Ever have a moment thrust on you that forced you to feel the passing of every single minute of the day? To be aware of every tick of the clock with agonizing clarity, but still wish that they wouldn't run down? Chase Ventris did, seated at his desk at work, his head in his hands, yearning to jump forward in time while fantasizing about the last twenty-four hours reversing themselves. It was a trip.
The knock at his door made him physically jump in his seat, and Maggie, the receptionist, appearing with her motherly smile made him inexplicably flush with guilt. "Sorry!"
Maggie's eyes scrunched, and she gave an amused laugh. "For...?"
"Uh... for... forgetting to give you your flowers this morning?" He motioned to the bouquet on his desk. "Um... thanks for keeping this sorry ship afloat all these months, Mags. You're the greatest."
While the matronly woman cooed and gushed in genuine surprise, Chase gave a quiet, rueful laugh.
Just as well, Mags does deserve this, and I have no idea what I was thinking.
Flowers. Like that would fix... anything. No, Chase knew what had to be done, and, right there, he vowed to just get it over with. It was time to go home.
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Tiptoeing through my own goddamn house. Quite the action hero I am. Momma really raised a winner.
Chase's iron resolve had morphed into pewter by the time he'd got home. Who was he kidding, wet noodle was a lot closer to the truth. The second he opened his front door, his eyes swept the house like there were hidden assassins waiting to leap out from behind the furniture. At seeing no one in the foyer, he, no less paranoid, focused on the hallway leading off to the bedrooms, craning his neck as if that would reveal anything more. It was quiet. It was empty. It was the perfect opportunity. He creeped forward, a man without a plan.
"Chase." The voice, firm in its neutrality, hit him from the side.
The fucking living room. How did I forget the fucking living room?
"Can you come in here?"
He didn't know what he expected to see, but his mother-in-law that he, just the previous day, had made cum in buckets on his fingers, sitting on his couch with a game controller in her hands, watching him with nothing more than innocent patience, was definitely not it.
"I keep getting my ass kicked by this... dragon thing." She waved vaguely at the big TV where one of Chase's favorite rpgs was paused. "I have to have missed a magic wand or some shit." She tilted her head and smiled. "Help a girl out?"
Oh hell. I finally snapped. Yesterday was a hallucination.
It seemed more plausible than the idea that Isabella Rossi, God's gift to horny men the world over, along with God's penchant for random smiting rolled into one mouth-watering package, had succumbed to his loving techniques. Much more believable was that eight months of stress had finally done him in.
Except, he knew it happened. He'd spent all day torturing and rewarding himself with the memory of having her in his arms. Of the sight of all those curves that had tantalized him since he was a teenager. Of finally, after so long, being able to show affection to someone and make them feel...
"Sure thing, Issy." He saw her eyes tighten a bit at the nickname, but her breezy little smile didn't slip once. He plopped down on the sofa next to her and plucked up the controller. "If I had to guess, you need to do some grinding."
He was very aware that she stopped breathing then.
"Grinding! I mean... fighting things! It's a... they call it grinding because it's, y'know... a grind. Tedious and stuff."
She paused a full eon before she responded. "Sure. That's me though. I always want to get right to the good part without... without having to take the time..." The forty-something woman blushed like a schoolgirl then, and she clamped her mouth shut. After realizing that she was making it worse, she finally took a deep breath, stretching the fabric of her blouse--no plebian T-shirt for Isabella--and gave Chase fits until he could force his eyes back to the screen. "Show me what you mean." Another pause. "Uh, please."
Please?
"No... no prob Issy." Chase proceeded to get her character to a good section for mindless slaughter and pointed out the best ways to ratchet up the xp. "A lot of games like this are designed to eliminate grind, which I appreciate sometimes. Sometimes, though, I like this old-school style. There's something to be said about putting the work in and building yourself up. The sense of satisfaction when you absolutely dominate later is... it's..."
Isabella's breath caught a hitch next to him, and now it was his turn to blush.
Christ, welcome to everyone's favorite show; Cheese and Issy Can't Stop Making Accidental Sex Metaphors.
He cleared his throat. "So yeah. The key to grinding is to find a way to not give up out of boredom. Either lose yourself in it, or take yourself entirely out of it." At a questioning look, he kept going. "Like, just really get... I dunno... hypnotized by killing shit over and over..."
"Yeah. That's not me."
"Okay. Then find a way to distract yourself while you do it. Fight easy stuff while listening to music, or have something else playing nearby to watch. Get to the old episodes of a podcast you never have time for. Kill two birds with one stone."
"Distraction. That sounds like the better plan." Isabella took back the controller and started her campaign of tedium, and Chase felt that he was excused. The second he got to his feet though, the woman's delicate little hand shot out and took hold of his sleeve. "Chase, I don't listen to podcasts."
As she said the words, she'd kept her eyes glued to the screen, but when he didn't move, and didn't speak, she slowly turned her head to look up at him, expressionless, but anticipatory.
No. She can't really be asking for...
"Here." The word was the lowest of whispers, and she looked away when she said it, but she scooted forward on the big couch until her yoga-pants-covered ass was perched at the edge of the cushion, leaving a lot of room behind her. Plenty of room.
Chase swallowed.