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Thursday, November 15, 2012

Waiting For The Other Shoe to Drop --Part Six B



                By the time I got home, I was beyond pissed. Perry could dry up a wet dream and my thoughts of seducing Rich had been replaced with fantasies of bashing my boss’s head in with a sack of bricks. Kicking my shoes across my living room, I picked up the phone and called Rich with every intention of canceling on him.
                “Where did you disappear to?” he asked.
                “Perry and I had a conversation that didn’t go so well, so I had to leave.”
                “And I thought you were avoiding me. My plan had been to get you alone in a corner and see if we could replay that scene in your car without Marvin edging us on.” His voice was low and seductive.
                “Is that so?”
                “Yes. Are we still on for this evening or are you going to let Perry, who was looking for you by the way, ruin our plans?”
                “He was looking for me? That sap . . . forget him. Why don’t you bring a bottle of merlot and I’ll take care of the food.”
                “As in you’re going to cook?”
                “As in there will be some food here for you to eat,” I replied. Cooking? Yeah, right. I plucked a menu for India food out of the basket near my land line phone.
                “You can’t cook, can you?” The laughter in his voice was borderline annoying, but thinking about the smile that probably framed his face made me think about his lips. I wasn’t annoyed anymore.
                “I can cook, but you haven’t earned that yet.”
                “All right, I can live with that. Tell me, though, what do I have to do to earn a home cooked meal?”
                “Depends on your wine selection.”
                “I’ll see you at eight,” he said.
                After hanging up with Rich, I called the Bombay Kitchen and ordered Tandoori Chicken, mango chutney and mushroom curry. Then I realized, as I gave the cashier my credit card number, I’d ordered a lot of damned food.
                I had about forty five minutes before dinner would arrive, that gave me just enough time to shower and change into a pair of yoga pants and a white tank top. Part of me wondered if I should’ve just put on some lingerie and heels. Then I decided that even though it was a given that my clothes would be coming off, Rich needed to work for it or at least believe it was the merlot.

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