She starts walking beside me, our arms linked.
“What kind of ‘special treatment’ is that?”
“You get to see New York with a real New Yorker. The authentic experience,” I say, leading her up the steps to the museum. “The good bagels and coffee.”
“And the good pizza?”
“And the best shops on Fifth Avenue.”
“And the nicest drug dealer in Central Park?”
“And the rudest, smelliest cab driver.”
She throws her head back and laughs. I can’t help joining in.
Even though it’s been a long time since we were alone with each other, it doesn’t take long for us to slip into same rhythm we had before: Easy, laid-back, and with more than a little sexual tension in the spaces between our jokes. We amble around the museum, dedicating as much of our attention to each other as we do to the masterpieces around us. Haley asks me to take pictures of her next to a Georgia O’Keeffe with the giggling excitement of a schoolgirl, and she’s anything but the hottest young star on the music scene, nothing like the magnetizing whirlwind of energy that her fans can never be near enough to.
When we’re done passing amateur judgment on the art, we leave the museum and I buy us a couple of hot dogs at a stand outside Central Park. I hand hers over and wait.
“What are you looking at?” she says, holding the hot dog inches away from her lips.
“Just watching you take a bite out of that hot dog.”
She grins and rolls her eyes. I half-expect her to turn her back and eat it, but instead she locks her eyes onto mine, and takes a slow, soft-lipped bite. I know she’s playing it for laughs, but the almost heart-attack inducing rush of blood to my cock is no joke. She chews with a smile, and after swallowing says, “Damn, that’s good. You satisfied?”
“Mind doing that again?”
She punches my arm and we laugh as we start walking through the park.
“So what do you wanna do?” I ask. “Times Square? The Empire State? We should have enough time still for the boat to the Statue of Liberty.”
Haley groans.
“Ugh. I’ve seen those things so many times on TV I feel like I’ve already been there. Didn’t you say you were gonna give me the ‘authentic’ New York? Why don’t you show me the places you used to hang out?”
I breathe in through my teeth. “You sure? The places I used to hang out sure weren’t LA.”
“All the more reason to see them,” she challenges.
I’ve never liked introducing girls to my friends. The last time I did that was with Lexi, and she had a habit of arguing with them and making them hate her, or flirting with them and making me hate her. With Haley, though, nothing ever feels tough. She’s almost too good to be true. I start hoping she’ll disappoint me, let me down, or just show me a flaw, so that not having her will be a lot easier, but she never does.
We take the subway to Brooklyn, and I take her on a whirlwind tour of the record stores, instrument stores, and studios that I know better than I’ll ever know LA, and where the owners treat me like I was just there yesterday. Haley dives into the stacks of records like a kid on Christmas, and drinks in every drop of history from the dirty corners and graffiti-stained walls of the forgotten parts of the city. I watch her face light up as my friends tell her the same stories of landmark gigs and famous musicians I’ve heard a million times, but feel new now that I’m hearing them with her.
We head back to Manhattan and duck into an old Irish pub to have a few drinks, but by the time we get out it’s already gotten dark and the temperature’s dropped a few more degrees.
“You know, the Mercury Lounge is just a few blocks away,” I say, as we step out of the loud bar onto the street. “I got a good tip that there’s a pretty hot, unsigned band there doing their first gig in New York.”
Haley breathes on her hands and rubs them. “Are you trying to replace me already?”
I laugh. “Impossible.”
She grins. “Thanks, but I should really get going back to the hotel. It’s late.”
I know she should go. If she was just one of my artists I’d be arguing myself for her to go home now. To give herself plenty of rest and hot tea and to make sure nothing bad happens. But she’s not just one of my artists. I’ve been waiting to get her alone for three weeks, across the entire country. I’m not going to let her slip away from me again without a fight – or at least a kiss.
“You don’t have a gig tonight, and you’re heading back soon. You should enjoy the city while you can.”
“My gig’s still tomorrow, and it’s cold,” she says, tightening her jacket and folding her arms over it.
“Why didn’t you say so,” I reply, taking off my designer jacket and hanging it off her shoulders. “There. No excuses now. Unless you really don’t want to go?”
She hesitates. “I do, it’s just that…”