More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) by Ann Royal Nicholas Read Free Book Online Page B

checking caller I.D. than sensing who it might be and picking up anyway—in other words, I picked up at one of those moments of weakness I’d been suffering.
    “I’ve been thinking about our favorite piece of furniture,” he teased, his voice seductive.
    Furniture was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment but, just to explain: I have this solid old dresser/sideboard thing that sits just off my kitchen and once belonged to my grandparents. Supposedly, it had been the focal point of the dining room in their Fresno farmhouse where buffet items were put out for big family dinners. Steven, however, liked it for sexual reasons because when I sat on top, naked and spread-eagled facing him (okay, it’s a little premeditated), my poontang was at the perfect height for his cock.
    “Steven, please—we’re not seeing each other any more, remember? Besides, something’s come up.”
    “You make me come up, I’ll give you that. Just thinking about putting your ass up on that dresser has me really needing to see you.”
    “Then don’t think about it. I’m at work, and I have a lot to catch up on.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    Realistically, I didn’t have to tell him anything; I knew that rationally. But I heard his voice, and all the good stuff flooded my brain, none of the bad. This is why I must never pick up when he calls!
    “I would have thought it might be sort of obvious,” I said, “with the trip and everything. We had an extra day in Tokyo and with the time difference… Plus, I rolled my ankle running through the airport.”
    “Oh, Babe, you all right?”
    “It’s a little swollen, but I’ll be fine.” Good, Quinn. Not a trace of encouragement .
    “Do you want me to come over later and take care of you? I miss you, Babe, and I can think of a few activities that don’t require an ankle.”
    “Sounds nice but… ” It did sound nice—the perfect antidote for all that was irksome, including the budding office love affair happening in front of my face at work. Irksome because when love was new, it was known to be infectious, and proximity to Steven would be very dangerous to my recovery. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    I imagined him sitting at his glass desk in the corner office of his glass castle—hey, The Glass Castle —his dark, close-cropped curls with the start of gray catching the setting sun. A handsome, successful, married man in the prime of life, and I liked him—very much. In truth, I loved him. But he wasn’t mine; he had a family, and continuing on would just pile on bad karma. And since coming to the conclusion he would never leave his wife, despite all his protestations to the contrary, I’d decided that anything that might happen between us in the future would have to be on my schedule. Ugh, what am I thinking? Thinking something might still happen between us in the future was disturbing and self-destructive.
    “I can’t,” I said again, my Better Me winning this round. “There’s an international corporate issue that’s come up, and I have to do due diligence.” This was not altogether untrue.
    He gave it a couple more tries, but my resolve held.
    So far, so good; I’d put him off. But I knew if I didn’t take further action, I might still cave to his will and my own longing. So I hung up and immediately decided to call a Muff for moral support. Which one, though? Well, including me, there are nine of us Muffs. Six have kids, three are divorced, two never married, a couple haven’t worked in years; one’s a vegan, one used to be into women, two still sneak cigarettes, one’s Buddhist, one’s Catholic, one’s Protestant, two are Jewish, two are Atheists, and all of us enjoy a good cocktail. We Muffs consider ourselves women of today who are smart and/or talented and/or attractive and/or lucky and/or of some means, even if those means are meager. But which member of Muffia should I call to help me deal with my weakening flesh in the face of