by Amara Kent
“But there’s a certain something you get when you eat food from where it originated.”
“Technically—”
I hold my finger to stop her. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m the one you’re having this moment with,” Sara says, popping a piece of tuna nigiri in her mouth.
We eat in silence, and I look out over the river to see people rowing and floating like us, taking pictures, and having a fun time. The reflection of the beautiful pink, a watercolor of vibrancy as the trees stand tall and proud. I could live this life forever. Stay here and allow the world around me to whirl past, while I remain frozen in time. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m meant for a life in America or whether I’m destined to pack up and move here. I’ve thought about it. I thought about migrating over, but I have too much in America to ever do it. Maybe one day when I’m old and retired, I will make the move.
“I could live here.” I breathe out, expressing my thoughts.
“Really? You’ve only been here for two full days. You’d leave your life behind in America and move here?” she asks quizzically.
“Well, obviously not now. I have my career and life back at home in New York; but when I’m retired and graying, I could see myself living here.”
“You should do it. We can grow old together.”
“Yeah, you, me, and your husband.” I laugh with a light nudge to her shoulder.
I’m jerked forward as someone pushes into me as they walk passed. “Sumimasen,” (I’m sorry) the offending person apologizes. I nod, appreciative of the politeness.
“Daijōbu desu, arigatō.” (It’s okay, thank you) I bow slightly.
It’s amazing being here. Everyone is so polite. If this happened in New York, they wouldn’t care. They would just continue walking as if you weren’t there, or tell you off for being in their way, even though it was them. We spent most of the day floating on the river, just talking and catching up. Drank our sparkling non-alcoholic strawberry drink and I sunk into the friendly aura of the Japanese people. Now it’s eight p.m. and we’ve just stepped off the train, heading toward the Meguro River where the festivities take place. A pink glow lights up the sky. A hypnotizing beacon of light.
“Your Japanese has come a long way. Have you been cheating on me and learning from someone else?” Sara eyes me suspiciously.
“Never. I would never cheat on my Japanese wife.”
“Japanese wife? That suggests you have other wives,” she scolds lightly, in jest.
“I only have you and Tay. You’re my Japanese wife, and she’s my American wife.”
“Good. I should be your only Japanese wife.”
We both laugh as we walk past a myriad of stores of convenience, clothing, and beauty. Scattered in between are little food stalls that serve all kinds of delicious smelling food. I spot a hot dog stand, leaving Sara behind as I rush to it, trying not to be rude by weaving through the throng of people. I’ve seen people eat these on online videos. I’ve never been a fan of corn dogs, but these look so much more appetizing.
“Okay, we need to make a rule. No running off on Sara, okay?” she says with a light huff behind me.
“Sorry. I’ve seen these on all those food videos online and just had to come and get one for myself,” I explain.
“You’ve never had a hot dog? But you have these in America.” She crinkles her nose.
“Your hot dog is our equivalent to a corn dog. Our hot dogs are grilled and placed between a long bun. I’ve had a corn dog before and never liked it, but you guys make it seem so much better.
“I’ll have to agree with you there. One time, Satoru and I were both in America together. He took me to a um… those places that have rides and games. What are they called?”
“Carnival,” I advise.
“Yes, that. He took me there and gave me a corn dog to try. He told me it was nice.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t that nice.”
The line was fairly long, but the service was quick. You are given your corn dog and off to the side are condiments and various other things to dip your hot dog into. I wait for Sara to get hers before we make our way over to the toppings.
“Okay, now I suggest dipping it in sugar. Then you give yourself a good serving of ketchup and honey mustard. The combination of the sweet tanginess of the mustard and ketchup and the saltiness and savory from the hot dog. It’s a perfect marriage of flavors.”
I copy as she does, before lifting mine in the air and tapping against hers. “Bon appétit!”
I take a bite, and holy shit, what the fuck have I just eaten? Sweet, tangy, and oh so amazing with the saltiness of the hot dog and batter coating it. “Where has this been all my life?” I exclaim excitedly.
Sara lets out a giggle. “One of the finest things Asia has to offer.”
“They seriously need to have these back in America. They would go nuts over these.”
“You should start up a food truck and sell them to New Yorkers.”
“I really should.” I take another bite and relax as the flavors dance along my palate.
“You are going to love the markets here. I’ll take you to one, one day. They serve the most amazing food.”
“Why can’t all men be like you?”
“If they were, they would most likely be gay,” she jokes.
I laugh. “True. All the best ones are always gay.”
“So, whose party are we going to?” I ask as we walk up the steps to the house overlooking the river.
“She’s a fellow model. She’s from the Philippines and was Miss Universe a few years back.”
“Oh wow, friends in high places, huh? And you’re still friends with little ole me,” I say dramatically.
“I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to get rid of you no matter how hard I tried,” she teases back, sticking her tongue out at me.
We reach the top and are greeted with the cool atmospheric music of jazz fusion. Not the type of music I was expecting to hear. Not that I expected to hear a certain kind, but jazz fusion was not it. It’s a classy party, not a rager you’d find at a frat house back in the States. With a dim ambiance of some baby blue lighting, it gives off a fitting and soothing mood, while a romantic atmosphere is created from the tea lights strung up along the balcony.
“Sara!” a squeal comes from across the room, and I see a tall leggy brunette with a bob cut, shuffle her way over to us, giving Sara a big hug. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“After I missed your birthday, of course, I had to. Sorry I couldn’t make it,” Sara apologizes.
Her friend waves her off. “Forget about it. You were working at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show. I think I can forgive you for getting to attend one of the best events of the year.” She takes her eyes off our mutual friend to look at me. “And you must be Kerri from America,” she states.
“I be her,” I confirm, taking her outstretched hand and shaking it. “And sorry to sound rude, but your name is?”
Sara’s friend glares at her with annoyance before landing an apologetic smile onto me. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you who I was. My name is Mahalia, and can I say, you are absolutely stunning. Ever thought of modeling?”
My eyes go wide. Nobody in the history of the world has ever said that. Okay, that’s a lie. Many men have said the same thing to me. But here’s the thing about when men have said it compared to Mahalia saying it to me right now. Men have said it to get their dicks into me. Crudely put, but so are they. Mahalia here is not trying to get a good pussy rubbin’ from me. And you see why women wave off the compliments of men? Because there’s always a hidden agenda behind it. I don’t fall for that shit. If I see a man I want to fuck, the only words I want to hear coming from their mouths, are the dirty words said during sex.
I shake my head. “No, and as lovely as that sentiment is, I’m not one for the runway.”
She sighs. “Too bad. You’d make a great one.”
Someone calls out her na
me and she politely excuses herself and wanders over to a crowd of women congregating at the bar.
“I need to use the bathroom. Is that okay?” Sara asks me.
“No, you must stay right here.” I shoot her a look. “Of course.”
“I won’t be too long, I promise.”
“Sara, I’ll be fine. I’ll be out on the balcony, so come find me when you’re done.”
“Okay. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
I push her away from me lightly and she rushes off. I weave through the crowd of people until I make it out onto the balcony. The cool spring breeze hitting me is a delicious sensation. Reaching the end, I look out over to the beautiful view. The cherry blossoms are dancing in the breeze, pulling me into a trance. Sara was right when she said that Mahalia has the best view of the cherry blossoms. I wonder if it was intentional or not. It wouldn’t matter if Sara left me for the duration of the party. I would be perfectly content standing here and looking out at this view. To me, nothing compares to this natural beauty. And the lights winding through the branches of the trees only helps to intensify the vibrancy of the colors. A sharp nudge and I’m pushed forward, the balcony railing digging into me.
“Sumimasen” (Sorry), a petite woman and man say as I turn around.
“Goshinpai Naku,” (Don’t worry), I respond, nodding my head with a smile.
I got to turn back around to face my favorite view, but as I do I catch a glimpse of a familiar face.
No. It can’t be… can it? Turning back around slowly, I freeze. Oh my God, it is him.
Him, the guy I met at JFK.
Him, the guy that gave me the best orgasm I have ever received on land and sky.
Him, the guy that had me throwing away all my rules.
Him, the guy that is standing there giving me that heated look once more as he takes a slow sip of his drink.
I never thought I would see him again. My body heats up at the memory of our time in my suite on the plane. The way his hands felt on my skin, scorching a long path. His expert fingers playing me with the deftness of an artist. The feel of his lips and the taste of his tongue as they worked with everything else to have me exploding.
I look away, because those eyes have the power to pull me in again, and there is no way I’m going to break my number one rule.
Never sleep with the same guy more than once.
I turn my back to him. I’m not entirely sure what my endgame is, but somehow it’s better this way. Focusing my attention on anything else, but it’s ridiculously hard to ignore the heat of his eyes on my back, sliding dangerously low. Snap out of it. How the fuck does one guy have such an effect on a woman? If my body gets any hotter, I’ll be lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
And then I feel him.
“Fancy seeing you again.” His baritone strokes me, sending a shudder throughout my entire body.
With two deep calming breaths, I turn around and face him, sucking in one more quick gasp of air. God damn, he’s more beautiful than I remembered. “Same to you,” I say, trying to sound casual, but coming across more strained.
“To be honest, I never thought I would see you again,” he purrs. Seductive. Too damn fucking seductive. As if knowing and wanting to torture me further, he steps a little closer.
“What are you doing?” I ask. Forcing my voice to go hard, but it doesn’t have the full impact, with my voice breaking at the end.
“I believe I’m talking to you. What are you doing?” He looks down at me with a smirk.
“You can talk to me without being on top of me.”
His eyes haze over with a dark shadow. “Oh, believe me. When I’m on top of you, talking is not something that will be happening; not from me anyway.”
Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. If you can hear me, Sara, I need you to get your ass back over here and rescue me from him. I look past him in a desperate attempt to find her. How long does it take to go to the damn bathroom? You piss, you wipe, and you get the fuck out of there.
“You say that like it’s a thing that will happen,” I retort.
“Is it not?”
“It is not.”
His hand lands on my hip, sliding smoothly to my ass before creating light circles on the small of my back. My breath hitches at his touch and my body begs for him, arching of its own volition at his touch. His lips brush against my ear, breathing out and creating a warmth that sparks electricity within me. He pulls my lobe in between his teeth with a moan. Butterflies rush out in my stomach and my panties dampen in response.
With a chuckle, he says, “Are you sure about that?”
He walks off, leaving me feeling lightheaded and wanting more. I glare at his back as he slips into a group of men. One of them pats him on the back in a friendly gesture and they clink glasses. Sara finally comes back from the toilet, a confused look on her face.
“Were you just talking to Ren Hattori?”
“Who?” I ask breathlessly.
“The guy that just walked off. That was Ren Hattori.”
“Oh, is that who that was?” I say, not looking at her, unable to tear my eyes away from the man that sets my skin alight. And just to make it all worse, he lifts his jacket, tucking his hands in his pants, giving me a marvelous view of his finely sculptured ass.
Dear God, please give me the strength to not be tempted by the devil.
Sara’s hand blocks my view of him and I shake my head a little and look at her.
“So, how do you know him? You two looked pretty comfortable together. Pretty much every woman was giving you the evil eye. Even ones who are here with their partners.”
“I don’t know him,” I say weakly. No, I don’t know him at all. He only just blew my mind thousands of feet up in the air.
“You two looked cozy for two people who don’t know each other. Spill. What are you not telling me?” Her hands fly to her hips and she gives me that no-nonsense look she pulls off so well.
I lean in close and whisper, “He’s the guy from the plane.”
“He’s what?” she yells, grabbing the attention of some people around us.
“Will you be quiet,” I whisper-shout. “Yes. It was him.”
“Did you know it was him when it happened?”
My head falls slightly to the side and I give her that “Seriously? Are you seriously asking me this question?” look. “No, I didn’t. Like I told you, we didn’t exchange names. He was just some dude that got me off and that’s it.”
“So, you have no idea who he is, right?” Sara asks.
“Sara,” I warn.
“He owns Rettori, the—”
“The biggest tech company in the world,” I finish for her. “Shit.”
“I would be careful with him. The way he was looking at you, it was obvious that he wanted more than what you’re willing to give. These upper-class Japanese women are very brutal when it comes to him. Not a lot of people you meet on the street would know him by name or face, but everyone knows the company. And those that do know him, know how much he’s worth and want him all to themselves. I don’t know why they bother, though. he’s never been the type to want to settle down.”
“It’s okay. I don’t plan on seeing him again,” I reassure.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. When Ren wants something, he usually gets it. It’s one of the reasons he’s the best in his field.”
“Yeah, well, he’s never met the likes of me before. I’m a stubborn bitch who rarely gives in to people.” Sara looks at me with a raised brow, making me roll my eyes. “I said rarely.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll believe it when I see it,” she says with a smile.
Chapter Five
Ren
Opening the heavy wooden doors to the gate of my parent’s lavish home in Minato, I step through. I’m not looking forward to this visit at all, but seeing as though it’s been months since I last saw them, I felt it best to get it over and done with. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents dearly, but bein
g a forty-three-year-old man with no girlfriend, has them—or to be more accurate, has my stepmother—harassing me about finding a good girl and settling down. And considering my younger step-brother is an idol in one of the most popular k-pop groups, they aren’t exactly holding out for him to provide them with any grandchildren anytime soon. Or as my stepmother likes to hit me with, “Please give me some grandchildren before I die. Do you want me to die without the joy of grandchildren?” She likes to put on the guilt trip, thick. Aiya squeezes my hand and I look down at her with a smile. I could not be happier that she agreed to come with me. We grew up together, have known each other since we were babies. You know the kind of photos you usually see of two kids naked in a bath? That was us. And forty-three years later, we’re still the best of friends. At one stage, both our families were holding out hope that we would get together, but we affectively squashed that dream to nothing. I love Aiya dearly, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, but to be involved in that way doesn’t elicit the best thoughts from me. It would be like getting it on with my sister, were I to have one. My parents love it when they see Aiya, and I’m pretty sure the fact that I’ve brought her to every one of these get-togethers has dawned on them that it’s intentional, not out of love and fondness. But they have yet to bring it to my attention, so I continue to do it.
“It won’t be that bad. You’re making it seem as if they’re animals. It’ll only be for a few hours and then you have another few months before you have to see them again,” Aiya says with a slight smirk to her face.
“That’s easy for you to say. Your parents aren’t shoving a dossier of every so-called eligible bachelorette in your face every time you see them,” I grumble.
“No, my parents just go behind my back and arrange guerilla dates, instead.”
“I take it the ‘random run in’ with Javier didn’t go down so well?”
“No.” She groans.
“They must have run out of Asian men to set you up with. They’ve moved on to the next continent,” I muse.