7
After Midnight Magic, I pretended I had to go home to give my cat his seizuremedication.
I don't have a cat. I don't even know if cats have seizures, but I had to get away from Elijah before something stupidhappened.
Him and his depth and his fantasy fulfilling bullshit had me flustered. And now, here it is two hours later, and I'm unable to sleep, because I can't stop thinking about him. I know next to nothing about Elijah, and maybe that's part of the allure. A mysterious and successful businessman who fucks people for a hobby… Being fascinated by him is one thing, but making a bet with a man like him is another story. There was no telling what exactly he was trying to warm me up to. I was so distracted by his lips and his words—couple that with the shock of it all—until I honestly have no idea what I agreedto.
The deep vibrato of his voice asking, “What's your fantasy?” plays on a loop. As sad as it is, I've never given sexual fantasies a second thought. To be fair, I attended a private school where the notion that sex would kill you—and, subsequently, send you straight to hell—was drilled into our heads. Fearing eternal damnation can put a little damper on your sexdrive.
Groaning, I flip onto my stomach and bury my face in mypillow.
Eight billion people in the world, and again, leave it to me to have my first one-night stand in Mexico with a fantasy fulfiller who lives in the same city. I'm winning at life right aboutnow.
I couldn't roll my eyes harder if Itried.
_____
Saturday morning, and I'm in a Dri-Fit tank top and leggings, trudging up the subway station steps with Elijah still on mymind.
After I fight the flood of people going down the wrong side of the stairwell, I come up on 5thAvenue. I shoulder my way through the crowds in front of the Plaza Hotel. Then I cross the street, nearly getting mowed down by a bicyclist. When I hop onto the curb, I fully expect to find Steph in front of the fence surrounding Central Park in her usual, awkward warm-up toe touch, but instead, she's sprawled out on one of the benches with a Starbucks’ cup resting on herstomach.
My shadow blankets her when I stop beside the metal set, but she doesn't open her eyes. “That bad of a night,huh?”
She lazily sits up, clutching the paper cup to her chest like it's the ring and she's Gollum. When the sun hits her face, she winces, then tugs the bill of her cap. “I'm dying,Charlie.”
I half roll my eyes. “You arenotdying.”
“I've told you where all my vibrators are in case of sudden death. Go.” She makes a half-ass attempt to shoo me away. “Discard them before my mother comes to grieve her onlychild.”
“For the love!” I plop down beside her, the heated metal searing through my spandex leggings. “It's called a hangover,Steph.”
“Inconceivable!” She mimics the weird genius fromThe Princess Bride. “I don't get hangovers. This isdeath.”
“It happens when you getolder.”
She tips her drink back and sighs. “I should've gotten a shot of whiskey in mylatte.”
“I don't think Starbucks carrieswhiskey.”
“No, but George the barista does.” She winks. Two young, toned bubble butts jog by and Steph glares at them. “They're cunts. Twenty-year-olds have no idea how lucky they are. They have tight asses and perky tits, and they don't get hangovers. Fuckthem.”
“Wow, extra moody today. I guess someone didn't have an earth-shattering orgasm lastnight?”
“No.” She gulps back coffee with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, how did your evening with El Chapo go—which, by the way, I can't believe you abandonedme.”
“It was okay. We just went to Times Square and watchedart.”
“Watched. Art?” she repeats,slowly.
“They have this thing called Midnight Magic where they play digital art over thescreens.”
“Uh-huh. I've heard of that.” She side eyes me. “So Tall, Dark, and Tattooed takes you away from another man to show you art—not abed?”
“Something likethat.”
“All right, that's lame.”If she only knew. “You can ditch him now if you want. Get your two cats. I approve. I mean, you can't even remember the sex, so it couldn't have been thatgood.“
“You know, you should probably see a therapist for your fixation with cock.” I shake my head, watching a pigeon peck at a crumb. “Speaking of cock, you and Don seemed cozy. I'm assuming you went back to his place to experience your non-existent, make-you-a-grumpy-assholeorgasm?”
