𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 4

TURNS OUT I DIDN'T GET BLUE BALLS after all. I met up with the coffee house girl that night. She's a yoga instructor.

Nice.

What? Come on, don't be like that. I want Hermione, no question. But don't expect me to act like a monk until it happens. The thing women don't understand is that a guy can want one woman and still fuck another one. Hell, a guy could love a woman and still fuck ten others. It's just the way it is.

Sex is a release. Purely physical. That's all. At least to men it is.

Okay, okay—calm down—don't start throwing shoes at me or something.

At least to this man it is. Better?

Maybe you'll understand my point of view if I put it this way. You brush your teeth, right? Well, suppose your favorite toothpaste is Aquafresh. But the store is out. All they have is Colgate. What are you going to do? You're going to use the Colgate, right?

You may want to brush with Aquafresh, but when all is said and done, you use what you have to keep those pearly whites clean. See my way of thinking? Good.

Now, back to my tale of heartache and pain.

I've never seduced a woman before.

Shocking, I know.

Let me clarify. I've never had to seduce a woman before, not in the typical sense. Usually, it just takes a look, a wink, a smile. A friendly greeting, maybe a drink or two. After that, the only verbal exchange involves short one-word phrases like harder, more, lower...you get the point.

So the whole conversing-a-woman-into-bed concept is pretty new to me, I'll admit. But I'm not worried. Why not, you ask?

Because I play chess.

Chess is a game of strategy, planning. Of thinking two steps ahead of your next move. Of guiding your opponent right where you need them to be.

For the two weeks following her first day, dealing with Hermione, for me, is exactly like playing chess. A few suggestive words, some innocent but seductive caresses. I won't bore you with details of every conversation. I'll just say that things are progressing nicely; everything is going according to plan.

I figure it'll take another week—two tops—till I'm able to claim that golden treasure between her creamy thighs. I already know how it will play out. I've spent hours in fact, imagining it, fantasizing about it.

Want to hear it?

It will happen in my office, one night when we're both working late—the only ones left. She'll be tired, stiff. I'll offer to rub her neck, and she'll let me. Then I'll lean down and kiss her, starting at her shoulder, trailing up her neck, tasting her skin with my tongue. Finally, our lips will meet. And it will be hot—fucking scorching. And she'll forget all about the reasons why we shouldn't: our mutual place of work, her stupid fiancé. The only thing she'll be thinking of is me and the things my expert hands will be doing to her.

I have a couch in my office. It's suede—not leather. Does suede stain? Hope not. Because that's where we'll end up—on that sorrowfully underused couch.

Now let me ask you this: Have you seen those commercials that say how life can change in an instant?

Yes, yes, I'm going somewhere with this—just bear with me.

You know the ones I'm talking about, don't you? Where the happy family is driving down Main Street on a bright sunny day and then...BAM. Head-on collision with a semi. And daddy goes flying out the window because he didn't have his seat belt buckled.