One Call Away CHapter One

STELLA

Article Draft

God, I miss sex.

I miss feeling another person’s hands on me. the scrape of skin on skin. the undying sense of exploration and the thrill that comes with it.

And the release.

God, yes. The release.

I let out a frustrated breath and stare at my computer. Then, I aggressively punch the backspace button with my index finger like it’s done something offensive.

I can’t believe I’ve let myself fall down the rabbit hole again.

It’s been happening more and more lately—I drift off into la-la land and start concocting unlikely scenarios in my head. It’s a reprieve from the constant pressure to produce click-worthy content for the website, but it only ever leaves me unsatisfied. I’ve been sitting here for two days now, waiting for inspiration to strike when it feels like it’ll never come.

But it needs to. Just like me.

Vibrators are great and all, but nothing replaces the feel of a rock-hard—

My desk phone rings, and my mind screeches to a halt, the idea of a sexy office hunk ravishing me making my skin tingle.

A quick glance at the time at the upper right corner of my computer sends my heart racing. I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips as I think of the growly voice that’s waiting for me on the other end of the line.

Benjamin Daniels.

The man I’m ferociously attracted to but keep at a distance.

The man who’s all too often the star of my sexual fantasies.

Very few things about this job excite me, but his phone calls never fail to make my pulse race. They affect me even though I try ridiculously hard to appear indifferent. But every time the phone rings at exactly 9:03 a.m. my body defies me and I turn into a pent-up, horny mess.

If he ever knew how his dark, grumbly voice made my lady bits tingle, I’d be done for.

I physically shake myself before bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hello, Benjamin.” 

Even saying his name out loud makes me flush, so much that I almost hang up in fear of him realizing what he does to me. Which is ridiculous, I know.

“We’ve been over this, Stel,” Ben grumbles before the distinct pop of his knuckles cracking threads across the line. “Only my parents call me Benjamin.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. “You really shouldn’t crack your knuckles. You’re going to get early-onset arthritis.”

“And you’re going to need a neck brace from slouching all day.”

“It’s not my fault these chairs suck.”

“So, get a new chair.”

I can’t help the smile that captures my mouth. “What can I do for you today, Benjamin? Is the photocopier jammed again? Do I need to send an intern over?”

Needling Ben over the phone is easy; it’s just when he’s standing in front of me that I can’t think straight. I get distracted by the perfect swoop of his curly locks and how his dress shirt pulls taut across his chest when he crosses his arms. I swear, he rolls his sleeves up just to spite me, trying to kill me with incredible arm porn. So, I rely on phone banter, and the fact I know how to hit the right spots to make his voice get all growly is a bonus.

Because damn, I love that sound.

“I just finished reassembling the machine this morning, and it’s working just fine,” he declares. “And please, stop calling me Benjamin.”

“Sure.” I allow a beat of silence to pass before continuing. “So why are you really calling me?”

The moment I met Ben three years ago, I knew I’d be endlessly fighting to keep my libido in check. He’s gorgeous, with his tall, broad form, glacier-blue eyes, and hair the perfect length to rake my fingers through. He’s the epitome of office eye-candy. And his smoldering looks? Well, they’re hot enough to melt the panties off any woman. Including me. How could I not want that flawless face hovering above mine, even if it’s only a figment of my imagination? All it would take is one weak moment to act on this stupid crush.

Because that’s all this is—a crush. Something I need to ignore until it disappears.

I clear my throat. “I’m working. Not all of us get to slack off.”

“I see.” I hear papers shuffle across the line, followed by a thump. “What’s your next article about?”

The last thing I need Ben knowing is that I have writer’s block. I’ll never live it down. “You’ll just have to wait and see, like everyone else.”

“Oh, come on, Stel. You can tell me. What would a sports reporter do with a lifestyle beat anyway Why are you being so secretive?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

The fluorescent ceiling lights beat down on me like a mallet. They do nothing to help my already-raging headache. But I think that’s more to do with the lack of coffee in my system than Ben’s call. I need at least three cups to function properly. 

I’ll be honest, though, the idea of getting up and wandering to the break room only to find an empty coffee pot agitates me.

“Fine,” I huff. “I have writer’s block.”

Ben blows out a breath. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Silence starts to stretch between us, but then Ben says, “Can I offer some advice?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me, even if I say no.”

He chuckles, and the sound makes my stomach flip. “You should write about something personal. Something that’ll turn some heads.”

I scoff. “No one wants to read about my personal life.”

There isn’t much to tell.

Besides, who wants to read about the woes of a woman still emerging from the ashes of her past relationship? How can I write about me when I’m still trying to find myself again?

“I’d read it.”

My mind grinds to a stop because what?

Ben, my secret office crush—the guy I almost kissed once and is now the feature player in my sexual fantasies—would read an article about me?

I don’t buy it. Not for a second.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”

“Trust me. Our readers like to know who they’re getting into bed with.”

The idea of jumping into bed with Ben shoots to the front of my mind again. I bet he’s fantastic in the sack. But passionate sex with Benjamin Daniels won’t solve any of my problems. It would do the exact opposite. Seeing him all naked and sweaty every time I close my eyes is the last thing I need.

“Do they now?” I muse.

“They do.”

I sigh, allowing silence to stretch between us like it always seems to. I can’t ignore the hope that surges through my chest at him possibly wanting to prolong these calls, too.

But hell, who am I kidding?

The first time he called me was a mistake, a fluke. But I remember it like it was yesterday. Clearly, Ben meant to call someone else, because I barely got my greeting out before he started rambling on about some random sports thing. I sat there for a good minute with the phone pressed to my ear, trying not to swoon at the deep timbre of his voice. It’s safe to say I failed epically. After that, I never expected to hear from him again. So, I was pleasantly surprised when my phone rang at 9:03 a.m. the next day and his voice was on the other end.

And now I have the pleasure of getting a snarky phone call every day at exactly 9:03.

I blink the memory away. “Thanks for the tip. Now, is there anythingelse I can do for you? I need to go make more coffee.”

“Ooh. Coffee.”

I sigh. “I already know I’ll have to make a new pot. I bet Charlene was in there and drank the last cup without making more. Don’t people know about the unspoken coffee pot rule?” 

Ben chuckles, and it sends a tingle down my spine. “I guess I’ll let you go.”

“Yes,” I say, a smile in my voice. “As always, Benjamin, it’s been a pleasure.”

He grunts. “Please, stop calling me that.”

I smile, for real this time. “Goodbye.”

I let out a deep breath as I hang up. I need to get a handle on myself. Five minutes talking to Ben, and it feels like my entire body has gone up in flames. I shouldn’t like him. At all. Crushing on a person you work with is dangerous. But I do like him, and I’m tempted every day to act on these stupid feelings even though the little voice at the back of my mind tells me he’s not interested. That no matter what I thought happened between us in the break room two years ago, there’s no way he’d want me.

I slump back in my uncomfortable desk chair. It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, and I’m sure there are probably cobwebs in my vagina. I want to feel desired and sexy, I do, but I’m not ready for the aftereffects yet.

In my experience, sex goes one of two ways: it’s either meaningless, or it’s contingent. I don’t do meaningless sex, but I’m nowhere near ready to embark on another relationship. I’m still trying to piece the tattered scraps of my heart together from the last one.

So for now, I’m taking care of myself, once self-induced orgasm at a time. And I’m certain there are hundreds of women in this city who are just like me.

Just like me.

My spine straightens as an idea for an article appears in my head.

Who cares if a woman isn’t in a relationship or having sex all the time? That doesn’t make her any less desirable. What if we could end the stigma targeting single, self-sufficient women and normalize the beauty and reliability of self-pleasure? I’m a single woman, and I know a lot about being sexually sufficient. My vibrator’s seen more action in the last twelve months than…well, that’s about it. And I’d bet my left tit I’m not the only one.

I could totally write about how perfectly normal it is to not be having sex.

Coffee forgotten, I turn back to my computer and awaken the stubborn document I was staring at ten minutes ago. And as I type, I try not to ruminate on how Ben is partially responsible for breaking my block, even though it was my thinking about him that gave me this epiphany in the first place.

But still, I have Ben to thank.

Not that I’d ever tell him.