“I’m looking for a replacement.”

“You’re trolling for an employee?”

“No, just someone I can talk to and make cum occasionally.”

She blocked me.

I tried talking to a few other women—keeping my true words to myself, but ultimately they just wanted to use me for information. They weren’t open to talking about anything else, and since LawyerChat had expanded its site recently, there seemed to be an influx of law students using it as a complaint board about their professors.

I shut the laptop and took another swig from my bottle—immediately realizing that there was only one “Alyssa-type”: Aubrey…

Maybe I made a mistake…

Out the corner of my eye I spotted an envelope under the slit of my door. It hadn’t been there when I first arrived home, and it hadn’t been there a few hours ago when I ordered my dinner.

Confused, I walked over and picked it up.

It was an official court summons to testify in a New York hearing, but it wasn’t addressed to my new name. It was addressed to Liam Henderson.

Remedy (n.):

The means to achieve justice in any matter in which legal rights are involved.

Aubrey

The Firebird.

Jewels.

Swan Lake.

I wrote down the roles I wanted to audition for in my planner, smiling as I ran my hands across my acceptance letter for the umpteenth time. I had ten copies of it—two of them were framed, seven were for inspiration whenever I was feeling down, and one was for my parents. (I just hadn’t had the time or energy to draft an “I fucking told you so” letter to mail with it.)

I looked at the clock on my wall and checked my phone, trying to suppress the butterflies that were fluttering around my stomach.

The guy I was now dating, Brian—a fellow dancer in the company, was supposed to call me with something important he wanted to talk about.

Ever since I met him, he’d been trying his hardest to woo me—taking me on dates in between rehearsals, joining me as I danced on rooftops and icy park benches. He was kind, sweet, funny, and the perfect example of what it meant to be a gentleman.

He was like the nice guy in the Old Hollywood movies, the type that held your hand for no reason at all, the type that walked you to your door and waited until you were completely inside before stepping away. He was the type that kissed you—softly and tenderly, whispering that he liked your lips, but never taking things any further.

In other words, he was nothing like Andrew.

Nothing like.

Even though his kisses never left me panting and wet, and his touches never set my nerves on fire, he never made me feel like shit.

My phone vibrated and I looked at the screen. Brian.

“Did you receive the roses I sent you today?”

I grinned, looking over at the red and white blooms on my fireplace.

“Yes.” I texted back. “Thank you very much. I love them.”

“I placed something else in the vase for you, too...You should use it to relax tonight. I’ll be calling you after I get out of rehearsal.”

“Looking forward to it.” I added a smiley face at the end of my text and walked over to the vase, lifting the flowers up by their stems. There was a huge packet of pink bath beads and rose petals with a handwritten note across the front:

“The next time you take a bath…Think about me…

—Brian”

My heart fluttered and I couldn’t help but want to immediately take him up on the idea. I slipped out of my clothes and headed into the bathroom, tossing the beads under rushing water.

As I let down my hair, I turned the volume on my ringer to the highest setting, and before I could set it down, I noticed a new email. Andrew.

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, as it always did when one of his sporadic emails or calls graced my screen.

Everything in me told me not to open it, to continue ignoring him, and to let him feel just how alone and underappreciated I felt months ago, but I couldn’t help it.

Subject: Thoreau & Alyssa.

You once said that you missed when we were Thoreau and Alyssa because I supposedly treated you better. I don’t think I treated you any differently. I just really wanted to fuck you. But when we did meet in person, I unfortunately wanted to fuck you even more.

I personally prefer us as “Andrew & Aubrey” because on a night like tonight, when there’s nothing I would rather do than fuck you against my balcony until you cum, at least I can actually picture what your pussy feels like and no longer have to imagine.

Pick up the phone…

—Andrew

I shook my head and set the phone down, mentally erasing that message and stepping into the tub.

I lay back and let the hot water rise to my chest, exhaling as it warmed my skin.

It was becoming easier to avoid thinking about Andrew now that I was talking to Brian, but it was harder trying to force myself to forget. I still thought about him late at night when I was in my bed, often wishing he was inside of me.

Nonetheless, I wasn't running back to him and his asshole-ish ways, and I would never allow him to come back to me.

Never.

I scrubbed myself clean with a soft loofah, trying my best to ignore the intense throbbing between my legs that always came when thinking about Andrew. I filled a ladle with water and poured it over my head—unable to push away the thought of Andrew washing my hair in the tub, of him telling me to stand underneath the streams and hold the wall as he grabbed my waist and fucked me from behind.

My fingers found their way to my clit as I remembered him bending me over the vanity in his bathroom, saying “I need you to fucking take it…All of it…” as he palmed my breasts and kissed his way down my spine.

I rubbed my clit in circles—shutting my eyes as I pictured his lips on mine, moaning as it swelled with every caress.

“Ahhhh….” I felt my nipples hardening as the water cooled, and I was close—so close, to coming, but my phone rang.

Andrew?

I immediately stood up and wrapped myself in a robe, rushing to answer it—telling myself that I could pick up his call “just this once.”

“Hello?” I held the phone up to my ear without looking at the screen.

“Aubrey?” It was Brian.

“Hi…” I sighed, trying to mask my discontent. “How are you?”

“Is this a bad time? You sound kind of upset.”

“I’m not upset. I was just getting out of the bath.”

“Oh, well good,” he said. “Did you use the relaxation kit I bought you?”

“I did.”

“Did you also think about me?”

“Yes…” I lied, feeling slightly guilty. “How was rehearsal?”

I walked to my dresser and slipped into a T-shirt, listening to him recount the many ways that Mr. Ashcroft was the devil reincarnate.

“He’s worse than Mr. Petrova.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail.

“Worse than Paul Petrova?” He laughed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen that man’s documentary, seen him make grown men cry.”

“Well, maybe years ago. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still rude and overbearing, but he has a layer of softness that Mr. Ashcroft lacks.”

“I’ll take your word for it…” He cleared his throat. “How tired are you right now?”

“Not too tired, shockingly.”

“Well…I wanted to talk to you tonight because I needed to know if you wanted to try something new in our relationship.”

“Sure.” I climbed into bed. “What is it?”

“Phone sex…” His voice became deeper. “Have you ever done that before?”

I held back a laugh and quickly took off my shirt, tossing it to the floor. “Yes.”

“Would you want to do it with me? Like, right now?”

“Yes.” I grabbed my vibrator from a box and slipped under the covers, happy that I wouldn’t need to think about Andrew to have an orgasm anymore. “Yes, I would like that very much.”