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Suds Sutcliff

Fired? Because of me? No way.

Sure, she was completely useless but that’s no reason to let her go. I’ve worked with plenty of G-men a lot worse than her.

Jumping into the hall, I block their exit and can’t help but grin. She’s carrying the typical cardboard box of the damned but in her purse? Dozens of yarn creatures with comic expressions stare out over the open zipper.

I’m about to say something until I recall my mission. I can’t let her go without getting her number.

Slowly, I reach into my back pocket, eyes on the guard. “Don’t shoot. I’m going for my wallet.”

The man tenses and when he doesn’t go for his weapon, I pull out a card and hold it to his face.

“Y’all got a pen?”

Nodding, he pulls one out of his suit pocket and hands it to me.

“Thank you kindly, sir.” After writing my number on the back, I stick my card between a tiny grinning mouse and a surprised lion.

“Call me.” I suppose I should feel guilty hitting on her at a time like this but she went straight to my cock. That hasn’t happened to me since I fell in love with my seventh grade English teacher.

“You think you can get me a job with Patten Securities?” She looks so hopeful, I nod and lie.

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.” Grabbing her box more firmly, she settles it on a hip.

“C’mon George. Let’s get this over with. Goodbye, Mr. Sutcliff.” Head held high, she clacks her sensible heels down the hall while I admire the globes of her beautiful behind.

Not goodbye, sweetheart. Au revoir. I’ll see you soon.

From the opposite end of the building, solid shoes pound the marble flooring, and I turn. I’ve fought real grizzly bears and won. After firing my gal, this one’s getting jack shit out of me.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Sutcliff. I won’t take long, and I apologize for my colleague.”

“Why’d she get fired?” I straddle my chair and ease on down.

His bushy gray brows raise. “I would think it obvious. Now, tell me about New York, starting from when you were assigned to the case.”

I don’t like his attitude, I’m not under arrest, and I haven’t done anything wrong. Well, I should clarify. I haven’t done anything that the FBI knows about. They’re fishing and I’m not taking the bait.

“Lawyer, please.”

It takes over an hour before he lets me call my boss and another couple to get Patten’s people downtown. I skip breakfast, miss lunch and it’s long past dinner. Questioning over, I’m starving and need a moment to chill out.

Alone in the lobby of the FBI building, I check my phone messages and there’s one from Sam Russo. She says to meet her at the Red Dog.

Wow, that was fast . Twenty minutes later, I’m walking into a brightly lit bar decorated in chrome and glass. Samantha Russo sits at a table at the furthest wall, nursing a beer. Her suit jacket hangs on the back of her chair and her shirt’s unbuttoned to her cleavage.

Sheeeet. My hard-on makes it impossible to walk, let alone appear nonchalant. Regrouping, I stop at the bar and order a beer. Once I have my unruly cock under control, I wander to her table and sit.

Puffy red lids lift and under them, chocolate brown eyes stare. “Did you mean it?”

My mind goes blank. Had I propositioned her? Surely, I wanted to but fuck me if I recall putting the offer into words.

Picturing her naked, legs parted, I smile. “My place or yours?”

“Oh. I thought we could do it here.”

I look around. The bathroom could probably work but would it would be nowhere near as comfortable as my hotel room. “That works for me, darlin’.”

“Can I finish my beer, first?”

“Sure.” Whoa, now. Something isn’t adding up.

I review our short interaction in the FBI building. I gave her my card, she texted me to meet her at this bar. She lost her job. Maybe she needs get-fired sex? Maybe it’s her way to work out feelings of inadequacy and diminished self-worth?

Damn, I’m good. Dr. Phil and Oprah would be proud.

I like sex a lot, and she’s an incredibly beautiful woman. Still, I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into. “How much have you had to drink?”

“This is my first, why?” Her big eyes are the deepest shade of brown I’ve ever seen and give the effect of her being constantly aroused. I wonder if she even knows.

I take a swallow of beer to ease my parched throat. “Just checking. Ah, have you ever done this before?”

“Not in fifteen years.” She says it as casually as one might say, I just finished my laundry and folded my clothes.

Swallowing down the wrong hole, I cough. Holy shit. Blood rushing south relieves me of more brain cells. “That’s a hell of a long time.”

She smiles shyly, “Everything was good. So why change?”

“And now?”

“Well, let’s just say I’m open to new possibilities.” She finishes her beer.

“Are you ready?” If I don’t enter her soon, I may explode.

She nods.

Fuck yeah! “The bathroom?”

“No, I’m good.”

No way. Is she having second thoughts? “How about another beer?”

“Sure.”

Maybe she needs a little more time. I mean, it has been over a decade since she last had sex. I try to be patient but my imagination is spinning out of control. I stand, order a couple beers and return to the table.

She pulls out her laptop and motions for me to sit next to her. I expect karma sutra, porn, or some sex toys. Instead, I peruse at her rather unimpressive resume on the screen.

“It’s not current. I need to add my years with the FBI but do you think Patten will hire me?”

Huh? My mouth drops open and my cock refuses to stand down. Thank God I didn’t say anything offensive.

I give her my email address with what I hope is a professional smile. “Can you send that to me? My email is on the card I gave you.”

Her lush lips curve up. “Sure. Is tomorrow okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Ah, good luck and if you’re ever in New York, look me up, okay?”

“I will and thank you.”

Holy shit. There were so many ways that could’ve gone wrong. The worst part is, I’m still attracted to her, maybe more so. My boss is right. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. Or, maybe I need more practice. Regardless, it’s a sure sign I’m off my game.