Page 13 of Boo-ty Calls

Thirteen

Sloane

Ilie in bed, not wanting to get up.

After last night, I have to assume I’m either being haunted, or I got a pervy Fellow machine. The voice was the least sexy thing ever, but the words reminded me of Archer. I’ve lost my mind. Cool, I’m a wacko now.

Rolling over, I let out a shrill scream as the horror figure I got last year stands next to the bed. “Fuck you, Archer. That wasn’t funny at all.”

Although the fear was fleeting, I’m annoyed and won’t bother to take the thing back downstairs, I push it over to the corner of the room and throw a shirt over its head.

I can’t deal with it now. It’s a later-Sloane problem. Warmth spreads through my chest, I’m glad he’s still here.

My work has piled up, and something is wrong with my keyboard, everything keeps typing wrong.

I grab my housecoat and head to the kitchen for coffee, just as another water bottle drops out of the fridge and rolls toward me.

“Thanks for always making me drink water. I’d be a raisin by now if it weren’t for you. Are you here? I have to believe you must be, but Jesus Christ, Archer.”

Silence greets me. I add creamer to my coffee and head to my office, where I work for hours until my coffee is as cold as ice and I drink the bitter leftovers.

I’ve finally gotten on top of everything due. Scheduled posts for three of my authors for the next few weeks, and handled more admin work no one ever knows about.

Heading to the bathroom, I take a quick shower and put on yoga pants and a shirt with skulls.

Bathing shouldn’t be like an Olympic event, but here we are. It’s not even an everything shower, and I could go to bed and sleep for a week.

I’ve ordered groceries for months instead of going out to the store, but I know I can do it today. I pack my earbuds and load an audiobook before I put them into my purse and leave the house.

Being out in the world seems scarier than my haunted home, which tells me I need to get out more.

After I’ve parked in the back forty of the grocery store, I check my phone, but Mason isn’t back from his trip yet. I want to get fucked, and not by a fake cock attached to my dead boyfriends ashes.

Last night, there was more glow-in-the-dark liquid covering my bed, and I can’t figure out what it is. Archer has to be behind it, but my brain can’t connect the dots.

The rush of warm, stale air hits me as I enter the grocery store and grab a cart to push around. I should have made a list, but it’s too late now.

Starting the audiobook, I zone out while walking through the aisles, listening to how someone is getting railed six ways from Sunday and wishing it were me.

Memories of the glory hole skirt through my mind, but I wouldn’t feel safe without Archer with me, and that’s dashed out.

Once I’m in the produce section, exhaustion hits me like a sack of bricks, and I want to go home for a nap. I grab some bananas and grapes, which are on sale, as the audiobook stops in my ears.

Before I can check my phone, it loudly keeps reading the book for everyone else to hear:

She rolled onto all fours, and I couldn’t help but salivate over her juicy tits and wet cunt. She was ready for us, and as we stroked our thick, veined, cocks, we advanced.

Turning off the audiobook, I drop the grapes, heat curling up my neck as I glance around. An older gentleman smirks at me, and his wife has squeezed the avocado clear out of its skin.

Grabbing the smashed grapes, I scurry out of the produce section to the self-checkout and scan everything so I can get the hell out of here.

Flustered and hot, I throw the reusable bags in the trunk and peel out of the parking lot.

My headphones have never done that, and I don’t have any clue what happened. I’ve scarred an old lady for the rest of her days and now need a new grocery store.

Pulling onto my street, I realize I’ve dissociated the whole drive and wonder how I survive every trip I take.

After everything is put away, I pop a sleeping pill and drink a bottle of water before going to my bedroom. Stripping off my outside clothes, I pull on an oversized tee.

Flipping back the covers, the horror mask stares back at me, and I exhale slowly.

Agitation runs through me. “Jesus Christ, Archer, I get it, you’re here.

I don’t know what you want me to do about it, maybe I’ll find a Ouija board or something.

Stop fucking with my electronics, though.

Also, I’m mad at you for dying. My life sucks without you.

” Grief wraps around me, making me feel hollow.

Slipping under the covers, I decide that after a nap, I’ll head to the dive bar I used to go to. Maybe having a drink and getting out of my head and this house will help.

A new dick wouldn’t be the worst idea either.

The music is soft in the background, classic rock playing under the chatter of the patrons.

Sitting on a stool at the bar, I take a sip of my cocktail. It’s my second drink, but my mind hasn’t quieted much. If I could make the wheels stop turning constantly, I think it would get better, but people-watching is a nice alternative to being stuck in the house.

Being an introvert has its downfalls. Working from home is great, but I’ve spent my whole life on a different plane than everyone else, it seems.

I should’ve made more friends along the way, and envy runs through me as I glance at the table across the way from the bar. Ladies decked out in their bar’s best laugh at something their friend has said and look content. They seem friendly enough, but fear of rejection holds me in place.

Words that come out of my mouth usually make everything awkward for everyone else.

Bending to the will of men has always been painless for me. Embracing the domme life myself has been easier than getting close to people, and now I’ve let my inner bitch run its course.

My therapist makes it very clear I should get out in the wild and make friends, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Everyone at my age already has their group, and I’m better off alone.

Adjusting my black tank top, I brush my hair behind my ear and curse myself for forgetting a hair tie.

Sensory issues have been my biggest battle in life outside of mental crap. I hate it, but it never changes, and I wish Archer were here. He always had one on his wrist and could pinpoint the moment I was going to lose it. I hate that he’s gone.

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

Glancing beside me, a guy with a buzz cut sits down. His icy blue eyes are intriguing, and the way his shirt hugs his biceps makes me smile.

“Sure,” I tell him.

He flags the bartender, and I finish the bottom of my drink. Placing the fresh one in front of me, I toy with the napkin.

“My name’s Ian, yours?” He's so cute.

“Sloane. What brings you out tonight?”

We clink our glasses together. I take a sip, and he swigs his like a dog.

“Was looking for the prettiest girl in the bar, and I’ve found her.”

Staring at him, I squint my eyes. Nothing he said answered my question, and I shake my head. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know.”

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow, and I already know I’ll go home with him. He’s been the only guy of interest tonight.

I shrug. “Heard it in a movie.”

He chuckles, and it’s an annoying nasal tone. Maybe I should wait for Mason to be back. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to please you.”

Do these lines actually work for people? I mean I’d be a hypocrite, but I just want a mindless fuck, so I guess they do.

“Alright, let’s go after this drink.”

He looks at me with a wide-eyed gaze, and his mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

“Apparently. I’m desperate. I hope you don’t mind.” I sip on my drink.

Ian stares at me, but closes his mouth and hops off his stool so fast that it almost falls over. “I’ll pay the tab.” He walks away to do so, and I finish half the drink before smoothing out my skirt.

He places his hand on my lower back when he returns and guides me out of the bar onto the street, where he unlocks a blue car. “I only had the beer. If you’d rather, I can order us a cab.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him. Getting in, I give him my address.

He titters on about random shit as I stare out the window, rolling my ankles. I hear them crack and wish I wore better shoes.

“This it?” he asks once he’s pulled into my driveway.

Why would you pull in if you weren’t sure, but whatever.

I nod, and he strokes my face before jumping out of the car to get my door. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.

Placing my hand in his, I adjust my bag on my shoulder, and we walk on the path.

“This is a nice place. Have you lived here long?” Buddy asks, and I remember why I hate randoms, because small talk is the bane of my existence. This also explains why I can’t make friends.

“Yes.” I unlock and open the door, heading inside.

The horror mask is hanging on the banister going up the stairs, and I bite the inside of my lip to stop from laughing.

Ian closes the door behind me and jumps when he sees the mask, but holds it together.

He opens his mouth to talk, and I press against him, wrapping my hand around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

His big hands grip my sides, and he hardens against my leg. At least he’s more than a mini pickle. Ian pulls back and stares at me as I grind against his thigh. “So fucking hot. Where’s the bedroom?”

Taking his hand, I walk up the stairs, wondering if the horror figure will be in the centre of my bedroom again and exhaling when it’s not.

Turning on the side lamp, I strip out of my clothes, and Ian stares with wide eyes. I glance around to check what he’s looking for, because I’ve partially hidden Archer’s ashes with the googly eyes, not thinking it would go over well tonight.

“You’re gorgeous. Who let you go?”

I stalk toward him and undo his jeans before pulling off his shirt. He’s got a soft middle, but jacked arms.

“An idiot let me go. He wasn’t a good boy and left me.”