MAGPIE by Reyes M.A

Author:Reyes, M.A. [Reyes, M.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: ROTOR Publishing, a Division of ROTOR Consulting, LLC
Published: 2015-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Wicked Times

It snowed on September 19th. Eleven days later, the temperature soared to eighty-two degrees. I was looking forward to less erratic weather patterns, which October refused to supply. The harvest month reported temperatures ranging from a balmy seventy-nine degrees on the 8th to a frigid twenty-seven degrees mid-month. Denver reported its first measurable snowfall of 1.4 inches on October 18th. The city’s news channels loved this time of year because climate fluctuations were big business in the ratings game. Denverites began to text, tweet and post images of autumn sunbathers at Wash Park then a week later, shared pictures of unique snowmen decked out in retired winter gear. I didn’t stow my warm-weather clothes until late November.

Greg and I had fun incorporating the weather into our plans. I played hooky the afternoon of the 8th, and we drove to Boulder for an afternoon walking the Pearl Street Mall, stopping at Ben & Jerry’s for ice cream and straying from the Mall just a bit to have dinner at cozy Irish pub. I had tasty fish and chips, while Greg devoured a heaping shepherd’s pie. When the temperature plummeted, I played hooky again, hiding out at Greg’s house where we enjoyed his outdoor hot tub…and indoor California king.

I’d been to Greg’s home on a few occasions for dinner or a nightcap but hadn’t really seen much of it except his masculine, yet incredibly comfortable den. The day the thermometer wasn’t supposed to go beyond thirty degrees, I didn’t leave Greg’s house at all. I explored every nook and cranny, beginning with his gourmet kitchen (where we fucked on the center island); moving on to his impressive home office (this time, on his sleek leather sofa); meandering through his vast closet (where he licked my pussy until I screamed in ecstasy beneath endless racks of fine men’s clothes), finally winding up in his lavish bedroom, where we stayed through the night.

It was Saturday, the day after Greg and I exhausted ourselves fucking like teenagers in every room of his house, I went to work on my kitchen pantry: Consolidating duplicate containers of breadcrumbs; getting rid of near-empty spice bottles; and wiping small trays that held a wide variety of oils and vinegars. I was expecting a large crowd for Thanksgiving and probably the same number for Christmas Eve. To top it off, Steve had managed to make a full recovery from his accident; I intended to celebrate the holidays with panache, well seasoned with love and joy. It was only mid-October, but they’d sneak up on me, so I dedicated the next few weeks to preparing the house—especially the kitchen—for the merrymaking.

Coffee on, Cody fed, I stood at my back door, glancing at the empty bird feeder that hung from the bare ash. Reaching for my jacket, I heard the phone buzz…it was Daniel. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. We’d stopped talking altogether and only texted late at night when we (mostly him) needed a good virtual fuck.

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