Thirty Happens
Authors: Elizabeth Butts
thirty happens.
By Elizabeth Butts
Distributed by Amazon.com
Copyright 2016 Elizabeth Butts
Cover design by: Nwato Christian
Amazon.com Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2016 by Elizabeth M. Butts
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A person does not write a book without an amazing support system. Thank you to my wonderful husband, who has put up with thirty second delayed responses for far too long. To my parents, who believed in me more than I’ve ever believe in myself. To A.E. Murphy who pushed me into this writing thing kicking and screaming. And to you…because you have entrusted your free time to the voices in my head.
Contents
T
hirty.
Sigh.
I was going to be turning thirty this year. This year.
Seriously, when did that happen? How did it happen? How did I go from being carefree, barely out of college, the world at my feet and then
wham
…old?
Thirty.
Okay, so I wasn’t turning thirty for another eleven months and twenty-one days, but still. I could feel it bubbling up under the surface like a cold sore. And about as welcome as one, too.
I flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held the mysteries of the world on its matte finished eggshell white paint. Mysteries like, how the hell had my twenties gone by so fast? Zero to eighteen seemed as if it took forever. Like, when I was in high school and tried to think of something that had happened two years prior, it seemed like a small lifetime ago.
Yet, my twenties went by at some sadistic warp speed. I could think of something that happened at twenty two and it felt like a couple years ago. A couple.
Not
seven.
We had this intern at work who was in her early twenties. I mentioned how 2006 wasn’t really that long ago. She blinked at me a couple times in confusion and pointed out that she was in junior high in 2006. Junior
high
.
UGH.
I rolled off of my bed and walked into the bathroom to investigate possible signs of my advanced age. You know what I mean - wrinkles, gray hair, and saggy boobs. I leaned in towards the mirror, carefully inspecting my hairline.
I nodded with satisfaction, no tiny streaks of silver on my hairline. I pointedly decided to ignore the fact that I religiously went to the hairdresser every six weeks to make sure my naturally dirty brown hair stayed a glossy honey color.
I looked on with dismay at the tiny crow’s feet that were starting to frame my eyes. I realized that I had told my fiancé, Chris, a million times that ‘eye crinkles’ were sexy as hell and I loved them. And I did. On him. Not on me.
Never
on me.
I would have thought that I had more time before I stood in a mirror, pulling the sides of my face back and looking at myself critically, imagining what a facelift would look like. I never thought I was going to be
that
type of woman when I grew up, you know, one who fantasized about a little nip and tuck. Truth be told, I never thought I would actually have to grow up.
Boob check time. Hmm. Maybe they were hanging a little lower, but I couldn’t really tell. I threw my shoulders back and chest out, watching as they bounced a little and then settled back down. Huh. I did it again, giggling as they bounced again. Okay, I was being stupid, but I needed to come out of this pity party and bouncy boobs were doing it for me. I was pretty sure that I might be a fifteen year old boy caught in an almost thirty year old woman’s body.
Bounce.
Giggle.
Seriously, I had to start acting my age. I shook my head and forced myself not to watch to see if anything bounced. Well, maybe not my actual age. I needed to start acting at least twenty five. Yeah, that sounded good. It was time to act like a twenty five year old grown ass woman.
Actually, I really needed to get out of my head and start getting ready for work.
I pulled open my drawer in the bathroom to scan my selection of war paint. Concealer, check. Foundation, check. Powder, check. I had everything I needed to put these eye crinkles in their place. I pulled out the necessities and stripped down naked. I turned on the shower and heaved a world-weary sigh that only the truly aged could understand.
Time to get ready to tackle the day and make it my bitch.
I psyched myself up in the shower, jumping up and down, punching at the air like a prize fighter. No, scratch that. A prize
winner
. As in Pulitzer Prize. I imagined myself receiving notification that I had won the esteemed award. Me.
I would be humble. You know, in my acceptance speech. I would thank my mom and dad, definitely. And of course, Anderson. My first inappropriate object of lust. Sigh.
He was handsome as hell and had a reputation to tear through females like tissue paper. Find ‘em, screw ‘em, and then forget ‘em.
He was so damn rude when I first met him, like, I was convinced he thought it was his life’s mission to see me cry.
He pushed me, though. He pushed me harder than he pushed any other
real
employee or intern. He acted as if he expected more of me and it was weird, but dear Lord, I wanted to surpass his expectations.
Get your freakin’ mind out of the gutter, will you? I was twenty one and he was in his forties or something. I won’t deny, I would have. You know what I mean. I
would
have. With him. But I was a kid and he was married and had a bit of a rep, so… no. Maybe? No! I meant it. The answer was no.
Thinking of him, about nine years later made parts of my body shudder that didn’t have a right to shudder anymore over him. I was engaged to be married. To Chris.
I turned my left hand over and glanced at the clear stone on my ring finger. I absently rubbed it as I pictured Anderson in my mind.
What if?
UGH.
I hated those words running through my mind.
What the hell was I thinking? I loved Chris! I mean, I
loved
, loved him. He was my heart and soul.
So why was my heart turning a back flip over someone I used to know? I pictured him as I last saw him, his hand reaching out to me as I had to make a decision.
A simple decision. Yet, so freakin’ impossible.
Simple.
Stay, or leave.
I saw the disappointment in his eyes as I slightly shook my head and turned to walk away. That was my last memory.
I didn’t have sex with him.
I didn’t.
I had said no to him when he propositioned me. I would love to be able to say it was a completely convincing no. Strong. Forceful.
The truth of the matter was that a group of us from the office had gone out to have drinks to celebrate breaking a huge story about government ethics violations before the other newspapers had even heard of it. To this day I still don’t know how we scooped them.
It was amazing how three tequila shots could make me feel as if I was sexy as shit and able to take on the world. Or at least take on a veteran reporter who was way out of my league. But, I harbored a fantasy that together we would have a torrid love affair. A bizarre twisted fantasy where I would be his last. That he would choose me over the hordes of women throwing themselves at him. Over his wife.
He wrote poignant articles that challenged everyone who read them. He threatened your point of view without saying a word to you personally. He was evocative without a single inappropriate word leaving his fingertips.
He was sex.
He was my version of sex. I hadn’t sampled the forbidden fruit, but if I were to, I had a feeling that it would be mind-altering great sex, and possibly even life threatening.
So, three shots of tequila in, and I felt much taller than my five foot four stature, and so much more than bulletproof.
I flirted back. It was the first time in the time that I worked there that I gave back as good as I had gotten. The first moment when I gave in and acted like I was interested. Because, yes, I was interested.
I was female. My legs met and where they met there was a crease in the front. That pretty much guaranteed that I was interested.
So, that was how I found myself against a wall with my legs wrapped around him in a bar.
Call me a whore. Seriously, go ahead.
I didn’t care then and I didn’t care now.
“You keep running away from me, little mouse.” He started stalking towards me like a cat would stalk its prey. But not a house cat. No, not Anderson. He was like a lion stalking a wildebeest or an antelope. Maybe I should think lamb. Lambs are cute and innocent. But, the look in his eyes screamed going in for the kill.
Not
cute and innocent.
“You’re full of it and full of yourself. I don’t run from anyone.”
It was amazing how almost a million proof alcohol gave you a level bravery that didn’t exist in real life. I stood in front of my lady parts’ arch nemesis with my hand on my hip, tossing my hair back. I would normally have been hiding from him on the opposite side of the bar.
“Uh, huh.”
He spoke under his breath, his chin tipped down as he moved towards me, his eyes squinting a little in humor as he advanced. I subconsciously backed up, until I felt cool brick behind me, my hands scrambling behind me to find some sort of an out, some way to get away from this threat. This delicious, sexy, panty evaporating threat.
“Not interested, are you?” His voice took on a taunting lilt, his head tipped to the side as he took in my chest which started moving with the deeper breaths I seemed to be taking. Normally, I would be fighting the urge to slap him for looking at my chest so blatantly. But this was Anderson. His stare only made me want him more.
I reached out my hand to his stomach. I told myself that I was going to push him away. That’s what I told myself. There
was
a little voice in the back of my head telling me that the truth was I wanted to feel for a six pack. I hated that little voice.
When my hand made contact I sucked in a breath. Holy. Ab. Muscles. Yes, ab muscles did it for me. I didn’t know why and I quite frankly didn’t care.
I let out a squeak when he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand over my head. I was not used to being in a submissive situation. I wasn’t sure that I liked it that much. The fact that we were in a bar with my co-workers only about thirty feet away seemed to slip my mind.
He reached around behind me, grabbed my butt and pulled me up so that my legs just
had
to wrap around him as he pushed me against the wall.
Oh. My. God.
Let’s just say that his fifteen pack abs weren’t the only thing hard on this man.
His mouth leaned forward toward me quickly and without thinking about it, I met him halfway.
What followed couldn’t be called a kiss. I’d been kissed before. This was
not
a kiss. This was somehow a full body experience that only involved lips.
At some point, my arm was released and I ran it through his hair, grabbing a hold of it despite its short length.
I was about to pull back and bite down his neck when I heard a strange noise from behind us.
It was the sound of a typewriter. Odd.
Anderson pulled back a little and reached for his back pocket. Looking at the display, he frowned a little as he flipped the phone open.
“Hey, honey, what’s up?”
My eyes bugged out. Honey?
“Oh yeah, just out at the bar with a group of the guys from work.” He looked down and winked at me. I was still pushed up against the wall with his hand on my ass. Somehow, despite talking to his wife with me in this position, he hadn’t lost his enthusiasm for our activities. He hadn’t lost one inch of enthusiasm.
I’d lost all of mine.
“Okay, do you need me to pick up anything on my way home? I’ll probably be home in about forty five minutes.”
I just watched him incredulously for a few seconds as he smiled and nodded while talking to her.
“Great, love you, too, baby.”
With that, he snapped his phone shut, and grinned wolfishly at me.
“Now, where were we? I have about a half hour.” He ground his hips into mine as if to make it even more clear what intended to do for that half hour.
My tequila shots churned in my stomach as the feeling of disgust flooded my head.
My legs dropped down from around his waist as I pushed him away from me, hard.
“Seriously?”
I walked away. With a little added sway in my hips. Don’t judge.
My name is Karyn Jensen, and I was obviously a whore.