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Authors: Lisa Lang Blakeney
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switching seats. Although it appears that the brunette practically salivating in the seat next to him would put up a fight if anyone dared to ask her to switch. I don’t dare ask myself, since I am assuming that this is another one of his punishments or more accurately put, this is Roman pouting.
I don't understand how a man that does whatever the heck he does everyday to make a massive living can act so much like a little baby. I guess this is what my mother was talking about when she said that men are all just little boys inside nice, muscular packaging. This describes Roman to a T.
In my last ditch effort to make a final impression and thank Mr. Lambert for his extraordinary hospitality, I left him a hand written note at the front desk. I’m thinking about all the millions of ways I wish I could have rewritten that letter, when the pilot announces that we can finally use our electronic equipment and the plane's WiFi, now that the aircraft is cruising at a steady altitude.
Since I have over three hours to kill, and no Roman to talk to, I decide to write Sloan a letter. Her email goes straight to her cell phone, so I know that she'll get it right away.
Hey,
I'm headed back to Philly right now. By the time you get home from work I should have pooped (you know I don't poop well when I travel), showered, and changed and we can head out for a cocktail or two:).
The pitch meeting went as well as I think it could have gone. I was prepared and while they had some tough questions for me, all of them were valid. I'm not sure my business is an appealing enough opportunity for men that invest millions of dollars everyday in way more important stuff–but if anything, it was a great opportunity and a great learning experience. So thanks for setting it up.
Your guy was kind of hot by the way:) I forgot how good-looking he was. What ever happened with him anyway? Oh yeah, he had some obsession with meeting your dad right?
Speaking of guys, you're not going to like this, in fact you're probably going to rip my head off, but there's something I've been keeping from you and I don't think I can do it any longer. I've been messing around with Roman. Yes, that's right–my cousin Roman. And it's bad. We’ll talk more about it later I’m sure:)
-Bitsy
***
I can feel him glaring at me.
In fact I can always feel Roman from the floor to the ceiling whenever he's in the vicinity. It’s understandably more obvious now, because he's only sitting a few feet away from me, but proximity doesn't particularly matter. Not when it comes to us. When he's anywhere nearby, it's as if my brain recognizes his energy in the room and sends my body physical signals to react.
Signals to acknowledge his presence.
Like my skin prickling.
Panties moist.
I reluctantly turn my head as if I actually have a choice in the matter and notice the scowl on his beautifully scarred face. He stares me down as if he's daring me to look away first.
Once again he's angry with me for being the only grown up in the room. He and I both know that this thing between us can't end well. That we aren't stars in the middle of some damn romantic comedy where all ends well with a jaw dropping kiss while an old '80s power ballad plays in the background.
That's why I make the decision to turn away first. Like I said, someone has to be the responsible adult here and stop this before it gets totally out of hand.
I look back down at my inbox to check all my unread emails (mostly junk) that I didn't check while sunning all day (and playing with Roman all night); I notice there's one from Jagger.
Hi Elizabeth,
I saw Sloan at Java today and she told me you were away on business. Didn't want to disturb you, so I thought I'd email you instead of texting. I'm having something at my house this Friday and wanted to invite you and of course Sloan and Tiny. It's mostly swim team folks and a few other new people I've met at the swim club. You three will probably be my
I don't understand how a man that does whatever the heck he does everyday to make a massive living can act so much like a little baby. I guess this is what my mother was talking about when she said that men are all just little boys inside nice, muscular packaging. This describes Roman to a T.
In my last ditch effort to make a final impression and thank Mr. Lambert for his extraordinary hospitality, I left him a hand written note at the front desk. I’m thinking about all the millions of ways I wish I could have rewritten that letter, when the pilot announces that we can finally use our electronic equipment and the plane's WiFi, now that the aircraft is cruising at a steady altitude.
Since I have over three hours to kill, and no Roman to talk to, I decide to write Sloan a letter. Her email goes straight to her cell phone, so I know that she'll get it right away.
Hey,
I'm headed back to Philly right now. By the time you get home from work I should have pooped (you know I don't poop well when I travel), showered, and changed and we can head out for a cocktail or two:).
The pitch meeting went as well as I think it could have gone. I was prepared and while they had some tough questions for me, all of them were valid. I'm not sure my business is an appealing enough opportunity for men that invest millions of dollars everyday in way more important stuff–but if anything, it was a great opportunity and a great learning experience. So thanks for setting it up.
Your guy was kind of hot by the way:) I forgot how good-looking he was. What ever happened with him anyway? Oh yeah, he had some obsession with meeting your dad right?
Speaking of guys, you're not going to like this, in fact you're probably going to rip my head off, but there's something I've been keeping from you and I don't think I can do it any longer. I've been messing around with Roman. Yes, that's right–my cousin Roman. And it's bad. We’ll talk more about it later I’m sure:)
-Bitsy
***
I can feel him glaring at me.
In fact I can always feel Roman from the floor to the ceiling whenever he's in the vicinity. It’s understandably more obvious now, because he's only sitting a few feet away from me, but proximity doesn't particularly matter. Not when it comes to us. When he's anywhere nearby, it's as if my brain recognizes his energy in the room and sends my body physical signals to react.
Signals to acknowledge his presence.
Like my skin prickling.
Panties moist.
I reluctantly turn my head as if I actually have a choice in the matter and notice the scowl on his beautifully scarred face. He stares me down as if he's daring me to look away first.
Once again he's angry with me for being the only grown up in the room. He and I both know that this thing between us can't end well. That we aren't stars in the middle of some damn romantic comedy where all ends well with a jaw dropping kiss while an old '80s power ballad plays in the background.
That's why I make the decision to turn away first. Like I said, someone has to be the responsible adult here and stop this before it gets totally out of hand.
I look back down at my inbox to check all my unread emails (mostly junk) that I didn't check while sunning all day (and playing with Roman all night); I notice there's one from Jagger.
Hi Elizabeth,
I saw Sloan at Java today and she told me you were away on business. Didn't want to disturb you, so I thought I'd email you instead of texting. I'm having something at my house this Friday and wanted to invite you and of course Sloan and Tiny. It's mostly swim team folks and a few other new people I've met at the swim club. You three will probably be my
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