JAMESON
6a.m.
I’ve talked to this woman on the phone until six in the morning, and we’re still talking.
About fucking nothing.
But I like it…
“Hold on a second, Jameson,” she says, letting out a breath. “These steps always give me trouble.”
“Your condo has an elevator. Why would you ever take the steps?”
“Because everyone’s leaving for class—” She coughs. “And work this early. By the time I catch an empty elevator, I could’ve walked.”
“Noted.”
I wait on the line as she breathes—just breathes—and silently fantasize if she’d sound the same way whenever she’s under me. Or whenever I’m sucking her tits into my mouth and making her ride me harder.
When she reaches her floor, she asks me to wait again so she can catch her breath.
“You’ll definitely need to build your stamina if we ever have sex, Scarlett.”
“We already agreed that was never happening.” She pants.
“I said I’d ‘never’ talk on the phone to you about non-legal work, too.”
“Fair enough...” She’s definitely smiling. “What were you saying about that café you hate in New Jersey?”
I’m not sure how the hell we don’t end the call until ten, but when it’s over, I find myself saying four words that I can’t believe dropped from my mouth.
“I’ll call you tonight.”
I hang up before we can break a telethon record, and then I search for “Scarlett, marketing director, campaign sales” for what has to be the umpteenth time.
Marketing isn’t as SEO-optimized as law, and I figure she may work for a small private company, so I let it go.
I’ll just ask her about it tonight.