18 #ChancesAre

July 7, 2017
Friday

 

It was a quiet Friday night in Red Bank, New Jersey. 

 

After enduring all the family quality time that they could stand, Jon’s kids had invited friends and/or significant others over for the evening.  The whole lot of them had just vacated the pool and were scattering to various points around the house and property.  Video games, food, music and food were all mentioned as they slung towels around their waists and padded away in a cloud of laughter. 

 

That left Jon on the edge of the Navesink River with companions of solitude, dusk and humidity.  Muted lighting bathed his pool chair in a soft spotlight, but fireflies were still visible, and they blinked to the beat of whatever creature was making that “chirrup” noise. 

 

The moment of relative quiet didn’t bother Jon.  It was a welcome change after the constant hum of activity over the last several days.  The restlessness in his core didn’t mean he wasn’t relaxed; it just meant his workaholic mind thought he should be doing something – like maybe going up to the studio. 

 

The physical exertion of climbing the stairs would completely erase the soft edges his wine had painted into the evening, and Jon wasn’t willing to let go of it just yet.  So, for once, he told his type-A personality to shut the fuck up. 

 

It was too early to go to bed and television didn’t sound appealing.  Besides, he was enjoying the sultriness of the summer night.  It was his favorite season, and forsaking the outdoor warmth for inside air conditioning seemed blasphemous.

 

That left him stretched out on the chaise and reaching for his phone. 

 

Wonder what Cookie’s up to?

 

It was the hundredth time she’d invaded his thoughts during the past week.  Other than one comment on an Instagram post, they hadn’t had any contact during that time.  Had she been baking?  Did her trees escape the holiday unscathed?  Was she at home on the other side of the river tonight?  If so, was she alone or entertaining another date?

 

That last question was the one he was most curious about. 

 

Jon knew if he just had sex with the woman, she wouldn’t be on his mind so much.  Hell, even kissing her might chase away the notion that she tasted as sweet as she smelled.  He’d been craving the taste enough to cajole Stephanie into bringing some of those fucking cookies from the city, but all they did was torment his curiosity. 

 

Is this social media bullshit worth denying yourself?

 

Doubtful, but if she was dating somebody, he wasn’t denying himself so much as he was being a decent human being.  He was kind of set on being a decent human being, so rather than texting her, Jon poked at his phone with the intention of scrolling through Instagram.  That is, until he got a look at the alert that said the Gypsy character had sent him another private message. 

 

It was no longer a new thing, as she’d been sending them for a week now.  Sometimes there was only one message in a day, sometimes several, and each was peppered with… suggestiveness.  That was the nicest way he could put what had taken a turn toward solicitation.    

 

gypsysoulle: I’ve been communicating with you for days, but you never speak.  You haven’t blocked me, so why don’t you respond?  I can feel that my words connect with you.

gypsysoulle:  You are anonymous.  I’m anonymous.  No one will know if you reach out.  Your desires will be our secret.

gypsysoulle:  Only you will know the imagery of my lips slicking over your erection.  Softly slurping the treat you’ve allowed me. 
 

gypsysoulle: I had a dream about you last night.  You were festering with pent-up passion and aching for release.  The moment you touched me, it exploded with animalistic fury.  I was mounted and ridden with such urgency that I woke myself with the gasp of release.  The sheets were wrapped around my body like your sweaty arms. 

 

Those were the highlights, anyway.  With those kinds of thoughts coming at him, it was no wonder he’d been thinking about Teddi.  At least she was real and not some faceless erotic entity.

 

Jon still found himself torn between intrigue and dread at what Gypsy had to say tonight.  He shouldn’t even look.  He should block the account, like she mentioned.  Probably would if the horny little devil on his shoulder didn’t insist upon tapping the little paper airplane for her latest note.

 

gypsysoulle: What are you waiting for?  All you have to do is say hello.  Everything else will work itself out. 

 

Blowing out a thin breath, he darkened the phone screen without submitting to the temptation of re-reading the previous messages yet again.  It wasn’t necessary to physically see the words, anyway.   He’d read them often enough to have them mostly memorized, and after each reading, he toyed with the idea of answering her. 

 

With the crickets singing under the fall of dark and the sultry breeze caressing his leg, Jon wasn’t just toying tonight.  Wine, loneliness and frustration were encouraging him to reach out.  To see what would happen. 

 

The woman had a sexy Gypsy for her profile picture, followed tantric sex accounts and posted soft porn on her own account.  What man wasn’t going to conjure up a wild fantasy or two from that?  And the way she spoke to him with such familiarity.

 

Because she fucking knows who you are. 

 

Right.  This was a lesson in making him uncomfortable on social media, as promised by Dr. Cookie.  Well, he was uncomfortable as hell.  This shit was unprofessional and made him feel like he was paying for dial-a-porn.  Teddi needed to put a fucking leash on her assistant. 

 

Put a leash on her yourself.

 

Great.  His sex-deprived brain took that idea and ran with it like a kinky motherfucker.  He seriously needed to get laid – and to put a stop to this. 

 

Jon fired up the phone screen again with the intention of lashing out at Teddi, but he was waylaid by an incoming text.

 

[9:08 PM]DAVE: I have an esteem bulge in my skull that I was told accounts for my cockiness.  Yours has to be bigger than mine.  Do you have a bulge just below the crown of your head? 

 

Say what? 

 

David was known for being random, but bulging skulls were a new level of weird.

 

[9:09 PM]JON: Everybody does, you fucknut.  Why are you groping your skull?

[9:10 PM]DAVE: Teddi’s teaching me phrenology.

[9:11 PM]JON:  Teddi MONTGOMERY?

[9:12 PM]DAVE: How many Teddis do you know?

[9:13 PM]JON:  WHY do you know Teddi?

[9:14 PM]DAVE: We’re friends.

Jon scrubbed one hand over his face in exasperation.  Trying to get logical answers out of his friend was a pain in the ass sometimes.  Doing it via text message was fucking impossible, so he jabbed the icon that would get him through to a live voice.

 

“Yo.  So, the spot I’m talking about isn’t that really big bulge on the back of the skull, it’s-“

 

“I don’t give a good goddamn about your bulging skull,” Jon interrupted flatly.  “What do you mean you’re friends with Teddi?”

 

“Friends.  Standard definition applies.  Well, maybe not exactly standard, since she won’t let me meet her, but we’ve been chatting online.”

 

“That doesn’t tell me how you became friends.”

 

An impatient huff came over the line.  David hated slowing down his crazy brain to explain things. 

 

“I saw her comments on your Instagram posts and sent a message asking to meet the modern-day June Cleaver.  She wasn’t thrilled about that, by the way.”

 

“Why the fuck did you tell her that?”  Jon had only come up with that in the first place to keep David away from her.  He didn’t actually think of her as motherly.  Not by a long shot. 

 

“I dunno.  It just came up.  Anyway, she shot me down since she’s antisocial – that’s funny, don’t you think?  An antisocial social media consultant?”

 

Antisocial?  What the hell did that mean?

 

“Fuckin’ hilarious.”

 

“That’s what I said!” Happy to have the validation, he prattled on, “She won’t agree to an in-person meeting, so we’ve been chatting online.  Very interesting lady.”

 

Jon rubbed his forehead while trying to process what the hell his friend was saying.  David had been chatting with Teddi while Jon was seduced by a fake Gypsy?  He found that unreasonably annoying.  Almost as annoying as the idea that his friend may know more than he did about Cookie. 

 

It was likely, in fact, because what did Jon know?  That she was smart, ethical and had an attraction to him?

 

Jon slanted narrowed eyes at the other side of the river.

 

And that she smelled like cookies.

 

You also know that she can bake those cookies, that she’s hiding behind a curtain of beige and….  And…

 

Okay.  That was pretty much it, but he wouldn’t mind knowing more.  Even stuff that didn’t require touching.

 

“Interesting how?”

 

“That phrenology deal is cool.  I might consider getting one of those skulls.  You know, for something different than the hundred normal skulls I have.”

 

“Candleholder skulls are not normal.”

 

“Well,” David mused thoughtfully.  “Maybe not, but they sure as hell aren’t mapped.  Oh, and she talks like the Queen with all the proper grammar and shit, but she’s also got a wicked sense of humor.  She gets my jokes.”

 

The grammar and sense of humor weren’t news to Jon, but there was one tidbit in there that threw him for a loop.  He impatiently swatted away some flying bug, his eyebrows pinching together over his nose as he asked, “You actually talked to her?”

 

“Like on the phone?  No.  It just sounds stupid to say she types with proper grammar.”

 

“Oh.”  That didn’t thrill Jon, but it did ease the muscles in his forehead.  “Since when has sounding stupid ever stopped you?”

 

“Hardee har har.  You’re a riot.”

 

He wasn’t feeling all that amused now.  The restlessness was worse than before.  It was that same feeling he’d had before going to see Teddi in the first place – like he should do something. Fuck if he knew what that was though.

 

“I think she’s starting to like me, so I’ll circle back to asking for an appointment again before long.   She can teach me Broadway marketing or some such shit.” 

 

“Why are you so interested in meeting her?” Jon asked, managing to keep the question minimally prickly. 

 

“I dunno.  At first it was entertainment value to how a pompous sounding bookworm could possibly resemble June Cleaver.  Now she’s interesting to me.  I mean, how cool is it to be a skull reading Gypsy?”

 

Obviously that Gypsy messenger was embedded more deeply in Jon’s subconscious than he’d suspected.  Because hell if it didn’t sound like Dave just said “Gypsy”.

 

“Gypsy?”

 

“Right?  It piques your interest, too!”

 

God forbid David actually feed him useful information without having it extracted like impacted wisdom teeth.  

 

“What does a Gypsy have to do with Teddi Montgomery?”

 

“You didn’t know man?" his crazy friend mused with surprise.  "Dr. Teddi Bear is half Gypsy.  Her mom was a full-blooded one, with the cool name and everything.”

 

Sonofabitch. 

 

Cookie was a Gypsy?  A social media expert Gypsy. 

 

“What was the mom’s name, Dave?” he demanded, needing to know whether it was the same as the one on the sexy Instagram profile.  Esmerelda.

 

What are the fucking chances that the woman who’s been riling you up is the same woman who’s had you riled for weeks?

 

“Esmerelda.  Just like in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Cool, huh?”

 

Chances are pretty fucking good.