Reed Callaway (Part 9)

I’m practicing writing something a little “steamy” for a contest.  I decided Reed was an easy target for the scene.   

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-7: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, and Part 8.

“Nice view –”

Before I can finish my sentence he has one hand behind my head and the other on the small of my back.  His mouth crushes against mine, needy with traces of the tequila we were shooting earlier.

I stumble back against the stucco exterior of the high-rise.  I only had a moment to take in the Atlantic Ocean sprawled in front of the building before he had me up against the wall.

A voice in my head tells me to pull away, but I tell it to shut up.  It’s been months since a man has touched me like this, and I’m kind of enjoying the sensation of his tongue plunging inside my mouth. 

I let out a groan as he tugs on my long hair, pulling himself closer against me, if that’s possible.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, no trace of genuine concern in his voice.

“No,” I say, not recognizing my own voice, low and guttural.

Now I find it’s me putting a hand behind his head and pulling him closer.

It’s only seconds before his hand is under my shirt, making small circles on my back.  It’s nearly a hundred degrees out but the goose bumps appear on my skin anyway. Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 9)”

Reed Callaway (Part 8)

 If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-7: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7. 

I’ve been here under ten minutes and have already downed two glasses of champagne.  Have you seen the size of a champagne flute?  And then they don’t even fill it to the top. 

All around me, women adorned in chic cocktail attire share stories of their recent honeymoon or affectionately pat pregnant stomachs.  

I have died and gone to hell, otherwise known as an engagement party.  Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 8)”

Reed Callaway (Part 7)

Funny how I didn’t think I had enough of Reed’s story in me to write a manuscript, yet I feel compelled to write her story constantly.  I’m up to over 10,000 words with her now.  Maybe there really is a manuscript there.  For now though, I like writing her here.

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-6: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 and Part 6.

I hate Mondays.  Getting up after sleeping in for two days, going back to work, staring at the long week ahead…Monday has no redeeming qualities.

This Monday also marks the fourth day with no call from Chris.  But who’s counting?

Why do men ask for your number if they’re not going to call?  A guy friend once told me it’s either to make the woman feel good about herself or for the guy to prove to himself that he can get it.  Seriously?  As for the former, I’m damn good catch and I don’t need some guy to ask for my number to prove that to me.  In terms of the latter, find some other way to bolster your weak ego and quit wasting my time.

I closed a multi-million acquisition for a client today, so I think a celebration is in order.  Staring into the contents of my refrigerator I have a tough decision to make.  Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio? 

My old buddy Chardonnay is always a safe bet.  I pull a glass from the cabinet and pour the cool, golden liquid.  Taking a small sip, I immediately feel my nerves ease.  Who cares if that loser calls?  Not this girl.

After all, there are hundreds of men just waiting to hear from me on eMatch.  Despite my lack of luck so far, I have an urge to go glimpse through pictures.  It’s like online shopping, and I love to shop.

Logging in, I wait for the mailbox to reveal how many messages have arrived since my last visit.  After I met Chris, I completely forgot about eMatch.  Surely after four days of not checking it I must have mail from some eligible bachelors.

Sure enough, there are seven new messages.  I scan the pictures and decide to open Jason from Marietta first. Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 7)”

Reed Callaway (Part 6)

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-4: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.

Aubrey calls on my way home.  I answer hoping she wants to go grab a drink, and thankfully she does.  She forces me to recount my date with Peter as we both drive towards our favorite bar.    

“He took you to the St. Regis?” She’s squealing with delight. Miss Delilah taught her to enjoy the finer things in life. Especially when they’re paid for by handsome gentlemen.

“Yes, and don’t get so excited. It was perfectly awful.”

“Reed,” she said in a disapproving tone that sounded eerily like Miss Delilah, “Did you even give the poor boy a chance?”

Thankfully I could roll my eyes in the privacy of my own car without notice. “Yes, Aubrey, I gave him a chance Know what he did with it? Proceeded to tell me how well off he is and all the money he’d spend on me.”

“Oh yeah, that just sounds terrible,” she said in mock disgust. Giggling, she said, “What’s wrong with being treated like a princess now and then?”

“Because it’s one thing to treat a woman well and surprise her with little presents now and then like Nate does with you, but it’s another thing to lead with ‘Hey, guess how much money I have?’ on a first date.”

“That is a little tacky,” she concedes.

“Have you been to the St. Regis?  I swear I felt like I was in a bad black and white movie.  The servers wear old school flight attendant outfits!”

Aubrey’s easy giggle fills my otherwise silent car as I speed down Peachtree.  “Really?  It sounds kinda fun.”

“Trust me, there was nothing fun about it.”  I signal to turn onto the side street that runs beside the little bar we’ve frequented since college.  “Enough about my pathetic dating life.  What does it feel like to be someone’s fiance?”

More giggles.  I can picture her holding her hand out to admire the ring again.  “It’s wonderful!  Nate says I can have the wedding anywhere I want, that he’d marry me in burlap sacks in Cambodia if I wanted.  He’s so silly.  I think I’m leaning towards the Botanical Gardens.  What do you think?”

“I think you’ll look beautiful anywhere you get married,” I say, meaning it.  Aubrey has classic good looks.  Her hair is always done, her makeup lightly applied and flawless.  She has porcelain skin she keeps shielded from the sun with ridiculously big hats when we go to the beach.  Nate is right; she’d be a knockout in burlap. Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 6)”

Reed Callaway (Part 5)

If you need to get caught up, here are the links for Parts 1-4: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

I turn around in front of my floor length mirror.  This dress fit a few months ago.  It must have shrunk when I washed it.  Either that or the half gallon of ice cream I had the other night is creeping onto my backside.

I crane my neck around to get a good look.  There’s a hint of Kim Kardashian back there.  I realize men appreciate her assets, so to speak, but it’s a little much for a first date.

I shrug at my reflection and decide I don’t really care if the dress is too tight.  Another evening I’ll probably be wasting with some loser from the internet. 

This time it’s Peter, the commercial real estate broker Aubrey found the first night.  She’s convinced that because we’re both diehard Florida Gator fans, we’ll instantly click.  I’m skeptical, at best. 

Best case scenario, he’s tolerable and I can drag him to Aubrey’s upcoming engagement party.  I’m pretty sure I’m the only single friend she has, and I can’t stomach the idea of a night in coupledom alone while they all try to fix me up with their second cousin who lives in his mother’s basement (but only because he quit his job as a stockbroker to pursue his dream of becoming a rock star).

Peter is meeting me at The St. Regis Bar in Buckhead.  Normally, I would be sketched out by having our first date at a hotel bar, but this one is a seen-and-be-seen kind of place.  A little glitzy for my taste, but it was his suggestion since he lives nearby.  Besides, it’s a bar; how bad could it be?

As I exit my car at the valet stand, I notice Peter waiting by the massive gold front doors.  He smiles when he sees me, and I give a little wave as I approach him. Continue reading “Reed Callaway (Part 5)”