Precious Consequences

timing, I’m even more frustrated after being unable to finish. The image of deep, blue eyes and dark, rich brown hair comes to mind and I blush, even though I’m alone in my room. He can only be a figment of my imagination, a delirious fantasy, because I’ve never dated a man that looks anything like him. Something about those eyes…

A soft knock on my bedroom door makes me jump and I clasp my damp tank top. “Who is it?” I choke out. It can only be one person but I’m so lost in my imaginary Adonis’ blue eyes that all sense momentarily disappeared.

“What do you mean ‘who is it’?” my roommate and best friend Quinn asks as she steps into my room.

I sigh. “Sorry, Quinny. I was a little confused.” She comes to stand next to my bed and I take in her light pink nighties and her matching pink slippers. Quinn Avery is a stunning woman. Her blonde hair is cut into a sleek bob that accentuates her high cheek bones, rosy cheeks and hazel colored eyes. We’re both the same height, standing at five feet six inches, but where her hair his blonde and short, mine is light brown and hangs to the middle of my back, and where her eyes are hazel, mine are green.

“You better get ready,” she quips, surveying my sweaty appearance. “You have a meeting at eight.” I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and pick up the old-fashioned alarm clock that ruined my morning.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I have less than forty five minutes to get ready and make a stop at Starbucks on my way to work. I dash past Quinn, who chuckles behind me, and take the quickest shower of my life. If it wasn’t for Quinn, I would never do anything or get anywhere on time. You’d think that by the age of twenty-two my time management would be perfect. Sadly, it’s not. I riffle through my small closet until I find my gray pencil skirt and my white button down blouse with bell sleeves. I’m busy fastening the strap of my black wedges when Quinn walks into my room. She’s wearing her favorite cream colored dress pants with a red button down shirt and matching red stiletto heels.

“I’m almost ready,” I say. I grab my on-the-go make-up bag and throw it into my oversized Gucci knock off purse.

“Are we stopping at Starbucks?” Quinn asks while she puts her diamond stud earrings in. She always dresses to impress and that goes for her flashy accessories too. Unlike me, Quinn comes from a very wealthy family who are very well known here in Chicago. She doesn’t need a job but chooses to work because it’s what she loves doing.

I roll my eyes. “I never miss my morning cup of java,” I quip. “You know that, Quinny.”

Making sure that I have everything, I grab my purse and my laptop bag and walk out in the hallway and into the kitchen. I love our little apartment. It’s our slice of heaven. The floors are all hardwood and the furniture is a combination of dark chocolate and caramel in color, with red scatter cushions to add some depth. The short hallway leads to two bedrooms and a bathroom. Luckily Quinn has an en suite bathroom of her own so we don’t have to share. Our kitchen has steel appliances, courtesy of Quinn’s parents, and marble counters with wood cupboards that match the floors. My favorite feature is the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the corner of what should be our dining room. Instead of dining room furniture, we got a chaise lounge set and now use it as a reading nook. Quinn comes strolling down the hallway like it’s a runway and slips her too big sunglasses on top of her head. In the two years that we’ve been living together, I’ve learned many things about Quinn, one of them being no matter how well she dresses she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks. She smiles at me and I return it as we slip out of our apartment and into the elevator that takes us five floors down to the lobby. We greet Charles, an older gentleman, who mans the front desk, and step into the bustle of a Monday morning. The city is so different compared to where I grew up. There isn’t even a comparison between it and the tiny town I ran away from or the two bedroom trailer I shared with my good-for-nothing parents. I push my thoughts about them and that life out of my mind as we near the Starbucks on the corner.

“Your usual?” I ask Quinn as I take out my purse to pay.

She nods and I immediately fall into the line before the morning rush starts. I order two Vanilla Lattes and wait patiently to collect them. The young guy behind the counter is watching me and I have to admit the attention isn’t completely unwelcome. He looks about twenty-one with sandy blonde hair that hangs in his face. He isn’t unfortunate looking by any means but I find myself comparing him to the blue eyes and chocolate colored hair from my dream. My cheeks flush at the memory and when the guy hands me our Latte’s the look on his face tells me he thinks he made me blush. I duck my head and pass Quinn her cup before walking back out onto the busy sidewalk.

“What was that all about?” Quinn asks between sips.

I mutter, “Nothing,” and keep my head down while inhaling the sweet caffeinated aroma coming from my cup.

“Does it have anything to do with you screaming like a banshee this morning?”

I almost choke on the hot liquid in my mouth and barely manage to stop it from shooting out my nose. When Quinn sees my shocked expression, my eyes wide, she giggles.

“You heard me?” I whisper. Quinn laughs harder and I wish the sidewalk would swallow me whole. Great. Nothing like your best friend hearing your screams in the middle of a wet dream.

“I’m pretty sure the whole building heard you, Cass,” she chuckles.

“Can you imagine what I would’ve sounded like if I fi-” I slap my hand over my mouth and watch as Quinn almost doubles over with laughter. Now I’ve really done it. Foot meet mouth.

Quinn finally catches her breath and pats my shoulder sympathetically. “We need to get you laid,” she proclaims, not giving a rats ass who overhears our conversation. We walk past a little old lady who gasps and then scowls when I look at her sheepishly.

“Says the diva who was out until God knows what time this morning, getting freaky with Jarred,” I retort quickly. Her porcelain cheeks flush. “Ha,” I shout. “I knew it! You just can’t stop yourself, can you?”

Quinn lifts her dainty shoulders in a shrug but I see the smile tugging at her red lips. She can’t lie to me. I heard her come in at about two a.m. “Why don’t you put the poor guy out of his misery and go on a date with him?” I ask.

She purses her lips, pulling the bottom one between her teeth. “Because I don’t do commitment,” she replies. “Jarred and I are just friends.”

I snort. “Friends who happen to fuck like rabbits for three weeks out of the month.”

“What can I say,” she grins. “When I have an itch, nobody can scratch it quite like Jarred does.” A sigh breaks free from her mouth. “God, he’s fantastic in bed. If I didn’t go to gym four days a week he would’ve broken my va-jay-jay by now.”

“Lucky bitch,” I mutter under my breath.

“I’ve told you before, Jarred has plenty of hot lawyer friends who I’m sure will be happy to help you get rid of some of your frustration. Just say the word and I’ll have him hook you up,” Quinn says.

I shake my head. “We’ve spoken about this before, Quinny. I don’t want a ‘hump and dump’.” She shrugs nonchalantly as we enter the double doors to our office building.

“Suit yourself.”

I look around the lobby of Knight Media and smile. I’ve been the publishing assistant for almost two years now, since I graduated from college, and wouldn’t give it up for anything. I worked my ass off to get here. Knight Media is the second largest media company in the city. It is an umbrella company of sorts, housing a complementary group of multinational companies specializing in publishing, digital advertising and film and television production. Quinn is the editorial assistant for the newspaper division while I work in the book publishing division. Our CEO, Robert Knight, recently decided to branch out into digital publishing and gave me the task of putting together a proposal for the executives. That’s why I can’t be late for any meeting.

“Holy shit,” I hear Quinn whisper next to me. I look up and follow her gaze until my eyes land on him.

His black suit fits him flawlessly, his navy blue shirt tucked in just enough to show a broad chest. His mop of dark brown hair hangs just above his eyebrows but is styled in that just-fucked way. “Who’s that?” I ask in a hushed tone, as if the Adonis over there may hear me.

“That, my sexually frustrated friend,” Quinn sighs, putting her toned arm over my shoulders. “Is none other than the infamous Kyler Knight.”