8 - Countdown to Midnight

The remaining bottles in the honor bar rattled with their intoxicating melody when Sheridan closed the door.  It seemed her new mission in life was to conduct a systematic evacuation of the mini fridge.  Wine, both red and white, had gone the first night.

Last night’s liquor of choice had been rum, with a little Diet Coke splashed in for the illusion of propriety – but not much.  Four bottles of rum to one short can of Diet Coke had been a nice, relaxing prelude to her battery-powered orgasm. 

Tonight’s honored evacuee was tequila.  The cute little bottles of Mexican gold were going to blend with her favorite margarita mix for a fortieth birthday fiesta.  The pre-midnight fiesta would take place in the bathtub with a nice, lime-verbena bubble bath.

What’s a margarita without a lime?

The lime’s anti-anxiety properties didn’t hurt either.  After her dinner with Riley, she was a little stressed about her va-jay-jay shriveling up like a prune before she got full use of it.   

She slung back the entire contents of the big margarita glass, shivering as it slid down her throat. 

I’d like to kiss the Latino who came up with this little cocktail. 

The remaining mixture made a full second glass, and Sheridan took it along to start her bath water. 

Five minutes later, strawberry blonde hair was piled on top of her head and she was buried up to her chin in relaxing lime-scented bubbles.  Before submerging herself, she had taken a moment to flip on the modest-sized television that hung on the wall.  Sheridan typically watched the news while she was getting ready in the mornings, but tonight she was in the mood for music, so she’d chosen one of the random music video stations.

The delicious flavor of the margarita swirled over her tongue with the faintest tequila bite.  Sheridan dropped her head back against the rim of the tub, soaking in the sounds of Matchbox Twenty.  It only took about ten seconds before Riley’s voice overrode Rob Thomas’s in her head. 

Her sister had remained adamant throughout the remainder of dinner.  It had almost gotten to the point that Sheridan was afraid she would start pimping her out to other patrons.  Riley compiled a list of men for consideration, listing the pros and cons of each – this one good for a short term thing, that one definitely only one night and don’t talk to him during the night.  The conversation went on so long that it became decidedly uncomfortable and Sheridan finally had to put a stop to it.

Because you know who it is you want.

Damn it all, it was true.  She couldn’t get him out of her mind ever since he’d hung up last night.  No matter how many times she assured herself that a memory was better left off treasured and untouched, she could still feel his thumb scraping deliciously over the inside of her wrist as it had Sunday night.

Goose bumps formed on her arm, despite the heat of the bath water.

Why is it that this untarnished memory is so important again?  You’re supposed to be living your life.  That was the whole point of giving up a wildly successful business to dabble in herbs, massage and writing.

Yet, rather than living and embracing the possibility of adventure with open arms, she was cowered in her tub. 

Two hours before your fortieth birthday.

The magic witching hour, in which the Libido Dehydrator would flare to life, intent upon shriveling both her va-jay-jay and her sexual essence.

A country-like melody took over where Rob Thomas left off.  The strings and piano weren’t overly twangy, but it had a definite flavor to it. 

Sheridan reached for the margarita glass, taking another healthy sip of her beverage.  Between the honor bar offering and three glasses of wine at dinner, she was starting to feel the effects.  Mostly in that endangered libido of hers.

Her eyes flicked to the television screen, unable to place the singer’s voice.  It sounded familiar, yet…

No freaking way…

The man on the screen had darker hair than her Jon – her Jon? – but it was him.  The high cheekbones, the wide mouth and blunt-tipped nose.  His eyes weren’t twinkling in the way that was familiar to her, but he was emoting to Leann Rimes that he would  ‘just go ahead and lock the door’. 

Karma.  His bitch strikes again.

A cool shot of margarita slid down the back of her throat, feeling like a blast of freezing rain against her quickly heating body.  Unfortunately it left her with an empty glass, and visually gobbling up the man who had been haunting her mind all-too-often lately. 

His serious demeanor for this video was turning her on.  She’d been with friendly Jon and horny Jon, but this side of him was a whole new level of arousing.  If he had looked at her like that when he was holding to her wrist the other night…?  She would have either orgasmed on the spot, or started weaving a whole new fantasy loom.

She shivered beneath the cooling water.

Holy hell…

His lips were right beside Leann’s, singing the sultry lyrics, and their cheeks where a mere whisper apart.  Sheridan could’ve been watching porn and not been affected as strongly.  That near brush of mouths was so erotic; it had her thigh muscles quivering with tension.

Why was it again that she had she passed up the chance to sleep with this man?  He had been an amazing, intuitive and thorough lover.  Say it had been a fluke, and he was only half that good.  Half was still a hell of a lot more satisfying that the stash of vibrators and gadgets she had tucked in her nightstand drawer.  Technically, they did the trick, but they didn’t talk deliciously dirty in her ear.  Or breathe on her skin.  Or kiss her.  Or bite her.

She blew a breath up onto her forehead.  The damn water was getting hotter instead of cooler.  The things he did to her…

Then let him do them!  You’re less than two hours away from being forty years old.  You can spend it alone and depressed, or you can be too… busy to care.  Stop screwing around and call him!  

Water sluiced down her body and, when she pushed abruptly to her feet, bubbles spilled over the edge of the huge, garden tub.  Sheridan stepped from the water and snatched up the fluffy yellow bath sheet, hurriedly wrapping it around her body.

She wanted him.  God, how she wanted him.  And she was a frigging idiot for turning Jon Bon Jovi down,  not once but three times.  He pursued her and she said no.

“Don’t tarnish my memory,” she mumbled in a whiny falsetto, shuffling toward the infamous nightstand.  This time she bypassed the bottom drawer and its – hopefully – unnecessary playthings for the top drawer, where she’d tucked the card with his phone number.  “You stupid bitch.  Stupid, stupid bitch.  He could be in your bed right now if you hadn’t been so holier-than-thou.”

Maybe he’ll still be in your bed if you’d stop arguing with yourself and call him!

With a huff, she dropped down on the edge of the bed, still wearing nothing more than the towel.  She grabbed her phone and tapped the screen, accessing the keypad as she swiveled on her butt.  Her heels were planted in the mattress and she used her foothold to scoot herself toward the headboard, where she leaned into the pillows.

“Six, oh, nine…”  Carefully reciting the numbers as she tapped them into the phone, she wasn’t surprised at the New Jersey area code.  It was somehow fitting that he wouldn’t have a New York number. 

The card got carelessly dropped on the bed next to her, and Sheridan sucked in a deep breath.  Would he answer a number he didn’t recognize?  Maybe she should have used the Karma phone?  It was ten-thirty.  Would he be out with someone?

“Hello?”

He answered.  Fuck.  He answered.

“Hi.”  The butterflies in her stomach were trying to escape through her mouth, causing her greeting to be nothing more than an awkward croak.  “Jon?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”  Wary.  Yes, that’s how she would describe his voice.  Could she blame him?  How many crazy women, hot for his body had called out of the blue during his lifetime?

At least one…

“It’s Sheridan.”

The other end of the line was silent.  Like, completely and totally silent.  The television chatter that had been droning behind his ‘hello’ was even missing now.

“Sheridan.”

Never had her name sounded so flat and emotionless.  Well, that wasn’t true.  The nurse who called her back for her gyno appointments wasn’t very warm either.

Focus!

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.”

She scuffed the soles of her bare feet along the gold-threaded duvet.  Her feet itched when she got nervous.  His one word answers were making them itch like crazy.

“Oh.  Well, good.  Listen, I just wanted to call for…  Well, to say that I might have been… wrong… when we talked last night.”

“Wrong about what?”

That was three words, and they were at least tinged with faintest hint of curiosity.  Baby steps…

“My sister and I were at dinner tonight.  She took me out for my birthday – I’m going to be forty tomorrow.“

He did not need to know that.

Batting her inner voice away, she forged on with, “We were talking about living life while you’re young enough to still appreciate it.  Not passing up opportunities.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Um.  Yes.  I think I might have been a little hasty in refusing the opportunity you offered me.”

That deep chuckle didn’t sound so much sexy this time, as arrogant. 

“Which opportunity?  Dinner or sex?”

Red nail polish shone in the light of the bedside lamp as she wiggled her toes restlessly.  “Sex.”

“Lemme make sure I got this right.  You wanna have sex with me?”

Was he being an ass on purpose?  Was getting fucked senseless worth this…  lesson she was being forced to endure?

Hell yes it is!  Shut up and endure it.

“Yes.”

“Then say it.”

What the - ?  Huh?  Hadn’t she just done that?

“Say it?”

“Tell me you want me.  As many times as you’ve shot me down this week, I deserve that much, don’t ya think?”

Red-tipped fingers curled tightly around the phone, and she fought the urge to tell him to fuck himself and hang up.  He was right. 

Sort of. 

She’d brushed him off.  Firmly.  His ego could probably stand a little stroking.

It isn’t his ego you want to be stroking.

No, not necessarily, but it was a justifiable means to an end.

With that thought in mind, Sheridan didn’t just say the words, she tried to put a little seduction behind them – without being too Jessica Rabbit about it.  “I want you, Jon.”

“You sound like you mean it.”  His voice had softened along with hers.

“That’s because I do.”

Silence.

“Do you remember what I said right before we hung up last night?”

A pucker furrowed her brow, as she tried to recall.  He’d been coaxing her into accepting a dinner invitation, then trying to sway her reasoning.  No, she didn’t remember.  She’d been busy pushing him away before he got through her defenses.

“Not exactly.”

Silence again.  This time it was prolonged enough to become uncomfortable before he softly reminded her, “I told you to be damn sure of what you were doing before you slammed the door in Karma’s face.”