Chapter 3: Go With The Flow
She said I'll throw myself away
They're just photos after all
I can't make you hang around
I can't wash you off my skin....
Outside the frame,
Is what you're leaving out
You won't remember anyway...
Queens of the Stone Age-Go With The Flow
He sat in his car, absently tapping his thigh with his fingers, glancing at the building every so often. His frustration was nearly overwhelming. The fact that he'd been trying to reach Lydia all week and she wouldn't answer or return his calls was pissing him off in ways unimaginable. He'd gotten over his minor obsession with her weeks ago, but his wife's insistence that he contact her to cater the country clubs fall fundraiser after finding her business card in his coat pocket, had put her on his radar again. The first time he'd called, she'd hung up, upon hearing his voice immediately. He'd gritted his teeth and called right back, only to have her hurriedly say, "I can't do this." And hang up again.
He'd called and left numerous messages, but she wouldn't return his calls. Meanwhile, his wife grew ever more persistent in nagging him about contacting her. He finally decided he'd pay little-miss Lydia a visit. He couldn't deny the fact that he was looking forward to seeing her. He couldn't wait to see her jaw drop when he told her he only wanted to speak to her about catering and nothing else. He was no longer interested in her in any possible way and had in fact found another hole to fill in the form of the temp he'd hired a few weeks ago. She resembled Lydia, but didn't have her adorable two left feet syndrome. Which was just as well, he only needed to fuck her and get Lydia out of his system. He sat frowning over the steering wheel, thinking of the temp and how 'receptive' she'd been, when Lydia finally stepped into view. She walked slowly, carefully balancing her Starbucks on top of a thick notebook. He sat up, not realizing he was holding his breath, or that his heart had skipped a little. He watched her fumble with the keys and the coffee tilt precariously to the side before she righted the notebook. She glanced back, seemingly right at him, before disappearing through the glass door and he saw interior lighting spill into the fading dark of morning through the huge glass window.
He watched her through the window for a while and then slipped from the car, shoving his fingers into his pockets and crossed the narrow street. He gave the door a gentle push, she hadn't locked it, though it was well before office hours and he saw her look up from the notebook she'd carried in. Recognition dawned and her eyes widened before she stood fully, and nervously toyed with the pen she was holding. He offered a smug smirk before letting the door swing shut behind him. He walked a few steps toward her, hands shoved deep into his pockets and paused, waiting for her to get the wrong impression. He smiled in spite of himself when she backed away a bit, and paused as well. "Don't flatter yer self sweetheart. I'm here about business." He leaned on the tall counter, glancing around, noting the smell of sugar hanging in the air.
She stiffened then visibly relaxed and stepped back to the counter. He frowned, not the response he was hoping for from her. He wanted to see disappointment, longing and a little tinge of humiliation in her expression. Instead he watched as she reached below the counter and grabbed a hand full of forms and a menu, and slid them across to him. "I'm sorry, I had forgotten you said might need a cater for your events. Lucky you caught someone here, no one usually is, unless scheduled." She began unfolding the menu for him and arranging the forms.
Once again, he couldn't help noticing her 'not' noticing him. Perhaps she really was an Ice Queen. She turned the forms a bit, so that she could point out their services and he caught a glimpse of lacy top of her dark red bra. For a moment he smirked and thought she must have worn that just for him, then he realized that she couldn't have. She didn't know he was coming. This still did nothing to stop his cock from slightly stiffening in his pants as he stared at that small ridge of reddish black lace. He caught a whiff of her perfume and suddenly had the urge to touch her hand and gave in to it. "Lydia.." he said in a voice so low it might have been a whisper. "..are we ever going to talk about what happened?"
She looked down at her hand, the one he was holding and blinked. She opened her mouth to speak when the door chimes announced yet another early morning visitor. She jerked her hand free of his and shot him a pained look before darting around the counter and slipping into the embrace the newly entered man. "Hey! Told you I'd be here long before you were." She said and pressed herself against him in greeting. Matt's jaw tightened as he looked on, his fists clenching in their pockets. He forced a smile as he watched the two of them. The man resembled him a bit, though a few inches shorter. Maybe that's why she wasn't interested. She already had her little something on the side. He felt like a fool standing there. The two of them made pleasantries as she finally disappeared into the kitchen.
Matt turned to look at the man, quietly sizing him up. "So..you're Lydia's..." he said, turning to fully face the man. The little voice in his head kept screaming that he was acting irrationally. Lydia was no one to him, what business of his was it who she was fucking? He had the temp and any other women he wanted. Fuck Lydia! Still he pressed on, " Husband?" he asked, full well knowing it wasn't.
"Oh! No, I'm an old friend of hers. Get my catering done at half price since I know her so well. Helps to have a hook up. " the man chuckled knowingly, and gave Matt a rather cheesy thumbs up.
"Friend eh?" Matt said pointedly, his eyes going a steely blue as he narrowed his gaze. He hoped it was very clear what he was implying.
