Page 35 of Here You Are

“I wore a disguise. Ron knew it was me, but he came home and told me everything anyway.”

“You should write a tell-all book, exposing everyone in this town,” I suggested.

“No way, little lady, my lips are sealed.”

I haven’t heard from Justin in several months. We really haven’t met up since I moved out of the downtown area. I wasn’t going to drive all the way to his place for what he has to offer, and he was stuck at home with no working vehicle. There was no falling out, just fizzling out. No drama, no emotions, no yearning. It was perfect. Imagine my surprise when he texted me completely out of the blue.

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: Cassie Franklin?

Me: Justin Thompson?

It suddenly occurs to me that he has the last name as Rod and Holly. There is no way that they could be related, right? I can’t have him out here for a visit because Holly would clock that immediately, and she hasn’t shown herself to be a very discreet confidant lately.

Me: Are you related to Rod and Holly Thompson?

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: I doubt it. It’s a pretty common last name, and I don’t have any family in the area. Who are they?

Me: My neighbors. You’re right. Totally common last name, but I have been deeply immersed in their personal lives recently, so it popped into my head.

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: Wow, you’re really out there in the burbs mingling with the neighbors?

Me: It feels like more of a hostage situation.

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: Haha. Guess what?

Me: What?

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: I'm a grown-up and have a working vehicle. I haven’t seen you in forever, and I was thinking I should come check out your new house. You're my only friend who has their life together enough to buy a house. Very impressive.

Admittedly, I groaned out loud when he said this and I took my time responding. Based on our history, there is a very slim chance he cares about real estate. The more likely option is that he has a big boy car and can now drive for a booty call. Still, things have been easy and unawkward between us, so I don’t want to just shoot him down. I go for a vague maybe.

Me: Oh yeah, maybe. You’ll have to let me know when you're in the area.

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: I actually am now. I had to come out here for work and just got off. What’s your address?

Me: Oh, now? I’m not really presentable, and my house is a mess.

Justin Thompson AKA Hottie From Mexico: What did I just say? You're the best grownup I know. I know you're fully presentable, as is your house.

My house is fine. I worked in my pajamas all day, have no makeup on, and my hair is in a lopsided, messy bun, holding on for dear life. I am not presentable for public consumption, but that has never stopped me in the past. I wouldn’t go out to dinner like this, yet I would very much go out in public. This will be a good deterrent for him from immediately dragging me into the bedroom. I could really go for an afternoon delight, but he hasn’t historically brought a lot of delight.

Me: Ok. I’ll send you a pin for my address. Drive slowly so I can have a few minutes to freshen up.

I went to my bathroom to do an armpit bath, brush my teeth, and put my messy bun on straight. A look in the mirror revealed a giant slob. I shrugged at my reflection and moved on with my life, considering it to be sex repellent. About five minutes later, there was a knock on my door.

When I opened the door, I found Justin wearing dress pants, a button-down, and a tie. I hadn’t seen him for a while and was reminded of how good-looking he was—especially dressed for work. During our booty call times, he was usually in a ratty t-shirt and sweats when I would show up. He really was a cutie; too bad there wasn’t much chemistry between us.

He grinned and pulled me into his arms as he walked through the door. Damn, he smelled good. I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to refocus or not moan out loud at his smell.

He pulled back from our embrace. “Hey, cutie.”

I looked down to make sure I hadn’t done an outfit change after I last looked in the mirror. “Who, me? I look like I just rolled out of bed despite working all day.”

“Looks good to me,” he said as he put his hand on my hips and pulled me back to him. According to the item poking my hip, he did think I looked good or had developed some sort of Pavlovian Boner Response to seeing me. His hands slid to my backside, and he kicked the front door closed. Before I knew what happened, he had me backed up against the wall, kissing down my neck and running his hands up my back and around under the front of my shirt.

I pulled back from him and said, “I thought you came to look at my house. Not to hook up.”

He grinned and said, “The house looks good. You look good enough to eat.” He pushed me back toward the wall and resumed his attack. He smelled so good. He was a good kisser. He looked so hot dressed up like a business professional.