Loving Ms. Wrong Read online

  Loving Ms. Wrong

  By C.J. Ellisson

  Red Hot Publishing

  P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

  Smashwords Edition May 2014

  Copyright 2014 C.J. Ellisson

  Cover Design by Kim Killion, HotDamnDesigns.com

  ISBN 9781938601309

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Kim Engstrom. Thanks for being my supporter and I’m honored to call you my friend.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter One

  Katrina

  “I don’t know, Gemma,” I say while teetering in the pink shoes with the zebra striped heel. “I’m not really an animal-print type of girl. And these things are loud.”

  “Oh, get over yourself, Ms. Namaste. It’s Carla’s birthday. Let loose, have some fun. Besides, we’re all wearing zebra with pink trim. If you don’t do it you’ll look like a stuffy fuddy-duddy.”

  I hide my grimace of distaste, uncaring what people think of me if I stand out for not dressing up.

  Gemma shoots me a dirty look. “Katrina—I know what you’re thinking. And Carla will know, too. Didn’t she help one of your customer’s daughters with Dress for Success when the young woman needed clothes for a new job?”

  Damn, guilt works on me every time. I’m such a sap that way. Especially when she’s right. Carla has been a good friend to me, she even helped me move. The least I can do is not complain about the silly party theme Gemma and Heather cooked up for her.

  “All right. All right. I’ll wear them.” I sigh and take small mincing steps toward the mirror. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn a short skirt and heels this high, preferring the long flowing skirts and blouses I wear while working the herbal shop. I have to admit, the shoes make my legs look good.

  Gemma smiles. “It’s about time you show off the body all those long hours in yoga helped sculpt.”

  I resist the urge to ignore her complimentary words and force out a low “thanks.” I don’t practice yoga to look good. I do it to be strong enough to meditate for long hours after working in the shop all day. Gemma, Carla, and Heather—the friends I met at the yoga studio over a year ago—do it for the health benefits, so I don’t remind her of what they’ve collectively called my ‘eccentricities.’

  They don’t know the real reason I meditate every day, and I’d rather keep it that way. Sometimes it’s difficult to admit to a friend what you don’t even like admitting to yourself. Plain and simple, meditating daily keeps me sane.

  “Okay, chica, are we ready to roll?” Gemma asks.

  I turn back to the mirror and check the new dark blue streaks in the bangs dangling over one eye. The blue looks fun and hip. I’m glad I did it. “Yup. Let’s go.”

  I lock the metal door to the mini-apartment located in the back third of my store. It’s totally illegal for me to be living here, but my newly limited finances don’t allow for a business on this street and a place of my own. Thankfully my friends don’t judge me, or maybe they just don’t know zoning laws and decided to remain politely silent during my move last month. Besides, it’s temporary—only until I get more funds in the store’s accounts. Taking on all the new pharmaceutical grade supplements, which are used in conjunction with prescribed medication for various health concerns, really wiped out my cash, but I have faith it was a wise move to upgrade.

  We stride through the darkened aisles of well-ordered pill bottles, herbal tinctures, powders, teas, and various homeopathic remedies. Closing time on a Friday night is eight o’clock, which was thirty minutes ago, and the last customer left closer to seven.

  “Did you get her a gift?” Gemma appears concerned. She and Heather were so cute with their rah-rah emails and texts planning this party. I would have been a total shit if I’d forgotten or cheaped-out due to my tight budget.

  I make a detour toward the counter and grab the gift bag I set there earlier. “Yup.”

  Her eyebrows rise in excitement. “What did you get?”

  I laugh and motion her to precede me out the door so I can lock up. The moist humidity of summer wraps around us, making me regret leaving the air conditioning of the store. Hopefully the predicted thunder shower will hold off ’til tomorrow. “I can follow directions, you know.” I twist the key in the lock and punch in a code by the door, arming the store alarm. This area of the Village doesn’t need the roll-down metal screens for security, but then again, I’m not selling high-end electronics, either. “I bought her gag gifts, as instructed.” I smile at my friend and loop my arm through hers as we head to the subway one block down. “You’ll be so proud. Glow-in-the-dark penis straws and penis candy necklaces.”

  Gemma’s dimples appear with her huge grin. “Awesome! She’s going to laugh herself silly.” She waves her gift bag in the air. “I got penis shot glasses and a funny girl’s only card game. Heather has her place all decorated, the cupcakes, and a couple of other fun surprises I won’t spoil.”

  I watch the ground carefully, unwilling to step in a sidewalk grating or rut with these heels on. “You two surprised me with all the bachelorette-type stuff. She’s not getting married, right?”

  “Nope. We thought it would be a nice change of pace. A girls night out theme rather than our standard dinner and drinks out with friends.”

  I like dinner and drinks out with friends, but hold back my thoughts as the two obviously had so much fun planning tonight. “Isn’t she dating a guy from work?”

  “Yes! A guy named Andy. I haven’t met him yet. Oh—and I don’t think you’ve heard the latest.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Heather told me Carla gave him a key to her place a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Get out!” I stumble in my stride, surprised the self-proclaimed loner took such a big step. “Good for her—I think.”

  We navigate down the concrete stairs in our heels carefully, the sound and unpleasant smells of the subway in summer rushing up to greet us.

  “She’s happy,” Gemma says. “What’s there to think about?”

  I shrug and look toward the train platform, unsure what to say. I am happy for her. Maybe even a tad jealous if I’m honest with myself. I haven’t felt anything more than friendship toward a man in years. And I’ve tried. Trust me.

  But to give a guy a key to your place? I can’t even imagine doing something similar. Hi, care to have a key to my livelihood and my residence?

  I bet that would go over real well with a guy. Good thing I’m not looking for one.

  The rest of the short trip is uneventful. The closer we get to Heather’s stop the more excited Gemma becomes. She’s sweet, in an exuberant-puppy kind of way.

  She grabs my hand and hustles out when the train halts at the correct street, and then pushes us up the stairs, obviously in a rush.

  I struggle to keep up, crowds can b
e difficult in heels. “Slow down, Gemma. I’d rather get there without a broken ankle.”

  “It’s almost nine! Carla is due to arrive at nine. I don’t want to be late.”

  I quicken my pace, feeling more sure in the heels than I did at my place. “It’s not a surprise party, right? Did I miss that detail in the dozens of texts?”

  When we reach the corner, Gemma looks back and forth quickly, her long dirty blond hair brushing her shoulders, then crosses against the light, dragging me with her. Panic seizes me for an instant before a glance right and left assures me the street is safe. Jesus, she’s a woman on a mission.

  “Not a surprise party, you’re right. But I want to be there before her.”

  By sheer luck, and a heavy dose of female determination, we arrive at Heather’s place before Carla.

  Heather’s dressed in a zebra print top, a gauzy hot pink scarf belted at her waist, a short black leather skirt, and the sexiest platform zebra shoes I’ve ever seen. I would have thought July in Manhattan was too hot for leather, but Heather pulls it off well. It’s not like we’ll be partying on the streets, so I’m betting the heat never came into account when picking out the skirt.

  “You look fabulous, Katrina!” Heather gushes, a big smile on her face. “Look at those wild shoes. Love them. Can I get you a drink?” She ushers us into her open floor plan apartment, the living room on the right, and the dining room mostly open to the kitchen on the left.

  I glance at the two other ladies already there and note their wine glasses are filled with a dark liquid. Heather introduces us to the two women, one is Carla’s sister, Julie, and the other is a woman Carla works with named Bekki. Heather informs us they’re all drinking sangria and moves to the kitchen to get us glasses, too.

  Heather’s apartment is decorated with streamers, pink and black balloons, and a few small zebra accents. I spy other gift totes on the dining room table and deposit mine there. It’s a little after nine and I’m sure the birthday girl will be arriving soon. Despite wearing shoes I normally wouldn’t pick, I’m feeling good about tonight. A girls night is just what I need to get out of my current routine.

  By ten-thirty we’re all a little buzzed and laughing so hard a few of us are wiping tears away. Julie brought a game called “Who’s the Biggest Pervert?” And I’m not sure if I should be appalled or proud that I’m the biggest pervert in the group so far. Heather and Carla toasted me twice, forcing all of us to drink even more of the brandy infused wine laced with fruit. It goes great with the chocolate cupcakes Heather made, so none of us complained. Then again, doesn’t everything go with chocolate?

  I’m feeling no pain when Carla informs us it’s time to take the party on the road. Festooned with tacky pink sashes that say Girls Night Out, wearing pink Mardi-gras beads and the candy penis necklaces, and each carrying our glow in the dark straws in our purse, we’re ready to paint the town. I’m glad there’s no mirror near the elevators or I’d probably have second thoughts about being seen in public wearing this stuff.

  “Oh, wait!” Julie shouts. “I have something fun for everyone to take home.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Might stir up a little ‘magic.’ You never know.” She reaches into her purse while we enter the elevator and pulls out a handful of tiny plastic baggies. “Here,” she says while distributing one to each of us.

  Heather opens hers first. “Are these dice? The shape is odd. What are these little pictures?” She gasps in understanding.

  I look to mine and start laughing. “No way. Did you get us dirty gamer dice? These have pictures of people having sex in different positions on each side.”

  Carla squeals in delight. “So cool! I can’t wait to try this later with Andy.”

  Conversation and comments swirl over each other as everyone checks out their die.

  “Hey,” Bekki says as we leave the elevator. “I got a bum one. There’s two spots on here with the guy getting head. Talk about unfair.”

  “Lemme see,” says Gemma while she frantically searches her die, too. “Dammit. Mine is the same way.”

  We spill into the night, giggling like a pack of randy college girls. Julie’s laughing so hard it takes her a second to respond. “Sorry, guys. Should have mentioned I think these things were designed by men. All of them have the two blow job sides.”

  A man in his thirties wandering by us on the sidewalk looks up at her words, checks out the lot of us from head to toe, and smiles bright. We all laugh again.

  “Seems unfair,” Heather says between gasps of laughter. “Maybe we should put white-out on one of them and insert a question mark… like lover’s choice?”

  I slip my die in my purse, glad again I came to Carla’s party. She loved all the gag gifts and seems to be having as much fun as the rest of us.

  We finally arrive at one of our favorite bars, The Parlor, located in mid-town, and teeter in on our high heels. There are two bars upon entering, one to the right and one on the left. The left one is more reserved and smaller, more of a place patrons wait to be seated in the back for dinner. And there’s a downstairs, too. It’s all bar and empty floor space.

  Some weekends they have a band, or a DJ plays for dancing. We saunter into the bar on the right, listening for signs a band might be tuning up downstairs. One of the bartenders sees us and smiles at our attire. His attention draws the eye of customers and half a dozen men turn to stare at us as well. After all, we are all wearing pink sashes and some form of zebra striped item. I bet we look a sight.

  A blush warms my cheek and I smile in surprise before I can stop myself. There’s something to be said about drinking copious amounts of sangria and hanging out with friends. I feel like I’m on top of the world. And considering I’ve had trouble feeling anything but ambivalence for the past few years, I’d say that’s a very good thing.

  A handsome guy with dark skin and dark brown eyes steps toward us, looking like he’s eager to venture into our midst. He’s dressed in a suit, indicating he’s either traveling on business or he came straight from work and has been at the bar ever since. God, if that’s the case he could be pretty drunk.

  I step to the back of our group, unwilling to put myself out as available and interested. What’s the point anyway? I may be the biggest pervert according to the questions and what I’ve done in my life sexually, but ever since my sister’s trouble years ago, I haven’t felt anything but polite interest in a man, or a woman for that matter. And I sure as hell have tried.

  “Go on, Katrina,” Heather nudges me to step closer to the attractive, hopeful man standing in the middle of our group. “You’re single. Live a little.” She snorts softly in amusement. “Although, after hearing your answers earlier, I have a feeling you’ve lived more than the rest of us put together.”

  I smile, but stay firmly where I’m standing. “If any of it had mattered, I’d still be with at least one of the guys, don’t you think?”

  Her face falls and I realize I’ve revealed too much. I’m not going to be the Debbie Downer of tonight. I look into the sea of bodies surrounding us, hoping for a diversion so I can avoid her rejoinder. One man is staring at us with an intensity he doesn’t hide.

  He’s got wavy dark hair that’s a little too long for corporate life, a thick build and broad chest, and a devastating smile. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before. He’s got a leaner, taller friend standing next to him, too. Both look like they work out or at least keep themselves active.

  “Hey, do you know that guy, the one with the dark hair?” I ask Heather, indicating the two men with my chin. “He’s staring at us something fierce.”

  Heather checks and her face brightens. “That’s my boyfriend Tony. I think you met him when we went out a while ago. I didn’t know we were coming here so he must have come on his own.” She cranes her head while looking, reaching out a hand to wave at him. “Oh, and his best friend Marcus is with him. Want to meet him?”

  Inwardly I cringe, but outward
ly I smile and nod. His friend has a dimple in his chin, a mischievous grin on his face, and light brown hair that looks like it’s been streaked by the sun. He looks pleasant enough. “Sure.” After all, what harm can it do to talk to the guy?

  Chapter Two

  Marcus

  Tony’s girlfriend Heather waves to us from her pack of giggling beauties. I see Carla, and there’s a woman next to Heather I vaguely recognize. Maybe she was one of the women out dancing with her and Carla a couple of months ago. That was the night I knew Tony had fallen hard for the long-legged woman. I don’t think he knew it yet, though.

  This time the other woman’s hair is different. Short, spiky, and I think I see blue bangs. Who the hell wants blue hair? Maybe it’s just supposed to be for fun. I never know why women do half the shit they do anyway.

  Like you’re one to talk with your manicured nails.

  They’re buffed and trimmed, not manicured.

  I run a thumb over the nails on one hand. Nothing wrong with a man keeping up his appearance. Well-tended hands mean my fingers won’t snag on a woman’s silky skin or stockings during the heat if the moment.

  Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Has nothing to do with a past of digging ditches you’re trying to forget.

  I stifle my inner bashings when the two ladies head our way. I straighten and clear my throat. Heather’s focused solely on her man, and her friend has a questioning look on her face, like she’s unsure if she should approach with her.

  The woman is good looking. I would totally do her. Do I want another quick fling or should I respect this is Heather’s friend and stick to polite but uninterested? No time to decide before they’re upon us.