I stare at the text.Yesterday, I would have been annoyed Beverly didn’t have a return date yet.Now, I’m ecstatic.The longer Seary delays her return, the better for me.
Then a horrible thought pops into my head.What if Seary knows Aurelius Moore booked her and has been waiting for her to return instead of getting a refund and just rescheduling when she’s back.
If she identifies me as that dude, I’m fucked.She will assume I’m stalking her and ruin any chance I have with her.Even if I deny it, the odds are astronomical that we would meet the way we did.She won’t believe me.I know I wouldn’t.
I stare at the text, trying to decide whether or not to ask Beverly how much Seary knows, but I don’t want to tip my hand that I’ve met her.Beverly most definitely will assume I’m a stalker.
I could cancel the appointment, but if I do that, I won’t get a heads-up when Seary is planning on leaving Alabama.
I take two beers out of the fridge and walk outside to the patio to ponder my dilemma further.
Playing Seary this way goes against who I am at my core, but I’m not going to destroy her trust before I’ve earned it either.Keeping my identity secret from her, for the time being, is my only option.Besides, it's not like I share who I am with anyone.
I tip the first beer up and drain the bottle.
Fuck.It’s not like I don’t know how to keep secrets.My whole fucking life has been segregated into secrets based on who surrounds me at the time.I toss the empty beer bottle into the trash can.
Just when I thought I would be free of having to keep secrets, the girl of my dreams walks into my life and nails that door shut.
I’ll have to play this just right, or I’ll fuck myself over.
So … I have to maintain my integrity and win her trust while not letting on that I know who she is.
Jesus H.Christ.What if I slip up and call her Seary?
I tip the second beer up and drain half of it.
How do I avoid making that mistake?I rub the bottle with my thumbs as I think about it.Remembering how her hand felt in mine and how her pulse quickened when I stroked it.Then it hits me, and I smirk, knowing I got this now.I’ll just call her ‘Wild Thang.’
I stretch out in the chair and finish off my beer, dreaming of all the ways I will fuck her in the future in the East Wing of my house in Vegas, and wondering when I can convince her to go to Rome with me so I can fuck her in my studio.
Goddamn, she’s perfect!This whole situation is fucking perfect!
Now, to play the hand, I’ve been dealt ...perfectly.
* * *
Siri
* * *
I waketo the sound of birds chirping and my coffee perking.Rolling over, I bury my head under my pillow.
Ugh!I've learned to hate Mondays!My body clock refuses to adjust to normal people's time.I've been a Vegas night owl for too many years.It is not natural to rise this early!
I take a deep breath, come out from under the pillow, and roll on my back to do my stretches.
Why did I take this temp job again?
Because Mama needed you here but didn't actually need you, and you got bored in this fucked up, hellhole you called home growing up.
Stop whining!This is your last week at a "normal" job.The temporary work served its purpose, and you didn't die of boredom here while Mama healed.
As I stretch my legs wide, lean my body over each one, and touch my face to the bed, I'm thankful once again to be able to make a living as a dancer.
Turning my body into a front split, I arch back, grab my foot, and stretch it until I can plant a loud smack on the bottom.Transitioning to a straddle split, I touch my face again, arch my back and look across the room.Then I repeat the process with the other leg.
Next, I crawl to the edge of the bed, put my hands on the floor, and lift my legs until I'm in a handstand.Carefully maintaining my balance, I walk to the opposite wall, lean my legs against it, and knock out fifteen push-ups.
