Fuck! What were they called again? Revenues…proceeds…?
“Royalties!” she blurted out, suddenly remembering the word. She really needed her coffee. “Yep. Just such a big tipper because of that.”
“Okay, then…well, thanks again,” Vanessa said. “You really are as nice as you seemed on the podcast.”
“Thank you! By the way, what’s an Amy’s Jet Fuel?”
Vanessa said, “Do you know what a dead eye is?”
A non-functioning eye?
“Nope.”
“A dead eye is a cup of coffee with three shots of espresso,” Vanessa explained. “An Amy’s Jet Fuel is a cup of coffee with four shots of espresso.”
***
“I am soooooo glad you like pizza!” Amy exclaimed that night at Roosevelt Pizzeria. “When I first saw you walk into La Vida Mocha on our first date I was worried you were one of those women who only ate, like, kale sandwiches or something like that.’
Sally laughed.
“Is that the impression I make?” she asked.
“It’s just that you’re so tall,” Amy answered. “You have this, like, model thing going on and so I imagined you not even knowing what a pizza is.”
“I will have you know that I am actually something of a pizza snob, thanks to Max. He knows all the best places to go in SoCal and this is one of them.”
Sally had had a fairly low-key day after leaving Amy’s early this morning, Amy still sitting on the floor of the living room, tapping away at her laptop, her coffee with four shots of espresso—enough to reawaken an extinct dinosaur—within reach. She had gone home, showered and then made lunch plans with Lisa. During lunch, she had indulged Lisa’s fangirling for a little while, just to let Lisa get it out of her system, before finally managing to steer her best friend away from all things Jillian Ashley and onto Lisa’s favorite topic: Lisa. Then she had returned home and taken a nap—something she figured Amy would never be able to do after drinking all that espresso—woke up at around three o’clock and then just chillaxed at home, watching movies until Amy showed up for their date.
When Amy had arrived, Sally had then had cause to re-evaluate her negative assessment of the sanity of a person who ingests four shots of espresso because as soon as Amy flitted into the condo, she had taken Sally’s hand and wordlessly led her to the bedroom. Once there, Amy pushed Sally onto the bed, hiked up Sally’s dress, pulled aside the crotch of Sally’s panties and then proceeded to eat her out to a gushing orgasm.
“Caffeine makes me so fucking horny!” Amy had then said afterwards, slipping off her own panties and coming up to straddle Sally’s face. Sally then made sure Amy’s caffeine-induced horniness was taken care of.
Naturally, Sally had suggested they order their dinner for delivery but Amy had smiled and said, “No, I want to go out. But while we’re out, you can think about what else you’d like to do to me later.”
And Sally had often thought about what else she’d like to do, which, combined with the lingering effects of her recent climax, made Sally’s pussy a veritable faucet.
“So,” Sally now said, wanting to get her mind off sex because, really, her clit’s pulsing was becoming distracting, “did you get a lot done today?”
“I did,” Amy said, nodding. “So much done. I worked on the presentation until about one o’clock, I guess, and then I switched gears and did some prep work for the next podcast episode, which I’m super stoked about.”
“Good for you,” Sally said. Silently, however, she was thinking that what Amy had just described hardly sounded like a day off. “So, after this big presentation on Tuesday, what’s next?”
Amy pouted, which Sally found both odd and cute.
“I’m being forced to take a vacation,” Amy said.
Sally laughed.
“Forced? You poor thing!”
“I know, I know…” Amy began in a conciliatory tone, “First World problem.” She bit into one of the complimentary breadsticks the restaurant provided each table. “I just have a lot to do and so I don’t really feel like switching off right now. But my boss is basically holding a gun to my head, so…”
“How long a vacation?”
“At least a week,” Amy said, still pouting.
Sally laughed again.