For A Good Time, Call... by Jessica Gadziala

his light eyes looking
downright frantic.
    “Jesus,
Fee,” he said, letting my face go and sitting back on his
ankles
    “How
are you here?” I asked, feeling a little more lightheaded than
I should.
    “How?”
he asked, his brows drawing together. “I broke your door down.”
    “What?”
I asked, confused. “Why?”
    He
looked at my face. “You were screaming. I mean...
blood-curdling screaming. I thought someone was in here trying to
kill you. I kicked your door in.” I nodded, feeling more than a
little embarrassed and, what's worse, like I owed him an explanation.
I pushed up on my elbows and his hand shot to my shoulder. “Slow.
You've lost a lot of blood, baby.”
    My
eyes widened, going to my thigh, feeling like I was choking on my
self-consciousness. My thigh looked worse than I remembered through
the haze that allowed me to do the damage in the first place. The
cuts were deeper and he was right. There was drying blood on my leg,
all the way down to my knee and a frighteningly large puddle on the
tile floor next to me.
    I
reached out for the clean gauze, but his hands stopped me. “Fee,”
he said, my name like a question. “Talk to me.”
    “I
had a bad dream,” I said dumbly and he shook his head.
    “How
about this then?” he asked, gesturing toward my leg.
    “It
doesn't matter.”
    “To
me it does,” he countered.
    “Why?
Because I woke you up?”
    “Because
you scared the piss out of me tonight,” he admitted. “I
heard the screaming then I came in here and saw all the blood...”
    “Don't
worry,” I said, sitting up. “no murderers here. You can
go.”
    “I'm
not going anywhere,” he said, snatching the bottle of witch
hazel out of my hand. “I'll do it,” he said, squirting it
over my skin then blotting at the blood until my skin was clean. “Do
you want me to glue these?”
    “No,”
I said, watching him minister to me, carefully. Like he was afraid to
hurt me. Which was something completely new for me coming from a man.
I watched as he rose and dug around for triple antibiotic, coming
back and smoothing it over the cuts. “I'm not a slut,” I
heard myself saying, quietly.
    But
he heard me and his head shot up to my face. “I never said you
were,” he said, his brows
drawing together.
    “It's
just... last week...”
    “Fee
forget about that.”
    Was
he just trying to placate me? Poor little screwed up Fiona who needed
coddling so she didn't hurt herself. I couldn't let that be his
opinion of me.
    “I'm
not a slut,” I said again, my voice a little stronger. “I'm
a phone sex operator.”
    His
mouth had been open as if he was going to cut me off, then his eyes
went wide for a second before a smile started tugging at his lips.
“Wait. What?”
    “I'm
a phone sex operator.” At his blank look, I shrugged. “You
know... guys call me and I dirty talk them and...”
    “I
know what a phone sex operator is,” he said, rolling his eyes.
He sat there for a minute, lost in his own thoughts, looking entirely
too amused. “That explains a lot actually,” he said
finally. “So the, ah, horse noises...”
    I
laughed, bringing a hand up to my face. “Oh my god... that
guy.”
    He
smiled with me for a moment before his face went serious. “So
that other morning,” he started, his eyes bearing into mine.
“with the spanking...”
    “A
dom,” I supplied.
    “After,”
he said and I felt my face heat with the memory. “After you
hung up with him.” There was a long silence as if he expected
me to say something. But I couldn't. “You were thinking about
me. About me doing those things the guy had talked about.”
    “Maybe,”
I said, not able to look up at him any longer.
    “When
you were touching yourself,” he said, reaching out and tilting
my chin up so I faced him again.
    “Yeah,”
I admitted.
    “I
heard you,” he said. “Through the wall. I heard you
moaning. I stopped working to listen.” Which should have been
creepy, but it wasn't. “I was stroking my cock