We ended up fucking on his bed, yes his bed in his room. While it was comfortable to be on a bed, I was surrounded by his high school trophies from that very year.
We exchanged phone numbers. He informed me that he was going to school just across town, but no longer living in Squire Hill and that he will be living in a dorm on campus.
I got into my car and drove home. I began reminiscing about my own freshman year at college, about ten years ago. He will be surrounded by tons of hot, sex crazed girls that would do anything to bang him. Damn it, I was getting jealous. I shook it off and focused my eyes on the road.
When I got home, I opened up my laptop and began writing some notes for the dog training session with Mr. Cooper tomorrow. While I am good at teaching pets, I'm not so good at teaching people. Mr. Cooper has got to be strong willed, I thought, he is super successful. Hopefully he won't be a pain in the butt to "train." My mind began to wander so I turned on a show on Netflix and fell asleep.
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In the morning, I texted Mr. Cooper asking him what time he would like me to come over. Hours passed and it was after lunch. Maybe he will cancel, I thought. I text finally came in, "Sorry. Meetings all day. 6." Thanks for asking me, I thought, and I responded, "See you then."
When I got to Squire Hill, the guards were oddly friendly. "Stacy? Mr. Cooper is expecting you, go on through!" I was pleasantly surprised, I guess Mr. Cooper made it a point to give them the heads up. I'm often used to clients forgetting to do those little odds and ends to make my life a little easier.
I drove up to the home, I felt a little drop in my heart to not see John's car. Instead the Rover was parked out front. Oh, the one we fucked on. Right.
I walked up to the door and it opened before I got up to it. Mr. Cooper was dressed in a button down shirt, probably worn under a suit earlier, standard "business pants," and well-shined shoes. Let's just say he looked like a million bucks.
For "official business" such as meeting with clients, I often dress as "professional" as one can in my field. Boring cotton shirt with some pet related theme or logo and khaki shorts/capris/pants. Sneakers. The epitome of sexy.
"Come in," he said, guiding me into his home as if I had never been there before.