Long Shot (8 page)

Hey Meredith! My name is Georgia, a friend of Peter’s. He told me about these amazing pictures you did for your boyfriends dick, dressing it up? I was wondering if I could hire you to do a similar shoot for my boyfriend, Adam? He’s a cop, so a little cop outfit would be TOTALLY AWESOME! His birthday is coming up and I think it would be the coolest gift!

I stare at the email for a few minutes, rereading it to make sure I’m not losing my mind. And then another one comes in. And another. And another.

Did all those strippers just spend the night texting people? Have I gone fucking
viral
?

The next morning, I’m awakened by a phone call from Rob. Let’s ignore the heart flip-flopping going on when I answer the phone.

“Goooooood morning, beautiful!” He croons on the phone. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I picked up a few extra hours and didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I had editing to do.”

“Make it up to you with a little late morning picnic?”

I love picnics, because I love food. “Give me thirty minutes?”

“I’ll pick you up in twenty-five.”

“Jerk.”

“You like it. See you then!”

I hop into the shower and throw on a shirt and a cute tank top. Something that says comfortable without trying too hard. Minimal make up. I can’t look like I’m trying when I need to grill him about how the entire world knows about the cockfit—I mean, tiny sweater situation.

Rob rolls up exactly twenty-five minutes later. He’s wearing a tight shirt, dark sunglasses, and a killer smile. “Ready for our date?”

“Picnic.” I correct him. Even though it’s totally a date, I don’t want to make him think I’ve suddenly decided this is a great idea. I’m not there yet, even if I find myself thinking about him way too often and dreaming of him at night and weirdly thinking of his dick all the time.

It’s because I photograph them now is all. I hope.

Rob picks a spot under a shade of trees and spreads out the blanket. I despise it when he charms me.

Lunch turns out to be two bottles of wine and a mix pack of my favorite chocolates. There’s
no way
he could have known that Christopher Elbow chocolates ae my absolute favorite. Let’s also disregard the fact that these little Elbowettes are the best chocolate in the city and, and two bucks a pop for the truffles, I have obscenely expensive tastes. Chocolate is life.

He pops a piece of rosemary caramel in my mouth and pulls out two plastic stemless glasses. “I figured this was your kind of lunch.”

I sigh. “I’ll give you this one.”

“I like to keep my girlfriend happy.”

There’s that word again. That word that reminds me my life is a Maury Povich show. I have got to at least move out of my sister’s spare room if I am ever to gain a semblance of self-respect back.

Rob hands me a glass of wine. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I sip the pinot and close my eyes, trying to not imagine my life as a total train wreck. I’m close to family, I have a sweet boyfriend (oh, god), and I’m making good money doing what I love…sorta. I try to loop this on repeat, but it’s hard. “I just…I should really be editing, you know? I have so many appointments and they are really starting to stack up.”

“Hey now.” Rob nuzzles my neck and bites my ear. “This is supposed to be a fun afternoon. No work stress.”

“But I can’t get paid until I finish editing, and I can’t move out until I get paid. I think Bobby knows what I’m up to.”

Rob moves his way to my collar bone and it’s incredibly distracting. “So do the shoots at the club.”

“The Meow Club? Disgusting. No. Also, the lighting’s shit there.”

His hand moves dangerously low down my body. “There’s always my place....”

“I can’t…” I really can’t. I can only use one person for a rent-free studio at a time and live with myself.

His hands move up my skirt, where I may have not-so-accidentally forgot panties. “I think you need to relax. Drink more. Need another chocolate?”

Distraction levels shoot through the roof as his rough hands venture into my soft wetness. He is unreasonably talented with his fingers. I’m not about to tell him that, though. “Chocolate would be nice.”

“Knock yourself out. My hands are a little busy at the moment, otherwise I’d feed you.”

I grab a yellow one, delighted it’s some form of lemon ecstasy and wash it down with more wine. Or, like, the whole glass. Rob nibbles in my ear and whispers how sexy he thinks I am, how turned on I make him, and suddenly the world gets a little fuzzy.

“I can stop,” he teases when I take an extra breath.

I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”

“Being with me isn’t so bad.” He gently tongues my ear, which usually grosses me out, but he does it so delicately goosebumps flesh out across my skin. “I take care of you.”

“You do,” comes out in a groan.

He slowly slides me back down so I’m on my back, him hunched over me, his completely kissable lips making the stress of the day disappear. Our picnic fades away, the park fades away, my mounting To Do list disappears and there’s nothing left but us in a small bubble of ecstasy.

No one has ever brought me to orgasm by hand alone, but at this rate, he will be the first ever. A loud groan escapes my lips, encouraging Rob to rub my clit harder and faster, and I’m feeling myself start to tumble off the edge—

“I bet you can’t catch me!” A tiny voice breaks through the hot-and-heaviness going on and a small child zooms by right in front of us.

I screech and try to cover us up with the blanket, frantically trying to push Rob off, and it hits me like a truck.

No matter how low I fall, there’s always some place lower to crash. Day-drinking in the park and nearly getting busted by children with my stripper boyfriend’s hand up my skirt?

Rock. Bottom.

M
eredith has been
silent as a ghost the entire drive home. After those damn kids stumbled across us with their half-assed game of tag, which I would put money on as nothing more than a ploy to spy on us, she completely closed-up shop. I could barely touch her, much less get anything out of her besides a tart “Mmhmm” when I finally asked if she wanted to go home.

If almost-banging in a park was wrong, I don’t want to be right. And as fussy as she is about… well, basically everything, Meredith really isn’t right either.

“Can we talk about this?” I ask as we pull into her empty driveway. That should mean the house is empty, which means I could potentially fill it with her screams if I play my cards right. And I always play my cards right. Except when I don’t. “I don’t want to leave you upset.”

“There’s nothing to say.” She grabs her things and opens the door. “I’m tired.”

“Are you, though?” I catch her arm before she can dive out and run away from me. I know the girl likes to fight her feelings for me, and generally I’m down with that, but I can’t let this happen. I can’t let her be mad at me for something and then run, because chances are high she won’t boomerang back. Losing her is out of the question. “Are you really tired, or are you just saying it to run away?”

“I’m not running away. I have things to do.”

“That didn’t stop you earlier.” She shoots me a lava-filled glare. Okay, not the smartest thing I’ve ever said. “Look, I just mean it’s clear you don’t need to run off to edit right this second, and I don’t want you to run away from me. We care about each other. If there’s something bothering you, I want to fix it.”

“You can’t fix everything, Rob.” She’s at least still in the car, so I’ll take that as a minor victory in this long war. “Some things are just shit on rye and will remain shit on rye.”

“Okay. Okay.” I risk putting my hand over hers. She doesn’t thread our fingers together, but doesn’t pull away. “But what exactly is shit on rye? Because I’m trying to figure out what I did wrong so I don’t do it again.”

She sighs and looks sad. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Hey now, I clearly was doing something.” I flash my go-to smile, but she doesn’t see it. “I thought things were going excellent. You were all sexy and breathy in my ear, and your pussy was
so
wet, and—”

“I know,” she cuts me off. “I know, Rob. It was great, okay? The chocolates, the wine, the… other stuff. It was fine.”

“Okay. So… the kids?”

“Ugh! I’m done. I’m sorry. I’m just so busy. I really gotta—I gotta go. Bye.” She slips out from my fingers and disappears into the house without another word.

I run a hand through my hair and punch the steering wheel. This did not go the way I wanted it to. So, now I’m left to decipher what the hell happened from a stone-cold girlfriend. Only one place to go for that sort of insight.

Bruce high-fives me as I walk in the door to the club. “Thought you had the day off, brother?”

“I do. Just… I need some help from the girls.”

“Ah-ha.” Bruce laughs with a knowing look. “Trouble in paradise already?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” I wave him off because I don’t want to believe that it’s bigger than it already is. “Just, you know, girls are all intuitive to other girl shit. I’d rather run some stuff by them first.”

“Emilio’s girl is up front with new kid—Sebastian? Sebastian’s maybe-chick.” Bruce gives me a wink. “I can’t imagine what sort of terrible advice you’ll get from those two, but I’d love the Cliff-notes to enjoy later.

“I’ll be certain and record the entire thing for your pleasure,” I tell him, and walk inside. It’s always weird being here in street clothes. Am I really about to ask stripper’s girlfriends for lady advice? But then, Meredith is also a stripper’s girlfriend, so of course I will. It’s not like Rebecca could give me answers.

I straddle the empty chair at their table. “Ladies.”

Veronica, Emilio’s chick, lets out a squeal. “Well hey there, big boy. Missed me, did you?”

“I actually come seeking council.” There are three huge stacks of singles on the table, surrounded by empty shot glasses and tumblers. “Wow, you girls are making an evening of it, huh?”

“It’s my birthday.” The other girl flashes a beautiful grin and a wink, but I’m happy to find that I’m not even remotely interested. My heart is firmly planted in Meredith’s sweetness, even if she is currently ignoring my text messages.

“Happy birthday!” I tell her.

“Wanna buy me a shot?” She looks sultry as hell, and I might be crazy, but I think she’s coming on to me. I never know how to deal with this. Do I tell Sebastian? Do I not? Life is hard, man.

“Looks like you guys are already pretty set.”

“It’s my birthday!” Sebastian’s girl pouts. She’s definitely bad news. This was a bad idea. I made a bad choice.

“Perhaps I should leave you to it.” I rise out of my chair, but Veronica looks hurt. Aw, man. I didn’t mean to make this weird. I just didn’t really know what to do, is all. And why I thought I’d know once I was inside the Meow Club is another mystery. I guess in a weird way, this place does feel like home a little bit.

Even though I’m quitting so soon. For good. Not joining the Hot Sauce crew, thank you very much Emilio, who I see on-stage and salute. He dances his way over, to my dismay. I can’t exactly bare my soul in front of Mr. Spicy.

“Talk to us.” Veronica doesn’t look at him as she stuffs a few bills into Emilio’s g-string. “I imagine this is about the girl.”

“Girl?” the flirty one asks.

“The Girl,” confirms Emilio. “There’s a girl.”

“She’s super cute, too,” Veronica nods. “She’s the photographer we were telling you about.”

“The dick photographer?” Flirty’s voice is now colored with disdain.

“Hey now.” I snap at her. “Meredith has an incredible gift. Her eye for detail is second to none. Her current clients are all penises, sure, but everyone builds an empire somewhere. You’re doing what, exactly, these days?”

“Oh shit,” Veronica mutters around her glass.

Flirty blanches a little. “I’m a bartender.”

“And that makes you better how?”

“I didn’t—”

“Sure you did.” Maybe that was mean, but no one talks about my girlfriend. “So, I think I screwed up, but I’m not sure how.”

“Typical man.” Veronica winks at me. “Set the stage.”

I tell them what happened: the park, the picnic lunch I packed, the blanket the chocolates (Tanya gasped), the wine, the orgasm that was totally going to happen before the kids showed up, the kids who showed up.

“After that, she completely shut down. Won’t even talk to me.”

“Okay.” Veronica finishes her drink and puts a hand on my arm. “Let’s start by saying we don’t know this girl, and we are very happy for you.”

“That’s never a good way to start things.”

“She’s just not that into you.” Flirty leans over to pat me on the shoulder.

“Wait, what? But—”

“Poor girl looked like she was mortified to be here the other night when she brought the pictures. I thought she was going to vomit when you hugged her while all glittered up. And hey, that’s fine, right? It’s a lifestyle that not all people have an affinity to, and this is all new to her. That’s not to say she doesn’t like you, she just doesn’t like your job,” Veronica tells me.

Can this be? Is this the thing? Am I that humiliating?

“Except she takes photos of penises!” I try to counter. “Surely a little body glitter won’t push her over the edge?”

“Body glitter on a man is pretty nasty, bro,” says Emilio, who is currently drenched in body glitter. I make a mental note to switch to baby oil.

“I’m going to guess your girl is shy, and the fact that you were almost caught by a bunch of kids probably terrified her.” Veronica shakes her empty glass at Emilio. He obligingly heads to the bar. “She looked very deer-in-headlights backstage, so I can’t imagine having her goodies exposed like that would make her very happy.”

“But she was totally into it!” I look between the two girls, totally lost. “If she wasn’t going to like it, why get into it?”

Flirty looks smug. “When was the last time you didn’t like someone touching your dick?”

“Balls,” I say. “You make a fair point.”

Veronica laughs. “Look, we don’t know her, it’s a theory. But from what we
do
know, I’d say that’s it. I’d say she’s a sweet little flower who became super embarrassed. And if she’s already struggling with dating a stripper, how can she properly explain you probably ruined her day by flashing her cooch to a bunch of kids?”

“She wasn’t even wearing underwear,” I grumble. But my cock jumps at the memory of Meredith’s exposed sweetness and the way her body curled into me as my fingers danced across her clit. And I almost got away with it, if it weren’t for those meddling kids!.

“I like her,” Veronica announces. “This is what you need to do: you need to prove to her you can understand where she’s coming from. You are not your career, right? You’re the only one in this club who has aspirations outside of porn.”

“Hey!” Flirty shakes her head. “Sebastian wants to be a model!”

Veronica stares blankly at her. “Right. Anyway, Rob, let her know you understand this is a hard thing to jump into, and that you didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable, and you’d never mean to make her feel uncomfortable, and that you are more than your dick. Even though she took amazing photos of it.”

“Maybe I need to see these.” Flirty chimes in. I don’t even look at her.

“Maybe you’re onto something.” I purse my lips and mull it over. “I mean, she’s no wilting flower…”

“Of course,” Veronica nods. “Of course. She seems super cool. But this is brand friggin new to her.”

“Yeah,” I nod. This was a good idea after all. I should have known the Meow Ladies wouldn’t let me down. “You’re right. I need to prove to her I’m a safe bet.”

“Well, not too safe.” Veronica waggles her eyebrows. “If she didn’t like a little danger, she wouldn’t be shacking up with a stripper.”

A plan starts forming in my brain. “Ladies, as always, it’s been a pleasure. Be safe and I’ll see you later.”

I wave goodbye, salute Emilio again, and high-five Bruce once more as I leave. Okay, so it makes sense, then, that Mere got freaked out. I need to prove to her I’m an excellent boyfriend, besides rockin’ her world with orgasms, so that she doesn’t stress so much about my job.

I don’t know if stripping in a “This is temporary” shirt is the greatest idea, though. I need to prove to her I’m serious about my journalism aspirations. That I want to be the best dang journalist ever, and that stripping is just to pay the bills until I’m hired.

I’m fiscally responsible, for heaven’s sake. How many people can claim to graduate college without student loans? Like, none. I’m a unicorn, damn it! Trouble is, so is she. And if I can’t fix this, someone else is bound to notice. Someone with a respectable job and a newer model Corolla.

Waiting for her to be okay with this is just opening up the door for Hypothetical Other Guy, because there will be a high chance that will never happen, and she’ll bolt before we even get there. I don’t want to lose her. So, proactive it is!

My final project in Social Media is quickly approaching. We’re supposed to do a profile on someone and make it fully interactive. Upload it, and try to engage with our audience. Obviously,
obviously
, Eric Hosmer is out and Meredith Watson is in.

The next few days fly by as I set to work on this project. Meredith finally comes around after a day and a half, asking if I’m up for coffee, but I (painfully) turn her down and tell her I’m drowning in school work. It’s not a total lie. Between class, the club, and this project, all my time is spoken for. I chug coffee instead of beer to burn the midnight oil.

I’m going to make her look amazing. I’m going to prove to her that, not only am I a good journalist, but that she is an incredible girl worth all the glory. This project will show her just how talented she is, how important she is, how much I value her. I’m not dating her because she gave me her number on a twenty dollar bill. I’m dating her because she’s everything I never knew I wanted in a woman, and losing that would be the dumbest shit in the world.

“Still at it?” Peter pops his head in my room on day five. “This is the longest time I’ve ever seen you sit at a computer.”

“Better get used to it, bro. I’m an almost journalist, remember?”

“You sure put on airs,” he grumbles. “Are you going to be in here much longer? We need to air this room out.”

“I don’t work every night.” I chew on my pencil, which is more for show than anything else, since everything is electronic these days. I feel more legit, though, with a pencil tucked behind my ear. “Don’t be jealous that one day I’ll be more famous than you.”

“Unlikely, friend. My porn career is taking off like a chick’s skirt in the summer. I’ve got four of them lined up next week.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do it, man. That’s so much sex. What if you get the herp?”

“It’s a very clean and safe environment, dude.” Peter frowns at me. “Everyone is checked. We’re here to make money, not kill people, Don’t you know about the mandatory tests? All this technology, and porn’s still fighting the same old stereotypes.”

“Sorry, dude. I’m just feeling stressed.”

“Says the guy who is doing his final project on his girlfriend.” Peter shakes his head but cracks a grin. “Of
course
you’re stressed. You know, she’s going to hate you forever for this, right?”

“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. “How? How could this possibly backfire? I’m proving to her that I’m more than a stripper, and I’m highlighting her accomplishments. This screams awesome.”

“Right, but you’re sharing her business with people she doesn’t even know. That doesn’t sound like something she’d be okay with.”

I stare at him. “Since when do you give a shit about anyone else?”

“Hey!” Peter beats his fist over his heart. “I’m a caring guy, asshole. I have feelings. I know how to empathize.”

“You’re trying to impress a coworker aren’t you?”

“Obviously! These chicks are next-level, man. You should really give porn a shot.”