Free Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man by Kay Jaybee Page A

her
shaking body as they both came in a series of satisfied groans.
    20 seconds – Their underwear was back
in place.
    15 seconds – Footsteps crunched up
the gravel path.
    10 seconds – They were completely
dressed.
    5 seconds – John gave Jenny such an
unsettling look that her blood froze, her heated body turning to ice. He’s going to tell me something I don’t want
to hear .
    ‘I’m going away for four weeks. Please
don’t ask why. Don’t call or text me. I’ll call when I can.’
    Shocked, the high her body had been flying
on sank without a trace. Jenny’s mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’t find
the words to reply. There was no time left anyway. The set to John’s face said
it all; he wasn’t joking. He really is
going away.
    2 seconds – a shadow loomed outside
the front door.
    0 seconds – the doorbell rang.
    ‘Sorry I took so long, boss. That van’s a
git to park.’
    John replied as calmly as if he’d just
spent the last two minutes discussing Jenny’s latest film choice, not shagging
her to exhaustion against her stairs. ‘No problem, mate, no problem at all. Let
me introduce you to Jen, one of our regulars. You’d be amazed how often I
deliver stuff to this address.’

 
    The hands of her
bedside clock edged towards midnight.
    I
can’t believe that young guy will be delivering here instead of John. Why
didn’t he tell me before? Why did he ask me not to use his phone? Where is he
going? What’s going on?
    Jenny punched her pillow with her fist in a
pointless attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.
    How
did we do it that quickly? How could I have allowed him to treat me like that?
What if we’d been caught? What the hell has that bloody man done to me? And
what the hell am I going to do without him?
    Jenny couldn’t shake the feeling that someone
had stolen her smile with no intention of giving it back. She hadn’t cried.
What was the point in crying, when there was no one to make it better? She did,
however, feel angry. Really angry with John. Mostly angry with herself. This
was exactly why she didn’t have relationships. And this wasn’t even really a
relationship. This was just fabulous sex with a fringe of conversation, and yet still her emotions had gotten
clobbered. They had never been out for a drink, never been to the cinema
together; they’d never even made it as far as her bedroom. Beyond a deserted
car park, their adventures hadn’t gone further than her hall, lounge, and
stairs.
    Now that Jenny thought about it, John
hadn’t even looked sorry, just vaguely guilty. He’d screwed her, introduced the
bloke that would be replacing him, told her that he was going ‘somewhere,’ and
that had been it. Then he and his trainee had walked back to the van, chatting
happily. He hadn’t even looked back.
    Well,
that tells me all I need to know about what I mean to him.

 
    The following
morning, Jenny toyed her mobile phone anxiously between her fingers. Her legs
felt weak, and despite her midnight resolution not to waste any more time
worrying about someone whom she hadn’t even been dating, Jenny remained
confused by his contradictory behavior . They had, by mutual consent, only been using each other for sex,
and Jenny was sure that she wasn’t supposed to mind his temporary defection
this much.
    Staring blankly at her computer screen,
failing to drink the mug of black coffee she’d made, Jenny jumped when the
phone she was still fiddling with rang. It was him. ‘Hello?’
    ‘I’ll be back in a month, Jen.’
    ‘And you think I’ll be here, just waiting
for your knock on the door?’ Even as the acid of her tone burned her throat,
Jenny knew she would be there, just as he did, and she cursed herself for
failing to keep her words light.
    ‘You’ll be there. You’ll be there because
you’re going to want to tell me about the outcome of the two tasks I’m going to
give you in my absence. Tasks you will complete; and then, when I see you, will
describe