Robin

××××

The week goes by in the boring same old routine.

I wake up, I go to work, banter with Kevin about absolutely nothing, get off work, cook, drink wine, and play my guitar.

Sometimes I write down interesting lyrics that pop into my head and tuck the notebook away in a place no one would think to look.

Then I repeat it all over again.

Monday? Same. Tuesday? Still the same. By Wednesday, I’ve begun to feel like a particularly dull background character in someone else’s story.

But Thursday afternoon? That’s when things finally get interesting.

Heather texts me.

It’s from the app, of course. We didn’t think to exchange numbers, which feels a little ridiculous now.

Why have I been checking the app, you ask? Because I was hoping she would text first. Yep, I’m that person.

Her message is straightforward:

“Can we meet this evening? Just for a few minutes.”

I stare at the screen, the little bubble mocking me. My chest does this crazy fluttery thing that I’m definitely not analyzing right now.

I take my time replying, though, because I’m trying not to seem too eager. Even if I am.

“I have something later today,” I reply.

I really do.

Javis’s soon-to-be-wife’s family is coming over to my mom’s mansion for some kind of “get to know you” dinner.

Thrilling, right? Apparently, I have to show up because, I don’t know, they like to see my face at these things. Like I’m some sort of seat filler.

It’ll be the usual. A few polite drinks, a few forced smiles, then I’ll slip out before anyone notices or cares.

Heather replies almost instantly.

“It’ll only take a few minutes.”

I pause, chewing on my lip. A few minutes sounds manageable. And honestly? I’d rather spend those minutes with her than watching Javis charm some poor girl into thinking he’s prince material.

“Okay,” I reply.

“Where?”

She suggests a food place downtown, and I agree. It's just like the bar, in a secluded place and I understand. None of us want this to be public for valid reasons. She's obviously the serious, focused woman who should not be seen with someone like me.

And I'm just cool with whatever.

The clock ticks down, and I find myself looking forward to seeing her.

By the time I walk into the restaurant, she’s already there, sitting at a table by the window.

She looks… different. A little more serious? Stressed? Nervous? Either way, she’s gorgeous, and I’m already wondering why I pretended to be so casual in my replies.

She has on a simple off the shoulder black top, some beige slacks that don't fail to hug her hips and compliment her figure. Her hair is in waves around her face.

I feel like trash in my sweats and hoodie.

When I sit down across from her, she looks up and offers a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair like I’m not about to burst from how sexy she looks.

There’s a pause. She fiddles with the edge of her napkin, and I wait.

Because I won't be the one to break the damn ice.

“I don’t usually do this,” she starts finally, her voice low. “But I really need you to fuck me again.”

She takes a moment to look around as if assessing if anyone is watching us or lip reading her.

“Like, right now. Just… fuck my stress away.”

I blink. Unbelievable!

Then I grin, slow and easy, because how do you say no to that?

“Stress-fucking? I think I can manage that.”

She laughs, the warm and sweet sound fills the room and I forgot how to keep my cool. Now I'm just staring like a mad person.

I lean forward, but she backs away, uncomfortably. I try to musk the red on my cheeks.

“I didn't mean...here. Like literally.”

“Right,” I mutter and we are both laughing again.

She doesn’t say anything else—just grabs my hand and pulls me out of the restaurant.

I'm starting to get mixed signals here because you won't kiss me in front of people but holding hands is okay?

We’re walking to her car, a sleek grey Mercedes and if I did not realize that earlier, now I know she makes good money at whatever job she works at.

Then it hits me, I really don't know this woman.

But I don't ask any questions as we drive off. It's not necessary. We fuck and we go out separate ways.

We end up at a hotel.

I don’t ask questions. I don’t overthink it. I just go with her, because when Heather grabs your hand and says nothing, you follow.

She leaves me in the car and goes in. A second later, she is back with a key. She gets in and we drive through to the back, where surprisingly is the VIP section.

Remember that thing of her wanting all this to be discreet? Well, shit she's going too far. These rooms have to cost a fortune.

And we are only here for "a few minutes!"

When we get inside the room, Heather barely gives me a chance to look around before she’s on me.

Her hands slide under my hoodie to pinch and cup my nipples while her lips crash on mine.

She’s not as patient as I imagined she’d be, and honestly I love it.

There’s a fire in her that I didn’t see coming, a desperation that makes my head spin in all the good ways.

I back us up toward the bed, my knees hitting the edge, and we tumble down in a mess of kisses and hums.

“You’re full of surprises,” I manage to say between kisses.

“Good,” she replies, breathless. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

I’m about to respond when her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She groans and reaches for it, muttering something under her breath.

“Everything okay?” I ask as she glances at the screen.

“Just my fiancé,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Checking in or something.”

I don’t say anything, but I can feel the tiny bit of annoyance bubbling in my chest. She has a fucking fiancé?

Heather silences the phone and tosses it aside, turning her attention back to me. “Where were we?”

I want to pretend. I want to act like none of that affects me but it's not working.

“You have a fiance?”

She laughs like I just said the funniest thing ever.

When she notices I'm not laughing with her, she sighs.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

What in the actual fuck? How can she ask me that?

"Of course it's going to be a problem, you're someone's fiancee. How do you expect me to just fuck you and not think about that?" I think my voice has gone up a jiffy but I don't care.

"Robin..."

"Why didn't you say anything from the start?"

She shrugs, standing up to meet my eyes.  "I didn't think it was important."

"Are you serious right now?"

She gags. "Do the fucking math, Robin, do you really think I would be here asking you to fuck my brains out if I was engaged to someone?" She lifts her hand. "Hell, do you see any ring on this fucking finger? I'm just messing with you."

She jabs my shoulder and her face turns into a stupid smile that I can't help but mimic.

How am I trusting this stranger so much? So easily?

"You swear?"

She takes a heartbeat to answer, staring me right into the eyes. "You're so slow. It turns me on."

I shake my head and lean in for a soft kiss that will soon lead to her screaming my fucking name.

I hope this place is sound proof.