Текст книги "Reasonable Doubt. Vol. 1"

Автор книги: Whitney Gracia Williams

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Reasonable Doubt

Whitney G.

Published by Whitney Williams, 2014.

REASONABLE DOUBT

WHITNEY G.

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Whitney Gracia Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

Cover designed by Najla Qambers of Najla Qambers Designs

http://najlaqamberdesigns.com/

For my BFF/ultimate beta-reader/amazing assistant/shoulder to cry on whenever I’m acting crazy/ “person” like they say on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’... Tamisha Draper.

My books would suck without you...

Table of Contents

REASONABLE DOUBT

Prologue

Contract (n.):

Perjury (n.):

Burden of Proof (n.):

Conviction (n.):

Cross Examination (n.):

Recess (n.):

Acknowledgments

Letter to the Reader

Prologue

Andrew

New York City is nothing more than a shit-filled wasteland, a dump where failures are forced to drop all their broken dreams and leave them far behind. The flashing lights that shined brightly years ago have lost their luster, and that fresh feeling that once permeated the air—that hopefulness, is long gone.

Every person I once considered a friend is now an enemy, and the word “trust” has been ripped from my vocabulary. My name and reputation are tarnished thanks to the press, and after reading the headline that The New York Timesran this morning, I’ve decided that tonight will be the last night I ever spend here.

I can’t deal with the cold sweats and nightmares that jerk me out of my sleep anymore, and as hard as I try to pretend like my heart hasn’t been obliterated, I doubt that the agonizing ache in my chest will ever go away.

To properly say goodbye, I’ve ordered the best entrées from all my favorite restaurants, watched Death of a Salesmanon Broadway, and smoked a Cuban cigar on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve also booked the penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria, where I’m now leaning back on the bed and threading my fingers through a woman’s hair—groaning as she slides her mouth over my cock.

Teasingly darting her tongue around my tip, she whispers, “Do you like this?” as she looks up at me.

I don’t answer. I push her head down and exhale as she presses her lips against my balls, as she covers my cock with her hands and moves them up and down.

Over the past two hours, I’ve fucked her against the wall, forced her to bend over a chair, and pinned her legs to the mattress while I devoured her pussy.

It’s been quite fulfilling– fun, but I know this feeling will only last for so long; it never stays. In less than a week, I’ll have to find someone else.

As she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth, I tightly tug her hair—tensing as she bobs her head up and down. Pleasure begins to course its way through me, and the muscles in my legs stiffen—forcing me to let go and warn her to pull away.

She ignores me.

She grips my knees and sucks faster, letting my cock touch the back of her throat. I give her one last chance to move away, but since her lips remain wrapped around me, she leaves me no choice but to cum in her mouth.

And then she swallows.

Every. Last. Drop.

Impressive...

Finally pulling away, she licks her lips and leans back against the floor.

“That was my first time swallowing,” she says. “I did that just for you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” I stand and zip my pants. “You should’ve saved it for someone else.”

“Right. Well, um...Do you want to order some dinner? Maybe we could eat it over HBO and go at it again afterwards?”

I raise my eyebrow, confused.

This is always the most annoying part, the part when the woman who previously agreed to “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” wants to establish some type of imaginary connection. For whatever reason, she feels like there needs to be some type of closure conversation, some bland reassurance that’ll confirm that what just happened was ‘more than sex,’ and we’ll become friends.

But it wasjust sex, and I’m not in need of any friends. Not now, not ever.

“No, thank you.” I walk over to the mirror on the other side of the room. “I have someplace to be.”

“At three in the morning? I mean, if you just want to skip the HBO and go for another round instead, I can...”

I tune out her irritating voice and begin to button my shirt. I’ve never spent the night with a woman I met online, and she isn’t going to be the first.

As I adjust my tie, I look down and spot a tattered pink wallet on the dresser. Picking it up, I flip it open and run my fingers across the name that’s printed onto her license: Sarah Tate.

Even though I’ve only known this woman for a week, she’s always answered to “Samantha.” She’s also told me– repeatedly, that she works as a nurse at Grace Hospital. Judging by the Wal-Mart employee card that’s hiding behind her license, I’m assuming that part isn’t true either.

I look over my shoulder, where she’s now sprawled across the bed’s silk sheets. Her creamy colored skin is unmarred and smooth; her bow shaped lips are slightly swollen and puffy.

Her green eyes meet mine and she slowly sits up, spreading her legs further apart, whispering, “You know you want to stay. Stay...”

My cock starts to harden—it’s definitely up for another round, but seeing her real name has ruined any chance of that for me. I can’t stand to be around anyone who’s lied to me, even if she does have double D tits and a mouth from heaven.

I toss the wallet into her lap. “You told me your name was Samantha.”

“Okay. And?”

“Your name is Sarah.”

“So what?” She shrugs, beckoning me with her hand. “I never give my real nameto men I meet on the internet.”

“You just fuck them in five star hotel suites?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my real name?”

“ I don’t.” I glance at my watch. “Are you spending the night in this room or do I need to give you cab money to get home?”

“ What?”

“Was my question unclear?”

“Wow...Just, wow...” She shakes her head. “How much longer do you think you’ll be able to keep doing this?”

“Keep doing what?”

“Chatting someone up for a week, fucking her, and moving on to the next. How much longer?”

“Until my dick stops working.” I put on my jacket. “Do you need cab fare or are you staying? Check out is at noon.”

“Do you know that men like you– relationship avoiders, are the type that typically fall the hardest?”

“Did they teach you that at Wal-Mart?”

“Just because someone from your past hurt you doesn’t mean that every woman after her will.” She purses her lips. “That’s probably why you are the way you are. Maybe if you tried to actually datesomeone you’d be a lot happier. You should take her out for dinner and actually listen, see her to her door without expecting an invitation inside, and maybe bypass the whole ‘let’s go fuck’ in the hotel suite thing at the end.”

Where are my keys? I need to go. Now.

“I can see it now...” She can’t seem to shut up. “You’re going to want more than sex one day, and the person you want it from is going to be someone you least expect. Someone who will force you to give in.”

I pull my keys from underneath her crumpled dress and sigh. “Do you need cab money?”

“I have my own car, dick-face.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you really this incapable of having a regular conversation? Would it kill you to talk to me for a few minutes after sex?”

“We have nothing more to discuss.” I put my room key on the nightstand and walk toward the door. “It was very nice meeting you, Samantha, Sarah. Whatever the hell your name is. Have a great night.”

“ Screw you!”

“Three times was more than enough. No, thank you.”

“Things are going to catch up to you one day, asshole!” She yells as I step into the hallway. “Karma is one hell of a bitch!”

“I know.” I toss back. “I fucked her two weeks ago...”

Contract (n.):

An agreement between two people that creates an obligation to do or not do a particular action.

Andrew

Six years later...

Durham, North Carolina

The woman who was currently sitting across from me was a fucking liar.

Dressed in an ugly ass grey sweater and a red plaid skirt, her hair looked as if it’d been dyed with a box of crayons. She looked nothing like the woman in the picture online, nothing like the smiling blonde with C-cup breasts, butterfly tattoos, and plump, pink lips.

Before I’d agreed to this date, I’d specifically asked for three separate proof of truth pictures: one of her holding a newspaper with the most recent date on it, one of her biting her lip, and one of her holding up a sign with her name on it. When I requested these things, she’d laughed and said that I was “the most paranoid person ever,” but she’d done them. Or so I thought. With the exception of telling her my real name—I stopped giving out my real name years ago, I’d been completely honest and I expected that in return.

“Well, now that we’re alone...” She suddenly smiled, revealing a mouth full of metal and rubber bands. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Thoreau. How are you today?”

I didn’t have time for this. “Who’s the girl in your profile picture?” I asked.

“What?”

“ Who is the girl in your profile picture?”

“Oh...Well, that isn’t me.”

“ No shitit isn’t you.” I rolled my eyes. “Did you hire a model? Buy a bunch of stock images and use Photoshop?”

“Not exactly.” She lowered her voice. “I just thought you’d be more likely to talk to me if I used that photo instead of my own.”

I looked her over again, now noticing the strange unicorn tattoo across her knuckles and the “Love is blind” quote that was inked onto her wrist.

“What were you expecting to happen when we actually met?” This shit was boggling my mind. “Did you thinkabout what would happen when that day came? When I realized that you weren’t who you said you were?”

“I was kind of expecting for you to have lied about your picture too,” she said. “I didn’t know that you would really look like you, you know? This is the first time a guy on Date-Matchhas told the truth. I think it’s a sign.”

“ It’s not.” I shook my head. “And the model? How did you get someone to take all those pictures?”

“It wasn’t a model. It was my roommate.” Her eyes widened as I stood up. “Wait a second! All the things I said to you on the phone were absolutely true. I aminterested in politics, and I do love studying the law and keeping up with high profile cases.”

“What law school did you go to?”

“Law school?” She raised her eyebrow. “No, not law schooltype of law. Law like, I’ve watched every episode of SVUand I’ve read all of John Grisham’s books.”

I sighed and pulled a few bills out of my wallet, putting them on the table. I’d wasted enough time with her.

“Goodbye, Charlotte.” I walked away, ignoring the rest of her apology.

The moment the valet pulled my car around, I slipped inside and sped off.

This shit is getting ridiculous...

This was the sixth time this had happened to me this month, and I didn’t understand why someone would willingly lie with a potential face to face meeting on the line. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Annoyed, I picked up a bottle of scotch from the store across the street, and made a mental note to block this latest liar from my page. I was starting to feel like I’d run out of available women to sleep with in Durham. I was also starting to feel like I needed to switch cities and start all over again; the cold sweats from years ago had returned, and I knew the nightmares were coming next.

As soon as I stepped into my condo, I poured myself three shots and tossed them back. Then I poured three more.

I scrolled through my phone and checked my emails for the day—client referrals, more requests to chat from Date-Match, and a message from the sexy blonde I was supposed to meet this Saturday.

The subject-line read, “Honesty is Key, right?”

I tossed back another shot before opening it, hoping it was an invitation to meet tonight instead.

It wasn’t. It was a goddamn essay.

“Hey, Thoreau. I know we’re supposed to meet each other this Saturday and trust me, I was sooo looking forward to it, but I need to know that you’re interested in me for me and not my looks. I’ve met a lot of creepy guys on here because they just like my picture, and when we meet, they just want to have sex. I can assure you that I am who I say I am, but I’m looking for something a little more fulfilling than casual sex. We don’t have to have a full blown relationship, or engage in an intense affair, but we could at least build a friendship first, you know? I’m looking forward to seeing you, so let me know if you’re still interested in meeting me—Liz.”

I immediately clicked on my profile and opened the “What I’m Looking For” box, making sure that it still read the same: “Casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing Less.”

That line wasn’t there for decoration, and it was in bold print for a reason.

I returned to the woman’s message and responded. “I am no longer interested in meeting you. Best of luck finding whatever you’re looking for –Thoreau.”

“Are you for real?”She replied instantly. “You can’t use another friend? We can’t be ‘just friends’?—Liz.”

“Hell no—Thoreau.”I signed off and blocked her address.

Another shot made its way down my throat, and I scrolled through the remaining emails—immediately opening the one that came from the only person I considered a friend in this city. Alyssa.

Subject: Desert Dick

So, I’m emailing you right now because I just thought about how much pain you’re in currently...We haven’t talked about you getting laid in quite a while, and that concerns me. Greatly. Like, I’ve CRIED about your lack of pussy...I’m very sorry that so many women have sent you fraudulent pictures and given you a severe case of blue balls. I’m attaching the links to a top of the line lotion that I think you should invest in for the weeks to come.

Your dick is in my prayers,

—Alyssa.

I smiled and typed a response.

Subject: Re: Desert Dick

Thank you for your concerns about my dick. Although, seeing as though you’ve NEVER discussed getting laid, I think having Cobweb Pussy is a far more serious illness. Yes, it is true that so many women have sent me pictures, but it’s quite sad that you’ve never sent me yours, isn’t it? I’m more than willing to send you mine, and eventually help you cure your sad and unfortunate disease.

Thank you for telling me that my dick is in your prayers.

I’d prefer if it was in your mouth.

—Thoreau.

Just like that, my night was now ten times better. Even though I’d never met Alyssa in person and our conversations were restricted to phone calls, emails, and text messages, I felt a strong connection to her.

We’d met through an anonymous and exclusive social network—LawyerChat. There were no profile pictures, no newsfeed activity, only message boards. There was a small profile box where information could be placed (first name only, age, number of years practiced, high or low profile status), and a logo on each user’s profile that revealed his or her sex.

Every user was “guaranteed” to be a lawyer who’d been personally invited via email. According to the site’s developers, they’d “cross-referenced every practicing lawyer in the state of North Carolina against the board’s licensing records to ensure a unique and one of a kind support system.”

I honestly thought the network was bullshit, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’d fucked a few of the women I’d met on there, I would’ve cancelled  my account after the first month.

Nonetheless, when I saw a new “Need Some Advice” message from an “Alyssa,” I couldn’t resist trying to replicate my previous results. I read through her profile first—twenty seven, one year out of law school, book lover—and decided to go for it.

My intent was to answer her legal questions, slowly steer the conversation to more personal things, and then ask her to join Date-Matchso I could see what she looked like. But she wasn’t like the other women.

She sent me constant messages, and she always kept the topic of conversation professional. Since she was such a young and inexperienced lawyer, she asked for advice on the simplest topics: legal brief editing, claim filing, and exhibition of evidence. After we’d chatted five times and I’d grown tired of having three hour long info-dump sessions, I asked for her phone number.

She said no.

“Why not?” I’d typed.

“Because it’s against the rules.”

“I’ve never met a lawyer that hasn’t broken at least one.”

“Then you’re not a very good lawyer. I’ll find someone else to chat with now. Thanks.”

“You’re going to lose that case tomorrow.” I typed before she could end our session. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number? What are you, twelve?”

“Thirty two, and I don’t give a fuck about your phone number. I was only asking for it so I could call and tell you that the brief you sent me is littered with typos, and the closing argument reads like a first year law student wrote it. There are too many mistakes for me to sit here and type them all.”

“My brief isn’t that bad.”

“It’s not that good either.” Before I could sign out of our chat, her phone number appeared on the screen, and underneath it was a short paragraph: “If you’re going to call and help me, fine. If you’re using my number to talk me into joining a dating site later, then forget it. I joined this network for career support, that’s it.”

I stared at her message long and hard—debating whether I should help her with no chance of getting anything out of it, but something made me call her anyway. I walked her through every mistake she’d made, insisted that she clear up a few sentences, and even re-formatted her brief.

Just when I was about to tell her goodbye and hang up, the strangest thing happened. She asked, “How was your day today?”

“That’s not in your brief.” I said. “You only want to talk about lawyer shit, remember?”

“I can’t change my mind?”

“No. Hang up.” I waited to hear a beep, but the only thing I heard was laughter. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was such a raspy and sexy sound, I would’ve hung up myself, but I couldn’t put the phone down.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t. Hang up.”

“I don’t want to.” She finally stopped laughing. “I apologize for that hostile message I sent you...You’re actually the only guy I’ve met on here who answers all my questions. Are you busy right now? Can you talk?”

“About what?”

“About yourself, your life...I’ve been asking you boring legal questions every day, and you’ve been very patient so...It’s only fair that we talk about something less boring for once if we’re going to be friends, right?”

Friends?

I was hesitant to respond—especially since it didn’t seem like the ‘less boring’ topics would involve sex, and she’d said the word “friends” so easily. Yet, I was in the middle of another sex-less night already, so I began to have a regular conversation with her. Until five in the morning, she and I discussed the most mundane things—our daily lives, favorite books, her dream of becoming a late, professional ballerina.

A few days later, we spoke again, and after a month, I was talking to her every other day.

Tossing back another shot, I pressed the call button on my phone and waited to hear her soft voice.

No answer. I considered sending her a text, but then I realized it was nine o’ clock on a Wednesday and we wouldn’t be able to talk at all tonight.

Practice...Wednesday nights are always ballet practice...

***

“Mr. Hamilton?” My secretary stepped into my office the next morning.

“Yes, Jessica?”

“Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Bach would like to know if you want to participate in the next round of intern interviews today.”

“ I don’t.”

“Okay...” She looked down and scribbled something onto her notepad. “Did you at least look over the resumes then? They have to narrow it down to fifteen today.”

I sighed and pulled out the stack of resumes she’d given me last week. I’d read through them all and written notes, mostly—“Pass” “Double Pass” and “I don’t feel like reading this.” All the remaining applicants were from Duke University, and to my knowledge, we were the only firm in the city who accepted pre-law andlaw school applicants for paid internships.

“I wasn’t impressed with any of the applicants.” I slid the papers across my desk. “Was that the entire selection pool?”

“No, sir.” She walked over and placed an even larger stack in front of me. “ Thisis the entire selection pool. Do you need me to do anything else for you this morning?”

“Besides getting my coffee?” I pointed to the empty mug at the edge of my desk. I hated that I always had to remind her to bring it; I couldn’t function in the morning without a fresh cup.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get that right away.”

I turned on my computer and scrolled through my emails, sorting them all by importance. Of course, Alyssa’s latest email was pushed straight to the top.

Subject: Get Over Yourself.

Thank you for the childish picture text of the white dust that was outside your condo this morning. I really appreciated it, but I can assure you that that is NOT what the inside of my vagina looks like right now.

Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t need to get laid every other day to satisfy my needs. They are WELL taken care of with a VARIETY of tools.

—Alyssa

Subject: Re: Get Over Yourself.

I sent you two pictures. One of the white dust and one of a dried up lake with dying animals. Was the second picture more accurate?

The only tool your pussy needs is my tongue. It’s here whenever you want it, and it works in a “VARIETY” of ways.

—Thoreau

“Here you are, Mr. Hamilton.” Jessica suddenly set my coffee on the desk. “Can I ask you something?”

“No, you may not.”

“I thought so,” she said, lowering her voice and looking into my eyes. “I know this is a bit unprofessional, but I need a date for the gala next month.

“Then find a datefor the gala next month.”

“That was my way of asking youto be my date...”

I blinked. I needed to find a way to word this “Hell no” very carefully.

Jessica was fresh out of college—way too damn young for me, working here because her grandfather started this firm, and looking for much more than I’d ever be willing to give. I’d overheard her several times on her lunch breaks, talking about how she wanted to be married before she turned twenty five. She also apparently wanted to be a stay-at-home mom with six kids, and live in a house in the suburbs.

In other words, she was completely out of her fucking mind.

“So, what do you say?” She smiled.

I tried not to roll my eyes. “Jessica...”

“ Yes?” Her eyes were full of hope.

“Look, sweetheart. Not only would it be highly inappropriate for the two of us to everengage in any type of relationship outside of this office, but I’m not the man you’re looking for. At all. Trust me.”

“Not even for one night?”

“The words ‘one night’ in my book hold certain expectations that you couldn’t possibly meet. So, no. Go do some work.”

“Is ‘one night’ a code for sex?”

“Why are you still in my office?”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone if we had sex,” she whispered. “I’ve actually fantasized about it since we first met. And, since you never have any calls on the books from a girlfriend, I’m assuming you’re available.”

“ I’m not.”

“I walked in on you while you were in the restroom once... You’re at least nine inches I think.”

What the fuck?!

I was five seconds away from recording this conversation on my phone and emailing it to her grandfather.

“I’m really goodat giving blowjobs,” she said. “I’ve been doing it since high school. All the guys I’ve blown have said my mouth is amazing.” She bit her lip.

“Is there super-glue on my floor? Is that why you’re still standing there?”

“If you were my date to the gala and we ended up having a good time, you’d be the first man I’d actually went all the way with.” She blurted out, blushing. “I’m still a virgin, down there.”

“Then I’m definitelynot the man for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Now, leave before I call Mr. Greenwood and tell him that his precious granddaughter is offering to suck my dick over morning coffee.”

Shocked, her cheeks tinged red and she quickly walked to the door. Then she looked over her shoulder and winked at me—fucking winkedat me, before stepping out.

I immediately typed a note into my planner: Find a new secretary—an older, married one...

Before I could finish organizing my inbox, my cell phone rang. Alyssa.

“I’m busy,” I answered.

“Then why did you pick up the phone?”

“Because the sound of my voice makes you wet.”

“Funny.” She laughed. “How’s your morning?”

“Typical. My secretary just came onto me for the third time this month.”

“She sent you another ‘You and me belong together’ note with chocolates?”

“No, she offered to suck my dick.”

“What?” She gasped. ”You’re kidding!”

“Unfortunately not. After that, she told me she was willing to give me her virginity. Needless to say, I’ll be posting a replacement ad pretty soon. Anyone from your office want to work for a better firm? I’ll double the salary.”

“How do you know that myfirm isn’t better than yours?”

“Because you call and ask me for advice on cases all the time—silly cases at that. If your firm was better, you’d never have to ask.”

“Whatever.” She groaned. “Have you bucked off the online dating wagon yet?”

“ Bucked? Wagon?” I could never understand her little Southern metaphors. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ugh, god...” She sighed. “It means you didn’t update me about your date last night so I guess it was a bust, which means you haven’t slept with anyone in over a month. That has to be a record for you.”

“It is.”

“Do you want some advice?”

“Not unless you want to come to my office and tell me in person.” I smiled.

“No, thanks. Speaking of advice, I’ll need your help Friday night.”

“With what?”

“I just landed a pretty big case. I haven’t gone through all the documents yet, but I already know I’m in over my head.”

I leaned back in my chair. “If it’s that big of a case, you could bring the documents to my condo tonight. I’d be happy to help you sort through them. Categorization has always been my specialty.”

“Ha! Nice try, but I don’t think so.” She continued to talk about her case, but I was only halfway listening. It still struck me as odd that she didn’t want to meet me in person, that she shut down the very thought any time I brought it up.

“Also...” She was still rambling. “I’ll probably have to do some research on those changes. I’m not sure if—”

“Tell me the real reason why I can’t meet you in person.” I cut her off.

“ What?”

“We’ve known each other for six months now. Why don’t you want to meet?”

Silence.

“Do I need to repeat the question?” I stood up and walked over to my door, locking it. “Did you not understand me?”

“It’s against the LawyerChat rules...”

“Fuck LawyerChat.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s against the rules for you and me to have each other’s phone numbers in the first place, for us to act like fucking teenagers and make each other cum over the phone at night, but you’ve never complained about that.”

“You’ve never made me cum...”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You haven’t.”

“So, last week when I said that I wanted you to ride my mouth so I could eat your pussy until you came all over my lips, you were pretendingto breathe hard?”

She sucked in a breath. “No, but—”

“I thought so. Why can’t we meet in person?”

“Because it would ruin our friendship and you know it.”

“ I don’t.”

“You’ve told me that you never sleep with the same woman twice, that after you sleep with someone you’re done with her.”

“I’ve never fucked one of my friendsbefore.”

“That’s because I’m your only one.”

“I’m aware, but—” I stopped. I had no defense for that.

Silence lingered over the line, and I tried to think of another argument.

She spoke up first. “I honestly don’t want to ruin our friendship over one senseless fuck.”

“I guarantee we’ll have more than onesenseless fuck.”

Her light, airy laugh drifted over the line, and I sighed—attempting to envision what she looked like. I wasn’t sure why, but over the past few weeks, I’d been longing to experience her laughter face to face.

“You know,” she went on, “for a high profile lawyer, you have a pretty dirty mouth.”

“You’d be surprised how much filthier it can get.”

“Filthier than what I’ve already experienced?”

“ Much filthier.” I’d been treading the waters since we began this friendship—still hopeful that we’d meet in person someday, but now that we weren’t, there was no point in holding back. “I guess I’ll talk to youtonight.”

“Not unless you find another date between now and then. I know you’ll be searching.”

“Of course I’ll be searching.” I scoffed. “Is Alyssa your realname?”

“Yes, but I’m sure Thoreauisn’t yours. Do you care to finally give it to me?”

“I’ll give it to you when you come to your fucking senses and let me see you.”

“You just won’t let that go, will you?” She laughed again. “What if the real reason I don’t want to meet you is because I’m ugly?”

“I have a good feeling that you’re not.”

“But if I was?”

“I’d fuck you with the lights off.”

“I prefer the lights on.”

“Then I’d make you wear a paper bag over your head.”

“ WHAT?!” She burst into giggles. “You’re ridiculous! Ugh, there’s a client at my door right now. I have to go. Can I call you later?”

“Always.” I hung up, smiling. Then it hit me.

Fuck...She always finds a way out of that line of questioning...