Not that being so admired has been terrible one hundred percent of the time. I’m a guy, after all. I’ve always been sexually charged. I like to fuck. I have certain criteria that has to be met by a woman before I allow her into my bed. One: she’s gotta have curves. None of this anorexic bullshit, where I can count their goddamn ribs. Two: She’s got to have a brain. Who wants to spend time with a chick if she’s just going to nod dumbly whenever you ask her a question. And three: She has to love sex. She’s got to want it like I want it. She’s got to need it every five seconds of the day…so badly that she’ll be climbing up on my dick moments after I’ve just made her scream my name, because she just can’t get enough of me. She’s got to be free. She’s got to love herself, and her body. If a woman doesn’t meet these criteria, I’d rather have no sex at all. I’ll go weeks and months without, jerking off to porn when I feel like it, if I can’t get what I need from a girl. I mean, I’d literally rather have no sex at all than have an experience with a woman where she’s not letting herself go with me, because she’s worried about whether her stomach isn’t perfectly flat while she’s got her legs up around her ears and I’m pounding myself inside her.

Jesus. These are bad thoughts to be having right now.

It’s a little before seven, and I want to get to Electra before Essie does. I quicken my pace. The hostess, Martine, gives me a big smile and leads me to the table, which is toward the back of the restaurant, near the fountain.

“Party of two tonight?” she asks.

“Yes. She should be arriving shortly.”

Martine winks. “Lucky girl. I’ll bring her right over when she gets here. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

I ask for a glass of water. Maybe I’d like something a little stronger, but at the same time, I want to keep a clear head. I want to be able to think straight. And if I start in on the vodka tonics now, well…that won’t happen.

It isn’t until Martine comes back over, with a silver carafe of water to refill my glass, that I realize considerable time has gone by and I’m still sitting there by myself. I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the time. 7:14. Fashionably late. If this were a business meeting, my client would have just fucked any chance they might have had at working with me. With a date, it’s different, though. These are the rules of engagement, ridiculous though they are. Martine looks concerned. “Is there anything else I can get you while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” I shake my head and she stands there for a moment, like she wants to say something, but then decides better before walking away. I don’t watch her leave. I don’t watch the minutes ticking by on my Breitling, and I sure as fuck don’t watch the door.

From the outside, I am a study of relaxed patience, sipping on my water, mildly observing my surroundings without actually seeing any of it or making eye contact with anyone. It’s seven thirty when I find with some amusement that I might have actually been stood up. How entertaining. I decide to wait another ten minutes before leaving.

The whole time I find myself wondering what Essie Floyd is playing at.

Fine. If this is how she’s going to behave, then perhaps I will too. I wonder if she’ll be able to handle me playing a few games along with her.

FOURTEEN

ESSIE

I’m leaving my apartment when I hear someone calling my name. It’s a guy, and for a second I think it’s Aidan. I think that he’s somehow found out where I lived and come to pick me up, but when I turn I see Matt Campbell hurrying toward me.

“Fuck.”

“Essie!” He looks excited. Relieved. “Thank god I caught you. Why haven’t you been returning my calls or texts? Did you get them?” He looks me up and down. “You look amazing. Big plans?”

“Something like that. What are you doing here?”

He takes a step closer. “Ahh, come on now, sweetheart. I had to see you. I’ve missed you. Haven’t you missed me?”

I take a deep breath. “No.” Matt flinches. “I haven’t.”

He shakes his head, like he really can’t comprehend what I’m saying right now. “Why not? Why are you being so pissy?”

“I haven’t missed you because you’re a mediocre lay, Matt. Oh, and my pissy mood might have something to do with the fact that your wife paid me a visit actually. You know, the wife you told me you were separated from?”

His face blanches. Yeeeaahhhhh, this is what a guy looks like when he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Okay. You’re right,” he admits. “I should never have told you I was separated. But I’m unhappily married,” he says, as though this makes any difference. “If I were happily married—if my wife were giving it up the way you do—I wouldn’t need to do this. I wouldn’t have strayed.”

“So you’re blaming her?”

“I’m not blaming her, I just—” He sighs, as though I’m being difficult by somehow not understanding why he’s been cheating on his wife. “There’s no way that the sex Ellen and I have will ever be as hot as the sex you and me have. No fucking way.”

“I get it. I really do. But it’s not happening again, Matt, I thought I’d made myself clear on that front. Now I’m late. I don’t have time to be standing around having this argument with you.”

His expression darkens, turning angry. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“It’s nothing personal. Just…talk to your wife, Matt. Take her out for dinner. Jesus. I’ve got my own dinner that I’m already late for. I’ve gotta go.” I start to walk away.

He grabs my arm. “Please,” he says. “Just once more? For old time’s sake. Can you do that for me? Call it closure.” He smiles a lop-sided smile, his voice taking on a bargaining tone. “I’ll stop phoning you. I’ll stop texting, I’ll stop all contact. You have my word. I just need to be inside you one last time. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. I can’t get you out of my head. Please.”

I actually consider it for a moment. I don’t do charity fucks, though, and I can’t let myself get sidetracked right now. Aidan is my goal. Getting to Aidan is the only thing that matters. I stare up at the man standing in front of me, still holding onto my arm, and I scowl.

“No, Matt. No. Now, please… get your hands off me before I break every single last one of your fingers.”

******

I’m pretty late by the time I get to the restaurant. Late enough that it wouldn’t surprise me if Aidan is already gone. The hostess greets me with a smile until I tell her who I’m here to see.

“Right this way,” she says, an icy tone in her voice. Her look clearly indicates she can’t believe that I’m the person Aidan has been sitting around waiting for. Clearly, she was expecting someone…more. “You’re very late. Mr. Callahan has been waiting quite some time.”

“I’m sure he’s not used to that.”

She shoots me a look but doesn’t say anything.

He’s sitting there at the table, nursing what appears to be a glass of water. His expression is hard to read, though it could be one of irritation or complete boredom. I sit down.

“You’re late,” he says.

“I am late. I had an unexpected visitor.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so.”

“Yes. But I’m here now. Did you order yet?”

“Of course not. A gentleman doesn’t order before his companion arrives.”

I open the menu and look at the list of entrees. The prices are staggering. “So…what do you recommend?”

I look at the menu for a few more seconds before I realize his menu is just lying there and he’s staring at me. “What?” I ask.