Page 19 of Lessons in Love
“Thank you.”
I nod and head to the bar. When I look back at her, she’s heading for the door.
Eddie says, “Jagger called in sick.”
“Is he?”
He laughs. “I think he’s dick deep in the girl from the corner deli.”
TMI. I look at the door, hoping to see Virginia once more, but she’s gone. “I’ll fill in. Just cover a few more minutes.” I dash to the door and push it open. When my feet land on the snow covered sidewalk, I look right and then left, searching for her. When my eyes land on her great body, I call out, “Hey Virginia?”
Snow is falling, little white dots covering her hair when she turns with a flourish, a sweet smile on her lips. My heart hurts just looking at her. She’s so beautiful. I open my mouth to tell her—You were never invisible to me—but that doesn’t come out. Instead, I chicken out, and say, “See you Sunday.”
Her smiles grows and she replies, “See you Sunday, Hardy.”
Chapter Seven
My night is more than cocktails. Along with drinks, it’s quite busy with offers. When I serve twelve tequila shots to a bachelorette party, the favor is returned in the form of an insulting two-hundred-dollar offer to strip. I’m worth way more than two hundred bucks. And if I were to strip, it wouldn’t be for money, but for fun and hopefully sex at the end. What the fuck am I talking about? Oh, and no offense to any strippers who might be reading this. Virginia has my mind all mucked up tonight. She wants me to give her lessons in love. I’m seriously the luckiest fucker to walk this planet.
Back to the offers . . . when I serve a merlot, an offer of a blow job comes back instead of a tip. A bottle of tequila celebrating a girls’ night out is delivered and with hands that lean more on the pawing side they offer to take me home and ravage my body like, and I quote, “a dingo to a baby.” I tried to shake the disturbing thought from my brain, but when I couldn’t, I didn’t bother to answer. I just walked away.
I’m too tired to fend them off, so it’s time for me to go before I regret staying and doing something I’ll regret even more in the morning. The guys can handle the last hour before closing.The temps have dropped even lower than earlier and I didn’t bring my heavy jacket. The two blocks I cover in the snow at a breakneck pace keeps the chill at bay.
The streets are quiet, which I like, and if I listen carefully, I can almost hear the snow falling. I stop in front of my building and look up, closing my eyes, and listen.Hardy, I want you.Her words from last night echo through the night and down my street in the wind. Opening my eyes, snowflakes land on my lashes. Lessons in seduction. “Woohoo!” I jump up, feeling like I just won the lottery. Seduction. I’m the king of it. I cannot wait for Sunday night. I punch in the building code. A little wining. A little dining. A little romance and a lot of seduction. Now that is what I call a jackpot.
When I unlock my apartment, the place is dark, the only light coming from the streetlight at the corner of the block, which is too far to be a bother. I toss my keys in the bowl and shut the door. Standing in the middle of my living room, something new washes through me. A feeling I’ve never felt living here. I brush it away and go about winding down. It’s hard to do when you were wired thirty minutes prior.
I take a shower, hoping the warm water relaxes my muscles and my mind. It does neither. Neither does Virginia. Speaking of muscles, Big Richard is hard.Again.Wrapping my hand firmly around my cock, I start slow with images of that pink, my newest favorite color. My speed picks up when we kiss—soft, plush, willing lips.So close. So fucking close.Her lower lips even softer, wetter. My fingers slide through and fuck her all over again . . . and I’m coming. Fuck me. Fuck.
My free hand is against the tile, my head under the shower spray, and I loosen my grip. God damn it. She’s going to be the death of me, and Big Richard. We’ll see who can survive the longest come Sunday night.
***
Wednesday. Check.
Thursday. Friday. Check. Check.
Saturday.Fuck.
I’m in no mood to be here. I pull at the noose around my neck and order another whiskey. Neat. Stepping off to the side, but sticking close to the bar, my comfort zone, I survey the room. That’s when I’m blindsided or maybe it’s more of a sideline tackle. Either way, I didn’t see it coming.Or her, more specifically.
“Hardy Richard. It’s been too long.”
Not long enough.“Has it, Isabella?”
“You were always so funny.” It’s impressive how she manages to say that without smiling. Maybe the Botox has gone two layers deep, which is about as deep as Isabella Collins, formerly Isabella Treaton when I dated her, gets.
“My parents call it sarcasm. You might remember it got me in a lot of trouble.”
“You were always in a lot of trouble.” She touches my tie to straighten it, but I cover her hand and kindly remove it. “But what’s the fun in playing it safe? I like this burgundy tie. It’s so festive for the season.”
I ignore the compliment. They always come with ulterior motives that I’m not interested in getting involved in again. “As for playing it safe, you have a kid, and a husband who commutes from Connecticut. Do you also have a dog and a Mercedes?”
“A Cavalier King Charles, more specifically, and a Mercedes GLS SUV in Iridium Silver.”
“You don’t exactly walk on the wild side.”
“You think because you’re single, I’m still assuming by that bare ring finger, and you live in Brooklyn that you’re living the high life?”
