For A Good Time, Call... Read Online Free Page B

past me, bumping my shoulder and moving into my
living room. “It's very... clean.”
    “Thank
you,” I said through grinding teeth. He needed to leave. My
chest was feeling tight.
    Then
he was walking down my hall, reaching into the bathroom and turning
the light on. “Wow, this is well done. I like the table. That's
different.”
    At
this point, I just stopped breathing. Literally. Nothing was coming
in or going out. He walked into the hallway again, me following
dumbly behind him. He reached for my bedroom door handle and I
couldn't take it anymore. “No!” I yelled, pushing myself
between him and the door, looking up at him, not caring if he saw the
raw panic in my eyes. I just needed him out. Right then. He could
not, absolutely could not go into my bedroom. “No,” I
said again, more needy, more pathetic. Hating myself for it.
“Please.”
    He
looked down at me for a long minute, his blue eyes searching mine. In
the end, he backed up a foot, nodding. “Okay,” he said,
turning and walking back toward the door. “See you around...”
    Augh.
An introduction? Really? Weren't we intimate enough for neighbors?
“Fiona,” I gave in. The sooner he was out, the sooner I
could curl up into a ball. It was too late to go out. I was too
worked up for alcohol to take the feelings away.
    He
nodded. “Hunter,” he said. He opened the door and stepped
into the hall. “See you around, Fee,” he said, closing
the door.
    I
went behind him and fastened all my locks, walking into the bathroom,
stripping off my clothes. There was a strange anticipation in my
belly, like turning, like your belly does on a fast spinning carnival
ride. That was always how I felt before. I reached around underneath
my table sink vanity, looking for the smooth feeling under my
searching fingers. Finding it, my nails dug at the corners and ripped
the tape away, the razor blade falling into my hand.
    I
sat down on the cold tile floor in my undies, pulling my thigh up
across my tattooed leg, taking a deep breath and looking at my
half-healed scratches. This would help. This always helped. Bleed it
out then bleach all the evidence down the drain.

Six

    The
panties sold well. One week in and I was on back order. It turned out
that two times a day with a little working out or vibrator action was
good enough. I sealed them in plastic sandwich baggies with a big
round sticker on front with lipstick kiss on it. Different shades for
different guys.
    I
couldn't be happier with an extra seven-hundred dollars in my pocket
each week. I literally wouldn't be able to spend that kind of money,
no matter how lavishly I pampered myself. No matter how much money I
dropped on booze. I would be socking a good amount away for a rainy
day. Maybe for some other career path some day. Maybe I could open my
own sex toy store or something. Something that was all mine.
    I
slipped into a bright neon green thong, a special request, and got
dressed for my night. It was Saturday. I needed to dress to impress
if I wanted to get into anywhere decent. Even knowing all the
bouncers wasn't going to help if I showed up looking like crap.
    I
grabbed a galaxy printed mini skirt and a blue tank top with a huge
metal zipper up the center. You could literally just reach out and
unzip me and hello ladies! I
slipped into a pair of bright pink heels that matched a smattering of
stars on the skirt, tied my hair back, and headed for the door. I
would be freezing, but no one wanted to carry a jacket to a club.
    “You
could come home with me baby,” a guy said, his breath hot on my
ear. He had asked to buy me a round three rounds ago. I refused. I
always refused. I paid my own way. And most men expect more than a
polite 'thank you' when they have to come out of pocket.
    “Nope,”
I said, feeling the room start to swirl pleasantly. This was the good
point in the night, the lightness, the twirling. The beginning of the
night was fighting demons and trying to get to the perfect drunk. The
whole