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  "You were going out. Yes." I pretended to just remember

  now. "I guess that's why when I saw you in the Mocha I

  noticed you. You looked familiar."

  It sounded like a much better story, said that way, and

  Eric's grin stretched wider. "Uh-huh. Wow. Smal world,

  huh?"

  "Infinitely."

  I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. Instead, I

  bent to finish puling the rest of the clothes from the dryer

  and into my basket. He was stil staring when I stood, my

  basket in my hands.

  "What are you doing after you're done with your laundry?"

  "I thought I'd read my book…" I glanced at the clock on

  the wal, then back at him. "I have to work tomorrow.

  the wal, then back at him. "I have to work tomorrow.

  Why?"

  "I was going to watch a movie. Monty Python and the

  Holy Grail. Have you seen it?"

  "No." I drew the word out, slow, not wanting to jump to

  conclusions.

  "Would you like to?"

  I pretended to think about it, though inside I was already

  screaming out the YESYESYES of Saly's deli orgasm in

  When Harry Met Sally. "Are you asking me to watch it

  with you?"

  "I am." He spread his hands at his sides. "How about it?"

  "Sure. Why not? Just let me put this stuff away and I'l

  come over."

  "Great!" He flashed straight, white teeth and al I could

  think about was how they'd feel denting my flesh. "Half an

  hour, then? Forty minutes?"

  "Sounds good."

  "I'm in one-fourteen," Eric said.

  I dropped my basket.

  Chapter 18

  "Are you al right?" Eric had already gone to one knee to gather my scattered clothes while I did nothing but gape.

  The world made one slow revolution as everything

  changed.

  I recovered wel, or at least wel enough to keep him from

  checking my pulse and offering me CPR. I watched his

  strong, big hands slide along my clothes and put them back

  in the basket, and I didn't move. When he stood to hand

  me the basket, I took it.

  "Fine." I sounded fine. I even managed a smile. I white-

  knuckle-clutched the laundry basket and kept my eyes

  pinned on his. "Let me just run this home and I'l meet you

  at your place, okay?"

  We rode the elevator together, not in silence, though

  looking back it's impossible for me to remember what we

  talked about. I remember his voice, low and rich, and the

  sound of his chuckle when I made some smal joke. I

  remember the sound of machinery whirring as we lifted

  and the way the cool breeze blew against my face when

  and the way the cool breeze blew against my face when

  the door opened on his floor. I can recal the gleam in his

  eyes when he glanced over his shoulder, and the half wave

  he gave me as the door closed. But I can't remember what

  we said.

  In my apartment I set my basket on the bed and puled

  open the door on my nightstand. From inside I took the

  folded paper on which I'd written my most erotic memory,

  and the bottle of Cum-Ezee I'd retrieved from the trash

  before I emptied it. Without the notes and their

  commands, I wouldn't have either one of them. I looked

  around my bedroom, at the new clothes in the closet, at

  the books on the shelf. At the new me I'd become because

  of those letters.

  None of them meant for me.

  Al of them for him.

  The sound of my laughter stung my ears and I closed my

  mouth tight to keep it from escaping again. I looked at the

  jumbled mess of laundry in my basket and thought of Eric

  on his knees, picking it up. My heart thumped a little faster

  and my throat got a little drier.

  Al this time I'd imagined the intended recipient of the

  letters to be a woman. Not me but like me, at least. To

  discover they were meant for a man…I shook my head,

  my hair faling forward from the clip. I closed my eyes and

  pressed a fist to my lips. They'd been meant for a man.

  Did that mean the writer of the notes was…a woman?

  God, that was so fucking hot I couldn't stand it.

  My cunt bloomed molten heat and the seam of my jeans

  pressed suddenly on my clit as I let myself fal back on the

  bed. My nipples tightened, begging for a mouth and hands

  on them. I took my hand from my mouth and let it roam

  my body, though they did little to ease the sudden fire.

  Minutes ticked by as I ran through the lists and pictured

  Eric performing the tasks I'd found so arousing. What

  memory had taken him so long to write he'd returned it

  late? What had he bought at the store that had

  embarrassed him? I thought of his basket, his laundry, and

  the blue shirt there.

  I sat, my hair askew and clinging to my forehead in places.

  Sweating, I puled off my shirt and jeans and ran the

  shower cold enough to make me hiss as I got in and rinsed

  off quickly. New panties, new bra, not so fancy as though

  off quickly. New panties, new bra, not so fancy as though

  it would look as if I was trying too hard should my clothes

  happen to come off. A fresh T-shirt, sleek-fitting, soft and

  flattering. My favorite jeans, the ones that gave me a round

  ass but kept my gut tucked up tight. The gut I didn't realy

  have any longer, I had to admit as I checked out my

  reflection. Courtesy of those lists, I'd been working out

  more diligently than I ever had.

  I swiped a brush through my hair and slid clear gloss over

  my lips. A dusting of powder finished me off without

  making it look as though I'd tried too hard. I grabbed a

  couple of packages of microwave popcorn and a big bowl

  from my cupboard, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops

  and tucked my key into my pocket.

  My phone buzzed as I debated taking it with me. Now

  Austin caled me? After so long silent? I put the phone on

  the table, flipped it the bird and locked my door behind

  me.

  Eric hadn't changed his clothes, but I spied teltale wetness

  in his hair that told me he'd at least washed his face.

  Minty-fresh breath gave away the fact he'd brushed his

  teeth, too, and I hid a grin as he let me in. I hadn't been the

  only one assuming there might be more to this than

  watching a movie.

  I did brace myself as I stepped inside his apartment, but

  on first glance I didn't see anything freaky. He gave me a

  quick tour. Living room, kitchen. His was a two-bedroom

  unit, and he used one for an office complete with shiny

  new iMac that had me salivating with envy. He didn't take

  me into his bedroom, but I caught a glimpse through the

  open door. His window overlooked the parking garage,

  same as mine, but he was closer to it.

  I'd been half expecting a St. Andrews Cross in the living

  room. I think I was a little disappointed. Eric did have a lot

  of leather, but in the form of a modern black-and-chrome

  sofa and chairs arranged in front of a flat-screen television

  hooked up to a bunch