heard variations of it several times, after all.
Except . . . this time, that sound had not been emitted for my benefit. Rather, it was for the tall, good-looking blonde man who, as I stepped around the edge of the bar from the kitchen, was holding Sheila tightly. To say that jealousy reared its ugly head would have been an understatement. I wasn't sure which I suddenly hated more: Mr. Lawyer's good looks and obvious affluence, or the way Sheila clung to him, grinning up to his face as if he was the most important person on the planet.
Well, if he's so fucking special,
I thought,
why is Sheila going out with me? Why is she—
Idiot. She's not 'going out' with you. She plays with your dick and sucks you off. You don't take her out to dinner, you don't buy her flowers, she doesn't spend the night . . . .
"Cute couple," came Andi's voice from beside me. "She looks really happy with him."
I glared at her. "Leave it to you to twist a knife in my back," I said acidly.
Andi wasn't the least bit offended. She just stared back at me. "And who put it there in the first place?" she asked bluntly. She did not step away after her quip; she remained where she was, silently challenging me to rebuke her.
I looked back to Sheila, watching her laugh and smile and snuggle against her man, against
Grant
. I suddenly hated that name. Part of me wanted to butt in, say something, be the 'alpha male' and claim Sheila. But that wasn't me. I was the 'nice guy.' The 'quiet guy.' I didn't make waves.
So, instead, I backed away. "I'm gonna go smoke," I said, and left the bar.
***
I had decided to distract myself with my collection of
Star Wars
Xbox games. I was well into cutting up some bad guys with my lightsaber when the knock came at the door, reminding me that I had ordered a pizza. Reluctantly putting the game on pause, I dug for my cash and answered the door.
"Hi."
I blinked, having expected the usual geeky girl who delivered my hand-tossed double-pepperoni pie. Instead, it was Sheila who stood on my tattered straw welcome mat. It had been a couple of hours since I had left work, and figured Sheila had not lingered much longer. Yet she still wore her jeans and had on just a white tank, and the greasy smell of a restaurant was faint but noticeable drifting from her.
I didn't say anything, confounded by the swirl of emotions that Sheila's appearance had elicited. Confusion, wonder, arousal . . . .
"You didn't say good-bye when you left work," she prompted me with a small, amused smile. "Are you mad at me or something?"
I managed to recover my brain, at least somewhat. "No, of course not," I said, even though I really wanted to ask why she wasn't with her 'perfect' boyfriend. I shrugged, trying to come off as being cool and nonchalant. "You, um, seemed kind of busy."
"Hmm," she muttered casually. "Okay." She gave me a catty smile, apparently done with the topic, and stepped closer, expecting to be let in. I resisted, just for a moment, not budging. But then I stepped aside and let Sheila in.
I was glad I maintained a somewhat clean apartment, even if the dishes were piling up and the bathtub was in need of a good scrubbing. I had some incense burning – a habit, since I smoked in my apartment – so the place didn't smell too funky. But I had some clothes strewn around the floor – my apartment was a one-room studio – and a few empty beer cans on the kitchen counter. Sheila did not seem to be offended by my place as she looked around.
I felt like I needed to be a gracious host for my unexpected guest. At the least, I needed to do something to counter the immediate sense of arousal I felt in Sheila's presence. "Um, want something to drink?" I asked awkwardly.
She finished her assessment of my living conditions, and turned back to me with a sly look on her beautiful face. Her gaze drifted to my crotch briefly, then back to my face. "Sure. You got something on tap?"
Just that simple look, and the implications of her words . . . I could feel my cock growing, snaking against the denim that encased it. "Uh, sure," I said, trying to be suave. "Wanna get a glass?"
Sheila's lips stretched in a sexy smile as she stepped up to me, lightly pressing her body to mine. "Actually, I'd rather just suck it from the tap, if that's okay."
I suddenly hoped Sheila couldn't tell how much her words had me trembling with lust. Something in me wanted to salvage some measure of control over the situation. It was a mad wish, of course; my subconscious understood that this entire scenario was Sheila's game. But my conscious mind wanted to hold onto the fantasy that I still held a measure of control.
"Well . . . if you insist," I said.
Sheila's hands were already pulling on my belt, getting it undone. Her eyes shone up at me with that canny expression of desire. I held my breath as she undid the button of my jeans and pushed the zipper down. "Oh, I do, baby," she murmured, then sunk to her knees, dragging my jeans down.
