About Last Night (3 page)
Quinn
As I walked into my apartment, my eyes skimmed the email for the sixth time. I read the line that was bugging me the most for the seventh, eighth, ninth time.
“I’m sure I can find someone else at the agency that would be acceptable.”
My brow bunched as an emotion I couldn’t quite recognize squeezed a knot inside my chest. I’d been written off in a matter of hours.
I was Matt fucking Quinn. I didn’t get written off. I got fought over, for Christ’s sake. There was no way in hell I’d be recommending any of the other guys. If she wanted an escort, she’d get me, or she’d get no one.
I squelched my irrational anger and typed slowly.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Whoa, Nelly! Hold your horses.
Maya, my dumpling,
Please forgive my tardy response. I was at lunch with a friend and didn’t want to be
that
guy. You know, that guy who’s more interested in his phone than his friend?
Although I’d been thoroughly tempted to be that guy when I read your email.
Also, yes, that is most definitely something I can help with. I would consider it a privilege to be the man you chose for the job.
Still available,
Quinn loves chocolate…any chocolate…all the chocolate x
After sending the email, I called DFT. Candace, the receptionist, owed me a favor, and I was calling it in.
“DFT. This is Candace speaking. How may I help you?”
I smirked. Candace was a sixty-something-year-old woman who acted like a twenty-year-old. She had her children young and was a great-grandmother two times over. Also, she loved the shit out of me. “Candy, sweetheart, how are you this fine day?”
She grunted a laugh at my over-cheerfulness. “I’m fine, thank you, Matthew. What can I do for you, hon?”
I hated to do it, but felt I needed to. No one would be better at serving Maya than me. “Remember when I caught you napping at your desk and I woke you before anyone saw. You said you owed me. I’m calling in my marker.”
She made a noise in her throat then asked suspiciously, “And what would that favor be?”
I didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “I need you to check the reception email. There’s a new client who will likely try to book with another guy. I need you to tell her there is no one else. No one else but me.”
Candace sighed. “Matty, sweetie, I don’t know. I could get into a lot of trouble.”
“Are you going to tell anyone? Because I’m not. It’ll be strictly between you and me. Besides, the client might never even book. This is all just a would-be scenario.”
I could all but hear her roll her eyes. “All right. Give me her email address.” I gave her Maya’s email and waited. “Well, she hasn’t booked yet, Matty. If she tries to, I’ll text you.”
Letting out a sigh of relief, I thanked her. “You’re the best, Candy. Love ya.”
The day’s heat was getting to me, so I removed my shirt and threw myself on my bed. It had been a few hours since I heard from Maya. I was beginning to think I was being punished for my delayed response earlier. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but I woke to my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Blinking sleepily, I wiped at my eyes, picked it up, and smiled at seeing the sender.
From: [email protected]
Subject: So…this isn’t awkward…
Quinnling,
I’m so glad you’re not
that
guy. I hate
that
guy. And there’s nothing to apologize for. Keeping your friend company without checking your phone just earned you major brownie points in my book.
I’m sorry for assuming you wouldn’t have the balls to let me know if you didn’t want to assist me.
Truth is, I wouldn’t have booked with anyone else. Not even if you had recommended them.
Not at all awkward,
Maya ever after x
Subconsciously, my chest puffed out, and I felt like beating on it like a gorilla while strutting around like a peacock. But I was too tired for that. Instead, I lay with an arm behind my head while typing with the other.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Mmmm…brownie points.
Maya,
I’m glad we got that sorted.
Now, shall we get down to business?
If it’s all right with you, I’d like to know the extent of your sexual experience, so I can be better prepared for our meeting.
You can ask me anything you like in return. Scout’s honor.
Quinn
I didn’t know why writing that particular email seemed harder to write than the others. Something about this woman had my stomach turning.
I thought back to the last time I flirted with a woman for my own pleasure. Honestly, I couldn’t remember a time in the last year. My brow bunched. Had this become my life? Women throwing themselves at me for large sums, and me minus my natural libido? Sure, I had a large group of women to deal with, and majority of those women were regulars, but on the odd occasion I had a new client, yet I hadn’t been excited about it. I had been nervous about it, anxious even. With my regulars, I knew what they liked. I rarely had to use new moves. Making them come was a cinch.
My mind wandered. I wasn’t at all nervous to meet Maya. How easily would Maya come? I didn’t know what she liked, but I would explore her body and remedy that as soon as possible. Was she thin or full-figured? Tall or short? Would she taste sweet or spicy? She deserved a good first experience. Having this go as smoothly as possible was best for her. If this went sour, it could ruin her view of sex forever. I didn’t want that resting on me, but was sure I could make it something special for her.
I’d have to relax her somehow before the main event. A few orgasms should do the trick. I smirked to myself.
Because that would be such a hardship for me.
There was something about a woman in the throes of orgasm that did something to me. Not only was it sexy as hell, it was validation, all I needed to know that I was in the right profession.
I had come across all types of women during my time as an escort. Some women were large, and others were small, but at the end of the day, they all had something about them I liked. I’d never been turned off by any of my clients. I never needed to take pills to make me stay hard. The truth was that horny women made me horny, and I loved making even the classiest of ladies wet. It was a powerful feeling, one I had yet to become sick of. I didn’t think I ever would.
My phone shook in my hand.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Mmmm…brownie points.
Quinn,
Gah. I guess we had to get to that eventually, didn’t we?
Well, there’s not a lot to that answer. In total, I’ve dated two men. They were both in college and didn’t amount to much. There had been kissing and groping, a bit of fondling. One of those men treated my breasts like a wind-up toy, while the other thought squeezing my nipples really hard would get me going. It didn’t. It hurt like a bitch.
The first guy entered me with his fingers and thought shaking me up like a milkshake machine would make me come; the second tried going down on me.
I fell asleep.
I’ve touched a mangina. Never seen one up close though. I’d always insisted on darkness when doing such sinful things.
That’s about it.
Yikes. Now that I think about it, it’s kind of pitiful. Sorry.
Okay. My questions to you are:
1)
What is your favorite sport to play?
2)
Or, What is your favorite sport to watch?
Pathetically yours,
Maya
I winced multiple times through reading her email. The two men she’d been with sounded like a couple lady-killers. Poor girl. No wonder she never tried to lose her virginity. She likely thought sex was nothing special. It didn’t matter though. I’d show her everything she needed to make sure she’d have a healthy sex life.
Mangina.
I snorted a laugh and typed my response.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: Mmmm…brownie points.
My poor Maya,
I pity the fool who had you in his grasp and disappointed you so thoroughly.
I’d like to say that bedroom games come easy to most, but they don’t. Sex is an art, and if you aren’t taught the basics, you have no hope in hell of pleasing anyone. The key to sex is communication. Don’t ever be afraid to tell your partner what you like. If you don’t, they’ll have to guess, and men (or women) can’t read minds…unfortunately. How cool would it be if they could??
You aren’t pathetic. Not even close. Stick with me and we’ll work together to make you a phenomenal lover. That’s a guarantee.
In answer to your question(s), I love to play basketball. My best friend thinks he’s Jordan circa the early nineties, but he’s more Dennis Rodman circa…now. It’s sad. Really.
And you won’t believe it, but the sport I most love to watch is curling. Those damn Canadians sure know how to party, eh?
Now, as you can see, I’ve answered both your questions. How about we do it this way? Parties can either answer one, or both of the questions asked, depending on what they’re comfortable with.
My questions to you are:
1)
What did you study at college?
2)
Where are you most comfortable, a crowded city or alone on the beach?
Quinn
P.S. Don’t ever call my penis a mangina. Not
ever
. I feel completely emasculated by that horrible, horrible word. Great. Thanks. How will I ever do my job now?
I had things to do that day, but with every further email, my priorities faded into the background as new ones built themselves.
That should’ve been my first clue to end it.
Mia
“All I’m saying is that you should be careful. You don’t know anyone in your building, and it sounds like this Bill and Terry might be a little strange¸” explained my brother Harry in an overly haughty tone.
I just finished telling him about the cute gay couple in their thirties who lived across the hall. I had come home from my run a sweaty mess, and walking up the stairs, I spotted Terry leaving a basket in front of my door. He heard me approach and looked up. He beamed at me. “You must be our new neighbor on account of I don’t know you.” Standing tall, he held out a muscled arm and took my sweaty hand, kissing it. “You are just adorable.” Calling over his shoulder, he yelled out, “Bill, honey, get out here and meet the little dish who is our neighbor! She’s adorable!”
Still in a daze, I looked over at the opening apartment door to find Bill, an equally tall, muscled, and attractive man coming at me. Where Terry had messy blond hair and green eyes, Bill had dark hair chopped into a crew cut and eyes so dark they could be classified as black. But then Bill smiled, and he wasn’t so scary anymore.
It was funny what a smile could do to a face.
Taking my free hand, Bill brought my knuckles to his mouth and kissed. “Hello there, sweetness. Welcome to the hood.”
Oh, God. Bill was English. As in, Jude Law, Hugh Grant, Jason Statham, take-me-right-now English. I always loved that accent. It was classy as fuck and hotter than hell.
There I was, caught between two of the hottest men I’d ever had the opportunity to speak to, so I did what any woman would do. I groaned…loudly. “Just my luck. You’re so
totally
gay. Damn. That’s so unfair.”
For a moment, I’d been worried I might’ve offended them, but when I lifted my eyes to face them, they were both grinning. Hooking an arm through mine, Terry dragged me toward their apartment, leaving Bill in the hall. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Terry called back to Bill, “Shit, we are keeping this one. I love her already.”
Before I knew it, I was on my second glass of wine and laughing at one of the many escapades of Bill and Terry. Snorting, we all laughed harder. I covered my mouth and admitted, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m normally so uneasy around men.”
Bill’s lip quirked. “I’m guessing it’s partly because of the booze, and partly because we’re queer, darling.” He tilted his head as he studied me. “Sort of like a safety blanket for you, I’d think. No risk, you know. Easy peasy.”
Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and read the email from Quinn. Smiling like a loon, and partly drunk, I confessed to my new friends, “Sorry. There’s this guy I kind of like, and we’ve been flirting a lot over the past day or so.”
Terry clapped and squeaked, “Tell me all about it. I
love
gossip.”
Bill sipped his wine way too gently for a gigantic man. “He does, darling. Go on. Spoil him.”
I choked then. I couldn’t tell them what I was doing. They’d think I was a freak. I played it off a little too casually. With a shrug, I leaned back in my chair and muttered a bored, “He’s just a guy.”
Terry and Bill locked eyes. And I began to sweat. They were onto me.
Terry muttered, “This is serious.”
Bill responded just as quietly, “I don’t know what just happened.”
I fumbled and squawked, “No. No serious. No anything. It’s nothing.”
Terry, acting like a friend of many years, rather than a friend of a single afternoon, gave me a stern ‘dad’ face. “Who is he?”
I tried to reply, but nothing came out. My mouth opened and closed, like that of a fish out of water, before my shoulders slumped and I caved. “My brother’s best friend.”
While Terry groaned, Bill winced, and my stomach churned. No more wine. Bill started with, “That’s fire there, sweetness. You sure you want to get burned?”
Terry added sympathetically with a nod, “That might be something you want to avoid, honey.”
I was sure they were right, but I still had to ask, albeit pathetically, “But
why
?”
Terry picked up my hand and kissed it. “Because he’s forbidden fruit. That’s probably why you want him.”
Picking up my phone, I opened the full-length shot of Matt Quinn in only a towel with dew all over his body, the one I had downloaded from the DFT website. Holding my phone up to both of them, I watched their eyes widen and their jaws drop.
Bill barked out a laugh. “Well, fuck me. That might just be worth destroying your brother’s best friendship for.”
Terry, who had begun fanning himself, rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh, Lord, he is
divine
. I approve, a hundred times over. Sheesh, I need to ice my balls.” Then he dug, “So, he’s like a model or something?”
I pursed my lips, lifted my head in thought, and then nodded. “Or something.”
I spent another hour with Bill and Terry just shooting the breeze then went home, showered, and fell asleep without responding to Quinn’s email.
As soon as I woke the next morning, I responded to Quinn. In a sleepy haze, I typed.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Running + wine = sleep
Most forgiving Quinn,
I wish I had a great excuse for not responding to you last night. And I kind of do.
I met my new neighbors. They shoved wine down my throat and killed me with kindness. Then I showered and passed out.
In response to your questions, I studied event management with a minor in journalism, and I would choose being alone on the beach than in a crowded city any day of the week.
I would ask you questions, but I can’t think because I’m still in bed, so I’ll just ask something basic.
What is your favorite color?
Holla,
Maya
I yawned and stretched under the covers. I wasn’t ready to vacate the soft fluffiness that was my bed. Not just yet anyway. I still had a week before I started work at Addison Ltd, a highly sought after events management company booked a year in advance. What made Addison Ltd so great was that we—the event planners—travelled, which meant we not only had to have an extensive knowledge of the landmarks in our home cities, but also in other cities. We could book an event in any other city as easily as we could in our own. That was what made Addison Ltd.
I couldn’t believe they hired me.
Well…okay, I could.
I hadn’t spent four years working my ass off, studying in the solitude of my stuffy dorm room for nothing. There was a reason I was top of my class, every class.
Just as I started to fall asleep again, the loud chirp of my cell’s notifications rang in my ear. “Shit!”
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya, Maya, Maya,
All will be forgiven if you can answer me one question…
What are you wearing?
Suffering from an attack of morning wood,
Quinn x
I looked down at myself before responding.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Quinn,
A black silken teddy with lace and frill.
Sexy and I know it,
Maya
I smirked at my response, knowing Quinn would know I was lying. So when my phone chirped again and I read the reply, I laughed. Loudly.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya is a lie-a,
Give it to me straight.
What am I working with, doll?
Help me out here,
Quinn is a pervert x
I grinned, and with another quick glance at my attire, I found myself being honest.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Sir Quinn,
You got me. Honesty this time.
I’m wearing an old, baggy white threadbare t-shirt that I have slept in for years. It’s tattered and ugly, and absolutely perfect.
Lady Maya
I smiled until I got a response.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Interesting.
I like it.
Is that the real you, Maya?
Loving the less than lovable things in the world?
Curious,
Quinn
Whoa. Too deep. Especially for…
I checked the time on my cell.
…Especially for 8:29 a.m. And so I lied.
From: [email protected]
Subject: On the run.
Sorry, I’m on the way to work.
Talk later?
Maya x
His response made my stomach flip around.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: On the run.
Talking to you over the past few days has been a treat. You don’t need an invitation, Maya.
If you get bored with your day, text me at 732-757-2922.
Always got time,
Quinn
It was a bad idea. I knew I shouldn’t, but I was too far-gone in all that was Matt Quinn. Switching from email to text, I wrote:
Me: Now you have my number too. Maya x
Not a second passed before I got a response.
Quinn: Good. Now get to work, woman.
Obviously, I didn’t get to work. Instead, I called DFT, and when reception answered, I made my request.
“Hi, I’m wondering if you can tell me what Quinn’s schedule is looking like for next week sometime?”
The receptionist sounded very motherly when she responded, “I’m sorry, dear, but he’s booked out up until next month. He’s quite popular. Perhaps there’s another one of our boys who will suit you? Sorry, dear, what did you say your name was?”
Well, damn. I’d known he would be popular, just not
that
popular. Crestfallen, I mumbled, “Mia—” I forced a coughing fit before smacking my head and giving my false name. “Uh…Maya. My name is Maya.”
The receptionist took on a cheery tone. “Well, as a matter of fact, Maya, he’s just had a cancellation this very moment. How does Sunday night at six pm sound?”
Oh, God, what luck! I jumped on the opportunity. “Yes! Absolutely, book me in please.”
The receptionist chuckled. “I thought you’d say that.” Another moment and she added, “Great. You’re booked in. If you’ll provide an email address, I’ll send through all the details, along with a questionnaire of your preferences. I’ll also require a credit card with a limit of two thousand dollars or more that is not within three months of expiry. And, for safety reasons, I will need you to scan and email through a valid form of identification.”
Identification?
I blanched. No. I suddenly couldn’t do this. If Quinn saw my ID, he’d know who I was and would never take me on as a client. Swallowing hard, I stuttered, “I-i-identification?”
I heard the smile in the receptionist’s voice when she responded, “Yes, ma’am.” I was just about to cancel, when she said, “Honey, we don’t expect you to book under your real name. A lot of women don’t for a number of reasons. But before you withdraw, I’ll let you know that no one will see your identification. No one but me. The boys don’t have access to my email, and once I receive the picture, I print it and add it to the others, put it under lock and key, and then the email is deleted. At DFT, we pride ourselves on our discretion. We’ve never had a breach of security. Not once.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know—”