“Go around!” I yell, throwing my arm out and showing him the empty lane where he can pass.
He gives me a dirty look and the finger as he speeds around my car.
Dick.
Giving him the finger back, I bend down. Scooping the kitten up in my hands, it's so small, so tiny. I can feel every rib and it’s quivering in my hands. If I hadn’t stopped to help it, it wouldn’t have made it in the middle of the road for another ten minutes. Pulling it into my chest, I walk back to my car, and drop into the front seat.
I set the kitten in my lap and it curls up into a ball, resting its little head on my thigh. I can almost see a sense of relief come over the tiny cat as it relaxes, and it stops quivering so violently. I move my car out of the road, and into the breakdown lane. I open up the internet browser on my phone and search for the closest vet. It's only a few miles away. I should have plenty of time to get there, make sure the kitten is checked in, and then make it to the rental property before the new tenant arrives.
As I drive I keep one hand on the kitten, feeling its little breaths. The longer I drive, the less it shakes, until it finally dozes off. The drive to the vet doesn’t take long, and when I arrive, there isn’t anyone in the waiting room. But I have to leave my credit card information for the cat’s care, and it takes me a lot longer than I expected. There's paperwork, and then questions, and they just won't let me leave.
They're going to keep the kitten over night to check it out to see what's going on with its back legs. I leave my name and number so they can call me and let me know how he’s doing. Turns out it's a boy, and he's not much older than two to three months.
Once I get to my car, I pull out my phone and check the time. I’ll barely make it to the house before the tenant. I peel out of the vet’s parking lot with a screech, and take that picturesque road back in the direction I just came from, breaking several speeding and traffic laws. I squint out the window when I pull up to the street, trying to make out the house numbers in the glaring afternoon sun.
“Ah, shit,” I say out loud to myself as I finally spot the house number. I realize the driveway isn't empty.
There's a car already parked in the driveway, so I pull in next to it. Checking the clock I realize I am a full hour late.
This isn't how I wanted to start this.
I fold down my visor and I fix my hair. I may as well take a few seconds to reapply some lip gloss. It can’t hurt at this point. Staring at myself in the mirror, I give myself a pep talk.
You’ve got this. No problem at all. This is going to be easy.
Letting out a weighted breath, I climb out of my car, and adjust my blouse. Running my fingers through my hair, I clear my throat and stiffen my shoulders. I want to come in bold, strong, I don't want the new tenant to think I'm afraid or nervous.
One of the rules to success from my father; always project confidence. If you bring it, they'll feel it, and they'll know you mean business.
Walking up the driveway, I head for the front door. I stand still for a moment, debating if I should knock or just walk in.
My father's voice rings in my head, 'Whose house is this? They don't own it. Walk right in.'
Music coming from the backyard deck catches my ear, so I follow the sound around to the back of the house. Pulling the gate open, I step into the backyard and see a man lying on his stomach in one of the lounge chairs.
His bare back glistens under the warm rays of the sun. His entire body is sparkling like a giant gem, and I suddenly can't breathe.
Stopping short, my body goes up in flames. Salt and pepper hair, sun kissed skin, his back full of hard muscles, with broad shoulders and a lean waist. I can tell he's on the older side, and that just makes him even hotter.
I love older men.
They have their shit together. They're mature and they know what they want. Unlike the boys I knew in school, or the loser my mother ran off with after my parents divorced. He was a wannabe rock star, a guy with no real ambitions other than to mooch off his parents, and my mother, to make his dream come true.
I hated him the moment I first saw, even though I was a little girl and knew barely anything about life or relationships. But I could see the way that he’d ask my mom for money, or sit on his ass and eat our food all day while my mom busted her ass working two jobs to support us. I could tell he was a man who contributed nothing; not just to my mother’s life, but also to the world. He ruined my life, my mother's, and for some reason, she's still too hung up on him to see him for the loser he is.
After all these years of playing music with a crappy band in dive bars, he's got nothing to show for it.
I'm not going to end up like that. Working hard to fund my loser boyfriend. Nope, not me. I'm going to find a man who has his shit together, and I'm never letting him go. Simple as that.
The man on the lounge chair taps his foot to the beat coming out of his phone, drawing my eyes down his back and to his muscular ass. He clenches his ass, and my heart jumps.
This guy looks damn hot, and I haven't even seen his face yet.
In a pair of green cargo shorts, his head is resting on his forearms, facing the water in front of him. He's rocking softly to the music, sunglasses covering his eyes and his face tilting toward the water.
My mind starts to run instantly, images of this sexy man lifting himself off the chair and seeing me, his eyes hooded as he licks his lips because he likes what he sees. This daydream pulls me in, and I'm happy to follow where it leads me.
With a sharp jawline, maybe there's even a little stubble covering his cheeks. I smile lightly and entice him to come closer. His five o'clock shadow darkens his skin, and my thighs buzz, willing and ready to take on the sandpaper feel. That shadow is just enough, it's something that'll scrape roughly against my skin as he licks his way down my body, but not enough to cause too much pain, just enough to let me know he’s there.
The vision is clear, crisp, and real. It's so real, I can even smell his musky cologne, the notes of sandalwood and juniper. My nerves fire off inside, sending tingles through my body.
The movie keeps playing, slowing time to almost nonexistent. I'm in my own head, trapped by a man I don't even know, who's probably twice my age.
In my fantasy, he moves with determination across the back patio, sweeping an arm around my waist and yanking me to his chest. My fingers brush over the rough plains of his face, and this sexy stranger smirks playfully.
The images in my head are wild, so clear I swear I can feel his touch. His lips feather kisses down my neck, rough and gentle in the same breath. He pulls me deeper into his chest, his lips turning feverish.
My body tingles, my nipples stiffen, and my panties are wet. His lips crush mine, his tongue savagely driving into my mouth, licking and exploring. He's feral, 0verpowering me like the man in control he is. And I'm accepting it, taking it, loving it.
Strong, large, firm hands sweep me off my feet. Embracing me like I have no will of my own. And I don't want it. I surrender. I want this man to take me however he wants. His mouth is greedy, his hands are fierce, and his shaft is hard as rock.
The man wraps my legs around his waist, and my skirt bunches up around my hips. He walks us back until my ass hits the sliding glass door. He grunts, driving his lips harder against my mouth as he pulls his dick out and slips it easily into my soaked pussy.
My heart is racing in my chest, beating fast and hard. I can feel my mouth start to water as my mind runs away into this dark and dirty dream. Every nerve is sensitive, from my nipples to my slit.
Stop! No. I'm a professional.
Blinking those dirty thoughts away, I bring myself back to reality. The tenant is still lying down on the lounge chair. He’s completely unaware that I’m standing here, ogling him. He totally unaware that I even exist. Waving a hand in front of my face, I try to cool myself down. My body is hot from head to toe, and I need to bring myself back to earth.
This is crazy. Calm down, Perri. This is work, you’re not just visiting Starbucks and making up fantasies about the new barista. This could be the most important day of my professional life.
Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and get my mind in the game. This is a new tenant, not some sexual object sent to fuel my dirty, depraved mind.
Shaking my hands at my sides, I force my body to calm down, and my mind to go blank. I have a goal, a mission, and it isn't to fuck the new tenant.
My father would kill me. Shaking my head, I force the thoughts away and steady myself to introduce myself.
Clearing my throat, I take a confident step forward. “Hello,” I say, making my presence known. There's a small waver in my voice, a hidden layer of desire left over from my fantasy.
The man glances at me over his shoulder, large sunglasses covering his face. He pushes up with flat palm against the chair, and his muscles bulge, causing me to suck in a quick a breath.
My heart starts to race as my fantasy begins to replay in my mind. But I push it back, into the far, far recesses of my mind because this isn't some Lifetime movie, it’s reality, and this man is merely a paycheck for my father, and by extension, for me too.
He's not here for me to drool over, to lust for, to give myself to. He's forbidden because I’m a professional, dammit.
“I'm Perri,” I say as I take another step forward and extend my hand. My mouth turns up in a full smile, eager to make a good impression despite the butterflies in my stomach.
Because that's what's important. A first impression is how the person is going to see you from day one. And like my father always says, “If you screw up a first impression, you screw up your reputation. Business is like a locker room, people talk.”