Page 51 of Game Changer

After kicking off my shoes and socks, I drop my pants and toss them onto the bench, too, before heading to the kitchen to assess its state.

Courtesy of a well-honed smart home system, the blinds that cover the windows lower into place each day at sunset. That’s a good thing since I’m currently wandering my home in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

I round the corner and enter the kitchen. Shaking my head, I let out a chuckle. “So close yet so far.”

Another week or two and I’ll be able to cook dinner for Opal in here, but the granite countertop for the island has yet to be installed. Also, I’m waiting for a new dishwasher to be delivered, although that’s not a deal breaker when it comes to hosting the most beautiful woman in the world for dinner.

In fact, I could swing it. There’s enough counter space to grant me the room I need for preparation, and the old dishwasher still functions, although it’s noisy as hell. I’m pretty sure the people who live below me can’t hear each other talk when I run it.

I stand in the shadow of the light emanating from over the gas range and consider what the text message I’m about to send Opal should say.

I’ve never invited a woman here, and that’s not because it’s been a construction zone since I moved in. It hasn’t. This is my sanctuary. It’s the one place in the city I can retreat to that’s completely mine. My siblings have only made it past the doorman a handful of times because I usually meet them at a restaurant or one of their apartments.

I exit the kitchen and head straight to the main living area, where I dropped my phone when I got home. I scoop it off the couch and glance at the screen. Notifications of several missed calls and at least a dozen text messages greet me.

I skim them quickly to check if Opal has reached out since I left her at Turquoise Crown with Posey. I admit I wasn’t thrilled with the surprising news that Opal had plans tonight, but something told me it had slipped her mind. Her expression when Posey brought up the baby store opening said it all.

I open my contact list and find Opal’s name immediately. I contemplate starting this exchange with some small talk about whether she’s enjoying the event she’s at, but she can fill me in on that tomorrow night.

All I want right now is to firm up plans with her before something, or someone steals her time away from me again.

William: Does dinner at 8 tomorrow night work for you?

I send it and head to the cupboard to grab a glass that I can fill with water.

By the time I make it to the sink, her response is lighting up my phone’s screen.

Opal: 8 sounds great. Point me in the right direction and I’ll be there.

Setting my phone down on the counter, I look around, noting the island that doesn’t have a countertop and the missing pulls on some of the drawers. I’m a man who prides himself on perfection in every aspect of his life. I’m also a man who values his privacy. I know when I walk into this penthouse I won’t be greeted with a fleeting memory of a woman I took to my bed here. I won’t recall fucking anyone against the window. This place is unblemished. It’s a blank slate, and that’s how I need it to remain, at least for now.

I fill my glass with water, down the cool liquid, and type out a response. I send her the address of the apartment I bought in Brooklyn years ago. It’s still furnished, just as it was when I lived there. When I packed up and moved here two years ago, I left virtually everything behind.

Her reply is almost instant.

Opal: You live in Brooklyn? Lucky you! I love that neighborhood. I’ll be there right at 8. See you then!

A wave of guilt washes over me as I read the text. I’ve occasionally taken women to my Brooklyn apartment for one-night stands. Opal isn’t like any of those women, but I don’t direct her to come here instead as I type out my final text message of the night and press send.

William: See you then.

30

Opal

All of thenervous energy that has been coursing through me all day left little room for creativity. Before I went to bed last night, I decided I’d have a gift in hand when I got to William’s apartment.

I’m almost there now, and the only thing in my hands is the special edition of the Turquoise Crown game that I gave him days ago. There is a bottle of red wine in the leather tote bag slung over my shoulder, but that’s the most generic and boring date night gift a girl can give.

When the clock struck seven, I changed into the red dress and matching heels that I had brought to the bar with me today. I didn’t know if I’d have the time to carve out to head home after work to get ready for my dinner date, so I shoved the dress and shoes into a garment bag this morning. Once I got to Turquoise Crown, I hung it on a coatrack in the back office.

I did a quick change, and with a twirl in front of the floor-length mirror in the hallway that leads to the washrooms, I decided that I not only looked presentable, but I felt phenomenal.

My hair is in soft waves around my face, and even though I did apply a little extra makeup before I left the bar, it’s still the natural look I always try to achieve.

As soon as I ordered a rideshare, it hit me that I didn’t have anything other than the game to take to William’s. A quick look behind the bar revealed the bottle of wine that my parents had sent over a few days ago as a pre-launch gift. It’s a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from a small Napa Valley vineyard. They cracked open one just like it the day I graduated from college, so I know it’s fantastic.

“It’s over there,” the driver says as he gestures to the left. “That building. I can drop you off right in front.”

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