Sunday, August 4, 2013

Sugar Sunday- Part Four

Hello NAtural readers! It's time for another installment of Sugar Sunday.

Find Part One here:

And Two here:

And Three:

As always, I hope you're having a delicious weekend!


In fact, Theresa believed there was not a single bit of her that didn’t hurt the next morning. As she had suspected, her cheeks hurt. Stupid jokes. Also her head. Stupid chimney soot scotch. Her neck was all wrong, due to falling asleep on the couch after Sugar left. She could look right, but not left. Stupid Sugar. Well… she did an experimental Kegel. Ouch. But in a rather pleasant way. Ok, not-so-stupid Sugar.

There were two waiting texts on her phone, which she eventually located beneath a sofa cushion. The first was from Carolina.

Fun hangouts! Let’s do it again Thursday?

Theresa responded, I cannot commit to another evening until my hangover subsides.

The other text, she was both pleased and concerned to see, was from Sugar.                      

Still thinking about last night… indescribable.

That made two of them. And yet, there was work to be done. Theresa dragged herself into the shower and stood beneath the scalding spray until she felt more human. She dressed in her favorite professional button-down shirt and put her hair up. A swipe of mascara later, and she was ready for the workday. A marketing professor in college had once told her that one should always dress for success, even if no one could see them, because it put one in the right frame of mind to be professional. Theresa had taken this advice to heart, despite the fact that she only applied it from the waist up. She was, as Carolina had screeched last night in a fit of hilarity, a pantsless professional.

Well. There had to be some perks to working from home.

It turned out, midway through building a social media platform for a local doggy daycare, another perk was that Sugar would sext her throughout the day and she was able to be scandalized without having to hide her shock from a boss.

I can’t stop thinking about how wet you got for me. It turns me on. I want you again.

Theresa slammed the phone down. Him having the hair of a ruffian did not prepare her for him having the behavior of such as well. What was one expected to reply in such a situation? Theresa Marie O’Donnelly could write a business plan in her sleep. She could speak in front of a crowd of a thousand if need be, and only refer to her notes occasionally. She was rather proud of her ability to pitch her business over a Skype call. Sexting, though, that was not a special skill on her resume.

Anyways, it was tacky. And hot. Ok, really hot. But there were Channel Five specials on this behavior all the time. You start with the sexting, and next thing you know, your amateur porn videos were viral and your mother knows and the Catholic Church excommunicates you and your career is over.

She checked her phone again.

Busy later? I really want to see you.

Now that was something she was confident in responding to appropriately.

Unfortunately, I am unable to commit to later until I can focus on work instead of your biceps.

Oh, damn it. That was not what she meant. Or actually, it was, but not what she had intended to type.


Oh, no. Oh, no, no. He was making this very easy for her now.

Kindly do not “lol” me unless you are, in fact, laughing out loud.

It was one of Theresa’s biggest pet peeves. She was altogether certain that most people, when texting lol, were not in fact lol-ing. This sort of forced humor grated on her at the best of times, and now was the sorest of times, so. She powered the phone down before she embarrassed herself again and turned her attention to scheduling posts and updates for the next two weeks.

A bare half hour in, the doorbell rang. Theresa retreated to the kitchen where she couldn’t be seen from the porch. It rang again. And again. Then the knocking started.

“Theresa! I know you’re ignoring me, but I’m not going away!”

Carolina. Theresa began to regret having let her in the first time. Now there was a precedent. She held her breath.

“TheresaTheresaTheresaTheresaTheres- hi!” Carolina grinned widely as Theresa finally opened the door.

“Nice undies! Maybe you aren’t as repressed as I thought.” She swept inside with an armful of things and a smack on the ass. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. Here, I thought you might be hungover so I brought you some things. Got half an hour for a brunch break? Yes? Should I take my pants off too? KIDDING. No, you are definitely that repressed.”

Repressed or not, Theresa had to admit that the coffee and croissant did much towards making her feel more human. And also that Carolina, who was not, in fact, kidding about removing her pants, had an enviable ass. When questioned, she was happy to extol the wonders that Mexican food and lots of jumping around on stage could work on one’s hindquarters. After washing down a couple aspirin with the last slug of espresso, Theresa began to regret her earlier uncharitibility toward her purple-coiffed neighbor.

So much so, that she found she had inadvertently accepted another invitation for the following evening.


The next night found Theresa downtown again, this time at an Ethiopian restaurant. She knew Carolina was still on the “loosen up” warpath when she realized that the meal was to be eaten without the benefit of silverware. Carefully, Theresa schooled her face into neutrality. Two could play this game.

“Kitfo, please. And a coffee,” she ordered. Carolina gawked.

“Make that two.”

“Excellent, then. How are… things?”

“Awesome, T.” Theresa winced slightly at the abbreviation. “I did not expect you to order raw meat, that one threw me a little. I figured you for a picky eater for some reason.”

“Wrong. I can be adventurous.” That was a bit of an exaggeration. In actuality, Theresa meant that she had been adventurous, once or twice. And that she had neither time enjoyed it. And also, that she was working up every bit of willpower in her body to force down the dish she had ordered, and not entirely convinced she had enough. She set her jaw and called on all the strength her Catholic school upbringing had instilled in her.

“In fact, I am probably much more adventurous than you ever gave me credit for.” By this, she meant that she had engaged in a one-night stand with Carolina’s brother. That she had made tentative text plans for more shenanigans only reinforced her opinion that she was rapidly becoming a badass to be reckoned with. Unless anyone else found out, of course. Then she would deny everything.

“I’ve noticed you change your band name for every show. Why?” She changed the subject.

            “It’s like men. I like to keep my options open. What’s the point of committing to just one when there are so many good ones out there?”

            “The hassle?”

            “The only hassle is in the commitment, sister.”

Sister. If Theresa had grown up with sisters she supposed she might understand. Her parents had gotten married straight out of high school, and worked at the same jobs since college. She had been given to understand that commitment was less of a hassle than shopping around.

The waitress silently set two dishes of concerningly pink goo down in front of them. A platter of weird pancakey bubbly things went in the middle. To stall, Theresa took a sip of her coffee. It burned her tongue, the roof of her mouth, and her throat going down. Her eyes widened as she focused on her poker face and the hint of cinnamon lingering in her mouth.

            “Delicious,” she forced out. Carolina grinned and grabbed one of the Frankenstein flatbreads. She ripped off a strip and used it to scoop some of the goo into her mouth and rolled her eyes.

            “SO delicious.”

Theresa followed suit, bracing against the hideous bile that was certain to follow. Butter. There was butter in there! More cinnamon, a hint of chiles… ginger? And the mysterious bread, it wasn’t half bad.

            “So delicious,” she echoed. It kind of was. Like spiced tartare. Mayhaps adventure wasn’t always bad. That was not a generality she was willing to commit to, though. Commitment was for sure things. Ethnic food was still scary. As a general rule.

Later that evening, buoyed by her success, Theresa texted Sugar.


            Hi, you. Wanna come over?


            Give it an hour before my sis is asleep. I’ll leave the basement window open. Come upstairs and I’m the first room on the left.

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