“Hello?”

 

“Hi Rox.  It’s me.  It’s Michael.”  He sounded hesitant, not the confident guy from last night.

 

She blurted, “You called.”

 

“I said I would,” Michael replied.

 

There was a pause then.  Roxie was almost afraid to continue as though it was enough that he had called.  In one of her kinky romances, it might have been the end of a chapter, not the beginning, and Roxie had not thought through to the actual conversation she might have with him had this opportunity been presented to her.

 

“Rox?”

 

“I’m here,” she said feeling foolish that she could not corral her racing thoughts and raging hormones - even for a moment.  She cleared her throat of the impending constriction.

 

“Good,” he said.  “I was afraid I scared you away.  What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Are you writing?”

 

She could feel herself blushing.  Of course, he did not know.  Had he stumbled onto a Kindle of her Lucky story, he would have found a ridiculously accurate resemblance to himself in the character of Matthew Jones down to that sexy beauty mark under his eye.  It would become more than obvious that she was the author.  She was surprised that more people did not recognize her prose, especially her editor at Lucky magazine, who had written her a fan letter.

 

Once she had come home from an event in Manhattan and could not find her journal.  She had visions of someone reading her chapter notes in there then selling the information to the Orthodox Today bulletin thus having outed her as a perverse slut.  The leather bound book turned up two days later in a location she had thought she had checked, which made her think she was slowly losing her mind.  A quick trip to see Dr. Vander had alleviated those rabid thoughts.

 

“Yes, I am writing,” she said, “but it can wait.  I’m not on a deadline.”

 

“Are you free this weekend?” he asked.  And there it was.

 

“Wide open,” she announced holding her breath with anticipation.  

 

“I have a proposition for you.”

 

“Okay.”  Roxie tried not to sound overly excited but it was very difficult for her.

 

“You haven’t heard it yet,” he said mysteriously.

 

“I’m trying to be accommodating,” she said.  “I’d do anything for you.  You know that.”  Calm down, you idiot!

 

“I feel the same way,” he said.

 

“It’s nice to hear you say that,” Roxie said.  “Thank you.”  She feared sounding redundant, like the many men who had asked her out during the long Michael hiatus, who would go full circle – How are you?  Fine, how are you?  Fine, how are you?  And so on.  Roxie referred to it as carousel greetings in Luck’s Destiny.  Needless to say, she always declined the offers.  

 

“So, Rox,” Michael Johansen offered, “I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the Adirondacks.  I have a cabin by the lake.  It’s really quiet and we can be alone and….”

 

“And talk?”

 

“Yeah.  We can work things out,” he said.  “Something we should have done a long time ago.”

 

“What about your….”  She was going to say wife before he stopped her.

 

“Don’t worry about anything,” he added.  “We have a lot of catching up to do.”  Had he left his wife, she wondered?  It seemed like it.  “Pick you up at eight?”

 

“Tonight?”

 

“No, in the morning, silly,” he said.  “I’m working right now.  It’s a long drive.  Better in daylight and especially now because it’s peak season for autumn leaves.  You’ll love it.  Say yes.”

 

“Yes,” Roxana Petrofski said like a bride at the altar.  “I do.  I mean, I will.”

 

“See you, Rox.”

 

“Can’t wait,” she said feeling all orgasm tingly.

 

Roxana Petrofski put the phone down and did a little happy dance nearly tripping on the edge of the living room carpet.  Then she realized she needed to prepare for her trip.

 

Michael Johansen wanted to take her to his cabin in the Adirondacks!  Everything had to be just right.  Roxie could not let her outside appearance be the factor in losing him again.  This time, if he did not like her, her personality would be to blame.  She showered and spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for a new negligee, and lingerie - and clothes for the drive.  Kathy at the hair salon squeezed her in for a trim and blow-dry after her turn at the yoga center.  

 

Adrenaline kicked into stratospheric gear.  It was eight in the evening, the condo was clean and she was ready to go, twelve hours too soon.  Now she just needed to get through the night.  Television did not help, her knotted stomach kept her from eating, and she tried in vain to write another chapter in Luck upon Arrival.  Roxie could not stop thinking about Michael Johansen.  She accidentally wrote Michael several times in the draft instead of Matthew.  She should have called the character Jonesy, she thought, which would have forced her to start with a J and not an M.  It was no use trying to concentrate on fiction when real life was finally kicking in.  She always wondered what would happen to her writing career if she had a real relationship.  Now she knew.  There would be no more hours of endless words filling pages of documents in her laptop.  No more cocks and cunts, and fucking storms paired with the kinkiest of kinks.  All of it simply versions of her deepest darkest fantasies, and longings for the one man who had until now, gotten away.

 

She took out her exercise mat and began to do the calming yoga poses she had learned recently, the ones she had already practiced earlier today, all the while thinking how they would work if her body was restricted against the massive chest of Michael Johansen.  Lifting herself using her own body weight, Roxie tried to concentrate on breathing and the power of her triceps and core as sweat poured from her brow.  

 

Suddenly the thought slapped her face.  Would he cancel?  She fell out of the pose and curled into the fetal position for comfort.  

No, she thought, Michael was a man of his word, and this had been the first time, in a long time, that he had actually given his word to her.  That was as good as a diamond ring – and a big fat gold wedding band.  She laughed thinking on the cliché, as good as gold.  Roxie did not want to be a cliché.  She tried to believe in the power of miracles and her positive thinking won out.  Fetal turned to downward dog and final stretch.  

 

Roxana Petrofski relaxed on the sofa and masturbated again, this time while listening to her favorite sex music.  Michael’s naked body, perfect in its proportion with the exception of that gloriously supreme dick, saturated her every sexy thought.  He was not thicker-waisted.  He was as perfect as the day they had first met.  Her Michael.  Eventually Roxie retreated to her bedroom and, with the television tuned to a paid porn site, she fell asleep with a finger on her clit.