Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  Sage shrugged. “They all are.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Macy said, her chuckle as breezy as the air that swirled around us.

  “What do you guys know? You both married your dream guys.”

  “Dicks,” corrected Sage. “We married our dream dicks. No matter what, guys will always be big dicks we eventually fall for.”

  “True that,” Macy said, fingertips dancing across her laptop keyboard. She always seemed to be up against a hard deadline and often brought her work to lunch because of it. “Maybe that app will find you yours.”

  “Allow me to take this time to remind you two that I only signed up for Luv Bytes to discredit their claims to find members a perfect match.”

  Macy and Sage shared one of their annoying glances, the kind that made me question if they spoke some mental-telepathy language I wasn’t privy to.

  “What’s that stupid glance for?” I pointed my fork at them.

  “Well,” Macy began, “do you remember Damian, the playboy linebacker that Lucas used to hang out with?”

  I nodded because it wasn’t hard to remember Damian Hicks. His playboy lifestyle lived on the front pages of tabloids. At one point, the NFL hottie-on-a-stick was named reality TV’s next Bachelor, but he backed out at the last minute.

  “He joined Luv Bytes some months ago,” Macy continued, sky-blues never leaving her laptop, “and got matched with some hot Instagram influencer.” Peeling her gaze away from the laptop, she peered over her black-framed glasses. “Now they’re engaged.”

  “Mmhmm,” Sage added. “She’s the reason why he backed out of his contract with The Bachelor.”

  I scoffed at their sneaky roundabout way of making a point that Luv Bytes worked. But when it came to love, nothing could be guaranteed. And I was determined to prove that.

  Hours later, I sank into a warm bath at home, a second glass of wine perched beside my phone on the edge of the tub.

  Getting lost in a cloud of bubbles was the self-care I needed, especially after such a shitty day at work.

  That run-in with Jameson Wright, armed with that cocky, smug, and irritatingly sexy smirk, made me almost call Bree and tell her to take me off the story. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed her to convince me to write the Luv Bytes piece and instead made sure she chose someone unaffected by the Park Avenue Prick who made my head explode—and a league of annoying butterflies take flight in my stomach.

  Why couldn’t he resemble Shrek, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, or even Popeye, instead of the yummy six-foot-two, built like a god version of my celebrity crush Nick Bateman?

  And why the heck did he hate me so much? After all, he’s the jerk who acted like a stuck-up jackass when I walked into his office a few months ago.

  Hot Shot had plans to feature him in its annual “New York’s Most Wealthy and Eligible Hottie” spread. A story so largely anticipated required us to make appointments months in advance to interview our featured Hottie. Oh, how my heart raced when I walked into Wright, Inc. headquarters on the date chosen by his PR team, eager to write a story about a tech-geek who was not only hot and wealthy but who’d been successful at app development. Wright, Inc. had been the creative force behind countless apps—from dog walking, grocery shopping, to movie rentals.

  When I stepped foot into the posh Park Avenue office, my eyes settled on Jameson Wright as he sat behind his desk, nothing but arrogance written all over his face.

  The asshole asked me if I was lost.

  Lost.

  I stood motionless, stomach in my throat, and before my mouth could spill out an answer, the prick ordered me to get out.

  So, I did what any sensible journalist would do: I featured him in the spread as planned, only instead of “New York’s Most Wealthy and Eligible Hottie,” I renamed it “New York’s Most Wealthy and Eligible Hottie Just So Happens to Be a Park Avenue Prick.” And since his PR firm had already released his photo for us to use on the famous and highly viewed Jumbotron, Jameson Wright’s face—along with that caption—stayed erect in Times Square for days. When his lawyer threatened to sue for defamation, Kat Agassi, Hot Shot’s Editor and Chief, had the photo removed from Times Square and the article I wrote about him removed from our digital platform. But that didn’t change the amount of publicity the magazine got. Subscription sales climbed as critics called Hot Shot a ‘ballsy, no-holds-barred magazine for men and women who crave real and honest opinions.’ Go me.

  My phone buzzed, and it was just what I needed to take my thoughts off Jameson and that article. I swiped it off the edge of the tub and noticed I’d received a text from Luv Bytes.

  Luv Bytes Reminder: We found a match! You have an unread message from Citydevelop86.

  I set the phone down and picked up my glass of wine, a satisfied grin on my face. Citydevelop86 already sounded like a fail, no doubt some stuffy office type who worked in city development. It wouldn’t take me long to discredit the app’s claim. I preferred the bad-boy, rock-star, bartender types. Who knows why my breath hitched when Jameson stepped close to me? Because mister tall with dark, heart-smoldering eyes, who smells delish, and was always armed with a lip tilt hotter than a galaxy of suns, would never be my type.

  4

  Jameson

  Factcheckalphabetic96: What about bull balls?

  I read the message and laughed out loud.

  It had been a week since I’d been matched, and conversations between me and Factcheckalphabetic96 had begun to pique my interest more and more. She was funny, snarky, intelligent, and utterly refreshing.

  We’d already discussed our hair and eye color, weight, etc., and since I trusted Cupid’s algorithms to pick someone I’d be physically attracted to, I imagined she was hot as fuck. Tonight, we were discussing the strangest food we’d ever had.

  Me: Once, when I ate a ramen bowl at Pho4U in Tribeca.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Impressive, but I’m not that brave. Bull balls will never go into my mouth.

  My sex-deprived mind went dirty.

  Before I knew it, my thumbs fired off a reply that should’ve stayed locked within the confines of my brain.

  Me: What balls will you put into your mouth?

  There was a pause, and just as I was about to send an apology for being a perv, she replied.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Maybe yours someday.

  Fuck. Spicy was immediately added to the growing list of things I found exhilarating about this woman. Yet, I needed a swift subject change before my assistant Nancy strolled into my office and found me behind the mahogany workspace, pants unzipped, rock-hard cock on display.

  My desktop chirped with an alert to a new email. When I glanced from my phone to the desktop computer, I noticed an email from Chloe York, the perfect buzzkill to my raging hormones.

  * * *

  From: ChloeYorkAssistantEditor@HotShotMag.com

  To: JamesonWrightCEO@WrightInc.com

  Subject: Information Please

  Mr. Wright,

  As you know, I’m writing an exploratory piece about Luv Bytes. With that in mind, I’ll need some information for my article.

  The last time I saw you in Luv Bytes’ reception area, you mentioned you’d signed up for Luv Bytes. In case you’ve forgotten, it was the day you told me I had a bitchy attitude. Anyway…

  Seeing how the app has been live for over three years, why did it take you so long to become a member? Did you doubt the app’s efficacy?

  Where did you get the idea for Luv Bytes?

  Why is it important for those matched not to meet in person for at least four weeks after they connect on the app?

  If it’s not too much trouble, please reply within five days.

  Thanks for your time,

  Chloe York - Lifestyle Assistant Editor, Hot Shot Magazine

  Ignoring the email, I powered down my desktop.

  It was getting late, and frankly, I wanted nothing to do with Chloe York or her bullshit exploratory piece.

  Besides that, I owed
a reply to Factcheckalphabetic96.

  Me: Sorry, I got distracted by work. Heading home now. Mind if we continue this chat a little later?

  Text bubbles danced on my phone screen.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Can’t wait.

  Later, while lying in bed, exhausted from a long day’s work, a part of me felt like a guy in high school texting his girl.

  Though midnight drew near, my Luv Bytes match and I were still deep in the throes of message exchanges. We chatted about all sorts of things, including our favorite holiday, season, current Netflix binge, and what we wore to bed—to which she sent me a wide-eyed emoji after I shared my preference to sleep naked.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: So, what brought you to Luv Bytes?

  Here we go.

  The question we’d both managed to avoid till now, a blunt equivalent to the infamous, Why are you still single? It’s one of many reasons why I’d avoided the dating scene and resorted to one-night stands at my fuck-em-and-leave-em suite at the Plaza Hotel.

  Every time I landed on that hated subject, it reopened wounds tethered to my heart.

  After a few minutes of staring at the screen, I blew out a breath and replied.

  Me: I went through a rough patch two years ago, lost a woman I loved in a car accident.

  It seemed as if an immeasurable amount of silence flew by.

  Even those indicative text dots that danced on screens were absent.

  My heart constricted, frozen in the time spent waiting for a reply.

  Until one finally whooshed in.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: I wish I could hold you right now, squeeze your shattered heart, tell you in person that it’s okay to still grieve, feel broken over such an incredible loss. Please know, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.

  It wasn’t the response I’d expected. Most women fed me an, Oh, my gosh! Or, How did it happen? And even worse, the ever so bland, I’m sorry for your loss, as if they had something to do with it.

  Me: Hope was in a horrific car accident two years ago that left her in a coma. Three months later, her family decided to pull the plug.

  Recollection rendered a slam dunk of pain to my chest; the same pain felt when I received a text from Hope’s sister two years ago that told me to get to the hospital to say my final goodbye.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: My heart aches for you, for Hope, for her family and friends.

  She sure had a way with words, natural and soothing.

  Me: Thank you for your kind sentiment. It’s been a while since I’ve told anyone, and it feels good to get this out and in the open with you. Now, how about you? What brought you to Luv Bytes?

  Her response took mere seconds to float in.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Guys I’ve met so far have been dicks.

  A chuckle slipped past my lips, mainly because, at times, I tended to be a dick too.

  Me: We can’t help it. Dickhood is akin to manhood.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Dickhood? Too funny! So, does that mean you’re also a dick?

  Me: Guilty as charged.

  Beats ticked by, and for a minute I thought she’d run for the hills far from a self-proclaimed dick.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: I want to hear your voice.

  One thing for sure: the woman held nothing back, and God knows I too wanted to hear hers. Unfortunately, the app’s voice-call feature wouldn’t unlock until week two. Luv Bytes had been methodically designed to allow matched members time to steep, become infused in getting acquainted via chat. If done right, that time should’ve been used to knock out those hard questions, ones that tended to make in-person or over-the-phone conversations awkward.

  Me: Be patient, there are only a few more days before we’re granted access to the voice-call feature.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Unless we break the rules…

  Ms. Factcheckalphabetic96 had a naughty side I couldn’t wait to explore.

  Me: As fun as that may sound, I’m a stickler for rules. According to the contract, if we ignore Luv Bytes’ terms and conditions, we won’t be eligible for their money-back guarantee—should we feel we’re not a match.

  Damn. I didn’t mean to come off so negative, but I needed to use the app as designed. When I decided to text something that would pacify my cynical words, she beat me to it.

  Factcheckalphabetic96: Then patient I shall be.

  5

  Chloe

  “OMG, girl. It’s like You’ve Got Mail. You’re falling for the guy online.”

  “Shut up, Sage.” I took a swig of iced coffee, my mean-girl-side-eye in full effect. “I’m not falling for anyone. And this is nothing like You’ve Got Mail.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to admit she wasn’t entirely wrong. Citydevelop86, the guy Luv Bytes matched me with two weeks ago, was witty, he made me laugh, and since I finally had a chance to hear the sound of his sultry voice a few nights back, the possibility I was about to fall for a man I’d never met seemed surreal.

  “Chloe’s right,” Macy chirped in my defense, “it’s nothing like You’ve Got Mail because one: their connection was via email, and two: even though Joe Fox and Kathleen Kelly fell in love online, they couldn’t stand each other in real life.”

  “See?” I glared at Sage. “I don’t know Citydevelop86 in real life yet.” Yet was the operative word. Luv Bytes had this stupid rule that members do not meet in person until about four weeks in. Truthfully, I’d eagerly marked the date on my calendar, a two-week countdown in full force; though I wasn’t ready to admit as much to anyone, not even my besties.

  Sage shrugged. “How the fuck do you know? Maybe Citywhatshisface could be the guy who lives a few doors down from you.”

  “Eww, you mean that oily-haired freak who farts when he walks?” I gagged. “I would just die.”

  Our collective laughter echoed through Hot Shot’s employee break room, then quickly faded once our phones beeped: our fifteen-minute reminder of a three o’clock editorial meeting.

  “Party’s over.” Sage got to her feet. “I’ll meet you two there. I need to pee.”

  “Wait, you’ve been peeing a lot. You’re not pregnant again, are you?” Curiosity wrinkled Macy’s nose. Clearly, she wasn’t over the last time Sage got pregnant and ended up having her baby on Macy’s wedding day.

  “Girl, please,” Sage replied with a set of furrowed brows. “We have our hands full with little AJ.” She brandished a bottle of water filled with lemon slices. “I’m doing a story on this new skinny-bitch lemon-water cleanse that all the fashionistas swear is life, but the water makes me piss my guts out every thirty minutes.”

  Macy and I tried not to burst out in laughter but couldn’t help ourselves. Sage was always on some sort of a cleanse. In fact, while in college, she went on a potty-mouth cleanse, and every time a cuss word spilled from her mouth, she had to complete a series of squats.

  Inside the editorial meeting, I just about died. I wasn’t as prepared as expected when Kat Agassi asked for my progress on the Luv Bytes story. The conference room’s tiled floor should have put me out of my misery, opened up, and swallowed me whole. I’d always been the one who had her shit together. Spoke with confidence. But was it my fault Jameson Wright ignored the multiple emails I’d sent requesting answers to straightforward questions? Nope.

  Yet, there I was, all of Hot Shot’s eyes on me when Kat asked, “And where are you on that Luv Bytes piece, Chloe?”

  “Well,” I started, heart thumping in my ears, “as far as the app, things are going smoother than expected. The guy I’ve been matched with is pretty cool so far, though it’s only been a little over two weeks.” Heat stormed my cheeks when I thought of conversations I’d had with Citydevelop86. “But I can’t reach Jameson Wright. He’s ignored my emails. I wanted to obtain pertinent information from him, details to help define the app's existence, stuff that will tie the story together.”

  Kat sat tall at the head of the conference room table, a pensive gaze pinned on me as she tapped her chin. The
room was still—nothing but silence and her all-commanding presence. “While Jameson still licks his wounds over the Jumbotron incident, give him time, or figure out a way to help him get over it. Change your approach, soften your tone, and try not to convey how much you dislike him in your emails. If not, find a workaround. That’s part of being a journalist.” She raised a brow. “Perhaps your story will be just fine without him.”

  That night at home, I took a hot shower, slipped into an oversized T-shirt, and crawled into bed. Citydevelop86 was supposed to call me via the app, something I looked forward to all day.

  What the hell was happening to me? Two weeks ago, I’d started this journey fueled by determination to discredit the app’s guarantee to find me—anyone—a match. Instead, I quickly morphed into this high school-ish lovesick puppy who chatted with her guy all hours of the night—a guy I’d yet to meet, mind you. But there was something about him, an illusion that made the whole experience feel naughty, sexy, and intriguing. Besides that, the man’s voice sounded sinfully delicious, like chocolate-dipped strawberries garnished with dollops of whipped cream. Full disclosure: his gruff timbre made me wet, and after our first voice call, my hand slipped under the covers and traveled south as I unashamedly imagined his tongue, his mouth on a sensual exploration of my clit.

  My phone buzzed, and a silly smile curved my lips when the words, you have a call from Citydevelop86, lit up the screen.

  “Hello,” I answered, thankful he couldn’t hear the erratic beats of my heart.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Baby. Every time he said it, I was fucked—no longer in control of how one simple word suddenly made me melt. But that’s what we agreed to call one another instead of our screen names. One of Luv Bytes’ many rules stated we weren’t to reveal real names until our first in-person meeting. It was to minimize risk to those smarties who tried to use Google, or some other source, to discover the other person’s identity.