Tell Me More. Janet Mullany

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СКАЧАТЬ drills at the ready, he’d kill them, but they’d be insane not to want to screw her….

      “Patrick, just go, please.” She looked waiflike and frail, clinging to the front door. She was as tough as old boots.

      “I changed the furnace filter.”

      “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

      He nodded and trudged to the truck he’d rented for the move.

      He drove round the corner, parked and cried for a good two minutes. Well, he thought, blowing his nose, at least he hadn’t cried in front of her.

      She hadn’t cried in front of him, either. Shit, he should have torn the house apart and found the damned drill. He’d always despised couples who got into deathly, expensive fights over household items when they divorced, televisions or favorite bits of furniture, but now he understood that irrationality. He couldn’t even bear to think what it would be like if the disputed property were a pet or a kid, but this marriage had none of the above, a thought that did not cheer him particularly.

      He put his glasses back on and shoved the truck into Drive, stomping his left foot on the floor in the way he always did driving an automatic, and drove to his new apartment.

      He rang the doorbell several times and eventually Jo opened the door. She wore sweats and pink slippers and her hair was on end. She looked sleepy and mussed and sexy. (Yeah, and ten minutes ago he’d been crying over another woman.)

      “Sorry I woke you up,” he said.

      “No, it’s fine. Come on in.”

      He didn’t want to come in the house, but he did to be polite, and she gave him a set of keys.

      “I’ll move the pickup,” she said.

      Funny, he wouldn’t have thought she was the sort of girl to drive a pickup, and sure enough she wasn’t. A kid wandered out of the house, with “I got lucky” written all over his face—Christ, he was young—and moved the pickup. He introduced himself as Jason, asked what Patrick liked in his coffee and went back into the house. He came out again as Patrick backed the truck into the drive.

      “She said I should help you.”

      “Thanks.” Exactly how many boyfriends did Jo have?

      She wandered out again with mugs of coffee for them both, which she offered with a vague, satisfied smile—heck, now he was paying attention, he saw she had “I got lucky” all over her, too, but for some reason on her he found it endearing—and then she went back into the house

      “Cool. IKEA,” said Jason when they got to the flat boxes in the truck. “You want some help putting these together?”

      “And what happened next?” Mr. D. asked, when I told him the story at work.

      “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of something along the lines of a hot threesome surrounded by cardboard boxes.”

      He laughed. “Not until now. So how did you get rid of Jason?”

      “He said he had work to do. It was easier than I expected.”

      “And do you think you’ll do it again?”

      I tucked the phone under my chin as I replaced CDs on the shelves. “We work together and it could get awkward. I enjoyed it, but it was a bit like having a well-trained puppy around—he was so eager and happy to please me. If I’d asked him to be rough or selfish—and I did, remember?—he’d defuse it by being acquiescent. Quite unintentionally … I don’t think he was jerking my chain.”

      “Another dog metaphor?”

      “Or a bitch metaphor, but you’re too polite to say it. I guess that’s why I have a cat—you never really know what they’re thinking, although the answer to that is probably nothing at all. But back to Jason—I’d always thought I’d enjoy a hot young stud who was hard all night long, but his erection never went away, and it was boring. I wanted some variety, some textural interest.”

      “Did you think about me when you were fucking him?”

      “No.” I put the last CD on the shelf. “I thought about telling you about it. When he curled his tongue around my clitoris and put his fingers inside me, I thought, Mr. D. will enjoy this. Did I tell you I kissed him and tasted myself?”

      “Go on.” His voice had a dreamy, throaty quality.

      “Are you hard?”

      “God, yes. Tell me more.”

      And I did, and heard him sigh and groan and give a low laugh.

      5

      “BRING HIM TO BILL’S BIRTHDAY PARTY,” KIMBERLY said.

      “Who?”

      “The Leprechaun. I can be his rebound girl.” She propped her feet up on her desk and took another mouthful of coffee. It was Wednesday and ostensibly we were meeting to proofread the station newsletter and discuss the fine details of the station manager’s birthday party. She peered at the papers strewn over her desk. “Should this really be the Erotica Symphony?”

      “What? No! It’s the Eroica, Italian for heroic. Please tell me there isn’t a T in the middle.”

      “Just kidding.”

      “And you can’t be serious about Patrick. He’s only been separated a week. Less than a week.”

      She shook her head. “My sources tell me it’s been six months since they split up. He’s ready.” She tapped her pencil on her desk. “And when are you going to start dating someone?”

      “I don’t really feel like it.” I considered telling her about Jason.

      “Dating or telling me?”

      At that point the phone rang. “Yeah, she’s here.” Kimberly winked at me with the receiver pressed to her ear.

      “What is it?”

      “Wait, honey,” Kimberly cooed. “You just sit tight.”

      The door to her office swung open and a huge bunch of flowers appeared, almost masking the station receptionist.

      “Ooh, who are they from?” they both squealed as I snatched the card out from the floral depths.

      Mr. D., please. But these weren’t his style, I hoped, and they were far too expensive to be from Jason. I ripped open the card.

      “They’re from Willis Scott.” I stared with disbelief and fascinated horror at the phallic floral exhibition in front of me, while Kimberly and the receptionist made excited, giggly comments.

      “What does he say?” Kimberly plucked the card from my hands. “'I owe you lunch. Best, Willis.’ How cute.”

      “Is it?” I stared in fascinated horror at the flowers, some of which I was sure had been СКАЧАТЬ