Cover Me

Thankfully, butter-cream icing diverted the girls’ attention. I cut wedges of the yellow cake and passed them all around, and there were a few extra slices for spectators who eyed the free food like starving coyotes.

I ate the cake with my hands and savored the fats and sugars that sang to my tastebuds—despite my best dietary intentions, I had a vigorous sweet tooth. I was licking the icing off my fingers when I realized that if the guy at the bar was watching, he’d think my manners were wanting…or that finger-licking was my method of bewitching a man into asking me out. My eyeballs hurt from the strain of not looking back to see if he was looking back to see if I was looking back to see if he was looking back at me, but I had discipline. I had devoured only one piece of cake, hadn’t I?

I pushed the man from my thoughts and ordered us all another round of drinks. For the next hour, the girls and I dished about work and music and movies, agreeing that recycled office air was ravaging our skin, Josh Groban was the best thing that had happened to serious music in a long time, and The Thomas Crowne Affair was the sexiest movie of all time. Once or twice I accidentally glanced toward the bar and noticed that Eagle Scout was still there. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, lingering over a steak and watching a sports channel on the TV over the bar. Something about the casual, athletic way he held his body spoke to me. I told myself a guy who looked that good had to be taken.

On the other hand, I wasn’t chopped liver, and I was sleeping alone.

At that precise moment, he looked up and caught me staring. A hint of a smile curved his mouth and my heart went kaboom. I had never been so instantly and unjustifiably attracted to a man, so I blamed it on the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream and the urge to be disobedient on my birthday. I readied my most flirtatious smile, then was assailed by a violent itch on my neck that reminded me why I was still single at thirty-one—I kept picking the same kind of guy.

So I pretended to be looking at something behind the guy’s broad shoulder, and rejoined my friends’ conversation about the best long-lasting lipstick.

“We did a piece last month on a lady in Boston who specializes in cosmetic tattooing,” I offered. “Permanent lip-liner, beauty marks, even eyebrows.”

Everyone paused in consideration, then winced and shook their heads. I agreed, but I wondered if I’d warm up to the idea of permanent makeup a few birthday candles down the road.

When Jacki glanced at her watch, I realized that she probably had plans with Ted later and that I should wrap things up and let her off the hook.

“Thanks for everything, girls.” I glanced around at the women who had been constants in my life for over four years and felt a mushy mood coming on.

“Open the dildo kit before we leave,” Denise urged.

The mushy mood vanished. “Here?”

“Just the directions,” Cindy said. “I’m dying to know how this thing works.”

Not wanting to seem unappreciative, I set the box on the table and, while covering as much of the wording as possible, broke the seal with my thumbnail. I raised the lid a couple of inches and studied the innocuous looking white containers and cardboard cylinder. It had all the trappings of a science project. I withdrew a pink sheet of paper with the ominous words Before Making Your Dildo, Read These Directions Carefully printed across the top.

The girls huddled close, and I was reminded of the time in fourth grade when I’d stolen the insert from my mother’s box of tampons and scoured it with a friend on the school bus. In a low voice, I read the step-by-step instructions to mix the casting agent with tap water, pour the mixture into the cardboard cylinder that was closed at one end, then have the properly prepped “caster” insert his member into the cylinder, and the casting agent would harden almost instantly, creating a perfect cast when he withdrew. The final step was to fill the cast with tinted silicone, let it set for two hours, then pop out the replica dildo and “enjoy.”

While the girls hugged themselves with laughter, I scanned the rest of the directions. After “enjoying,” the dildo could be cleaned by placing it in the top rack of the dishwasher. Olé.

“This is going to be great,” Jacki said, nodding. “You have to promise to show us the end product.”

I shrugged. “Sure, but I have to warn you—I don’t see any ‘casting’ parties in my near future.”

“I don’t know,” Denise sang. “The guy at the bar is still looking over here.”

I refused to look, but I couldn’t hold back a frivolous smile. “Really?”

“But if you’re going to have a one-night stand,” Jacki said, “you have to know the ground rules.”

“I’m not having a one-night stand,” I insisted, shaking my head. Then I squinted. “There are ground rules?”

Jacki nodded. “You have to let a friend know who you’ll be with.”

“That’s so if you’re strangled, we’ll be able to give the police a description,” Cindy added solemnly.

“Ah.”

“But don’t worry—I could describe him with my eyes closed,” Denise said, then closed her eyes. “Brown hair, chinos, T-shirt, cowboy hat.” She opened her eyes. “How’d I do?”

“You got the T-shirt right,” I offered.

Denise frowned and twisted for another steely observation. “Damn, why did I think he was wearing a cowboy hat?”

“Because he has that look,” Jacki said. “Like he might lasso something.” She looked at me. “Or someone.”

I scratched. “This is not going to happen.”

“Don’t take him back to your place, and don’t go to his,” Cindy said.

“Right,” Denise added. “It has to be somewhere safe and neutral—like a hotel room.”

“That way he won’t know where you live.”

“Oh, and lie about where you work, in case he’s a stalker.”

“And don’t give him your real last name.”

“Or your real phone number.”

I was dizzy from looking back and forth. “Let me get this straight—assuming the man and I have a conversation before falling into bed, I’m supposed to tell him a pack of lies?”

“Right,” Denise said.

“Is he allowed to talk?”

“Sure,” Jacki said. “But assume he’s lying, too.”

“And if you spend the night, leave before he wakes up,” Denise said.

“That way you can avoid the whole awkward morning-after scene,” Cindy said.

“Although leaving something for him to remember you by is a nice touch,” Jacki added. “I once left an earring.”

“The little rose from my bra,” Cindy said dreamily.

“A garter belt,” Denise admitted.

I laughed, incredulous. “If it’s so much work, why bother?”

“Good sex,” Jacki said.

“Great sex,” Cindy said.

“Fabulous sex,” Denise said. “It’s very liberating to get down and dirty with someone you’ll never see again.”

“Right,” Jacki said. “Sex with someone you love is the best, but sex with a stranger is right up there near the top of the list.”

“It’s kind of like being a man for one night,” Cindy said. “Having great sex with no emotional attachment, no strings.”

They were all nodding, and I felt ridiculously left out. A liberating experience might be just what I needed to mark an unremarkable birthday. I glanced toward the bar and the sandy-haired guy was still there, watching TV and sprawled loosely in his chair. I felt myself begin to salivate. Of course, entertaining a naughty thought was one thing—acting upon it was something else entirely. Segues had always been a problem for me. I didn’t mind taking chances, but I could never seem to do it elegantly.

“Assuming I were to have a conversation with the guy, and assuming that he’s available and willing to have a one-night stand—” I ignored the round of snorts “—how does one broach the subject of making a cast of a man’s penis?”

Jacki shrugged. “A man is always looking for an interesting place to put it.”

“Yeah,” Cindy said. “Tell him he’ll be immortalized in silicone, and try to stop him from poking into that plaster.”

“Or,” Denise added, pointing to the sheet of paper I held, “just show him the directions and ask him if it looks like fun.”

Jacki glanced at her watch. “I have to take off. Cindy, Denise, want to share a cab?”

“Sure,” they said in unison, and reached for their purses.

“I’m not staying here alone,” I cried, scrambling to gather dildo kit, card, gift-wrap debris and my own bag.

Jacki made a protesting noise. “Kenzie, he isn’t going to talk to you if we’re in a huddle. Goodbye.” The girls waved and strode toward the door.

I glanced in the direction of the bar and the guy seemed to have noticed the commotion. He leaned forward slightly, as if he was trying to decide whether to make his move. I panicked and stood to follow my friends. But when I hit my feet, the tequila hit my adenoids and sent an air bubble to my brain. I grabbed for the table, and all my belongings fell to the floor. Something heavy hit my shoe, but I was too light-headed to do more than wince. Slowly the sparkly feeling subsided and I blinked the Eagle Scout into view. If anything, he was even nicer looking up close.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a warm, husky voice.

Thick hair the color of antique brass, wide cheekbones, sun-bleached eyebrows…and shiny brown bedroom eyes. The moisture evaporated from my mouth, and pure desire bolted through me. “I…yes.”

He flashed that killer smile, and my knees turned to elastic. At the same time, we bent to gather my wayward items. Thank heavens the dildo kit box had landed facedown, but its contents—canisters of the casting agent and the silicone—had rolled away. He retrieved them with long, tanned arms, and handed them to me. When our fingers touched, my heart raced, and my ears rang like wedding—er, church bells. Spending time with this man would be hazardous to my plan of finding a nice unsexy guy to settle down with. I was already half in love with him and I didn’t even know his name.

While covering the words on the box, I stuffed the canisters inside and stood, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. “Thank you, um—”

“Sam,” he said.

Nice name. “Thank you. Sam.” His friendly eyes held an invitation that promised to have me on an antihistamine drip.

“And you are?”

“Just leaving,” I said with a tight smile. It was for my own good.

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed, but accepting. “Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice almost meeting you.”

I experienced a pang of regret because the man emanated sexual vibes that my body honed in on. “Nice almost meeting you, too.”

I turned to go, telling myself I might meet my nice unsexy settling-down guy while I waited for a cab.

“Hey,” he called. “You forgot something.”

I turned back and, to my horror, saw him bending to retrieve the pink sheet of paper with the Make Your Own Dildo directions written on it. The subhead—The Only Kit That Lets You Cast It from the Real Thing—seemed to jump off the page. I lunged for the paper, but Sam was too quick for my tequila-diluted mobility. When he lifted his gaze from the sheet, a mischievous smile curved his mouth and his eyes danced. “Looks like fun.”

Desire gripped me and I mentally reviewed the ground rules for a one-night stand. Olé.

3

WHEN I JERKED AWAKE, sunlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains of the hotel room and Sam’s warm breath bathed my shoulder blade. I enjoyed two seconds of blissful afterglow until panic seized me like a giant hand, squeezing the air out of my lungs. What time was it? I bolted upright and a tiny tequila bomb exploded inside my head. I carefully raked the hair out of my eyes, searching for a clock. Next to me, Sam moaned and reached out an arm—presumably for me. I put a pillow under his hand, and he seemed content to pull it close and fall back into a dead sleep.

So much for being irreplaceable.

Holding my head, I left the bed, trying not to disturb him, and trying not to shriek in my mounting fear that I was probably late for work. The air-conditioner vent was blowing like an arctic breeze—I was naked and freezing and my thigh muscles screamed from overuse as I limped around the room looking for my watch, my underwear and my mind. What had I been thinking to spend the night with a stranger in his hotel room? I felt like a…dirty girl.

I found my watch on a table under a pile of clothes, and nearly swallowed my tongue—I had ten minutes to dress and get to work on time. Helena would have my head.

I scooped up the pile of clothes and my bag that doubled as briefcase and purse, then sprinted into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before flipping on the light. I stared blinking into the mirror, horrified at my reflection—my blond hair stood on end and my eyes were mascara-rimmed. Worse, with my kiss-swollen mouth and heavy-lidded eyes, I looked as if I’d just had the best night of sex in my life.

Which was true.

Except my swollen lips and heavy eyes were actually manifestations of the allergic reaction that had claimed my body—they perfectly complemented the hives raised on my neck and chest. I was allergic to big Sam, big time.

While I ran enough water in the sink for a quick wash up, I tried not to dwell on the image of Sam’s bronze body wrapped around mine, and the amazing things he’d done to me. Granted, not dwelling was easier said than done considering that sitting on the sink vanity was the cardboard cylinder that held the cast we’d made of Sam’s…you know. Hardened flesh-colored silicone seeped from the end of the cast impression, and I was dying to see how the dildo had turned out, but getting ready for work took priority.

I downed aspirin from my handbag and willed it to kick in quickly. With soap and a washcloth, I gave my body a quick once-over, then rummaged in Sam’s leather toiletry bag for deodorant. The sporty scent might raise a few eyebrows, but it was better than the alternative. I pulled makeup basics from my purse, and applied it all in record time, then squirted perfume on my wrists. The hives were itching like crazy, but I knew scratching would only make them worse.

I pulled my haphazard hair back into a twist and secured it with the only clasp I could find in my purse—a banker’s clip. It would have to do until I could grab something from the prop room at work. Then I sorted through the clothes with dread in my stomach. If I showed up wearing the same clothes I’d worn yesterday, I might as well wear a sign that read I Got Laid Last Night. I opted not to wear the same pair of panties, reckoning that my pantyhose would be enough of a barrier between me and my slacks for decency’s sake. But my blouse was stained with makeup from yanking it over my head last night, and I hadn’t worn a jacket.

I eyed the closet next to the shower and peeked inside to find a beautiful tan-colored suit, white dress shirt, and geometric tie hanging under plastic. I was surprised because Sam didn’t seem like the suit type—he’d told me he was a doctor visiting from out of town, but hadn’t Jacki said to assume he was lying? I had certainly lied, as instructed, including telling him my last name was Moore.

With murmured apologies, I slid the dress shirt from the plastic, shrugged into it, rolled up the sleeves, secured it wrap-style, and tucked it inside my navy slacks. I used the geometric tie as a belt, then glanced into the mirror. Not bad for a ten-minute session—as long as no one looked too closely.

I stuffed my makeup bag, blouse and panties into my bag and prepared to dash out the door when I remembered the “cast.” Since I’d never see Sam again, I was definitely taking that souvenir with me. But when I hefted the cardboard cylinder that held the hardened cast, I realized it was too heavy to lug around and would take up too much room in my bag. So I slipped my fingers under the mound of silicone at the base of the cast, and after a couple of tugs, pulled out the dildo with a pop.

I gasped. Granted, the kit had said the dildo would be lifelike, but…damn. It was indeed an exact replica of Sam’s finest physical asset. A splendid springy, firm, flesh-colored replica that brought tingly memories flooding back to various parts of my body. I had lucked out when I’d chosen Sam as the “caster.” This baby was going on display in my china cabinet.

After a couple of appreciative strokes, I shoved the homemade dildo into my bag, flipped off the light, and opened the door as quietly as I could. In the semidarkness, Sam was still snuggled up to the pillow. I conceded a stab of desire just looking at his long lean body in the twisted sheets. The chemistry between us had been magical, but I knew that the intensity of our lovemaking had more to do with the fact that we’d never see each other again than with any kind of kismet. Besides, the unbearable itching on my chest was proof enough that my body would be in a constant state of chaos if I spent any time at all with the man.

Still…the romantic in me wanted to believe that our one-night stand was better than any one-night stand in history. I had the overwhelming urge to push the hair off his forehead and kiss him goodbye, but gave myself a mental shake. I did, however, recall what Jacki said about leaving a memento. I needed my earrings to look halfway put together, my bra didn’t have an embroidered flower, and I didn’t own a garter belt.

But in my bag I had a pair of pink imported French panties that had held Sam’s attention for quite a while before he’d removed them with his teeth. The expensive un-dies seemed like a fair trade for the dress shirt.

I dropped the panties on the side of the bed I’d slept on, glanced around to make sure I had my belongings, and walked to the door as soundlessly as I could. I looked back at Sam’s sleeping form and experienced a twinge of regret that I hadn’t shared enough information about myself or found out enough about him for us ever to connect again. And even though it was probably against the rules, I blew him a wistful kiss.

I wasn’t very good at this one-night-stand business.

And I was late for work. I took the elevator to the lobby and dashed through it with my head down, sure that everyone knew what I’d done. I walked faster and faster, which only brought into play more and more muscles that I’d overworked last night and aggravated my booming headache. And apparently Sam liked heavy starch—the collar of his shirt chafed my neck, and the fabric was wreaking havoc on my hives. Some part of me, though, felt as if I deserved to be miserable after what I’d done. Mind you, I’m not a virginal prude, but deep down I still wanted to believe that sex was a special, intimate experience with emotional fallout. To realize that I had so enjoyed the purely physical encounter left me questioning what I knew to be true about myself.

I hailed a cab and slid into the lobby of the Woolworth Building a mere fifteen minutes late, but I felt as though the day had started without me. My nerves clanged and I wondered what Helena had manufactured for me to do today to make up for the fact that I’d left early yesterday. Fridays were notoriously busy so that those who would be working over the weekend could get the assignments that they had to complete for Monday morning. I wasn’t surprised when I walked into my closet-office to the tune of my phone ringing.

I set my bag on my desk and yanked up the receiver. “Kenzie Mansfield.”

“Well?” Jacki asked.

One side of my mouth slid back. “Well, what?”

“Well, how was the Eagle Scout?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you that message.”

“It was the safe thing to do. Did you spend the night?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“And how was it?”

“Great,” I admitted.

“You don’t sound too excited. Did he refuse to be cast?”

I glanced toward my bag where the lifelike dildo resided. “Uh, no, he was…up for the job.”

“And?”

“And it worked perfectly.”

“I’m going to order a kit for me and Ted as soon as I hang up.” She paused. “Why are you so glum—was he…petite?”

I laughed and dropped into my chair. “No, he was not petite. I’m just feeling out of sorts. My head is hammering, I woke up too late to go back to my apartment, I had to wear his shirt to the office—”

“You weren’t supposed to talk to him this morning!”

“I didn’t.”

“You stole the guy’s shirt?”

I mourned my pink Lejaby panties. “More like traded for it. Anyway…I don’t know, Jacki, it was really weird to sleep with this guy and just get up and leave, knowing I’ll never see him again.”

“Maybe you will run into him again.”

“He said he’s from out of town.”

“He probably lied. For all you know, he could work in the mailroom of your building.”

“Running into him would be even worse. How awkward would that be?”

“Pretty awkward if he has you arrested for stealing his shirt. Wait a minute—do you have feelings for this guy?”

I blinked. “No—unless itchy feelings count. I have hives.”

“That sounds attractive.”

“Let’s just say I don’t think I’ll be having any more one-night stands.” I fiddled with one of the buttons on Sam’s shirt. “I guess I want what you have with Ted.”

“And you’ll find it,” Jacki said. “Last night was just an exercise to jumpstart your social life.”

“I hope you’re right,” I mumbled.

“And look on the bright side—you have the guy’s silicone portrait to remember him by.”

I was minutely cheered. “I have to admit it’s one beautiful dildo.”

A shadow darkened my door and I looked up to see Helena standing there, holding a stack of file folders. Wondering how much she’d heard, I fixed my face into a serious expression and adopted a professional tone to pretend I was on a business call. “I’ll have to look into that and get back to you later.” I hung up, made a bogus note on scratch paper, then turned a sunny smile toward my boss. “Good morning.”

“You’re late.”

“I…was caught in traffic. Sorry.”

Helena squinted. “Is that a banker’s clip in your hair?”

I stood and pointed to the files. “Something I can take off your hands?”

Helena gave me a suspicious look, then nodded and handed me the files. “Could you please take a look at these circulation reports and have a summary for me by this afternoon?”

I blinked because I didn’t realize the word please was in Helena’s vocabulary. “Sure, I’ll have a report for you ASAP.”

Helena started to go, then turned back. “Kenzie, did you enjoy your time off yesterday?”

I smiled at her cordial tone. “Yes, I did.”

“Is there anything you’d like to…share?”

My throat constricted. Was it that obvious that I’d recently crawled out of a strange bed and sponged the sex off my body before donning stolen clothes and sliding into the office late? “I…no.”

She gave me another wary once-over, then turned and strode away. I was shaking when I rummaged in my desk drawer for an antihistamine tablet. Helena could be a demanding boss, but I admired her and wanted her respect. I didn’t have to consult a shrink to know that I had some kind of maternal projection complex where the woman was concerned. On the other hand, having a moral compass in one’s life wasn’t such a terrible thing.

I was a bad, bad girl.

But I’d had a good, good time.

In fact, I could still feel Sam’s hands on my body, the rough texture of the calluses on his broad fingers—one of the reasons I’d doubted his story about being a doctor, although I couldn’t argue on the subject of his dexterity. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relive his kisses and his attention to detail—James had never made love to me like that.

Of course, James and I had never had a one-night stand. Maybe men simply performed better during one-night stands without the pressure of a repeat performance hanging over their heads. In fact, there was probably a woman out there who’d had a one-night stand with James and sat in her office with her eyes closed, fantasizing about his freakishly small hands.

Or maybe not.