Dr. Jameson is the first to stand. “I have an appointment. Once again, welcome to our team. We are so happy with everyone so far.”
The group all smile.
“Oh.” Amber replies. “We’re going out tomorrow night for drinks. Do you want to come with your wife?”
Dr. Jameson smiles. “Thank you for the invitation, but no. We’re unable to make it. My wife is heavily pregnant with our fourth child.”
“Oh.” The group gush.
He smiles, and with a courteous nod, he leaves the cafeteria.
“Are you going to come, Dr. Stanton?” Amber asks.
“Please, call me Cameron.”
“Oh.” She lets out a fake laugh. “Cameron is such a nice name,” she gushes and I feel myself cringe. Just shut up, stupid.
“Who is going?” he asks as his eyes flicker to me.
“We all are.”
His eyes hold mine. “Sure. Why not?”
Shit. Over my dead body is Amber getting her claws into him. This day is getting worse by the minute.
What would I wear if I did go?
“Tomorrow morning, Ashley, I’m going over to the children’s hospital. You will be coming with me,” Cameron suddenly tells me.
“Oh.” I smile. That’s exciting. “Okay.”
He sips his coffee, and as I watch him, I practically melt in my chair. “Do you want me to meet you there?” I ask nervously.
“No, you can come in my car.” I bet I could. “If that’s alright?” he adds.
“Of course.” I smile. “Shall I meet you here?”
He nods. “Yes, I will pick you up by the front doors at 7am.”
I smile hopefully. “Okay, great.” I glance at my watch. “I have to go.”
Ambers face falls. “Where are you going? We don’t have to be back for another twenty minutes.”
“Oh. Erm.” I pause, because I know I sound like a weirdo. “I just wanted to read to Gloria for a little bit.”
The group all laugh and I feel silly. I glance over at Cameron and his eyes have that sexy glow in them again.
“See you later.”
It’s 10pm and I am in bed with a book that I just can’t get into. The room is dimly lit. Everyone is asleep. I’ve been tossing and turning, wondering if I’ve done the right thing by not ‘fessing up to having a child. I lied in my enrollment form for my job, and now it seems like I’m going to get caught. What is the punishment for this sort of thing? Is it really so bad if I don’t tell them for a week or two that I have a child? If I tell Cameron now he will just see me as someone’s mother. He will always see me as someone’s mother. I want him to get to know me for me first.
I know he’s attracted to me. I can feel it. But I also know he’s not the type of guy to take on a woman with a kid.
He hates kids. God, why did he say that? How can anyone hate kids?
Maybe I could just leave it for a week before I tell him. A week won’t hurt in the grand scheme of things.
Will it?
I pick up my phone and scroll through Facebook as I think. I click onto the other account that I gave them today and scroll through a few of their pages. I smile when I look through Amber’s page. She is wearing hardly anything in any of her pictures.
A message pops up and I click on it.
Hello
I frown and click on the name. Mechanic.
I smirk as my heart rate picks up, and I quickly click on the profile picture-a picture of an Aston Martin. A white one, though. His is black.
Is it him?
Fuck.
I message back.
Hello
I hold my breath as I wait for a reply. Oh my God. Is this him? I wait for a moment and message again.
Do I know you?
A message bounces back immediately.
I don’t know. Do you?
My eyes widen. Oh my God. It is him… isn’t it? I sit up in bed, suddenly wide-awake.
A message comes in.
I can’t stop thinking ab
out you.
My smile grows as my heart starts to somersault in my chest, and I stand and wave my arms around in the air in excitement. Oh my God, it’s him.
I think for a moment. What will I write? What will I write? Shit.
I text back my reply.
Why?
I hit send and then scrunch up my face. Oh hell, that was lame. Why did I write that?
He responds.
Why is grass green?
I smile, knowing this is a test.
Grass produces a bright pigment called chlorophyll. Chlorophyll absorbs blue light and red light, but mostly reflects green light, which accounts for its color.
Are you going to continue to answer my questions with rhetorical questions?
I bite my bottom lip and wait for his reply.
There she is.
I smile broadly as my heart rate picks up.
I type back.
When you think of me, what do you think about?
I wait and an answer bounces straight back.
I want to know how you taste.
My eyebrows rise. Holy fuck. That is a great answer. I respond.
And?
An answer comes back.
I want your taste on my tongue.
I frown as I feel my arousal start to rise.
Holy fuck.
Are you still tight?
My eyes widen and I walk into my bathroom to stare at myself in the mirror. Is this really happening? I eventually go back into the bedroom and type a response with shaky fingers. I’m just going to give it to him straight. Oh man. I hope I’m talking to the right guy here?
You have no idea.
I haven’t had sex in two years.
There’s no response straight away. Oh no. Why did I say that? Finally, after about five minutes, a message bounces back.
You sure know how to drive a man insane.
I’m so fucking hard right now.
Holy crap. I’m about to have a heart attack here. I message him back.
Where are you?
What are you doing?
A response bounces straight back.
I’m naked, in bed.
On my back with my legs spread.
My hard cock in my hand.
My eyes widen and I hear Owie call out from the other room. Ah, damn it!
I quickly reply.
Lucky hand!
I put my phone down and quickly walk up the hall to Owie’s room to see he is tossing and turning in bed. “Are you okay, baby?” I ask.
“I feel sick.” He sighs.
“You had too much ice cream.” I sit with him for a moment until he settles. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Go back to sleep now,” I whisper as I tuck him back in.
He rolls over and closes his eyes, and I sprint back up the hall to my phone to read his latest message.
Touch yourself.
Oh hell. He wants a sexting orgasm. Fuck, so do I. I smile deviously as I message him back.
I’ve been touching myself every night thinking about you.
I want the real thing…
A response bounces back immediately.
Fucking hell!
Get your ass over here now!
Oh god, I wish…
I can’t.
He answers.
I’m coming to you.
What’s your address?
“Mom,” Owie calls from his bedroom. Oh, fucking hell.
Perfect timing.
I throw my phone down and run up the hall just in time to see Owen vomit all over his bed.
“Oh, baby.”
He starts to cry as he vomits again. I pick him up and carry him into the bathroom.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
He cries.
“It’s alright. It’s just a vomiting bug or something. You will be okay.” I take off his clothes and put him under the shower. He finally settles and now I’ve got to go clean the sheets.
So much for my sexting session.
Arousal level… instant zero.