Jo Leigh - Arm Candy

“Just the luck of the draw. I don’t have many connections in the city, and most of them are pretty obscure, but there are a few that have earned me major brownie points.”

“Tonight, for example.”

He just smiled. She looked so pretty in her pale green blouse and slacks. Like the restaurant, she wasn’t fancy on the outside, but she had the real goods. She’d handled the day like a pro, and though he couldn’t pass any tests on fashion photography, he thought it had gone well.

“Are you going to try the salmon?”

“If Andy recommends it, you can bet it’s the best.”

She closed her menu and leaned back on the soft leather seat. “Okay, then.”

As if signaled, the waitress came to the table and wrote down their orders. All Dan wanted was to be left alone with Jessica. Now that he had his wish, he hesitated. Instead of just coming out with his questions, he drank his scotch and scanned the crowd. A lot of celebrities were in attendance, and he thought a few of them had been at the party last night. God, New York was a tiny place. Especially when it came to the places that were “in” like Biggalow’s. Personally, his favorite restaurant was a little Italian joint three blocks from his place, and there was never a wait to get in.

“I’m surprised,” Jessica said.

“About what?

“I figured you’d have asked me at least one embarrassing question by now.”

“I’m going to. I’m trying to decide how deeply to embarrass you. I mean, we don’t even have our salads yet.”

“So it gets worse by the course?”

“Worse? I’m not trying to torture you.”

She looked at him warily. “Right. Asking about my deepest, darkest secrets is just a pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Well, it sure beats idle chitchat.”

“I don’t know about that. We could talk about the weather.”

“Boring.”

“Sports?”

“Unless I’m participating, I don’t care for them.”

“Not even baseball?”

“Yawn.”

“Okay, how about the women in your life. That seems juicy.”

“About as dull as golf, I’d say.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’d be wrong. But now that you bring it up, what about your love life?”

“What love life?”

“Nothing? Ever?”

“Passing phases, none noteworthy.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Intentional. You know-”

“Career above all.”

“Damn straight.

“But that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped having urges. Thoughts.” He leaned over, moving close enough that he could almost touch her ear. “Fantasies.”

“Ah, here we go.”

“Damn straight.”

She sighed as if it was all too mundane, but even in the dimmed lighting at their booth he could see the hint of pink on her cheeks.

“What,” she asked, “do you want to know?”

“Let’s start out with urges.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Meaning?”

“Are they frequent? Do they come in cycles, like your period? Does something you see or someone you meet spark them?”

“Phew,” she said. “Here I was worried you might get personal.”

He grinned. “You have to admit, it’s an intriguing way to get to know someone.”

“I think I’ll do some research of my own. Start asking you questions.”

“Fire away. But only after you’ve answered me.”

She sipped her drink, a whiskey sour, scanning the room all the while. Finally, just as he was going to nudge her, she faced him again. “The urges come and go, and I’ve never really thought much about what sparks them. They do seem to be cyclical, but some months are worse than others. And yes, sometimes I’ll see a movie, or meet someone who will be the catalyst, but it’s nothing that can’t be controlled.”

“What do you do about them?”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on, Jessica. It’s just biology.”

“Dissecting a frog is biology. This is torment.”

“Have another drink. Then give.”

“All right, all right. I…” She cleared her throat. “I masturbate.”

“Excellent.”

“I didn’t know I was going to be graded.”

“You’re not. It’s just that I figured you’d be in charge in that area, as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a pretty together cookie, and you’ve made some tough choices. I couldn’t imagine you not handling your sexuality in the same manner.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Definite compliment.”

“My libido thanks you, too.”

Dan moved his leg so their thighs touched. She sat up straighter, but didn’t shy away. Which meant he wasn’t pressing too hard. Yet. “Do you use a vibrator?”

“Jesus, Dan.”

“Don’t start. You knew what you were getting into.”

“Wrong. But okay. I’ll answer, but only because I made a promise.”

“Good. So, vibrator? Hand? Showerhead?”

“Yes, yes and sometimes.”

He nodded, trying to give himself an air of a professional researcher and not a horny bastard who had a hard-on that could pound nails into plywood. “Any preference?”

“It all depends on the circumstances. When I just want to get off and get to sleep, I use BOB.”

“Battery-Operated Boyfriend?”

She nodded.

“And when you want it to be more sensual? To last?”

“I pleasure by hand.”

“Those are the ones I want to talk about.”

“Of course.”

He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the table. “I want to hear about those fantasies. The ones that keep you up for hours.”

“I don’t know, Dan. Yes, I promised to be frank, but I’m not sure I can be this frank. This is private stuff.”

“That’s the point.”

“Still…”

Dinner salads and bread arrived, giving her a reprieve, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. He could tell she was feeling more than discomfort, that the conversation, if played well, could lead to much pleasurable mischief. He intended to play it for all it was worth.

They ate for a bit, and he didn’t push, but when she’d eaten her second piece of warm sourdough, and had just a few bits of arugula left in her bowl, he figured it was time. “You want another drink?”

“Yes,” she said too quickly.

He ordered them both a refill, waited for the plates to be cleared, then turned just enough in his seat that she had his whole attention. “Shoot,” he said.

“If only I could.”

He laughed, but he didn’t budge. “Tell me about the most frequent fantasy. The one you come back to the most often.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it terribly pedestrian.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell me the truth.”

“Fine. But if I burst into flames, you’re explaining to the fire department.”

“Deal.”

He leaned back, making sure she couldn’t see his crotch from where she sat. She didn’t need to know what kind of reaction she was getting. At least not yet.

“I suppose the most frequent fantasy is the one where I’m alone in a cabin in the woods. It’s dark, and the winds are strong outside. I have a fire roaring in the fireplace.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A robe.”

“The kimono?”

She looked at him as if he was getting close to some imaginary line. He leaned back an inch, put his hands by his sides.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s another robe.”

“Okay. Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s your nickel.”

“Right, but I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Okay, so where was I?”

“Alone. Cabin. Wind. Robe.”

She frowned at her drink. “I’m warm, and grateful to be out of the cold. I lie down on a big fur rug in front of the fire, and I’m kind of mesmerized by the flames. Before I know it, I’m touching myself.”