Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Priya| Friends now, enemies later

 "You know, playing hard to get after a booty call isn't the way to twist a guy's arm into a relationship."

Half-way into her jeans—panties on—Priya jerked to a pause. Was she losing her hearing or had he just—? No. Derek Tseng, an investment broker she'd met sometime in December, was a casual friend with benefits she hooked up with from time to time for no strings attached awesome sex. He'd known what this was between them. Always had.

She took considerable pride in being more than clear on that front, so there was no way something that stupid could have come out of his mouth.

Straightening, she angled her gaze over her shoulder. "What did you say?"

"This thing you're doing." He gestured towards her with a wave of his hand. "The mad dash out the door barely minutes after I come isn't the way to get a guy to want more from you."

Or apparently he was.

Pulling her jeans on the rest of the way, Priya fastened the waist before sitting on the edge of the bed. "And who said anything about wanting a relationship?" she asked, sliding a foot into her nude patent pumps.

"Every single woman out there." He held up a hand, let it fall. "A guy can't breathe around a chick anymore without her plotting how to get him down the aisle."

She laughed at that, wrestling on her other shoe. "That's bullsh!t."

"Come on." He sat up, chest still gleaming with drying sweat. "I'm of a certain age, successful, attractive. I'm a desirable catch. We've been messing around for months and you're telling me a relationship hasn't crossed your mind once?"

Finished with fastening the last few buttons on her blouse, Priya flipped her hair over her collar and let it fall in a tousled tumbled in all its 'I just got f*cked' glory. The perks of having thick hair and one major blessing of her Indian heritage—it handled volume well. Tucking a leg under her, she scooted around to face him.

She'd had variations of this conversation many times in the past, but had thought those days were well behind her as she'd crossed over to sleeping with slightly older men.

What was it about a woman sating her own sexual needs that went so far over a guy's head he couldn't grasp it? Why was it so hard to understand? Not every woman used sex as a weapon. No. Just no.

Smiling gently, she brushed a hand over his cheek. Poor, stupid, clueless boy. "I had sex with you tonight because I was in the mood for sex. And I'm leaving right now because I want to leave. That's it."

His gaze skimmed over her, partly unconvinced and partly insulted. "I don't think we should do this anymore."

"I think you're right." Dropping her hand, she pressed her lips to his cheek. And left him there, scowling in the dark.

#

With the sun cresting on the horizon, she'd got home with enough time to shower, change and enjoy a protein shake for breakfast made with mixed berry and Greek yogurt.

Deciding to go with a punch of colour today, she dressed in a taper legged pantsuit, Teal for summer, with a sleeveless white blouse. Though the humidity index today was high, all of her suits came with pants. She'd learned during her first year summer internship that young women wearing a skirt and makeup in the workplace were quickly dismissed, or became objects of male attention for reasons she didn't want to encourage.

So she always kept her makeup clean, simple. Her blouses buttoned high—with minimal cleavage. She wanted her male colleagues' attention drawn to her eyes when they spoke to her, not down at her breasts. One of the endless frustrations of being young and female in a male dominated industry.