The Reality of You

The Reality of You

Kindle Edition

Copyright
© 2014 by Jean Haus

All right reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems,
without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a
reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a 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.

Chapter 1

Even
though I lived in New York City, one of the most exciting cities in the world, I
thrived on boring, wrapped myself up in it, and wallowed in it gladly. Boring
was my specialty, and regardless of my roommate’s wishes, it worked for me,
kept me content and sure of safe. The future of becoming a cat lady who wore
housedresses and watched game shows around the clock wasn’t pretty, but it was
safe.

And safe always beat
out everything else.

I’d once been witty
and outgoing and fun. After being dumped by every boyfriend—each one taking a
piece of my heart—I safeguarded the tattered organ by only allowing it to beat.
The last breakup had sealed the cat-lady deal. Nothing will turn you into a
lifelong wallflower like coming home from a month in the hospital after a
horrific car accident to have your fiancé break up with you. Between my broken
body and heart, I’d descended into an abyss of depression. Almost three years
later, I’d learned how to be witty and fun again—at least I’d held on to that
belief while imagining flowery house dresses—but outgoing? Nope. Obviously,
when it came to men, my choices stank. So I stuck with safe.

My job equated to
safe and boring too. I worked for a technology company that served several
small and upcoming companies with a bunch of computer wizards most likely
smarter than I was, but computer wizards on the whole were a safe lot, if a bit
boring. Like me. Yet one part of the day—my favorite part—wasn’t boring.
Lunchtime.

As usual, I lived
for the silent
noon whistle that
rang each day in my head. While I was immersed in updating virus definitions,
the time in the corner of the screen startled me. Five minutes until twelve
o’clock.

Oh, noooo… If late,
I’d miss half the excitement.
 

My mouse bumped
across the desk and crashed into the partitioned wall with a bang as I spun the
chair back and snagged my lunch bag. Amid the hum of computers and the soft tap
of keyboards, I exited the dungeon maze of cubicles the long way around even
though I might be late—or else Ray would ask me to lunch for the hundredth
time. He seemed nice—and most likely safe—but my lady parts had not become
desperate enough in their unused state for the gawkiness of Ray Burns.

In the corridor, I
hurried toward the battered elevator doors. The technical company I worked for
was hidden in the deep recesses of the building. As in the basement. Unfortunately,
when I got mere feet from the elevator, the doors closed.

No. No. No.

A quick glance at my
watch had me running toward the stairway. Going up was a bitch, but I refused
to be late. I huffed—running in clogs and a long pencil skirt that reached my
ankles wasn’t easy—my way up two sets of stairs, burst out onto the main floor,
and forced myself to a slow walk. In the huge glass entryway, I proceeded to my
normal bench partially hidden behind massive pots of foliage, plopped down, and
yanked a water out of my bag.

I chugged the water
then retrieved a romance novel from my bag. Drawing in a deep breath, I
commenced pretending to read and checked my watch again. In exactly one and a
half minutes, the absolute best part of the day would begin. Weekends and days
off were boring without this.

People passed by me
without notice as usual. Just the way I liked it.

At exactly five
after noon, I brought my book under my eyes and peered at the down escalator.
Like clockwork, there
he
was.

Dark brown hair with
a hint of red. High cheekbones. Full lips. Perfect straight nose. Wide
shoulders. Tapered waist. Gray pinstriped suit. Darker gray tie. Strong hand
holding a briefcase. Exiting the escalator. Graceful walk. Head held high,
almost rigid. Custom Italian leather shoes quietly pacing by me. Beautiful
shoes on a beautiful man.

Yum. Yum. Yum.

The nutrition to my
libido.

The zing to my zang.

The pollen to my
bee.

He never got close
enough for me to smell him, though I was quite sure he smelled deliciously
masculine. Nor did I know the color of his eyes. I’d imagined them in my
daydreams as every color possible. I wistfully watched him cross the entryway
then the sidewalk before he slipped into a waiting limo.

Wistful. Wistful.
Wistful.

Once he departed, I
released a girlish sigh and noticed my upside-down book. After an embarrassed
glance around the huge lobby, which proved no one was watching me, I quickly
spun the book right-side up and reached into my lunch bag. Nibbling on pretzel
sticks and pretending to read, I imagined
I
waited in the limo.

The door opens and the sunlight blinds
the woman inside for a long tense moment before the sight of him becomes clear.
Her hand flutters to her chest while her heart
races
thumps
beats
to a bashing staccato. He stands tall and commanding. His eyes narrow on her.
Heart still racing, she scoots over, taking in the gorgeous vision of him. The
wide width of his shoulders. The deep, hard cut of his jaw. And the firm set of
his full, lush lips.

“What a fetching surprise,” he murmurs
in a deep, sensual voice as his heated gaze rakes over her. “Lunch just became
very, very interesting.”

Her lids drop lower and her red, glossy
lips part in an erotic pout. Enormously aware of him, she tucks one
long
endless, tan leg under the other.

He slides onto the seat next to her.
“Yet I find my hunger for nourishment has vanished.”

Lust becomes a tangible entity in the
small space as they stare at one another, drowning in the other’s gaze.

Scooting back, she leans her head
against the luxurious leather seat, nearly cowering, but a muscular arm wraps
around her
tiny
super small
petite waist and pulls her close.

“And has been replaced with an entirely
different hunger,” he says in a lush, hot whisper.

The woman continues to drown in his
piercing
blue
black
dark-blue, almost-black stare .

He bends slowly then presses his full,
sensuous lips to the pulse beating, hammering, practically jumping from her
throat.

The smell of him—male and…woodsy?
Citrusy? Really, really good—engulfs her senses and makes her weak. She
clutches the lapels of his suit while his scorching, wet mouth travels the
length of her neck. His lips graze her quivering chin to pause above her
trembling lips. She shudders underneath him. He groans. His lips come closer.

And then…

And then…

The glass partition in the middle of
the limo slowly comes down. The small internal engine grates its sound into the
interior once filled with lust.

As they break apart, each gazing out an
opposite window, the driver asks, “Where to?”

I dropped the empty
pretzel wrapper into my bag with a huff. The meeting of our lips always evaded
me, even in my imagination. Either my imagination fantasized too chastely or my
idiocy led me to ache for the real thing, which was never, ever going to
happen. I’d been watching my mystery man for over seven months. Besides the
fact that he was out of my league—obviously I was a peon and he worked in the
upper echelons of some company in our building—I’d never once said anything to
him, never attempted to get him to notice me. And really, my obscurity didn’t
bother me. But I’d like to lock lips once in my fantasy. It would be glorious
even in my mind.

After checking the
time on my watch, I packed up my lunch remains, picked up my book, and
pretended immersion in the text, right-side up this time. Instead, I watched
him over the edge of smut-filled pages—yes, the view of him beat out smut—as he
strolled back into the building.

Brief case swung
slightly. Hair looked windblown. Suit creaseless. His handsome features
appeared a touch drawn. He swaggered by me, the epitome of masculine beauty,
head held high again, and my eyes devoured every inch. The man was crazy fine.
Once the escalator drew him—and his ass—out of my view, I released a dreamy
sigh. A few minutes later, I tossed the book in my bag and rushed to the
dungeon in the basement and boring virus definitions.

After work, I’d head
home for some online gaming.

Oh, the excitement
of my life.

****

“Back
up! Back up! It’s an ambush!” I yelled into my headset and tossed the bag of
Cheetos on the coffee table.

On the flat screen,
various creatures, from wizards to werewolves to warriors, scrambled in all
directions. I’d been spending my nights playing online games for the last two
years. Other than my small group of girlfriends, this equated to major social
action. And yes, it was very safe.

 
“How do you know that?” shouted Bing Boy into
my ears.
 

I jumped up and down
in front of the coffee table and pointed at the screen even though my online
buddies couldn’t see. Online gaming had some inherent challenges.

“Trolls always
patrol the creeks, and we haven’t seen one yet.”

“You’re right!” Bing
Boy shouted in my ear.

I plopped back onto
the couch. “Two of us are going to have to draw them out. Who has the most
health?”

The apartment door
opened behind me and the words, “You have to be kidding me,” rang louder than
the action on the screen.

I glanced over my shoulder,
scowling at my roommate, Kara. She slammed the door and stalked in echoing high
heels across the wood floor and around the couch.

“You and Bing got
the most pink,” Frosty said, referring to our health meters.

Kara tried to pry my
headphones off. I smacked at her hand.

“Screw that. I ain’t
getting my ass lambasted!” Bing shouted.

“I’ll do it,” I
said, still smacking at Kara’s hands. “Frosty, you up for some ass-kicking?”

“Of course,” Frosty
said. Name definitely worked. The rest of us were always pumped up with
adrenaline. Frosty always remained calm.

I gave Kara’s hand
another smack then leaned over my keyboard. “You take the left and I’ll take
the right.”

We moved our
characters onto the field.

Having given up on
yanking my headphones off, Kara now stood in front of the flat screen situated
between the two tall windows in our living room. She pointed to my laptop.

“It’s Friday night,
Naomi. This is getting ridiculous!”

“Move,” I mouthed at
her and gestured her over with my hand.

“You promised you’d
go out this weekend!”

“Move!”

She grabbed the
remote from the coffee table and the wide screen went blank, but trolls
overtook the small screen of my laptop.

Until Kara shut it,
nearly snapping off my fingers.

“Um…Goodbye Kitty?”
Frosty flatly asked.

Bing shouted into my
headset, “What the hell? Why are you letting them destroy you?”

My look at Kara
translated to pure nasty. She fisted her hands on her hips and stared down at
me. Green eyes constricted to slits and practically glowed. Even in the
shadows—the only illumination coming from the light fixture above the sink on
the other side of the room—she was a perfectly bedecked
monster with tapered, beady green eyes under perfectly waxed
eyebrows.

“Guess I’m aborting
the mission,” I said, tugging off my headset and tossing it on the coffee
table.

“Damn right you’re
aborting the mission.” Kara’s gaze raked over me as she flipped back her long,
blond hair. “Really, Naomi? Pajamas? At seven thirty? On a Friday night?”

Crossing my arms, I
fell back onto the couch.

“Oh no.” She leaned
across the coffee table and yanked me up by lapels of my Hello Kitty pajamas.
“We’re going out.”

We stared each other
down.