Read Online MAGPIE by M.A. Reyes - Free Book Online Page A

glanced from side to side, hoping the patrons at the community table were too engrossed in conversation or their newspapers to notice my shallow breathing. I’d never climaxed without some form of manipulation. Still, here I was, fantasizing about this mysterious man, ready to explode.
    I put my phone down, closed my eyes, and took in several sharp breaths. I quick burst of sensation between my legs came and went in mere seconds. I opened my eyes and sucked in a deep breath this time. No one, it appeared, had a clue. Picking up my phone, I texted,
    MAGS: You are so fucking bad, but so fucking good
    DANIEL: Was it good?
    MAGS: Intense, short, amazing
    DANIEL: Perfect
    MAGS: What bout u?
    DANIEL: I’m fine, got some work to do, just wanted to say good morning
    MAGS: OMG, forget good, you are pure bad!
    DANIEL: I get badder…
    MAGS: Gotta eat now
    DANIEL: Mmmm
    MAGS: Bye
    DANIEL: Ta-ta
    I ordered two eggs, over medium, crisp bacon, sliced tomatoes, and whole grain toast. Normally, I enjoy a steaming bowl of steel-cut oats. That morning though, I splurged. As I waited for my food, I couldn’t stop thinking about what just happened. Was it normal? Do other people do this? Was Tina right?
    “Here you go, Maggie,” Carlos said as he dropped off my breakfast feast, and then swiftly moved to take an order from the older couple sitting across from me. I prayed their senses were severely impaired.
    Halfway into my breakfast, a thought occurred to me: What about my bikini line? I wasn’t one for a Brazilian wax. I’d survived one once, though it nearly sent me to the ER. I was terrified three layers of tender flesh had been torn in one quick “shrrrpp!” of the cotton strip that had so fully adhered to my pubic hair. The idea that a “landing strip” (or worse, a completely bald pubic triangle) was somehow sexy puzzled me beyond belief. My French heritage left me with tresses best suited for… beavers.
    What if Cocky Jock wanted more than a few beers and my marvelous company? What if I did ?
    Fumbling with my phone, I Googled, “nearest salon,” and was amazed by the number of salons nearby. Unlike Katie, I didn’t have a regular spot. Every so often, she’d invite me to an afternoon of pampering, never forgetting to smuggle cheap wine in Dad’s old Stanley thermos. There was no time for reminiscing; I clicked on the one with the most generic sounding name, which happened to be the closest.
    I scarfed the rest of my food, paid the bill, and headed out the door.
    I dialed It’s Your Time Day Spa and Salon , and a chipper receptionist answered the phone, “Good morning, this is Andrew. How may I help you?” I had to face the fact that Andrew was ready and willing to make an appointment for the shearing of my bush.
    Hesitation in my voice, I said, “Hi, Andrew, I’ve never been to your spa before, but I desperately need to make an appointment for today.”
    “What can we do for you exactly, honey?” His dulcet tones, albeit higher in pitch, made me think of Tony, and I drew an unsupported conclusion about Andrew.
    Feeling a bit more at ease, I answered, “A few things, actually. I need a mani-pedi and, if at all possible, I mean, if you have the time and a person available to conduct…Wait, not conduct. That’s dumb! I mean I need, well, um…a wax. A bikini wax.” There, I spit it out.
    “What’s your name, honey?” He said with a hint of compassion.
    “Maggie, do you need my last name?” I had no clue why that would have mattered; I was feeling nervous, and it must have come through loud and clear.
    “Okay, Maggie, we have the best esthetician in the beautiful state of Colorado, Rebecca, who happens to have an opening at 1:30 this afternoon. It was a cancelation actually, so this is your lucky day!” Andrew was so pleased with himself; it made me smile and I lighten up, more than a smidgeon.
    Chuckling, I said, “Book it, Andrew! Did you include the mani-pedi?”
    “Oh, honey, I didn’t forget that