Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(83)

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.

That's what I told myself, I that I wanted her away from her family and to be somewhere with me. Deep down, I knew that wasn't true at all. What I wanted was to be sharing those holidays together with our families.

Maybe we would have spent Thanksgiving here and she could have met my mom, Dad and Carmen, and the girls. We'd have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom and Cory, and Micah now, too, since they were expecting.

My mom would want her to cook, fearing that her dinner wouldn't be worthy in front of a trained chef. Blake would gush over the food. My mom was a great cook and Blake loves food. She was probably one of the least picky eaters I'd ever met.

Then we'd go to my Dad’s and play games with the girls and eat crappy pie that they'd made themselves. Special for the holiday. The girls would love Blake and ask all sorts of questions. Carmen would pretend to be cool like her for my father’s sake.

My dad would probably be more in love with Blake than I was.

She'd play cards with us. Probably drink too much, but still win every hand. She had those kinds of powers. Her ability to will things her way potent. I was no stronger than a deck of cards.

In my fantasy, that really wasn't a fantasy at all, we'd spend Christmas with her family up north. I'd try my damnedest to make her Dad and older brother like me. I'd bring them all cases of beer, which was the key to making friends—if Bay’s profit margin had anything to say about it.

I'd court her mother every chance I'd got. I'd compliment her telling her that she should be proud of such an independent daughter. I'd tell her that she'd get along with my mother, and pray that they would.