Eating Out Read online

  Eating Out

  By J.T. Marie

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2017 J.T. Marie

  ISBN 9781634864312

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Eating Out

  By J.T. Marie

  The last person I expect to see when I arrive at the Marshall Ad Agency for a job interview is my old high school sweetheart.

  It’s been a good eight years since graduation and the last magical summer we shared before heading off to different colleges…and different lives. Since then, I haven’t thought of Meredith Marshall in forever, or so it seems.

  So I’m more than a little surprised when she steps into the lobby to collect me for my interview. “Lara Bennett,” she purrs, smiling. It’s that same seductive smile I fell for all those years ago. She extends a hand to shake mine. “I was hoping it was you.”

  I rise from my seat and take her hand in both of mine. “Oh my God, Meredith!” Screw the handshake; I pull her into a quick hug. For one breathless minute, I tingle all over as she presses her body against mine, awakening memories I thought long buried. Into her hair, I murmur, “It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”

  “Oh, you know.” She steps back and takes a good look at me. “Mmm, honey. You still look good.”

  Of course I do—I’m here for a job interview, after all. I’m wearing a black on green A-line dress that ends a good two inches above my knees. It’s sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and princess seams. My hair is freshly trimmed into a boyish pixie cut and dyed a deep auburn, every strand perfectly in place above flawless makeup I spent too long on this morning. I look fierce, and I know it.

  With a laugh, I tell her, “You don’t look all that bad yourself.”

  It’s the truth. The blond curls she used to tease back in the day have been brushed out and straightened, tamed into a sleek, chin-length bob. Thin black lines circle her gray-green eyes; no more girly blue eyeshadow for her. Her lips are every bit as plump and kissable as I remember. She looks so grown up now in a light blue pants suit that screams professional.

  Lord, how I loved the girl this woman used to be!

  Though we haven’t seen each other in years, it feels as if no time at all has passed. Part of me wants to lean in close to claim a quick kiss. Or slip an arm through hers and take a stroll around the block, catching up on gossip and giggling like school girls all over again. Suddenly I’m sixteen and invincible, heady in love and hungry to show her just how much.

  But I have to remind myself we aren’t girlfriends anymore. Hell, we don’t even know each other now. We no longer talk throughout the day, or exchange notes in the hall between classes, or cling so tightly to each other whenever we’re alone. And we’re not alone, I remind myself, glancing over at the receptionist behind the desk, who studiously ignores us. You’re here for a job, remember that. Keep this professional.

  “So what is it do you do here?” I ask, keeping one hand on her arm as if afraid to let her go.

  Meredith flashes me that sexy smile again. “Oh, I don’t know…I’m sort of the boss.”

  I gasp. “You’re that Marshall! I didn’t even think!”

  “You mean you applied for the job without researching the company?” Meredith shakes her head, teasing. “Really, hon. In this day and age. You didn’t even Google it?”

  “I looked it up,” I assure her. “I mean, I know what it is you guys do here. I just didn’t realize you were the one whose name was on the door.”

  She gives me an indulgent look, then threads her arm through mine. “Yeah, yeah. What do you say we go back to my office and chat? I’m sure we’re distracting Nicholas here.”

  The young man behind the reception desk grins without looking up from his computer. “No, ma’am. I’m in the zone.”

  Meredith rolls her eyes. “Which is code for he’s playing around on Facebook instead of working.”

  “Actually, I’m on Twitter,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s the company account.”

  “That’s what he wants me to think,” Meredith tells me in a stage whisper. I laugh as she steers me past the desk and back the way she came. “Hold my calls, will you? Lara and I have some catching up to do.”

  * * * *

  I first met Meredith when we were both in the fifth grade, though we didn’t become friends then. At the time her mother was in the military and stationed at Fort Lee. But they only lived in Clarksville for a year before they relocated to Hopewell when her father got a job at the ethanol plant. Four years later, her mother retired from the army and they bought a home, moving back to Clarksville for the schools.

  Then Meredith was in my ninth grade homeroom. I got one look at her soft spiral curls and fell, hard. Before the teacher could take roll and lock us into a seating arrangement we’d have to stick to all year, I switched to the desk on Meredith’s right. As I slipped into the chair, she gave me a hesitant smile and I took that as all the encouragement I needed to strike up a conversation.

  “Hey. I like your hair.”

  One hand strayed self-consciously to run through her long curls. “Thanks. I’m—”

  “Meredith, yeah.” I smiled back. “You were in my fifth grade class.”

  She laughed. “You remember?”

  “You’re the only Meredith I’ve ever met,” I told her. “It isn’t exactly a common name.”

  “No, I guess not.” Her smile grew shy. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

  “Lara.” I leaned over and opened her notebook to scribble my phone number on the inside cover. I already knew I liked her. “What’s your schedule look like?”

  That first year we shared three classes; by fall break, we shared lockers, too. We became fast friends, and soon everyone knew that wherever one of us was, the other wasn’t far behind. We’d have sleepovers every weekend, at her house or mine, and spent every waking moment together that we could. By spring break we were dating, though we didn’t tell anyone. We couldn’t, not back then. But sometimes I wondered if my mother didn’t suspect something. We were that close.

  Meredith was my first kiss, under the bleachers at the homecoming football game our freshman year. Our team was down forty-five points in the final quarter and there was no way we’d be able to save face, but the running back was streaking across the field and the stands roared with encouragement, and it looked like we might close the gap a bit before the final whistle blew. Excitement crackled in the air around us, and before I could stop myself, before I could even think, I grabbed Meredith by the shoulder and turned her towards me. My lips grazed over hers,
a glancing blow that sent a shock jolting through me.

  The next thing I knew, her hands fisted in my shirt and she reeled me in, her mouth hungry on my own. Her tongue licked over my lips before parting them to delve inside. She tasted both sweet and salty at the same time, like the kettle corn popcorn we’d been sharing. In that moment my heart stopped, my knees wobbled, and I forgot how to breathe.

  I was in love.

  She was my first in every way, and I hers. It was love, I knew, and naively I thought it’d last forever. But after graduation, she went to ECU and I went to GMU, and the five hour drive between our schools proved to be too much. Oh, we tried to talk every night, but soon it grew harder to keep up with each other. We used to spend every waking hour together, or so it seemed; we shared the same experiences, laughed at the same things. But apart, too many things happened every day, too much to explain over the phone, and when we made it home for breaks, it was too much trouble to catch up.

  Then she spent a summer abroad, in France or Spain, I don’t remember which. And I got an internship in DC that kept me from coming home quite as often as I had before. Time had come between us, all the days we’d spent one without the other wedged us apart. There was never a conscious decision to go our separate ways, or at least, none I can recall. We just grew apart, and we found it harder and harder to come together again. Eventually the phone stopped ringing, cards and letters signed in Meredith’s flowery script stopped appearing in my mailbox, and just like that, we were done.

  I’m not saying I never thought of her. I did. Sometimes I lay awake at night after a hectic day in the newspaper office where I landed my first job and I wondered where Meredith might be at that exact same moment. Thinking of me, too? Wondering how I was? I had her old dorm room phone number and address, but times had changed, cell phones and email replaced landlines and handwritten letters, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with her anymore. Worse, I didn’t know if I even wanted to.

  I moved on, and I assume she did, too. For a while I dated a girl at college, a goalie on the school’s lacrosse team. After I started working at the paper, I took up with a waitress at the cafe where I usually ate lunch. Then it was an off-Broadway actress for a few months, followed by a fellow coworker in the ad department.

  One by one, things soured with every relationship. I was so busy having fun with Ms. Right Now that I no longer bothered with finding Ms. Right. I didn’t have to; I’d known her once already. But years spanned the distance between now and then. What Meredith and I had shared back in the day took on a rose-tinged hue, more fantasy than not, a romance I knew I’d never find again.

  When my mother fell ill, it was the push I needed to leave behind the hectic hustle of DC and head on home. I had half a thought that I might see Meredith around town, but I didn’t. My mother got better, I grew bored with small town life all over again, and decided to move to Richmond, instead. It wasn’t quite the big city I’d left behind, but wasn’t the cloying closeness that threatened to suffocate me in Clarksville. My family lived a half hour away on the interstate and I was once again on my own in a large city.

  And I needed a job. That’s where the Marshall Ad Agency comes in. Enough time had lapsed that I didn’t think of Meredith immediately when I saw the company name. But she remembered me—how did she put it? “I was hoping it was you.”

  Somehow I don’t think my impressive resume alone landed me the interview.

  * * * *

  Meredith’s office is in the back of the building, in the farthest corner you can get from the reception area without going outside. The two exterior walls are bare brick, without any paneling or insulation, and several large windows cut into them let in the sun. Most of the office is dominated by a large, L-shaped desk with a tower computer, telephone, and paperwork scattered everywhere. There are two chairs in front of the desk, but instead of offering me one, Meredith motions to a small round conference table off to one site. Pulling out one of the chairs tucked against the table, I take a seat.

  She sits in the chair nearest mine and crosses her ankles. On the table is a folder, and I can see the edge of my resume sticking out. But Meredith doesn’t reach for it yet; instead, she stares at me, hungrily, trying to see all of me at once. The faint smile on her face tells me she still likes what she sees.

  “Lara, damn,” she says softly, her gaze roving my face. “How long has it been, anyway?”

  “Ten years?” I ask, though I suspect it was a rhetorical question.

  Leaning forward, Meredith takes my hands in both of hers. “Too long. I’ve missed you, you know?” When I nod, she adds, “I’ve missed us.”

  “Me, too.” It’s the truth.

  “So.” She sits back but keeps one of my hands in hers, as if reluctant to let me go. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  With a shrug, I say, “Oh, you know. College, work, the real world. Yadda yadda. How about you?”

  “Pretty much the same.”

  Meredith stares at me with an intensity that dampens my panties. Suddenly I’m very aware I didn’t put on any hose—what we used to call slutting it back in school. My arms pimple into goosebumps while my legs feel hot and sweaty. A chill tickles down my spine. I remember the look she’s giving me all too well…and what it usually led it, as well. Though it’s been years, I can recall the ghost of her touch over my breasts, my belly, lower.

  I pull my hand away from hers, hoping it might help bank the fires beginning to simmer within me, and sweep it out to indicate her office. “You have your own business,” I point out, trying to keep things professional between us. “That’s more than anything I’ve done.”

  With a dismissing wave, she shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah. But you don’t really want to talk shop now, do you?”

  “I’m sort of here for an interview,” I remind her.

  She shrugs. “So you’re hired.”

  I let out a surprised laugh. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. Welcome aboard.”

  I don’t know if she’s putting me on or not, and I can’t seem to read the bemused expression on her face. “You haven’t asked me anything about my qualifications—”

  “You just told me,” she says. “College, work. The specifics are on your resume.”

  I know, but still…”You didn’t ask for references—”

  “Don’t need any.” Meredith grins. “I already know you.”

  “Shouldn’t you take a look at my portfolio?” I hold out the folder I brought with me.

  She takes it and flips through it almost negligently. “Great work, I love it. You’re in.”

  I’m still not sure about this. It has to be the most unconventional job interview I’ve ever had. “Thank you, but…”

  “All I need to know is this.”

  She scoots towards me a little, eager, and I fold my hands in my lap, waiting. Here it comes, a question about my work history, maybe why I left the paper or how do I explain the gap between my last job and now. The answer is on the tip of my tongue—I’ve been caring for my mother, just getting back on my feet, ready to tackle the world and take on marketing in today’s digital age…

  “Tell me,” she says, dropping her voice to a whisper so I have to lean in to hear it. Her eyes pin me in place. “Are you seeing someone at the moment?”

  I feel a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. “If you’re going to be my boss, is that any of your business?”

  Meredith’s gaze smolders as one hand strays to my knee. “I can rescind the offer, if you’d like.”

  “No, no.” I cover her hand with mine. Her skin is warm and dry, and I fold my fingers into her palm. “To both questions.”

  “Hmm.” She scoots closer still, and her hand drifts up my leg. “Are you interested in seeing someone?”

  I feel a sense of unreality wash over me. With a laugh, I ask, “Are you applying for the position?”

  Now she smirks, too. I’m glad she sees the humor in this. “I think you’ll find I’m m
ore than qualified.”

  “I’m sure you are,” I agree. “But it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen your work. I’m curious to learn how much you’ve improved over the years.”

  “Some things get better with age.” Meredith’s hand rubs up, slipping under the hem of my dress to caress my thigh. “I can show you some examples of my work now, if you’re interested.”

  I catch her hand in mine before it can go any farther. “Maybe tonight after dinner, what do you think?”

  With a wink, she says, “It’s a date.”

  * * * *

  There’s a deck nearby where employees park, and we agree to meet there at six. I spend some time in the afternoon filling out HR paperwork—Meredith was serious when she said I was hired—then head home to freshen up before the date.

  Date, jeez. I never thought a job interview would turn into…something more.

  Then again, I didn’t know I’d run into my high school flame, either. Who knows where the evening will end? I sure don’t, but I can’t wait to find out.

  At five minutes to six I’m back in the parking deck, engine idling in a visitor’s spot. I still have on the dress I wore to my interview—it’s the prettiest one I own. Most of the vehicles in the deck are gone, but there’s a bright blue Mustang convertible still here that I’m pretty sure belongs to Meredith. I can totally see her in something that flashy.

  I keep an eye on it, waiting. When Meredith finally appears, she heads straight for the convertible but I can see her looking around surreptitiously, trying to find me. I tap my horn once, then turn off the car and get out to wave.

  With a smile, she waves back, then gestures for me to come on over. Locking my car, I hurry over and fall into step beside her.

  She gives me a quick, one-armed hug. “Have I told you yet how good it is to see you again?”

  “You might’ve mentioned it,” I say with a laugh. I wrap an arm around her waist and leave it there, my hand resting on her hip, the feeling at once familiar and brand new at the same time. I feel like no time has passed since our girlhood—we’ve fallen right back into our friendship, picking things up right where we’d left them years ago.