The Hot One

I make plans with Tyler, and I do the one thing that makes the most sense.

Since I want him desperately, I decide not to sleep with him yet.

To prove to myself that I can change.





18





Tyler



* * *



She says yes.

Hell fucking yeah.

She adds just lunch, and I send her a GIF of a cartwheeling eggplant, because I understand what she needs—just lunch. She needs to know that the heat of the mailroom encounter isn’t all we still have in common. The passion between us is incontrovertible, but she wants to know we’re more than that.

Over a pesto artichoke sandwich and fries at a sidewalk café in the Eighties, she gives me the details of her night out dancing with her friends.

“We could have entered a dance marathon, it seemed.”

“Did you do the Macarena?”

“All night long.”

“How about a conga line?” I ask, demonstrating the moves in my chair.

She nods. “And then we did a square dance.”

“Hope you wore your cowgirl boots.”

She shakes her head. “I wore silver heels,” she says, with a strangely shy little smile. Then she’s not so shy when she meets my eyes and says, “And I thought of you.”

Images flash before me that make my throat dry. I groan, then lean across the plate that holds my chicken sandwich and tell her in a rough voice, “I like hearing that. I thought of you last night, too, and then I did a lot more than think. And I’m also sure you’d look hot in cowgirl boots.”

The next day I get my reward.

She texts me a location for breakfast, and when I meet her there, she’s got on a short jean skirt, a red checked short-sleeve blouse, and cowgirl boots.

“Fuck me now,” I mumble as I give her a kiss on the cheek.

She laughs. “Maybe not right now . . .”

“But later?”

She shrugs, but the gesture comes complete with a wink that says we’ll see.

We sit down and I order eggs, but no bacon.

After the waiter leaves, Delaney tips her forehead in my direction. “No bacon?” She stretches across the table and places the back of her hand on my forehead. “You’re not feeling so hot today?”

I laugh. “Nope. I feel great. Just wanted to prove I can abstain.”

“Prove to whom?”

I point at the gorgeous woman sitting across from me. Her blond hair is swept up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are morning-fresh and rosy. “You.”

Her brown eyes seem to sparkle. “Your abstinence is impressive, but you do know you won’t offend me if you eat bacon?”

I nod. “I know you’re not offended, and I appreciate that.” Delaney’s eating choices have always been for her, not something she tries to impose on others. “But let’s call a pig a pig. Bacon isn’t that good for you. And, truth be told, maybe some of your vegetarianism is rubbing off on me.” I hold up both hands. “Not saying I’m going the full nothing-with-a-face route. I just mean I’ve cut back. I’ll survive without it.”

An eyebrow rises. “You sure?”

I pretend to choke, then to cough, then I slump in the chair as if the last breath is fading from me.

A few seconds later I sit up, and she asks me if I’m going to live.

“It’ll be rough.”

She pretends to toss her napkin at me. “You’ll learn to love fake bacon. With avocado and lettuce,” she says, then as if an idea has just taken root, her eyes light up. “Actually, I’ll make one for you someday. My veggie BLTs are six shades of awesome.”

“Six shades? Not five and not seven, but six?”

“Yes. Six shades just like six toes. And maybe you’ll get to experience all six shades of my world-renowned BLT.”

“You mean FLT. Fake-on.”

She laughs as she folds the napkin across her lap once more, “What do you most like to do outside of work?” Her eyes drift northward. “Besides . . . that.”

“Besides that, I’d have to say rock climbing,” I answer. “Also, rafting and kayaking. And going to watch the Dodgers kick the asses of any New York baseball team.”

“Some things never change,” she says with a smile.

“And some things never should.”

She holds up her water glass in a toast, and I clink mine with hers.

The next day, we go for another run in the park in the early dawn. At the end of our five miles, we bump into Oliver. He’s stretching at the edge of the reservoir.

“Nichols, how’s it hanging?” he says in his best imitation of an American accent.

I clap him on the shoulder. “A little to the left, thank you very much.” Delaney snickers, and I turn to my running partner and make intros. “Delaney, this is Oliver. He works at my firm and pretends to talk American sometimes. Oliver, this is the lovely Delaney. We went to college together.”

Oliver pushes his mess of dark hair off his forehead and smiles at Delaney. With a slight bow of the head, he reaches for her hand and kisses the top. “Charmed,” he says, this time in his proper accent.

“I see you’re from Italy,” she jokes.

Oliver laughs and points at me. “She’s a keeper.”

I take her hand. “That’s the goal.”

Oliver turns his attention back to Delaney. “I trust you demolished him on the running path?”

“I did my absolute best to make sure he ate my dust.”

I adopt an abject frown. “It was terrible to have to watch her backside the entire time.”

On Wednesday, we plan a mid-afternoon coffee date. I wait for her outside a café on Columbus, shades on, head bent, answering emails on my phone.

As I tap out a reply to a client, soft lips flutter across my cheek. Sweet and delicious, they light sparks down my spine. I stop writing, stuff the phone in my pocket, and cup her cheek in my hand.

Turning her face to me, I kiss her on the street, and we spend our whole coffee date like that. Sans coffee and with kissing.

We walk and talk and kiss, like we’re practicing all the kinds of kissing in the world.

There’s the street corner kiss, the nibble on the lips kiss, then the so soft it’s barely there lip-lock. Somehow, even that last one sets my bones on fire.

But none more than the one I give her on Seventy-Eighth Street, as I push her up against the stoop outside a brownstone. Grabbing her jaw, I hold her face as I bestow a harsh, hungry kiss on those lips I fucking love.

She moans so helplessly that I have no choice but to crowd her against the banister and kiss her more cruelly, using teeth, sucking lips, devouring her taste. Her body melts into mine, and her arms rope round my neck. Her every sound and sigh tells me she likes it like this.

But I stop soon because the clock is ticking and I have a conference call at four. “I need to get back to work soon. I only have ten more minutes.”