Ricochet by Ashley Haynes

decided to text Regan and tell her to text me her
location so I could give the police a lead in case she went missing. She told
me to eat a dick.
                The
rest of my weekend was lazy and uneventful. I didn’t hear from Cash, even
though he was all I could think about. I thought about his lips on mine when I touched
myself in the shower. I thought about his head in between my legs while I made
myself dinner. I thought about him behind me, pulling back on my hips to push himself deeper, as I fell asleep last night. I’m a damn
mess.
    It
was Sunday night, and I’d built myself a pillow nest in my bed to do some work
on my laptop. I was supposed to have an event calendar for the following month
turned in by Friday, and my department head had emailed me about it earlier
this afternoon. I needed to finish it and pretend like it had been done the
whole time and I was just too sick to remember. Northstar’s Pollyanna pumped through my headphones,
and I sang along at the top of my lungs. My phone vibrated on my leg, making me
jump. It’s Cash.
    Keep your day job.
    I responded by singing even louder. I
wonder if my defiance drives him crazy. If my strong will and sharp tongue
makes him want to string me up and show me the back of his hand. I wonder if my
smart-ass remarks make his belt hand twitch. I want to follow him into the
dark. I switch tabs on my web browser, and Nick Torres’ voice fades out as
grunts, moans, and nasally shouts of “yeah” pour through my headphones in its
place. I grab my phone and text Cash back.
                Sorry. But hey, I’m finally doing some of
that research we discussed.
    The seconds waiting for him to reply
felt like hours.
                Come over and tell me more
    I have to be at work in 9 hours. That’s
not happening. I can’t call off again.
                It’s too late. I have to work in the
morning.
    Ellipses appeared and disappeared on my
screen, and then popped up again. Real time messaging is so bizarre. It felt
kind of exposing that I could see the process of him typing something, changing
his mind, deleting it, thinking a moment, and then typing again.
                Tomorrow, after work? Come over.   I want to see you.
    That’s kind of a demand. It makes me
quiver a little.
                What about our “real date?”
    It took him a while to respond. I
wondered if he was having the same internal conflict I was having; if the date
was really that important or if he wanted to get me back in bed and keep me
there.
    I guess we’ll have to wait then. It
will be worth it, I promise. Don’t make plans Saturday night. Or Sunday, for that matter.
    Pangs of need shot through my pelvis
and radiated up into my stomach and down into my legs.   Now I’d have to wait a week to have it
satisfied. I turned to my side and fell asleep imagining myself on my knees,
dolled up in leather straps.

Chapter Eleven

 
    Monday morning, I walked out of my door
to find Cash leaning on the banister in the hall.
    “Were
you waiting for me?” I asked.
    “Maybe,”
he said, looking up from his phone.
    “I
thought you didn’t want to hang out until we could go on a date-date,” I said,
blushing.
    “This
isn’t hanging out,” he responded.
    We walked together to the elevator in
silence. He glanced at me while we waited for it to arrive, and smirked.
                “What?”
I ask.
                “Nothing,”
he said, shaking his head.
    We stepped inside. When the doors closed,
Cash grabbed my ass and pulled me into an impassioned kiss. He picked me up,
pushing me into the wall. The elevator dings to announce we had arrived at the
ground floor. He sat me down, and had moved away by the time the doors opened.
                “Have
a good day at work,” he said as he walked away. I was speechless. I walked to
my car in a daze. I drove to work in a daze. I worked all day in a daze. I
needed more. I