Birthday Wishes - The List: Book 1 Read online

  "So, you're going to see him again." And she circled back to her original question. She was tenacious like a damned Jack Russell. She yapped like crazy, but refused to let go of a scent once she got hold of it.

  "God, I hope so." I felt instantly vulnerable as soon as I said it aloud. Conversation over. I couldn't go any further. "Can I work now?" I opened my laptop without waiting for her answer.

  "For now. but I reserve the right to revisit this subject in the future."

  "Fine." I clicked open my email. I was too distracted to focus on something as thick as catering agreements. Contracts and discombobulation were a bad combination. Email was a safe alternative.

  Rather than heading to her own office, she circled the desk and gave me a tight side-hug. She kissed the top of my head and said, "I hope you know what you're doing."

  "Me, too." I closed my eyes and returned Rachel's awkward hug as best I could. She was a good friend and I appreciated her concern. I just didn't want to talk about this.

  "Okay." She squeezed me extra hard then let go. "To work." With that, she left me in peace.

  I took my first real breath of the day. With the big “talk” out of the way, I could finally relax. Or at least I could until I scanned the list of names in my inbox and saw Luca's pop up at the top of the list.

  "Shit." I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms against my pant legs and took a deep breath. Did I really want to see what he had to say? Even if my brain hadn't committed to the action, my finger was all in. I clicked to open the email.

  Mari,

  Saturday was. . .wow. Again?

  Luca

  Yes, please! Six words and I was seriously panting. His effect on my body, even by proxy, was unreal. Hell, yes I wanted to see him again. Right now. But I refused to let a booty call disrupt my ability to earn a living. Seeing him during the week would destroy me. I'd be a blissfully happy, completely sated, and totally broke in a matter of weeks. That's the thing about owning a business. In order to continue owning it, work has to be done. Folks don't want to pay their caterer to fuck someone on her desk all day long.

  I kept my response as brief as his message.

  Luca,

  Yes, please. When?

  Mari

  My finger hovered over the send button, apparently not as eager to respond as it was to find out what Luca had to say. Maybe I sounded too eager. I re-read the message. Five words could hardly be considered over the top. Ultimately, I removed the please and sent the message as simply Yes. When?

  It was weird. Prior to actually meeting in person, we sent each other very detailed emails about what we liked and didn't like. I expanded at length, without reservation. Simply put, he was easier to talk to before we fucked. I wondered what that meant.

  He didn't respond until later that afternoon. By that point, I was officially going out of my mind. I'd endured a second, far more thorough grilling from Rachel, and survived a phone call/inquisition from my mother.

  Luca's second email was as short as the first. Maybe he was finding it just as hard as me to talk post-orgasmic bliss.

  Mari,

  Saturday? 8pm? My place?

  Luca

  I was simultaneously pleased and pissed. I was going to insist on Saturday because anything earlier would derail my entire week. But I wasn't at all happy that Luca was satisfied with waiting that long. I was already feeling the separation. I wanted him to feel just as desperate.

  My response was even briefer.

  Perfect.

  After I hit send, I panicked. I had just agreed to go to Luca's house, not a hotel. Neutral ground was part of our agreement. We'd only met once and we were both already willing to compromise on a point that had previously been a deal breaker.

  Shit.

  #

  I popped a frozen meal into the microwave and pushed the button. It was only Wednesday, and the week had kicked my ass to the point that I didn't care if my dinner consisted of irradiated, pre-packaged, frozen food. People pay me a ridiculous amount of money because I'm a kick-ass chef, but even kick-ass chefs occasionally hit their limit for chopping and dicing and marinating.

  "So, we're okay moving the Guthman wedding to the 19th?" Rachel's voice spoke to me through the speaker on my phone. I was sorely tempted to hit the disconnect button and blame it on my cell carrier. I was done with the day.

  "Mari? Are you there?" She spoke just a little louder and her electronically modulated voice came close to overriding the knowledge that I love her. She's my best friend and her voice made me want to punch a wall. I needed a break from work. In fairness, she was just as tired. She had the same day I did.

  "Yeah, that's fine. We'll make it work." The Guthman wedding had thus far proven to be an enormous pain in my ass. An enormous pain with an even more enormous checkbook. Rachel and I did well with our business, but not so well that we could risk telling a rich client to suck it.

  The microwave pinged. "Rach, I'm wiped. Can we pick this up in the morning?" I burned my hand pulling my food out of the microwave. I cursed loudly and almost dropped the package on the floor. "Shit, sorry."

  "It's okay, sweetie. I'll let you go."

  I sighed and leaned against the counter. "Thanks. Really." I wondered if I sounded as exhausted to Rachel as I did to myself.

  "I know I'm not supposed to bring it up, but maybe you should go ahead and call him yourself." Rachel spoke far too gently, thus confirming that I did indeed sound as bad as I felt.

  I hadn't told her about my email exchange with Luca. I figured that, as a grown woman, I wasn't obligated to report it each time I planned to have sex. At least I sure as hell hoped not. Not even my kinkiest fantasies involved seeking permission from my best friend.

  "Rach, not now." I debated feigning ignorance with her, but she'd see right through that. It was easier to just continue pleading exhaustion. "I can't talk about that right now."

  "Fine. But that doesn't mean you are off the hook completely," she scolded, but it lacked enthusiasm. I heard the tell-tale microwave ping come through the phone. Her dinner was ready, too.

  "Okay, go eat. I love you. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night." I spoke in a rush and pushed the disconnect button before she could think of a reason to stay on the line. This was one of the many differences between Rachel and me. After a long day, I wanted to be left the fuck alone. She, on the other hand, craved company. She wanted reassurance that tomorrow would be better. I thought she should get a cat.

  The fork was halfway to my mouth when my phone chimed that I had a text message. I figured it was Rachel ripping me a new one for hanging up abruptly, so I didn't hurry to check it. I took the bite of food, chewed slowly as to savor the lack of flavor and abundance of salt in my meal, then checked the screen.

  Luca.

  Shit. As much as I wanted to hear from him, I wasn't prepared to think sexy thoughts while wearing comfy pajamas and eating cardboard-esque food. Still, I pushed the button.

  Hey sweet girl. Saturday can't get here quick enough. Haven't been able to stop thinking about you.

  Hmm. As far as messages went, this one didn't suck. And I was relieved to see that we'd graduated from the minimalist communication we'd shared via email on Monday. I moved to the living room and flipped on the television. My TV dinner--aptly named--and my phone made the trip with me. I took another bite and thought about my response. I was too tired to talk on the phone about work, but that didn't mean I was too tired for meaningless sex if that's what Luca was offering.

  What were we thinking when we agreed to wait until Saturday?

  That was good. Flirty, willing, but noncommittal.

  It wasn't my first choice, but I didn't think you'd agree to come to my office and suck me off under my desk.

  I ran through the points on Luca's list. Was that on it? I couldn't remember. I texted back.

  Promise to bend me over the desk first, and that's the best offer I've had all week.

  That fantasy was somewhere on my list, so why not w
ork it in?

  Deal. How about now?

  Was he serious? Like I was supposed to drop everything and meet him at his office at, shit--I checked my watch--almost eleven at night? Not terribly late for a booty call if I were a college student or a professional hooker. I just turned thirty, for Christ's sake. I had to be up at 5 am. Now, my ass.

  Apparently I took too long to respond because Luca followed up with another message.

  Or maybe during lunch tomorrow? Can you get away?

  Less demanding, but not any more realistic.

  I wish. We're catering a luncheon for 120 people. I'll be busy all day.

  This time I waited too long for a response. I sighed and took another bite when my phone beeped.

  Do you wear a uniform?

  I almost spewed microwaved pasta onto my coffee table. He had to be disappointed, but instead of holding it against me, he rolled with it and switched fantasies. Nicely done. I messaged him back.

  White dress shirt, black tie, short black skirt.

  I'll admit it. Rachel and I fashioned our uniforms after the girls in the Robert Palmer video for “Addicted to Love.” They were simple, sexy, and affordable. Again, my phone beeped.

  Heels?

  I laughed out loud. I'd lay money that the next time Luca suggested the office fantasy that he would request it in my office with me in uniform.

  Of course. Pic?

  I didn't wait for a response and sent him the link to our website. There were several photos of Rachel and me in uniform. They were tastefully sexy. We spent a fortune on the right photographer to get the results we wanted, but agreed it was money well spent. He texted back right away.

  Wow. . .wow!

  Speechless Luca was sexy. And kind of cute. I took another bite and texted him back.

  Glad you like it.

  While I waited, I Googled “actuary” and sadly, there was absolutely nothing sexy about his job. I didn't bother asking if he had a hot uniform. Maybe the next time I set up an illicit online affair, I'd look for a firefighter or a cop. Or, hell, why not a stripper? One of those would have all the good costumes and a ready willingness to take them off on request. My phone beeped.

  Here.

  He’d attached a photo of himself at the gym. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that did nothing to hide his physique. He was sweaty and mid-bench press. All the muscles in his neck, chest, and arms were tensed and he had a fierce I'll-eat-your-mother expression on his face. I whimpered. This was so much better than a stripper. But my text was understated.

  Oh my.

  Maybe it wasn't too late to meet at his office. After all, I was only thirty. I could easily stay up and still function perfectly the next day, right? Another text came through.

  Okay, I'm going to let you go now because if I don't do that now, I'm going to keep you up all night. Seriously. Saturday?

  I groaned, and knew I owed him big time for being responsible and giving me an out, but a large part of me wanted to beg him to keep me up all night. Whatever he had planned was bound to be more fun than sleep. No, I had to be responsible, too. I was determined to keep my sexy, pre-planned rendezvous carefully scheduled and not let it interfere with normal life.

  Saturday because we have busy lives and we have to set some sort of boundaries, right? Handcuffing you to my bed doesn't pay nearly as well as catering snobby luncheons.

  But the image I had was so much better. I read his next text.

  True, but now I'm going to fantasize about you in that uniform for the rest of the week.

  That seemed fair since as soon as he stopped texting I planned to change the wallpaper on my phone to a sweaty, muscle-y actuary.

  I can live with that. I'm going to spend the rest of the week fantasizing about your desk.

  At that point, I wasn't nearly as tired and so my frozen dinner no longer seemed a suitable option. I carried it back to the kitchen and threw it in the trash. On my way back to the living room, he texted me again.

  Oh, I have something much better than that planned for Saturday. ;) We'll be working off my list this time. Sweet dreams, Mari.

  Holy shit. Saturday couldn't get here soon enough.

  Chapter 4

  I stared at the number on Luca's door and thought of all the reasons that meeting at his place was a bad fucking idea. Then I thought of all the reasons it was a good fucking idea. I'd gone through the list more times than I could remember and was still sitting firmly on the fence. But good idea or not, here I was, ready to knock on his door.

  "Here goes nothing," I muttered, then knocked firmly. No timid little taps for me. If I was going to be a harlot, I was going to do so proudly.

  The door eased open and I finally saw Luca again. I'd worried that the week apart would change something, that the shiny new fascination might have worn off, but no. He answered shirtless, the smooth, solid muscle of his chest and abdomen tense and begging me to touch. I swear, I could hear his nipples crying out for me to bite them. Really. He wore a pair of gray sweat pants that settled low on his hips so that I could see the cut of his obliques as they narrowed at his hips.

  Since molesting him in the doorway would probably be rude, I settled for wrapping my arms around his waist, letting my palms glide over his skin slow and sure, and pulling him into a hug. The contact was delicious, but not nearly enough.

  "Mari." He pressed his lips to my hair, whispered my name, and held me just a little tighter than the scope of our relationship justified. "Come in."

  He pulled me into his living room and closed the door behind us. He grinned at me, carefree and happy. As he stared at me, the smile transformed gradually from pleased to lustful. The mood shifted to one of heavy need and I couldn't wait to take my clothes off and then take advantage of every naughty act the look in his eyes promised.

  He shook his head and blinked with a laugh. "Can we talk for a second?"

  Really? He wanted to talk? What man asks that when sex is totally about to happen?

  "Okay." I must have looked as disappointed as I felt because Luca took my hand and led me to the couch.

  "It won't take long, I promise."

  I sat next to him rather than straddling his lap like I wanted. With very little effort, I could have his cock out and been riding it like my own personal rodeo. The sweatpants he was wearing showed that his body was totally on board for that idea even if his mouth wanted to talk. I tore my eyes away from his crotch. The longer I stared at it, the more likely I was to say fuck it, and then fuck him. I was better than that. I could totally talk if that's what he wanted to do.

  "What's up?"

  He rubbed his palms against his pants and cleared his throat. "So, I. . .where do I want to start?"

  I looked at him expectantly. I knew exactly where I wanted to start and it didn't involve words beyond the occasional Oh, God! and Yes, right there!

  He sighed and said, "This is harder than I thought it would be. Okay, so, we made our lists together, right? And that took a lot of honesty on both our parts, to say aloud, well, type the words in our case, this is what we want."

  I nodded, still not sure where he was headed, but hoping some encouragement would get him there faster.

  "And I totally thought I could have a purely sexual relationship, one where we connect solely to fuck and aren't required to engage in all the other niceties of a formal relationship."

  "Right." That was the whole point. We got to fuck without emotional entanglements. But the way he was talking made me think he was having second thoughts. Uh-oh.

  "But then I met you. I know you didn't expect me at your birthday party, but it was really nice. You're a good person."

  Shit. This wasn't going anywhere good.

  "And I had a really good time with you after the party was over." He smiled licentiously and it renewed my hope that our relationship, such as it was, might still work out.

  "But when I woke up alone Sunday morning, I. . .well, I didn't like it. And I was surprised by that." He folded
my hand carefully between both of his and looked at me so sincerely I almost ran from the room. Shit shit shit.

  "Luca. . ." I started.

  "I'm not asking for more. But I'm telling you I'm open to it. I debated not saying anything, but I want to continue being as honest with you as possible."

  "You're very sweet, but I don't have room for more. That's why I went looking for the sex with no strings arrangement, remember?"

  "I know, I know. Me, too. But. . ."

  "Can I think about it?" I already knew exactly what I thought about it. All my dirty fantasies went swirling down the drain with Luca's interest for more. Dammit. This was so seriously fucked up. Wasn't the woman supposed to beg for more while the man remained emotionally distant? Apparently I was dating a girl. A really hot girl with sexy man parts and chiseled abs, but a girl nonetheless. Fuck my life.

  "Of course. I don't even know for sure what I want. Maybe just for you to say goodbye when you leave tonight?" He shrugged, uncertain, and I relaxed exponentially. Maybe this could still work. He didn't sound hell bent to rent a U-Haul any time soon.

  "I can do that." I nodded.

  "Good." He kissed me sweetly, then stood abruptly. His posture instantly shifted from uncertain to confident and demanding. His eyes were hooded and dark and so, so sexy. I sat a little taller, alert for what he would do next.