Blast From The Past 3 (5 page)

“Sorry,” I said. “But I haven’t had time to clean up yet.”

I was apologizing for the fact that my bed was still unmade from me having recently slept in it. J.R. had called on me so early, and, like me, my bedroom was something I hadn’t had time to attend to before he got there.

“It’s okay,” J.R. said. His hand was still locked with mine, and he squeezed it as he brought his other arm around to embrace me. “Things are about to get a lot messier anyway,” he added, pressing himself against me. He was already rock hard, and I’d barely touched him yet.

His words—and his hardness—sent shivers all over my body, and I felt a gush of wetness flow from me. I pressed back against J.R. as firmly as he pressed against me, and moaned at the thought of our bodies melting together into a writhing lump of pleasure and passion.

J.R. leaned forward and run his tongue over my neck, up to my chin. Then he ran his teeth over the edge of my face before bring his mouth to mine and kissing me. His kiss felt like a burst of sunshine in the middle of the night, and it made me forget that it was morning, that I was still in my pajamas, and that I was about to fuck him in my unmade bed.

I felt J.R.’s hands moving all over my body. He was teasing and taunting me, touching everywhere except where I longed most to be touched. Perhaps he was simply appreciating my body, and, perhaps, at some other time, I would have appreciated it more—but, right then and there, I wanted his hands on my tits, ass, or pussy so bad… and, if he didn’t do it soon, I was gonna beg for it.

Every time J.R. got near my most sensitive spots, I panted and pulsed a little—and he’d pull away just as I pushed into him. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was driving me crazy.

We were still standing, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my body just a bit, to get better standing ground, and then I pushed J.R. back onto my bed. As he fell against the soft, untamed surface, I started removing my clothes—first my T-shirt, then my shorts, then my panties. I wasn’t wearing a bra, luckily, and, therefore, had to deal with one less piece of clothing.

J.R. kicked off his shoes and started fumbling with his button-down shirt and trousers as he scooted up on my bed, finding a more comfortable, stable position. Once he was naked and seated near the top of my bed, I slid down beside him. No sooner than my body hit the bed, his hands were on it.

“Turn around,” he said as his hands grazed my thighs.

Without hesitation, I followed J.R.’s instructions and turned. As I was turning, he kept running his hands over my skin, and he guided me more gracefully into the position he wanted. He had me on my stomach and knees, leaning over my bent elbows, and as he cupped my ass, he got onto his knees beside me.

J.R. continued to caress and tease my body. He could tell how badly I wanted him, and his cock was dripping in anticipation.

Finally, his hand went between my legs, and he glided his fingers along my creases, which, by this point, were as slippery as they were aching. He stopped for just one more bittersweet moment, drew his fingers to his mouth, licked them, and then brought them back to my waiting pussy.

I groaned rather loudly as he shoved his fingers hard and fast inside me, then slowed down and took on a “come hither motion.”

While his fingers were still working inside me, J.R. moved his body over, positioning himself behind me. He leaned over and pressed his manhood against me as he kept playing with me, running the swollen head over my wet folds and tender love bud. I was in ecstasy from his moves, and I longed to have his dick inside me.

Smoothly, seamlessly, J.R. replaced his fingers with his mouth. He slid down beneath me and brought his face up underneath me, licking and flicking me with his tongue. My body caved on top of him a little as he wrapped his arms around my thighs and pulled me closer to his mouth. I felt as though his tongue reached all the way up inside me and tickled my heart.

I couldn’t hold back any more and wholly surrendered to J.R.’s efforts. I wriggled on top of his face as he went at me with even more fervor. The earth moved for me in no time, and while I was still quaking from the tremors of an intense orgasm, J.R. acted smoothly and seamlessly again—only, this time, he went back to a kneeling position and immediately slid—perhaps slammed—his cock into my pussy. The intensity of his thrust caught me off guard and delighted me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.

J.R. gently massaged my ass cheeks as he slapped his body against them. When his hand trailed up to the small of my back and pressed down firmly, I felt the union between us grow even tighter and stronger, and I clenched down with my own muscles, to make it even more so.

The pleasure at that point was so unbearable for us both. J.R. and I started puffing and moaning at the same time, grinding our bodies together in the most primal fashion. I felt myself get even slipperier and wetter, and I buried my face in my pillow as every inch of me was overtaken by an insanely high climax.

My mind spun, and I could hardly breathe. The next thing I felt was a hard spurt of something hot on my backside, and I felt J.R.’s thighs trembling just behind me. J.R. sat back, still panting, and I turned my head to look back at him. We exchanged what had to be the most endearing post-coital smiles of all time, and something somewhere inside of me fluttered.

I laid my body flat on the bed and asked J.R. to hand me my T-shirt. I used it as a towel, not as a garment, before turning over, sitting up, and gazing at my partner.

“If you don’t mind,” I said coyly, “I’m gonna hop in the shower, then go finish my cappuccino.”

“I don’t mind at all,” J.R. said. “But, to be honest… I hate to cum and go, but I really should get going anyway. I
am
due in at the office. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” I said, not knowing whether J.R. was done talking or was going to continue. “No problem. I know you have to go about your day…and I’m glad you stopped by.”

I stood up, and J.R. stood up beside me. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Me too,” he said. “We’ll catch up later.” I hugged him back and held on for a moment, then smiled and walked to the bathroom.

I took my time in the shower and enjoyed every moment, and aspect, of it, from the way the water felt on my skin and the way the suds pooled in the corners of my body to the way the soap smelled and how the steam seemed to suspend, not just surround, me. It was the kind of shower a person takes at the end of a long, long work day, with the kind of reveling that can only happen when a person has known true release and freedom.

I didn’t deserve a shower like that, but I took one because I needed it. My life was in such flux—and was so fucked—that I really, really needed it.

I stepped out of the shower about thirty minutes after I stepped into it. I toweled myself off, ran a brush through my hair, and threw on my bathrobe.
Time for that cappuccino
, I told myself, a little crestfallen that it’d be cold.

When I opened the bathroom door, I could tell from the silence in the place that J.R. was gone—and, when I looked around the room, a smile crept across my face, despite that fact.

My bed was made, and my dirty clothes were in the laundry basket.

Just passed a place called Burger Bistro
, I texted from phone-1.
Looks good, and I could really go for a burger! I’ll go there when I’m done with my errands. Meet me there when you’re done with work.

I wasn’t, in fact, running any errands, and hadn’t just passed Burger Bistro—but I typed what needed to be typed to Tommy in order to get him where I needed him to be. It was after 4 p.m., and I’d just pulled into an over-priced parking lot downtown.

Before I got out of my car, I took a moment to breathe and collect myself. I had no idea what would happen over the next couple of hours, but I knew that it had to happen. I looked in my rearview mirror, adjusted my hair, and made sure there was no lipstick on my teeth—then, I grabbed my bag and made my way toward destiny.

I took my time walking to the joint, just in case anyone saw me. I didn’t want to look like I was on any type of mission, even though I was, and, instead, wanted to play it cool and casual. I gazed in store windows along the way, stopped to read a play bill of upcoming concerts, and generally maintained a leisurely pace in the busy city.

By the time I arrived at Burger Bistro, it was 4:30. The place was already booming with customers, but none who I recognized…yet. I decided to take a seat at the end of the bar, near the door, so that I’d be just as obvious as the greeter to anyone who entered.

I scanned the list of draft beers on the wall. In addition to noting the name, price, and location of origin, the list also detailed the alcohol content of each draft, and I was in search of the one that packed the greatest punch. I wasn’t looking to get drunk, mind you, but a little liquid courage never hurt anyone—and I figured it was safer to get a good, solid drink in me
before
Tommy got there and had the chance to drug me. Believe you me, I wasn’t going to leave any unguarded glass or plate around him, though.

I found a draft that ruled the list with a 9.5 percent alcohol content, and I ordered it promptly, despite its silly name (which I forget now, though I remember it had something to do with lions, moose, or some other type of animal). When it arrived, I savored the taste of it. It wasn’t necessarily delicious, but it was definitely strong, and it tasted like it had something in common with bourbon.

Every time the door opened, I did my best to eye who was entering without making it look like I was waiting for someone. Sure enough, I was waiting for someone—
two
people, actually, and I was anxious about who’d show first.

Six or seven people had entered the restaurant, and I’d come up with a pretty good way of viewing them without turning. There was a mirror on the wall behind the bar across from where I was sitting, and, if I peered at it in just the right way, I could see the faces of patrons as they walked in…

And when I saw
her
face, it was like seeing a still-life picture that was worth a thousand words.

When Gretchen walked in to Burger Bistro, she immediately saw me sitting at the bar counter. I could see her eyes aimed right at me. She’d stopped dead in her tracks, and the door grazed her shoulder a little as it closed behind her. I don’t think she could tell that I knew she was looking at me—and, suddenly, that picture that was worth a thousand words was reduced to one.

“You,” she said, loud enough to draw not only my attention but also that of the bartender and the lonely old soul sitting beside me.

I turned and regarded her, acting somewhat shocked to see her.

“Hi, Gretchen,” I said nonchalantly.

“How dare you come here?” she said, walking over toward me. She’d lowered her volume significantly, though her tone was even more severe.

“What do you mean?” I asked, turning and gesturing to the bartender that I’d like another. “I’m in town, meeting a friend for dinner—and I felt like a burger.
You
know how good this place is, so why shouldn’t I come here?”

“After what you did at rEcore,” she replied, “you shouldn’t show your face anywhere in Pittsburgh, let alone somewhere
I
took you to… You have a lot of nerve coming somewhere I frequent.”

“Come on now, Gretchen,” I shot back, surprised at my quickness and boldness, “you know I had nothing to do with what happened at rEcore.” My beer had arrived, and I reached around to take hold of it.

“Really?” Gretchen asked, stepping closer. “You had nothing to do with that? You must think I’m an idiot. Your name was all over it… Yes, it was sloppy—but it was effective. Our timeline is really off-kilter now, and your little leak has gone viral. You may very well have destroyed rEcore’s competitive advantage… So, if you’re coming to me for sympathy or forgiveness, think again. Go back to whoever you’re working for, and tell
them
your sob story… I’m not gonna buy it. I’m here for food, not bullshit.”

At that moment, I felt a coldness flow over me, and it wasn’t just coming from Gretchen’s cold shoulder.

“Really, Gigi,” I said, placing my glass on the bar and taking on a more modest approach. “I had nothing to do with it.”

If Gretchen was playing a part, she was doing it well—even better than I, on my best day, could have. The coldness I felt became even colder.

“Whatever, Trish,” she said, turning around. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Just then, the door shot open, and we both turned to see a familiar face enter…

Gretchen’s skin went pale, as white as a ghost. As she stared directly at Tommy Ferguson, she asked quietly, without turning her head, “Please tell me that’s not the
friend
you’re meeting for dinner.”

Maybe she didn’t ask it so much as she begged—and, if she was begging, it surely wasn’t for the answer she got.

“It is,” I said, shivering from another burst of coldness. The motion of the door had sent a rush of air my way…
Or had it?

Tommy walked toward us the way a cowboy walks toward a troublesome scene in a movie. Think Clint Eastwood walking into a bar occupied by his opposing forces, be they sheriffs or scoundrels. Tommy sauntered toward us with that kind of slow, deliberate motion, and I could almost hear boots clicking on wooden floorboards.

The look on his face was an Eastwood one too. He had a stern, immovable expression that was intimidating, yet, at the same time, pleasant to look at.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as soon as he was within a suitable speaking distance. From the way he asked it, I couldn’t tell if he was just curious or was shocked, mad, or demanding information.

If Tommy looked like he was plucked from a Western, I kid you not, Gretchen looked like a scream queen in a slasher flick even more. For real, she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, and she stumbled on her words before she was able to say them.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said, stating it more than answering Tommy’s question. “But, whatever it is, I want no part of it… If you two are working together—”

Gretchen stopped midsentence, thought for a minute, and then continued, “I don’t care what’s going on, but, like I said, I want no part of it.” She turned and ran out of Burger Bistro as inconspicuously as she could. She looked back for a fleeting moment before disappearing into the crowd on the street—and, if I didn’t know better, I’d have said she looked genuinely worried or concerned.

“What was
that
all about?” Tommy asked, sitting beside me at the bar. He looked completely unfazed and unflustered.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “You tell me. She was bitching at me about rEcore, and then, as soon as she saw you, she freaked… I know you guys ran a MUDD together a long time ago, but, wow, what happened between you that made her act like
that
?”

I was fishing for information at the same time I was processing it in my head. Gretchen’s words—and that look she gave me—were haunting me, a scary movie scene constantly replaying in my head. I was starting to think that maybe she wasn’t involved in all of this after all…which made me question
everything
else.

I’m a computer geek, not an investigator, police officer, or even a research specialist. What the hell did I know about digging up dirt on anyone? My only allies were a billionaire who was proving to be pussy-whipped and a slutty music reporter. We were all just little fish in a really big pond, and we were tangled up in the algae right in front of us, with no idea of what else was really going on in the greater body around us.

I started to wonder if I’d been wrong about Tommy, too—if we all had. Well, obviously, he was a douche and a scumbag, because he’d drugged me. Maybe he had just drugged me for some perverted purpose. Even if he hadn’t had sex with me, he still could have taken pictures of me naked or done other things to my body. Had I been too quick to assume that he’d drugged me because of something to do with rEcore?

Tommy leaned forward and ordered a drink from the bartender. I took caution to hold my glass close to me.

“Okay,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Gretchen and I did more than run a MUDD together. We also dated for a while, and it didn’t go so well. That’s why I didn’t tell you about it before. It was one of those relationships that I’m not really too proud of… We both were at pivotal times in our careers, and had just taken big steps up the corporate ladder—and, for some reason, we thought that meant that we were entitled to live like rock stars.

“We did a lot of partying—wild sex, lots of booze, and some drugs—and it eventually caught up with us in the end… Like I said, it wasn’t my finest hour, and I did some things I wasn’t too proud of—and I can see why Gretchen acted like she did when she saw me. I wasn’t exactly the world’s best boyfriend.”

Tommy’s explanation answered a few questions, but raised several others. I wanted to ask him what specifically happened, and I wanted him to tell me about the party at rEcore. I also wanted to know why Gretchen would say something about us “working together.”

I wanted to know more not just because I was curious, and not just because I wanted to gather more information for my failing investigation—I wanted to know more, mostly, because I wanted to find out if there was a reason for me to be curious. I wanted to know if I was being paranoid and hasty, or if there was more to this story.

“She seemed scared,” I said. The words came out as if from out of nowhere, but I was pleased with them. They stated the obvious and also indicated my interest in further discussion.

“I won’t get into all of the details,” Tommy went on with a sigh. “But when I say we tried to live like rock stars, I
mean
we tried to live like rock stars. We both did a lot of stupid things, and sometimes we got in trouble for it. We fought in public a few times, or got so wasted that one of us caused a scene somewhere. I even did that at one of her rEcore parties, come to think of it… But it wasn’t always me—sometimes, it was her, too… It got pretty ugly.”

Tommy took a sip of his beer, and I momentarily felt a tiny tinge of relief. He’d explained away a lot of my concerns, except for the drug one. But, maybe even
that
had an explanation? I’d never stopped to ponder whether I’d been the only one drugged—maybe Tommy had been too? Sure, it was a longshot, but it wasn’t entirely impossible.

“Of course,” Tommy said, placing his hand around the back of my bar stool and cocking his head toward me, “what’s that they say in the spy movies?”

I looked back at Tommy, swallowed hard, and shrugged my shoulders.

“Now that I’ve told you everything, I’m gonna have to kill you.”