Bait (Wake, #1)(69)

He looked up at me and said, “I really want that cheesecake.” He then took my relaxing nipple into his mouth, re-energizing the sensitive tip, and it tightened again with his new attention.

I didn't know where it came from, surely my actual self would have went for the cheesecake, but at the moment I wanted to indulge myself with him. He was my guilty pleasure. Cheesecake wasn't even on my radar.

I convinced him to take a shower with me. By convince, I mean, I got up walked into the bathroom and hooked my finger at him saying, “We need to wash up before we eat.”

While I washed my hair, he kissed my neck.

I looked for the evidence of his broken collarbone, and found a small knot still present where I'd seen it before. I washed his back with my bare hands. It was the cleanest back in history.

I couldn't stop touching him.

He washed between my legs and said, “God, I want to feel you bare. I don't want anything in between us.” His unfiltered words again took me by surprise, but when he put it like that, I had to agree. In our situation, we could have tolerated a few less obstacles.

We christened the shower in the Hotel Max with as much enthusiasm as we had the bed minutes earlier.

“So, how about this Quadruple Chocolate cheesecake?” Casey asked.

I'd forgotten about the cheesecake.

“You deserve both pieces,” I said with gratitude. “But I'll give you the bigger one instead.”

We ate it on the bed wearing over-sized bath towels and watched Food Network. He told me about his sisters and the meetings he lined up for that Monday and Tuesday. He said he hadn't even rented a room yet and I told him that was good because he could have that one.

He still had a hang-up about sleeping together.

He walked me down to the front drive of the hotel when my cab came.

I told him we were even for the room because of the cheesecake and he laughed as he kissed me into the taxi.



I spent the next day picking out plumbing fixtures with my mother as Grant tore the bathroom in the new house a part. Casey and I text back and forth all day. He told me that he actually went back to The Confectional and got more mini-cakes and that I was right about how good they were.

When my mother remarked on how much I was texting Grant and that he probably wasn't getting much done, I just laughed. An omission I supposed. When we got back to the house and after we measured a few windows for blinds, Grant called out to me and asked to grab his phone from the car. My mom didn't say anything, but I saw an expression cross her face that I didn't recognize before, then she went back to what she was doing.

I met Casey at a breakfast place by his hotel on Tuesday morning. He had a meeting and then an early afternoon flight.

We talked and laughed, like we always did.

He was charming and charismatic, like he always was.

He rubbed his foot against my ankle under table and that was new.

We made arrangements to meet up in cities when we could, which wouldn't be all that difficult. And when we could, we would attend the same events.

We met in Tucson a few weeks later, and Minneapolis the week after that. We shared leads and I found myself asking my customers about their beer selection and Casey recommended me to more than a few places he visited.

Those weeks flew by on the road. It was the days in between trips that seemed to drag on and on.

Me: Why is wool so scratchy?

Casey: Is this a joke or are you really asking?

Me: Asking.

Casey: I don't know, it sucks. You know it's like sixty-five here today, so I wouldn't know. California is better than Washington.

Me: Wool isn't everything.

Casey: I have beer?

Me: You always have beer. I can't move.

Casey: Come on. You miss me.

Me: I miss your big cock.

This was something new for us. It wasn't a few weeks after Casey was in Seattle before we tried to sext or have phone sex, as they say, I was really terrible at it though. He always sounded sexy and in character, where I was even more awkward that I was in real life.

Casey: My cock only gets one adjective?

Me: I miss your cock. There. Better?

Casey: No. My massive, cunt-hungry, *-pleasing cock is offended.

Me: You are a sick man.

Casey: You'll get there. You just have to keep practicing. Now. You were saying... you miss my cock?

I missed all of him, but that felt even dirtier to admit.





Friday, November 14, 2008


I HAVE TO ADMIT, honeybee is terrible at sending dirty messages. The other day I asked her for a dirty picture and she send me a picture of her upper thigh. Her thigh.

It's a great thigh, but come on. What did she expect?

I replied with my elbow. I may have overreacted.

She knew her proclivity for being verbal wasn't the best. Especially in a fabricated situation like being on the phone. It was so weird, because in person, she was a siren. She said the right things, her body moved like a diamond stylus needle on vintage vinyl, flawlessly teasing me. Her needy voice was seductive and her scent could drive me mad. Her taste? God, I could go on forever.

But her dirty phone talk was funny. Maybe it was the frustration I could hear in it, whereas when we were in person, I didn't allow her to get that worked up. I couldn't. I wanted her just as bad, probably more, than she wanted me.

“Are you touching yourself?” I asked the night before the night before Christmas. The holidays were shaping up to be shitty. There wasn’t very many shows planned then. When most people just wanted to spend time with their families, I wanted her to be with me.