Jill Marie Denton
Strangelove - Part 19
Jessica hadn’t seen Garrett in three weeks. Their last appointment had been so amazing, so satisfying, and yet he’d made excuse after excuse for why he wasn’t available since. Weekend one, Xander was sick. Weekend two, Gwen needed a medical procedure done. Weekend three, some issue at the body shop.
A quick check of the bank account showed her payments to him had cleared. He wasn’t denying services for lack of payment.
With a shrug, she sat back in her desk chair, rubbing her temples. This wasn’t healthy. And blaming herself was only undermining her self-worth. She’d made a vow to stop apologizing and was doing well at it. He’d done nothing to insinuate this was her fault and she was determined not to saddle the blame for his busy schedule.
She refocused her attention on the Brubaker file. The client was irate at the pace of his case, but she was determined to complete the task correctly and to never see the file again. She ignored his incessant phone calls and deleted voicemails once she ensured it was just more bitching.
At one point, with her hair clutched in her hands, ready to pull every strand out, Valerie and her other cubicle neighbors stepped in and negotiated with the boss for more time. They’d watched her skip breaks, show up early and linger after everyone else went home. When the boss saw the financial hieroglyphics Jessica was trying to decipher, he offered help dealing with the banks. She was grateful for the support, convinced her improved confidence and self-esteem were now influencing those around her.
Her cell phone chimed. She dropped the file instantly, eagerly. Peter’s name was on the screen.
Hey baby. Work a drag today, too?
He’d done so well at reaching out, at initiating conversation during her workdays lately. She loved how attentive he was being, even taking time to video chat with her during his night shifts while she cuddled in bed.
Unfortunately. Brubaker bullshit continues. You okay?
She sipped her mug of tea, sifting through the work she’d done the day before until her phone buzzed again.
Wow, you never cuss. You must be frustrated.
Oh, you have no idea. Can I be honest with you?
She exhaled, holding the phone and closing her eyes. She was taking a serious risk being so forward, but her newfound brazenness had been paying off in spades so far. He replied quickly.
Please. I never want you to lie to me.
I’m not just frustrated with work. I’m sexually frustrated too. You’ve been working a lot and it’s been a while. I don’t want to guilt you, but I need some attention.
Her palms dampened as she squeezed the phone, her eyes moving to the window and the world outside. She was asking, she was initiating, she was desperate. And her release was nowhere to be found. Her body was practically begging for a positive reply.
Her heart broke in two when the next text bubble appeared.
I’m working every evening this week. The guy I was training quit. I’ll free up some time this weekend.
Yeah, okay. I’ll be around. Have a good day.
A single tear dropped onto the display as she touched send.
Author's note: A quickie chapter - apologies! But Masturkate is taking off and we can't wait to see you there! Find us on Anchor or anywhere you get your podcasts. Search "Masturkate" and join the convo!
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