Finding Herself Read online

  ‘Really? I’ll be right there.’ She did her best to put concern into her voice and not burst out laughing with relief. ‘I was on a date but I can reschedule. Hang tight,’ she said.

  It took only a few minutes to hustle a shocked and surprised Joel out the door, promising she’d call to reschedule. Though she never would. Whatever she was looking for, it was not someone like him.

  Sophie considered heading over to Kevin’s with the last of the bottle, but opted for flopping down on the sofa and pouring herself another glass. She stared at the ceiling and pondered why she did not date men prettier than herself.

  Her phone jingled.

  Better?

  Yes, thanks. Now I’m going to work.

  Oh, sexy night. Have fun! XO

  Sophie snorted and turned on her laptop. Notes were going to be important for this.

  Yoga is not for me, dear readers … I am more zany than Zen. More centrifugal than centred …

  She tapped along until it was time to pour another glass. Then she found a comfy position and turned on a horrid reality show about men who secretly stripped for extra money and the women in their lives who had no clue. She knew she should change the channel but it was like a train wreck – she couldn’t seem to look away.

  Simon came up and nuzzled her, hopping on the sofa to curl around her legs. He licked her hand and pushed his big head beneath her palm in a classic pet-me-now manoeuvre.

  ‘I know. He was terrible. He barely acknowledged you.’ She laughed.

  Then she drifted off to the sight of a buff construction worker tearing off his faux policeman uniform at a bachelorette party while his wife was home with their kids, oblivious.

  ‘How about me? How do I look?’ He was going down on her but kept checking his position and his profile in the glass entertainment centre, she noticed. His tongue was doing marvellous things to her when he wasn’t looking at his hair.

  ‘You look great,’ Sophie said. ‘Perfect.’ She pushed her body up to meet his mouth. Her pussy slick and ready for him to deliver the coup de grace and make her come.

  He nudged her drenched slit with his tongue and moved up just a touch – just where she needed it – to suck her clit. The pressure of his mouth was overwhelming. Just what she needed.

  His fingers plunged into her, withdrew, plunged again, stimulating her slick cunt in just the right way. Her body rippled around his driving fingers, clenched at him, grew taut – keeping her right on the edge of coming. And then he put that mouth down on her again – sucking, licking, lapping.

  Sophie grabbed his dark hair in her seeking hands, holding his head where she needed it, moving up in desperate little thrusts to meet him until he said, ‘Hey, the hair …’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry.’ Better to just get on with it. ‘Fuck me. Please. I want it.’

  She was never that bold but hey, it had been a while. A long while she realised as she watched him unzip his jeans. Tug his cock free and jerk it once, twice in his big hand. He had nice hands. It almost distracted her from his narcissism. He rolled a condom on, glancing at his erection as lovingly as he glanced at his hair. She almost felt invisible, but was eager enough to have sex that she was OK with it. He could use her while adoring himself, she could use him while getting a well-deserved, long overdue orgasm.

  He slid the sheathed tip of his cock along her opening, leaning in close to kiss her. When he broke the kiss, he grabbed her thighs and spread them wide, hiking her up a bit toward him, hard enough to make her gasp. His hand slipped under her ass and he levered her just a bit more toward him, her bottom right on the edge of the sofa as he knelt between her legs.

  He slid in slowly, finally, watching her face. Sophie threw her arms back, gripping the plump cushion behind her head. She moved her body up to take him deeper. When he finally filled her and the base of his cock bumped her clit, the first shockwave of pleasure travelled through her. Sophie moaned, reached for him, and –

  ‘For just nineteen ninety-nine!’

  She blinked, seeing a man waving a long, wicked-looking knife at her via the TV screen. He then proceeded to cut through a plastic bottle as if that were the most natural thing in the world and everyone did it.

  ‘Balls,’ Sophie said.

  Simon grinned at her, his long, pink tongue hanging out. Two hours had passed, her neck was stiff, and it was barely going on 10.30. Her body pulsed with unrealised release, the dream serving up some very real arousal with no outlet. She could go get herself off again, but the furry face regarding her was one of patience and its own need. A need to go outside.

  ‘Hold on, big boy, let me get my shoes and brush my teeth. I have puppy breath, you can commiserate, yes?’

  He grinned some more, wagging his big tail. She took that as a yes.

  In the bathroom, Sophie eyed herself in the mirror. Big, tangled mess of blonde hair from sleeping. Dazed blue eyes, also from sleeping. Serious frown lines from … what? From worry about what was at her centre? What was more in her life that she wasn’t aware of.

  ‘More like there’s maybe not more to discover.’ Even as she gazed at herself, her eyes registered shock. That seemed to be the problem. Worrying that there was not more to her. That this was it.

  She leant in to examine what could have been the beginning of a wrinkle and her pelvis crushed to the hard, unforgiving porcelain of the sink. The arousal that had been abating came back with a vengeance. She could feel her heartbeat in her midsection and her pussy. It beat heavily against the cold sink.

  Sophie shifted her hips and felt a spike of pleasure behind the dull, thudding lust. She did it again. And then again. Shut her eyes to try and call up the images in her dream. But, remembering who the dream was supposedly about, she shook that off. And there he was again. The faceless him. The him who apparently lived in her psyche.

  He was knocking her legs wide. Positioning himself between her spread legs – he was fit, whoever he was. Then entering her. Holding her wrists to the bed as he plunged in deep and hard. Her breath came in short little catches as she stood on her tippy-toes so her clit was the part rubbing against the lip of the sink as she undulated her hips.

  Sophie kept her eyes squeezed shut, forced herself to stay in that moment. She moved her body a bit faster, worked up more friction, kept her mind’s eye trained on the him inside her who was fucking her. Holding her ankles now, murmuring to her. He had big, strong hands and a deep, soothing voice and his cock … yes, that. That was good.

  She came with a startled little burst of air and a quick rush of blood to her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed despite it only being her in the apartment. A small whimper sounded from outside the door and she chirped, ‘Coming, baby.’ Poor choice of words. ‘I’ll take you out right now.’

  She splashed cold water on her face and blotted it dry. She really had to get control of herself. Fantasising about some faceless him was going to get her absolutely nowhere.

  She could hear Temperance in her head then. ‘Oh, I don’t know! Look at your list. Holding positive intentions and manifesting is on there!’

  ‘Bloody list,’ Sophie grumbled and hurried out to get the dog.

  Simon had this thing he did. He looked as if he was doing his business but was not. Not really. Oh, he peed and Sophie saw that for sure. Poor thing. She’d kept him waiting much too long; the look he gave her as he stood there with his leg cocked for what seemed like for ever said that clearly. But then he shuffled back in the shadows and she tried to tell if he was doing what he needed to do. She wanted to clean it up, after all.

  He came out of the darkness and circled around her legs, his face a mask of puppy happiness.

  ‘Well? Did you?’ she asked, exasperated.

  Sophie leant forward to look and he ran right under her, tipping her off balance. She reached her hands out, bag flapping, to catch herself. Landing in an awkward downward dog position, she was able to find her centre – the irony wasn’t lost on her – and balance her centre of gravity. She was just th
ankful her hands hadn’t landed in anything beyond some still frozen snow and some twigs and leaves.

  ‘Simon,’ she growled, still trying to find purchase to right herself. Good news was, from what she could see, no poo to clean up.

  ‘Is this how you spend your time now? Wooing strangers on the street with odd yoga positions. Though I must say,’ the voice went on. ‘I do miss this ass.’

  And then a soft touch along her lower spine, just above her bottom.

  Sophie gasped, jerking up into a standing position to find herself face to face with Tony. Her Tony. Well, her ex Tony. Her head swam with fairy lights as a head rush overtook her. Without considering it, she reached out a hand to steady herself. His big biceps flexed under her grasping fingers as he put a steadying hand on her hip.

  ‘You OK, Soph?’

  She nodded her head. Bad move. Stupid move. ‘Yes, you just surprised me. And I stood too fast. And …’

  Simon was winding himself around their legs, butting between them, imposing himself between her and Tony so Tony would notice him. She swore sometimes he was more feline than canine.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Simon.’

  ‘As in simple?’

  Sophie snorted shook her head. ‘As in Le Bon.’

  ‘Ah yes, 80s crushes never die, do they?’

  She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘How are you?’ she asked. No reason not to be a grown-up. They’d not broken up because of any melodrama or big issue. They’d broken up because life had gotten busy and they’d each started brushing the other off. Not in a malicious way, just in a modern way. I’m so busy and you are expendable, was how it felt. Which made it clear to them both that they weren’t destined for any big fairy tale love.

  ‘I’m fine. Finer now I saw that luscious ass of yours.’

  She swatted him. ‘Knock it off.’

  ‘Nice hair too.’

  Sophie patted her head. ‘Jesus. I fell asleep on the sofa. And I just brought him out to do his business. I didn’t think I’d see anyone.’

  She was blushing. Why was she blushing? But maybe this was what she needed. She needed to get laid. That was all. And who better to get down and dirty with than someone who knew her – her likes and dislikes – and who she was comfortable with?

  Right?

  ‘Well, you’re seeing me, Soph. How’s stuff with you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Confusing …

  ‘Good. Glad to hear it.’

  ‘And with you?’ she stammered, repeating herself. She’d already asked that, but here she’d said it again. Standing this close to him she could feel the heat radiating off him even though the cold January wind was blowing. Sophie glanced up and saw the corner of a blind twitch. Not her apartment. Kevin’s. Sneaky little spy.

  ‘Good. Better now. Like I said.’ He chuckled, a gust of wind lifting some of his corn silk-coloured hair. She couldn’t see in the shadows of the street, but she knew his big, brown eyes would be flashing with humour. ‘So, Soph …’

  ‘Yeah?’ she asked, cocking her head, heart beating wildly because she knew what he was going to ask and what she was going to say.

  ‘Want to have a drink with me tomorrow?’ He touched her finger with his finger. Her hands felt frozen but the touch was electric. At least she’d figured it out. She just needed an old-fashioned fuck with someone she found attractive. Perfectly normal. Perfectly natural.

  Everyone had needs. Everyone had urges. Nothing to be ashamed of.

  Simon had started to whine and it was late. Getting later. They said goodnight, and when he took her elbow and tugged her in she let him kiss her. A nice, soft, familiar kiss that had just a touch of passion in it.

  Glad I brushed my teeth! she thought and almost laughed.

  ‘I’ll come by and get you around seven tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Good,’ she said and giggled just enough to embarrass herself. ‘Good, good.’

  Upstairs, Simon bounded down the long, narrow hall. His paws blended in with the black, grey, and silver patterned carpeting that was surely older than Sophie herself.

  She tried to sneak past, but Kevin’s door opened and he poked his head out. Inside, someone said, ‘Are you coming, or what?’ She saw him hold up a finger to the visitor. Probably some drop dead gorgeous young thing who could suck a sausage out of its casing if she knew Kevin.

  ‘Bad idea, Soph,’ he said, tsking at her.

  ‘Are you wearing lip gloss?’ she asked.

  ‘That is neither here nor there,’ he said archly and rolled his eyes.

  ‘And eye glitter?’

  ‘We’re doing make-up!’ the unseen person called out and then laughed.

  ‘I see,’ she said, hoping she could change the subject.

  ‘Look, don’t try that topic-switching voodoo with me, sister. That is a bad idea. You got out of that relationship fairly cleanly. No reason to fuck it up by getting all twisted up in it again. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, in this instance the horse being the Universe that granted you one blissful, benevolent break-up.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘It’ll be fine, Kevin. It’s just drinks.’

  ‘Your mouth says drinks but your face is all about the sex,’ he said with a flourish. ‘Speaking of sex … I have to go.’ He blew her a kiss.

  As the door was shutting, the unseen man said loudly, ‘It’s about damn time. Take your pants off, boy!’

  Sophie snorted. If only she were having an evening like that. But at least there was hope for tomorrow.

  ‘Just one more thing before bed,’ she reminded herself.

  She felt stupid doing it, but determined to follow the list of suggestions. She pulled out a yellow legal pad – she’d gotten addicted to them during college so she always had a stash – and pulled out a favourite Bic blue ballpoint pen.

  Dear Sophie,

  Congratulations! You have everything you’ve ever wanted. So far. You have the apartment you always dreamed of, the dog you drove your mother crazy wishing for, the job you set your mind to having. You write for a living, go you!

  This is for an assignment about finding your centre (no, this is not a sex joke). You’re supposed to delve into yourself and see what’s there waiting for you. Parts of you, I guess, wants and needs and hopes and fears you might not even know exist …

  Sophie swallowed hard. Now that she was writing, the words were flowing and a small bit of melancholy had settled over her.

  Stupid wine … Had to be the booze.

  She put her head back down, pen to paper, listened to Simon snoring like a warthog.

  You have discovered, though, that despite checking off all the stuff on your list of wants, there’s something else. Not to be melodramatic, self, but you seem to be missing something –

  Unease unwound in Sophie. She hadn’t intended to write that part. She blew out a breath and thought, you are being melodramatic, that’s it. You just named your sin yourself.

  So tomorrow you’re giving Tony another shot. It wasn’t as if he was a jerk. The sex was good. You laughed a lot. Had fun doing things together, even travelling. There was really no reason why it ended. Maybe it was a stupid mistake. Maybe Tony is that missing something …

  She wrote a bit more and finally shuffled off to bed, Simon patiently on her heels. Tomorrow’s sunrise would come early and she had more work to do. If she could figure out how to handle this whole situation. Sophie did her best, as she climbed into bed, to ignore the distinct feeling that Tony was not the missing something, but just a diversion.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Black jeans, blue jeans, no jeans,’ she muttered. Sophie jumped into the black jeans again – doing the jean shimmy-shake. They were just a touch too tight. Too many fancy coffees in the morning, she thought. Not tight enough that she felt ill, but tight enough that she’d be obsessing over them all night. How they hit her right below the belly button, was her ass popping out the back, was it giving her a roll around the middle and so on.
She growled, shoved them down to her ankles, and found the blue jeans. She slid into those and turned. These were just a touch too loose.

  ‘Baggy ass,’ she sighed.

  She knew it wasn’t true, that it was simply an illusion, but still it was gnawing on her brain – worry. She thought she shouldn’t be so worried about it if he was her destiny. Her something more.

  The blue jeans hit the bed. She grabbed tan corduroys. ‘Nope.’ They hit the bed. Finally she found a pair of black velvet leggings. They’d go great with her new black leather boots. They’d keep her warm and look sleek.

  Perfect.

  She had just pulled her boots on and checked herself in the mirror – feeling pleased with what she saw – when the doorbell rang. Her body responded in a truly Pavlovian manner. Her pussy went wet and her heartbeat went up. Somehow she had forgotten along the way how very good the fucking had been with Tony. And now, knowing he was on the other side of that door, she was remembering.

  Her insides seemed to be trembling as she reached the door. ‘Stop being a moron, Sophie,’ she hissed, grabbed the doorknob like it was hot, and turned it violently.

  ‘Hi!’ she said, standing there, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She’d put her dark blonde hair in two fat, but fashionably mussed, braids to keep herself from running her hands through her hair a million times the way she did when she was nervous. She tugged the end of one to focus herself.

  ‘Hi, Soph,’ he said. He took a step back and scanned her – his brown eyes twinkling. ‘My God, you look good enough to eat.’

  Heat rushed her cheeks and she toed the carpet with her boot, still not quite knowing what to do with herself. Shouldn’t the talking be easier if he was that missing something? Shouldn’t they fall into a rhythm?

  ‘Thanks. You too, I mean … You know what I mean, Tony. You look good.’

  He reached out and ran his finger along the velvet waistband of her leggings. His skin stroked hers exactly where her white blouse met her black pants. His touch painted fire along her midsection and Sophie heard herself give a startled little gasp.