Page 56 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 7

Jennifer

During the workweek, Bradley and I had agreed not to spend the night. He liked to go to sleep early to be bright-eyed for his early morning patients while I was somewhat of a night owl. My late-night activities, which ran the gamut from watching TV or reading a book on my Kindle to raiding the refrigerator, kept him up. Moreover, he firmly believed we should wait until we got married to live together.

So, after dinner, Bradley and I each went our own way. He stood with me outside the restaurant while I waited for the valet to bring me my car. Bradley had parked his several blocks a way to save money. When my little red Kia arrived, he pecked my cheek and told me he loved me. “Love you back,” I said as I scooted into the driver’s seat. Driving off, I turned on my radio. Alicia Keyes was singing, “This Girl is on Fire.” My heart clenched in my chest. This girl wasn’t.

The house I shared with Libby was a small two-bedroom Spanish cottage in a modest neighborhood known as Beverly Hills Adjacent. It was the last house on the street, situated between an empty foreclosure and a deserted parking lot. Wearily, I pulled into the driveway.

I had the house to myself. Libby was working late conducting focus groups. Usually when she had groups at night, she didn’t get home until ten. I wasted no time changing into my comfy-cozy SpongeBob pajamas and curling up on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea and the stack of ratings. Shoving my glasses onto my head, which I needed for distance only, I pored over the numbers.

My mind, however, kept wandering, and the numbers before me became a blur. I couldn’t get that kiss out of my head. Those lips consuming mine. That tongue. Entwined with mine, swirling and twirling.

A sick feeling fell over me. I took another sip of my tea. It was just a fluky thing. A silly dare. A silly game. It should mean nothing to me. But it had undeniably aroused feelings and sensations in me I’d never felt before. My heartbeat quickened, and tingles danced between my legs as I kept thinking about it. I closed my eyes and pretended I was kissing that man again, rolling my tongue with the imaginary yet very real one in my head.

The familiar ring of my cell phone hurled me out of my fantasy. I reached into my shoulder bag parked on the couch next to me. My heart jumped when I saw who was calling on the screen. My boss! Blake Burns. Was he calling to check up on me? To test me?

“Hello,” I said nervously. The way the word came out sounded almost like a question.

“Hi.” His voice was relaxed and sultry. It gave me goose bumps. I didn’t know what to say next. Fortunately, he spared me from responding.

“I was just calling to find out how you’re doing. When I thought about it, I thought maybe I’d overloaded you on your first day at the job.”

“No, everything’s fine,” I stammered. “I’m used to reviewing numbers. I did a lot of that at USC.”

“Good. I’ll look forward to your analysis tomorrow. By the way, I’d prefer an oral presentation.”

The way he breathily drew out the word “oral” made my whole body tremble. The phone shook in my hand.

“Not a problem.” My voice shook too.

“Then let me not keep you from your work. Good night, Jennifer.”

Click.The phone went dead before I could bid him the same. I immediately returned to the stack of papers and studied the numbers. A pattern was emerging. Men 18+ were in full force in prime time and piqued in the early morning hours. And then, there was almost a total fall off. The great majority of men watching SIN-TV in the daytime were over the age of sixty-five. The morning lineup fell short in the key advertiser demographic—adults 18-49.

The sound of the front door opening diverted my attention. I looked up. It was Libby with her large canvas messenger bag hooked over her shoulder and a huge stack of folders in her hand. Despite such a long day, she looked vibrant. Ready to party.

“Hi,” I said, in awe of her stamina. “How did your groups go?”

“They were really interesting,” she replied, throwing her bag and folders onto the coffee table and then flopping down on an oversized armchair catty-corner to me, her muscular legs dangling over the arm.

“How so?”

“I was testing a pilot called Her Space about astronauts’ wives with women for the CBC drama department. Almost everyone complained it wasn’t sexy enough.”

My ears perked up. “What did they expect?”

“Something more erotic. A few women even used the words ‘erotic romance.’”

My mind was racing. “Is there a huge audience of women in the morning?”

Libby nodded. “Yeah. Daytime TV is all about women.” She swung her legs off the arm of the chair and stood up. “I’m going to the kitchen. I need a glass of wine. Do you want one?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Enough with the tea. As my roommate drifted out of the living room, my brain percolated with ideas.

Libby returned quickly with two wine glasses filled almost to the brim. She handed one to me and sunk back into the armchair.

“To your new job,” she toasted. We clinked our goblets together and put our lips to the rims in unison. I took my first sip of the too-familiar, cheap white wine. Good old Trader Joe’s Two-Buck Chuck.

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