Page 29 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Faye

“Thanks for doing this over the phone,” Eli says. “I totally forgot I told my parents I would dog-sit for them this week while they’re on their actual anniversary celebration trip.”

Our practice interview is now a practice phone interview. I’m a little disappointed that we aren’t meeting in person, but also glad we aren’t in the same room right now. I’m half afraid of what I might do. And half afraid of what I won’t.

“No worries. Where are they celebrating?”

“Spending the week in Hilton Head.”

I decide to take a bath while talking to him, to hopefully loosen up and relax. “So, the anniversary party is not their real way of celebrating?” I take a fresh towel out of my bathroom closet and hang it on the hooks next to my shower.

“That’s become more of an Evie project. She’s going through a breakup, and planning a party is cathartic for her.”

I understand, all too well, the post-breakup distraction phase. “That’s tough. I hope she’s okay.”

I turn on the water and make sure the temperature is almost scalding before I get in.

“Are you washing the dishes?” he asks.

“No, I’m about to take a bath.” I put my phone on speakerphone and set it down on the edge of the tub, ignoring what a bad idea that is. I don’t have anywhere else to put it, though. I should buy one of those bath tray things.

“While you’re on the phone with me?”

“Yes . . . ?”

He sighs dramatically. “I wish you had lied and said you were just washing the dishes.”

“Why?”

“Because how am I supposed to be a good interviewer when my interviewee is naked in the tub?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that. Very unprofessional of me.” I find the fancy bottle of Anthropologie bubble bath Rett got me for Christmas and pour a couple of capfuls in. “Want me to put a swimsuit on?” It’s fun to tease him, for once.

Another sigh on his end. “No.” His voice sounds almost strained. “Do you use bubble bath?”

“Of course.”

“What does it smell like?”

“Freshly baked cupcakes.” I take my clothes off and slide into the water. I sigh at the warmth, already feeling more comfortable.

“You like smelling like baked goods.”

“I guess I do.” I take a sip of wine and hear the sound of him opening a beer bottle.

“You know, you could take a bath,” I say jokingly.

I can’t help but giggle at the thought of Eli’s legs bent up above the water because he’s too tall for the tub.

“Then we can really take this professionalism to another level.”

There’s a long pause, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of water running.

“No way, you are not.”

“It’s only fair we both be naked for this.” Now my head is filled with another image. Eli naked and wet, bringing the beer bottle up to his mouth and taking a long deep swallow.

“Is your hair up or down?” he asks. The splashing sounds continue as his tub fills with water.

“It’s up. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Can you take it down? I like your hair down.”

“You can’t even see me.”

“I have a good imagination. In fact, I have an idea,” he says. I know this tone. He’s feeling playful.

I take the clip out of my hair, and massage my scalp. “What’s your idea?” I ask hesitantly.

“What if we used this as an opportunity for you to interview me, too?”

“And what exactly am I interviewing you for?”

“For sex.”

I choke on the wine I was in the process of swallowing. “And how would that work?”

“Have you ever had phone sex before?”

“I mean, I’ve swapped sexy texts before, but not really.”

“We could try it?”

“Are you serious right now?” I ask.

Do I want to do that with him? My body immediately responds with a resounding yes. I guess it doesn’t hurt to see how it goes. If it’s terrible, we’ll know that we’d be totally awkward together sexually and we can laugh it off as this hilarious thing we tried.

But what if it’s good?

When I don’t say anything immediately, he says, “I can hear you thinking. Don’t let it stress you out. We don’t have to do anything.” And I know he means it. He would never make me feel bad for not wanting to do this.

“Let’s try it,” I say before I can take it back. “If we start feeling weird, we’ll stop.”

“That sounds good.” He clears his throat, and in a faux professional voice says, “So, Faye. Tell me about yourself.”

Here goes nothing. I set my jam jar wine glass down on the edge of the tub and reach for my body wash.

“For the last five years I have been working at Millionfish Enterprises, first as an intern, then as an executive assistant for the Vice President of Marketing.” I see that my loofah is just out of reach.

“Why does it sound like you’re drowning?”

“My loofah is hanging on the thingy I have on my shower head, and I’m trying to reach it without getting out of the water.” It’s impossible, but I refuse to stand up.

“Guess you’ll just have to use your hands.” The way he says this is so sultry, my toes curl in anticipation.

“Guess so. Anyway . . .” I squirt some body wash into my hand and start to wash my shoulders. “That was my first job out of college, so I’m excited to pursue other opportunities and grow my skill set.”

“What are some tasks you’ve enjoyed in your current role?” I hear him get into the water, sighing before he asks, “And what part of your body are you washing right now?”

Oh my god, it’s starting .

“Most of my tasks have been administrative, but I’ve found that I really enjoy reporting and putting presentations together.” I take another sip of wine, careful not to let it slip out of my sudsy hands. “And I’m washing my shoulders and arms.”

Was that how I was supposed to answer that? Shoulders and arms don’t exactly exude sensuality. I have no idea how any of this is supposed to work, so I guess I’ll just follow his lead.

“Can you tell me about a recent project you've worked on and then continue to walk me through the rest of the steps of your bath routine as well, please.”

“Last week, I was able to pull our quarterly marketing metrics and represent them graphically using a software I hadn’t used before. I really enjoy trying new things.” I lather my hands up some more. “Next, I’m going to wash my neck and chest.”

“I can tell you enjoy your work by the passionate way you speak about it.”

He’s giving me nothing, here.Maybe he’s waiting for me to ramp things up?

“Absolutely. I find it extremely . . . stimulating?” I hold my breath, waiting for confirmation from him that I am doing this correctly, but again he gives me nothing. What is he waiting for? “Now, I’m running my soapy hands over my breasts, taking them down to my stomach . . .”

I think I hear a very low muttered “fuck” before he says, “What specifically are you looking for in a new role?”

“I’d like something more challenging, since I’ve felt a bit stagnant lately. I’d love to be in a position where I’m given expert guidance on how to best achieve my career goals.” I hope that he takes the hint that I’d like him to tell me what to do next.

“I understand that. It’s always great to feel that you’re growing and expanding your skill set. Might I suggest lifting one leg and resting it on the side of the tub?”

“Okay . . .”

“Now, I’d like you to wash the calf of that lifted leg. Once you’ve done that, slowly massage the soap over your knee and thigh.”

I do as he says. “My leg is getting cold. Can I put it back under?”

“Not yet. Do you have goosebumps?”

“Mm-hmm.” Partially from being cold, and partially from the sound of his voice coming through my phone’s speaker.

“Keep washing up to your inner thigh, but no higher. You can put that leg under after you answer another question.”

“Okay, I’m washing my thigh now.”

“Do you find that you usually take direction well?”

“Yes, I’m a very task-oriented person.”

“That’s good to know.” I hear splashes on his end, and I wonder if he’s washing himself now too. I am very turned on at the thought of him matching my movements.

“Put that leg under now and repeat on the other leg. Walk me through what you’re doing. This is a good way for me to see if you can articulate your processes to others.”

“First, I’m squirting more body wash into my hand and rubbing my hands together until they’re slick and slippery.

Next, I’m slowly rubbing the soap up my leg, really focusing on my thigh.

” The other night, that seemed to be a place he liked to touch, so I’m hoping he’ll like that I’m mentioning it.

“In circular motions, I’m running my hand up inside my inner thigh, higher and higher, and?—”

“Stop. No higher.”

“But that’s normally the next part of my routine.” I whine.

“You have to answer another question first.” I can practically hear the smile in his voice. Oh, this is fun.

I sigh overdramatically. “Fine.”

“After our kiss on the couch, did you think about it?”

I wasn’t expecting this question, but I answer it without thinking. “Yes, with some embellishments. Might have pulled out the massager a time or two.”

He laughs and it echoes through the bathroom. It’s the best sound in the world, starting with a low rumble I feel right down to the core of me, before it erupts into this spark of energy that’s so Eli , it’s the only way I know how to describe it.

“I like making you laugh,” I say. “Because you’re always the one making me laugh.”

“Making you laugh is my favorite thing. What did you imagine, when you thought about it?”

“You touching me.”

“Where do I touch you?”

“You pull the front of my dress down and palm my breasts in your hands.”

“Do kiss them? Lick them?”

“Yes.”

“While I’m doing that, do I pull the bottom of your dress up until I can touch between your legs?”

I lay my head back, finally rubbing my fingertips over my clit. “Yes.”

“Can I slide a finger inside to feel how wet you are for me?”

“Please,” I moan, pretending the middle finger I glide inside myself is his. “Are you touching yourself now?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes, I want us both to do it. Together.”

“I’d like that, too. You can ask me questions now. Keep fingering yourself.”

I take a ragged breath, trying to gain composure. “Right, so. Um, can you walk through what a ‘day in the life’ is like? Or, how a night would be . . . like . . . how things would continue tonight?”I can barely form a coherent thought, much less sentence, right now.

But he doesn’t miss a beat. “Next, I’d insert another finger inside you and stroke myself with my other hand using the same rhythm.”

The thought of that is almost enough to make me come. “That feels so good.”

“Don’t let yourself come yet. The interview isn’t over.”

“How long until the interview is over?”

He chuckles. “Until I say it is. Ask me another question. And quicken the motion of your hand.”

“Why do you want to have sex with me?”

His answer is quick and without hesitation. “Because you’re interesting and beautiful and funny. Because I want to know you like that. Because I want to make you come five million times.”

I do a weird combination of a moan and a laugh. “Wow, that’s a pretty lofty goal,” I say.

“I think I could do it,” he gloats.

I’m beginning to think so, myself. “That’s all the questions I have for you.”

“Thank you for your time today, Faye. You’ve been a great interview.” He pauses, and I think he’s starting to lose his composure now, too. “I think it would be very hard for me to find another candidate as talented as you.”

“I wish I was with you. Touching you. Tasting you.”

“Fuck, me too,” he groans.

I let the sounds of our panting fill the silence. “Are you close?” I seriously don’t think I can hold out any longer.

“Yes, let me hear you come for me first, then I will, too.”

The sounds I am making and the sounds I hear from him are downright obscene, all wet splashes, gasps, and moaning. A few more pumps of my fingers and I come, exhaling his name in the process. It’s not long before I hear him do the same.

Neither of us say anything, both trying to recover. After a few seconds he asks, “You alive over there?”

“Mm-hmm, think so.”

“So did I get the job?” he asks with a chuckle.

I laugh. “When can you start?”