Sex Coach by M. S. Parker
"What did you do ?"
My heart was racing now, but he'd told me too much to stop .
The digital recorder in my little bag might run out of memory before he stopped at the rate he was going .
"I..." Washington stopped abruptly and looked around. "What the fuck are you asking about this for? You can't put this in a rag. How did you hear about the wreck? I buried it ."
He swiped out a hand and the glass went smashing to the floor behind the bar. "Who the hell are you ?"
Rage must have been doing something to clear the alcohol from his head because he suddenly looked a lot more aware than he had even a few minutes ago. His eyes landed on the notepad I'd left on the bar and nerves unraveled in my gut .
Sliding over the barstool, I decided maybe it would be a good idea to make my exit. Like now .
His hand clamped over my wrist and bile surged into my throat. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "Where do you think you're going ?"
Thirty-Three
Jake
M y gut was crawling.
The note from Michelle, the ticket, all of it had left me filled with anger and more than a little fear .
It had been a week since Michelle and I talked about McCrane, and she'd been...distant. Distracted .
Now I understood why .
She left me a short explanation of what she planned to do and told me if I wanted to face him, I could come join the party .
Party ?
One thing she didn't know about Washington McCrane – he was dangerous .
It wasn't just that he'd arranged for me to go to prison. I had a bad feeling he was behind his own son's overdose and there were many other ugly things that trailed back to him. I couldn't prove any of them, but that many trails of smoke weren't coming just because he was a nice, friendly guy .
The press pass she left me had gotten me inside, and so far, nobody had stopped me either. One thing I'd learned in my life was that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, most people left you alone. But now that I was inside the posh hotel conference area, I had no idea where to look for Michelle. Pulling out my phone, I debated on whether to send her a text, only to discover she'd sent me one at some point between my leaving the apartment and getting here .
It read simply .
MacArthur Suite .
I'd been in this particular hotel before and knew that suite. I could even thank Whitley for that. The ballroom was two levels and the MacArthur was up on the second level, just outside the main entrance on that floor. Jogging up the stairs, I told myself that I just might spank Michelle for scaring me like this .
Hotel staff, caterers, people in suits, all of them buzzed around and none of them paid me any attention as I strode down the hall and hung a left .
This hallway was more deserted, quieter too .
The discreet plaque outside the room I needed had a small note beneath. Private party. Do not enter .
Sneering at it, I reached for the handle .
A clatter and a bellow on the other side of the door had me pausing for the briefest second, while the words oh, shit spun through my mind .
I jerked on the handles, but they didn't open .
"Fuck this shit," I muttered, rearing back .
Being big and muscled came in handy at times, and the doors gave way under my shoulder as I rammed into them .
I came up short, though .
Michelle stood in the middle of the room, a frown on her face. And she was holding the front of her shirt, waving it back and forth. There was a wet stain splattering the front of it. On the floor by her feet lay Washington McCrane, his eyes rolled back in his head .
"What the ..."
She looked up at me, then at the doors I'd forced open. "Why did you do that?" Her eyes were big and wide .
"I heard you call out !"
"Oh..." She went red and bit her lip. "He...um...he went to grab me and I..." She mimed swinging her elbow at him .
"You did that?" I pointed to the ass on the floor .
"Yes." She smiled, looking pleased. "After...well, a few years ago, I thought maybe I should take self-defense. I've got a brown belt in taekwondo. That's the first time I've ever actually had to hit somebody though." With a frown, she rubbed her elbow. "It kind of hurt ."
McCrane groaned and lifted a hand as his eyes started to open. The sound drew my attention back to him and murderous rage flooded me .
I started toward him, but Michelle cut between us. "Don't!" She put her hands on my chest. "Don't, okay? It's over. You can have your life back...Matthew ."
I blinked, the sound of that name so foreign, I didn't know what to think .
"What in the hell happened?" the older man on the floor said, his voice getting louder with every word .
From where I stood, I could see when his eyes landed on Michelle, and when memory returned. Those angry eyes narrowed, and he started to speak, but Michelle shifted and when she did, I came into full view .
His eyes widened .
I don't know at exactly what second he recognized me, but he started to scramble back on the ground. It would have been wise, because I wanted to take him apart .
But again, Michelle caught my arms .
"Don't." She adjusted her stance so she could see the man on the floor as she held out her hand. "Listen ."
I glanced down and in it was a small, rectangular device. Frowning at the sight of it, I shook my head. But then she pushed a button, and I realized what it was – a digital recorder .
McCrane's voice came spilling out .
"He told me what he did, Matthew," she said earnestly. "He told me that Marlon had been driving and that Marlon crashed the car ."
"That's fucking crazy!" Washington shouted, shoving upright. "You stupid bitch, what are you playing at ?"
But she ignored him. "You can have your life back. My parents have connections too. They'll help you clear your name, and he can pay for what he did ."
That pushed Washington over the edge, and he got up, rushing at us .
This time, I was the one to smash a body part into the man's face .
But it wasn't my elbow .
It was my fist, and if my knuckles were bruised and sore afterward, it was well worth it .
He went down, hard, and this time, his eyes didn't roll back. They flat out shut, and he was still out of it when the cops arrived a short time later .
Thirty-Four
Michelle
M y heart was still hammering against my ribs .
The man I loved had disappeared into the bathroom a few minutes ago. Jake – he decided he wanted to continue to go by the name Jake King – had just thoroughly destroyed my mind. Again .
One of these days, I was going to do the same to him .
Rolling onto my belly, I eyed the door and thought about the past few months .
Washington McCrane had taken a plea deal and was doing a couple of years at a prison in Texas back where the crimes he'd committed had taken place. He probably would have fought harder, but I'd let some of the story leak to a reporter I knew – I wasn't above letting a story leak if it was for the right reason – and people started coming out of the wood work with dirt on the scumbag .
Maybe he thought if he took a plea deal, he'd be safer from the other people who were looking to come after him. I had no idea .
Jake had gone to see his father. They were trying to fix their relationship. Apparently, his dad had been looking for him for some time, but the name change had made it hard .
Jake going to him had made it easier...or as easy as it could be, all things considered .
He'd been busy .
Not just renewing his relationship with his father, but with other things. He moved in with me and started a new job ??
One of them was as a freelance writer...for Coterie , of all places .
He surprised the hell out of me when the article had gone live a month after everything had gone down with McCrane .
The article had been titled ,
I Was a Male Prostitute and I'm Giving It All Up For Love .
It had been written under a pseudonym – as had the other two articles he'd penned for them. And they wanted more .
But that was what he'd done, given up the life he'd been living for me. He told me it wasn't much of a sacrifice, though, walking away from that life for one with me .
My parents were still at work helping him clear his name. Nothing moved fast when it came to political shit, I guessed .
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up. Gina had taken me under her wing and often helped me come up with new ideas to pitch to Aunt Blair .
The message on my phone was the thumbs up from my aunt .
I grinned, even as a blush colored my cheeks .
It had taken all my courage to send that particular suggestion to her. After all, talking blow jobs with your aunt was almost as much fun as talking about them with your mother .
But there it was...the go ahead for my new assignment .
How to Give Your Man the Best Blow Job
The door to the bathroom opened, and Jake came out .
I smiled at him and crooked my finger. "I think I'll need your help on another writing assignment ."
Turn the page to read the free Bonus Box Set, Casual Encounter: The Complete Series .
T his book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental .
Copyright © 2017 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC
Casual Encounter Vol. 1
One
Aubree
E verything was perfect.
My wedding dress was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I'd fallen in love with it the moment I'd first seen it at the bridal store and everyone said it was made for me. The only one, of course, who hadn't given an opinion was Ronald, but everyone assured me that he'd love me in it .
As I stood at the back of the church, watching my bridesmaids make the slow walk up the aisle, their royal purple dresses shimmering, I hoped everyone was right. I wanted today to be the most special day of my life. I was marrying the man I loved and I'd remember this day forever .
Then came the wedding march and my dad gave me a supportive smile. We started down the aisle and the audience stood. All eyes were on me, but… no one was smiling. In fact, the expression on every face – my friends, my family, my co-workers – was one of pity. I didn't understand. What was wrong ?
I was halfway toward the front when I looked up. My bridesmaids were all there, lined up in order. My two closest friends, my sister-in-law and my cousin. Their face held pity as well. I looked to my right. The groomsmen were all there, including my brother, but I didn't see Ronald anywhere .
My heart began to pound as my father and I kept walking. Where was Ronald? Why wasn't anyone stopping the music and looking for him? Why was the priest just standing there, a solemn expression on his face ?
Suddenly, the pressure on my arm was gone. I looked to my right but my father had disappeared. A glance to my left and found him sitting with my mother now and they were both looking expectantly at the priest. I turned toward the old man as well .
“Dearly beloved,” he intoned in a flat voice. “We are gathered her to witness the humiliation of Bree Gamble as her fiancé Ronald Peterman has chosen to desert her on their wedding day ...”
I jerked awake, a protest on my lips and breathed a sigh of relief as I flopped back down onto my pillows. My pulse was racing and there was a thin sheen of sweat on my skin despite the air conditioning in my tiny bedroom .
It was a dream. A nightmare. Sort of .
I turned my head and in the dim early morning light, made out the stack of presents sitting in the corner of my room. Their unopened paper and untouched ribbons reminded me that it was a nightmare based on reality. While the events hadn't played out the same way, the ‘humiliation of Bree Gamble’ had occurred .
I rolled away from the gifts and punched my pillow a few times, wishing it was Ronald’s face instead. He and I had dated for five years, then been engaged for nearly two. Everything had been perfect – until that day. I'd been standing in front of the mirror, waiting for my maid of honor to come and tell me it was time. Instead, she'd come into the bridal room looking both pissed and upset in equal measure. Ronald had left... with our wedding coordinator .
Over the past week, I learned that the two of them had slept together one night when Ronald had volunteered to go over the seating arrangements because I'd been sick. Now, they were living together in the apartment we'd picked out, leaving me to figure out the best way to return all of the gifts we'd never opened .
I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I could block out my memories as easily as I could the gray light. The pain was still fresh, but I supposed that was normal. It had just happened last weekend. This past week, I'd intended to be on my honeymoon, but instead, I'd given the tickets to my parents, hoping the Caribbean cruise would make up at least some of the cost of the wedding. I hadn't gone crazy with it, but I was the only girl, so my parents had been more than happy to pay for the wedding of my dreams .
I barked a harsh laugh. For the past nine nights, I'd been learning the hard way that there was a difference between a day-dream wedding and an actual dream wedding. I sat up and raked a hand through my short, cocoa-colored curls. I was still getting used to that. My hair had been down to the middle of my back last week, but on Wednesday, tired of moping around the house and avoiding phone calls, I'd decided I wanted to make a change. I'd gone into a stylist and gotten my hair cropped shorter than it had ever been before. Even I didn’t recognize me sometimes .
I glanced at the clock. Five minutes until my alarm was scheduled to go off so no point in laying back down. I climbed out of bed. Other than that one little foray to the salon, today is the first day I ventured outside my apartment since my non-wedding. I hadn't even gone to the teachers' meeting on Friday .
Headmaster Norris had already given me permission to miss the meeting for my honeymoon, so she was willing to give me time off for my bittermoon as well. She’d been pretty sympathetic and it hadn't taken much to convince her I was having a hard time pulling myself together. That wasn't entirely true. I wasn't falling apart. Sure, I'd spent pretty much the entire week in my pajamas, sitting on the couch binge watching television shows online, but I wasn't breaking down in tears or drowning my sorrows in alcohol. Double chocolate fudge ice cream worked just as well .
I was actually looking forward to getting back to work, getting my mind off of things. One of the reasons I'd been thrilled to get hired at Legacy Academy last year had been their rigorous academic standards. Their students were among the brightest in all of Chicago. Keeping lesson plans that would engage, interest and challenge students whose IQs were in the gifted to genius ranges was quite a challenge .
The one thing I wasn't looking forward to, however, would be the questions from students and staff as to why the diamond ring they'd gushed over hadn't been joined by a wedding band, but had, rather, disappeared. Only a couple of the other teachers at Legacy had been invited to the wedding, but I was hoping they'd at least told the faculty what had happened. I didn't want to spend the entire first day having to repeat that story .
Almost unconsciously, my thumb rubbed against the inside of my ring finger. In the two years I'd worn it, I'd gotten in the habit of playing with my engagement ring. Ever since I'd taken it off and mailed it back to Ronald, I'd found myself behaving as if it was still there .
&n
This one, however, was from my best friend, Adelle Merriman-Dane. She and I had grown up next door to each other in one of Chicago's middle class suburbs and we'd been inseparable almost from moment one. Our birthdays were even only two weeks apart, with me being the older one. We'd been through a lot together. My mom's breast cancer, her father's heart-attack. Her marriage at twenty-two and then being widowed just six months later. Everything had just brought us closer together. She'd been the one to tell me about Ronald leaving and the one who’d held me while I cried, telling me I'd feel better in time .
I read through her text, the tension inside me easing when I saw that it wasn't more bad news .
Hey sweetie, wishing you luck on your first day back. Don’t let the little hellions get to you. Don't forget dinner at L20. You, me and Mindy are getting our wine on Friday night !
I managed a faint smile as I sent back a quick thank you and five emoji shaped bottles of wine. Adelle and I had made Friday dinners a thing since we were in college, though those had usually consisted of pizza in our dorm room. When she'd married a dot-com billionaire, we'd started going through the finer restaurants in Chicago. By the time I met Mindy at Legacy while we were both student teaching three years ago, Adelle and I had regular reservations at L20, a beautiful seafood restaurant with amazing service and even better food. Adding one more to our table hadn't been difficult .
I climbed into the shower and thought about how nice it would be to drown my sorrows in some expensive wine. It had taken me a while to get used to Adelle paying for our Friday nights out, but once she'd shown me the extent of the fortune her late husband had left her, I hadn't let it bother me. I’d do the same for her if the situation was reversed .