Man of My Dreams (31 page)

My fucking stomach is rumbling so bad. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as slave labor. If I don’t get a break from this fourteen hour day of kissing this client’s ass, I’m going to stab someone in the eye with my Bic.

“Okay, I’m calling it a night.”
Fucking finally!
Robert looks at his watch, narrowing his bushy eyebrows and squinting at the diamond-encrusted face. “Same room, bright and early tomorrow morning, fellas. I want to go over the PowerPoint presentation again before they get here for the pitch.”

The entire department groans audibly, not even trying to hide their disdain. We’ve gone over the damn presentation at least twenty times. I’m sure I’ll be dreaming of revenue charts and projected income spreadsheets all night. But before I can even think of getting some shut eye, I need some fuel. I’m thinking a steak and a beer.

I nod goodnights to the rest of the guys and watch as they all take out their cell phones to do the same thing I’m about to do—check in with the Missus and do the standard honorable-husband thing to do. I loosen my tie as I walk through the board room doors, dialing home and walking to the elevator at the end of the long hallway.

This will be the fourth night away from home. I miss them. I listen as the phone continues to ring, unanswered, too many times for me to count. The girls always seem bigger when I get back—like I’ve missed something new they learned. I listen as the phone continues to ring, unanswered, too many times for me to count. Life goes on while I’m gone: grocery shopping, play dates, they might already be asleep. After a while the answering machine picks up and I’m greeted with the chiming melody of my daughters’ tiny, high-pitched voices.
You’ve reached the Murphys...you know what to do.
Cara’s voice is more dominant, where Charlie’s lags behind, mimicking what her sister says. The greeting always makes me laugh as it was Mia’s idea to use the same greeting Dylan McKay from
Beverly Hills 90210
used all those years ago.

I hang up, enter the elevator car and dial Mia’s cell phone. Maybe they went to visit her parents, or mine. I let the phone ring, again unanswered, letting it go to voicemail. This time I decide to leave a message. “Hi, babe, just tried calling the house and now your cell—obviously—but no answer. I wanted to say hi and speak to the girls before they go to bed.” I look down at my watch and realize my window of opportunity is closing. The girls go to bed at seven thirty every night like clockwork. It’s almost seven. Where could they be? “Okay, call me back. Love you.”
Damn it! Missed them again.
There used to be a time when Mia hung on my every word, now I can’t even rely on her to answer my call.
Life gets in the way of love sometimes.
I’m not the center of her universe anymore, and that’s fine—she should dote on our kids, but I do miss it just being the two of us. I wonder if she does, too, or is she too preoccupied with book club and Mommy and Me to give a shit?

I press the end button, exit the elevator and head for the lobby. I can’t decide if I should just get room service and wait for them to call me back or head to the bar, like I’d planned. I teeter between the bank of elevators I just left and the hallway towards the bar, drumming my fingers over my mouth.

Fuck it!
I did my job and called home. I worked my ass off today. I deserve a hot meal and a cold beer and maybe I can catch some of the game too. I’m not ready to hop into bed and turn in for the night. Just because they go to bed at seven thirty doesn’t mean I have to. I’m always abiding by their rules, Mia’s rules, and she doesn’t even have the decency to answer her phone when I call to talk to them?

Not really sure why I’m so aggravated at the unanswered call, I turn on my heels and march myself to the podium outside the bar. The hostess looks up at me from whatever she’s doing behind the large wooden podium and her contented gaze lingers on me before she picks up a heavy looking menu, “Would you like to sit at a table or the bar?”

“The bar would be great. I’m alone tonight.”

The young, attractive girl smiles at me and I notice the faint trace of redness on her pale complexion. Did I say something to warrant such a reaction? Was I flirting? Mia warned me about this. I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes.

The girl ushers me to an empty seat at the dimly lit bar. I take the menu and thank her, careful not to make eye contact. I feel her watching me. I guess I haven’t lost my charm.
Heh! I still got it!

Yeah, I still got it, but the wrong girl’s noticing it. Mia’s been so distracted lately that by the time I get in the bed to get some loving from my wife, she’s passed out and snoring with an unfinished book laid across her chest. I want to be laid across her chest, preferably with my head between her tits and my dick inside her delicious, wet...

The bartender breaks me out of my cock-hardening musings to take my drink order. I settle on a Guinness, adjusting the uncomfortable bulge in my pants.

He walks away and I’m back to worrying about my painful need to get laid. It’s not like I haven’t tried waking her with a playful grope of her juicy tits or by copping a feel inside her panties. But she usually just rolls over and swats me away, complaining of a long day or day-old underwear. Lately I’d be willing to look past the so called ‘dirty underwear’ just to get a quick go at it. It’s been so long I’d probably be done after a minute anyway.
Pathetic.
Married all of four years with two unplanned rugrats and I’m already headed down the harrowing path of sex limited to birthdays and special occasions.
Whoop-di-doo!
Christmas is coming maybe the birth of Christ will encourage Mia to give me some head or something.

My wife is pretty fucking amazing—still smoking hot, even after two kids, back to back. I think I’ve loved her since the moment I laid eyes on her. Her stunning beauty and the fact that she is so clueless about how gorgeous she is would be enough for any man to go all in. But it was her spunky, take-no-shit attitude and humongous heart that did it for me. I was done for that day in the library.

But lately things have just been weird. And the lack of sex is infuriating. Mia’s a goddamn wild woman in bed. Is it girly to say that she can make my toes curl? She does things to me that I never knew were possible. Then again, I have nothing to compare to. I married the one and only girl I ever banged. I’ve never regretted it, not one single day of my ordinary life, but I’m starting to think that maybe
I’m
not enough for Mia.

Aside from being preoccupied with the kids, she’s just been so distant. I can’t seem to do anything right these days and these goddamn business trips aren’t helping matters. Maybe I’ll surprise her with an overnight get-away, just the two of us. We could use some time alone, to rekindle the romance, to screw around without a kid walking in for a good night kiss. I know life changes a person, but is it a fucking crime to miss the woman I fell in love with? The
old
Mia—the woman who used to look at me like I was her knight in shining armor. Now, there are days I see daggers in her big brown eyes. A pair of rolled up socks left on the side of the bed might trigger fucking World War Three. And God forbid I come home a little tired from a long day at work. I can hear her now,
“You’re tired? Try dealing with these two beasts in disguise all day!”
I know it’s not easy. Being a stay at home mother is a full time job, but being my wife, my best friend, should still be one of her priorities. And right now, I’m not feeling much like a priority, considering we haven’t spoken since yesterday afternoon.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The woman’s voice takes me by surprise, rerouting my not-so-pleasant thoughts.

“Nope. Help yourself.” I quickly look around, noticing more than one vacant seat at the nearly empty bar, but think nothing of it, checking the score of the game.

I glance over at her and realize why the bartender’s suddenly lingering at our end of the bar. My bar stool neighbor is mighty fine. With long, straight, black hair that grazes the low-rise waistline of her jeans and a rack that would make any single (okay—or married) man drool.

I’m a moment too late in looking away and she catches me staring at her voluptuous set.
Such a fucking pig!
I know!

“Here for business or pleasure?” The way the word pleasure escapes her glossy lips...God, it’s been way too long since I last got laid.

Clearing my throat, and scolding my dick, I take a sip of my beer and politely engage the stranger. “Business. You?”

“Same. I’m Samantha, by the way.”

I grasp her extended palm, taking notice of her leopard print nails. “Declan. What do you do?”

“I’m a masseuse.”

Is she fucking kidding? Is this some sick test of my willpower?

“Is that so? Well, is there some Learn to Knead and Pressure Points 101 seminar going on here this week?”

She laughs, slapping her knee and revealing a tongue ring inside her open mouth.
Oh, God. Willpower, where are you?
“You’re clever, Declan. Thanks for making me laugh.”

I could leave it at that and end the conversation now, but inquiring minds want to know. “Rough day?”

She sips her martini, rolling her remarkable blue eyes. They match the sapphire glow of the light illuminating the bar. “You could say that. These retreats usually cater to the people on the receiving end of our services. Each masseuse-in-training is assigned to one lucky, randomly-selected sweepstakes-like winner. They enter through an online survey form and you never know what you’re gonna get. My guy was a seventy year old retired, refrigerator repairman with psoriasis and liver spots.”

“Lucky you.”

“Not so much. My partner, Courtney, was the lucky one.” She looks down at the fraying hole at the knee of her jeans. “Her guy looked a lot like you.”

Oh, Samantha, you’re not playing fair.
“Sorry, but it sucks to be you. Sounds like Courtney got a hunk.” I make a point of flexing my pecks underneath my half unbuttoned dress shirt. Is this what Mia meant by oblivious flirting?

“You’re funny, Declan. Easy to talk to.”

“You too, Samantha.” I hope I’m not bordering on forbidden territory, but just sitting and talking and not worrying about anything is so relaxing. After this week, I need this no-brainer. Dinner with a stranger and some light-hearted conversation. I’m not doing anything wrong.

“Oh. My. God. You play guitar? You just got even hotter.”

“How ‘bout I up the ante...I sing too.”

“No shit? Sing something. Anything.”

“Here? No, gotta draw the line somewhere.”
I haven’t sung for anyone but my wife in years.

With that thought my face must make a nose dive of a drop because suddenly Samantha is eyeing my wedding ring like it’s a four foot tarantula. I decide to call her on it, “You’re just noticing it now? Come on.”

She takes a second to answer, fixing her hair and adjusting her posture. “I’m not usually the home wrecking type, but I’ve been ignoring it for the past thirty minutes.”

What am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t know how to handle women like Samantha—a sexy, forward, masseuse with a tongue ring.

“It’s getting late, Declan. Rub and Tug for Dummies starts at seven am tomorrow. I’m in room 401, here’s a room key. I have a break for lunch tomorrow at noon. Come hang out.”

Samantha the masseuse doesn’t give me a chance for a rebuttal, a rejection or to roll my wagging tongue back up into my mouth. She slips her room key underneath my napkin and saunters off into the great hotel-lobby unknown.

I took the fucking room key. I took it and I’ve been holding onto it like it’s the fucking Holy Grail since last night. I’m too weak to make the right decision, but smart enough to call and make alternate, believable plans.

“Hey, baby. Cutting the trip short to get home for a romantic night with your wife?” Mia sounds so different from the last few times we’ve spoken. The sultry way she answers the phone almost makes me forget about Samantha’s room key.

Get to the point, worry about the rest later.
“Hi, Mia. You’re awfully chipper this morning. And you won’t believe it, but I have to stay another night. Something’s come up…the client wasn’t happy with the presentation and Robert wants another shot to impress them. I pulled an all nighter and we have another meeting in an hour.” A total lie, but a believable one no less.