Pitching for Amalie

by Hayley Faiman

  How can someone so sexy want anything to do with me? The guy could have anyone, and he is wasting his time with me. I really, truly do not understand it at all. I know I’m not ugly, but when someone so clearly out of your league is pursuing you, it makes one wonder.

  Jarrod pulls up in front of my building, and I really do not want tonight to end. I know this is going to end as soon as he has to go back to New York, but something about him makes me crave him. It isn’t just his looks. He is nice and considerate, and when he touches me, I feel special. Not to mention, just a sideways glance from him makes me all hot and bothered.

  “Do you want to come up, or do you need to leave?”

  It is fairly early still even though I would usually be in bed by this point in the evening. I don’t mind missing a few hours of sleep if it means I get to kiss this sexy man.

  “Sure. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

  I feel my chest fall. Talk? No good can come from that.

  Walking into my apartment with Jarrod is…odd. I don’t know how to describe it. I want him there. Hell, I want to rip all his clothes off, dust off my vaj, and tackle him. There is something that doesn’t sit quite right though. When he kisses me, my body goes all soft and gooey. It is sexy and sensual, but then it seems like he pulls away and holds back. Maybe he is just trying to be a gentleman and not take things too far? We have only just met, and although I used to be the jump-in-the-sack-right-away kind of girl, I have been trying to steer clear of doing that over the past couple of years.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I’m trying to lighten whatever has made this mood kind of dark all of a sudden.

  “No, thank you. Come sit with me?” Jarrod asks, taking a seat on my sofa.

  I nod and slide down next to him. He turns his body and takes both of my hands in his.

  Is this the part where he tells me he’s actually married, he has an entire family in New York, and he wants me to be his girl on the side? Or does he tell me he wants just one night with me, then he will be gone, and I should never try to contact him again? My mind is reeling with a million different scenarios. None of them have a positive outcome for me.

  “Stop freaking out. I just want to tell you how much I have really enjoyed your company over the past few days. You know I don’t live here, and I have to go back to New York tomorrow evening. I was wondering if we could try to keep seeing each other.

  “I have never done long-distance before, but I don’t want to stop seeing you. This is my busy season at work, so I’ll probably only be able to talk to you on the phone for the next few months. Then, I could come and stay here in Boston for a few weeks after things slow down. Would that be all right?

  “I understand if you don’t want to do that. I know it’s asking a lot to do something like this, but there is something about you. I don’t want whatever we have to end just yet. I want to get to know you better.”

  Well, if that speech wasn’t absolutely fan-fucking-tastic…

  Could I do long-distance with this man? It’s not like I have offers and men lining up outside my door. What would a few months of a trial run really hurt? Except maybe my heart when he discovers that there is someone better than me out there.

  “Does this mean we would be exclusive or just casual?” I hate to ask the question. I know I’ll be exclusive because I don’t really date much as it is, but this beautiful man must have offers left and right. I’m not sure I can handle knowing he might possibly be with another woman while in New York, not that him verbally committing to become exclusive would stop anyone as it is.

  “Exclusive. You would be mine, no one else’s.” His voice is almost harsh.

  My heart does a little jump when he tells me that I will be his. That’s nice.

  “Yeah, that would be nice.” I can’t help myself. I want him. I want every piece of him.

  I know he’s holding something back, but I’ll take whatever I can get from this beautiful big man. He makes me smile, and I haven’t smiled in a long time.

  “Really?” He seems shocked.

  I can’t figure out why. He can get whatever woman he wants.

  Why would he be surprised that I want to continue seeing him?

  I just beam up at him and nod. He leans in and kisses me. At first, it’s soft and slow, and then something changes. He grabs my waist with his huge hands and delves his tongue into my mouth. I can’t help but just open my mouth and enjoy the feelings coming over me, moaning with every stroke of his tongue. Want, desire, and need are surrounding me, coursing through my veins, and I can’t help myself.

  “Amalie…” Jarrod breaks from our kiss and rests his forehead on mine. His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

  “Jarrod,” I whisper. I want him so freaking bad right now.

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman here,” he says, sounding strained.

  I don’t know why he’s trying to be a gentleman. I never asked him to be, but I also don’t want to seem too eager and have him think I’m a slut.

  “Tak,” I say in a haze. What is it about this man that brings out my proficiency of the English language?

  “What?” he asks with a small grin on his lips.

  “Thank you,” I repeat but in English this time.

  Jarrod kisses the corner of my lips and slides his hand up to cup my cheek.

  “I will be leaving tomorrow, but I’ll be in New York for a few weeks. I would love for you to come and visit me. I’ll buy your plane ticket. Could you spare a weekend to spend with me?”

  I think for about a split second about my answer because my answer is yes, yes, yes.

  “I would love that…so very much.” I smile at him.

  We spend a few more moments, making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers. Unfortunately, it’s fairly chaste, much to my chagrin, before he leaves.

  As I’m lying in bed later that night, I can’t believe what has transpired. I met this delicious man in a club just days ago. Now, we are exclusively seeing each other, and he will be flying me to New York, so I can spend the weekend with him. It feels like a dream.

  How did all of this happen? Things like this don’t happen to me—ever.

  I fall asleep, smiling, for the first time since I was a small child.

  The next week flies by like a dream. Jo isn’t around much, and I’m not sure why she is being so distant with me, but nothing can shake my wonderful mood.

  Jarrod texts me several times a day and calls me every evening. We spend at least an hour on the phone, getting to know each other. I know all about his hometown in Kentucky, and I feel as though I know his family personally. He really does love them, and it warms my heart that he has such a great relationship with them. He has even invited me to the Kentucky Derby. He goes every single year with his family, and his brother usually has at least one horse in the race.

  I tell him about growing up in Florida with my domineering rocket scientist mother and engineer father. Then, I tell him about how wild and crazy my brother and I were. Jarrod can’t believe me. He literally claims that he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t believe that my brother raced cars in town while I sat shotgun. He doesn’t believe that we snuck out of the house and partied all the time. I don’t blame him for not being able to imagine it. I am not that girl anymore. Being wild and rebellious only hurt me in the long run, and it is nothing I ever wish to repeat.

  “Seriously, Jarrod, we were wild. My parents were always working, so we would just take off. We’d race cars, drink, smoke, and party like there was no tomorrow. I can’t believe we weren’t arrested or hurt,” I say with a smile into the phone.

  I hear him chuckle.

  “Well, thank God for that then. My brothers and I were a little rowdy, too, but no street-car racing.”

  “That was the best part of it all, the racing. My brother was a little crazy about it though. It’s no wonder he decided to be a cop,” I say with a smile.

  My brother and I used to be best friends, b
ut my mother had to wedge herself right in the middle, as per her usual.

  “Sounds like he chose the right job then for his speed demon ways.”

  “Yeah. Hey, what are we going to do when I come next weekend?” I finally ask. I’ve been wondering this for an entire week, but haven’t been able to bring myself to ask until tonight.

  “I have to work on Saturday afternoon, but other than that, we can go sightseeing if you want or just hang out at my place.”

  “You have to work?” I didn’t think he would invite me to visit him and not take any time off of work to spend with me. I have to admit to myself that I’m extremely disappointed in this.

  “Don’t be sad. I’m bringing you with me. You’ll have fun, baby, I swear.”

  My whole body sinks deeper into my mattress the moment he calls me baby. No one has ever called me that before. I want to squeal like a teenager.

  “All right,” I whisper.

  “You okay?”

  “You called me baby,” I say dreamily.

  “Is that not okay? I won’t do it again.”

  All of a sudden, I start to panic.

  “No, I love it. No one has called me that before.”

  “No other boyfriend has called you baby?”

  “Nu-uh,” I concede.

  This man is everything I could ever want. He is kind and considerate of my feelings. He hasn’t rushed our physical relationship. He is beyond respectful. I seriously don’t know how I ended up with someone this fantastic. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know it will, but I push that thought to the back of my head because, for now, things are perfect.

  “Have you had a serious relationship before, Amalie?” He sounds concerned.

  I should tell him. He wouldn’t judge me. At least I don’t think he would. Screw it, I’m telling him.

  “I did when I was in high school. When I moved to Boston, I did the casual thing for years until about three years ago. Then, I decided it wasn’t working for me, so I stopped. I haven’t been with anyone for over a year,” I finally blurt out. When in doubt of telling someone something potentially hazardous, just let it all spill it out.

  “A whole year? Holy shit, Amalie,” he chokes.

  “Yeah, I’ve dated, but it’s usually only one or two dates. Then, I discover the guy is either a creep or he decides I’m not for him. I got tired of all the pomp and bullshit that came along with dating. I moved to Boston to get away from the guy I dated in high school, and I just went a little crazy. I’m over it now, and I am ready to find somebody who wants me for more than just one night.”

  The truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, but for some reason, I have trusted Jarrod with so much of my story, of myself, that I don’t feel like he will judge me. I feel like he will understand me. It is scary, but it is also beautiful.

  “I feel honored that you want to date me then,” he says.

  I can tell he has a smile on his face.

  We hang up, and I begin to pack. I am spending the weekend with Jarrod at his place in New York and going to work with him on Saturday, I smile replaying the conversation with him in my mind. I feel like I am living in a dream. I don’t want to wake up. This is all too good. I’m giddy with delight. It’s been fairly warm the past few days, so I decide to pack a few pairs of jeans, shorts, tanks, and sweaters just in case. I also throw in a couple of dresses for dinner and my sexiest lingerie. This weekend, he’s not allowed to be a gentleman, not anymore.

  I expected Jarrod to be waiting for me at the airport, especially since I had sent him a text when I was exiting the airplane. Looking around the terminal, I don’t see him. My eyes dart around, looking for the exceptionally tall and remarkably handsome man that I’ve come to really like both inside and out, I can’t hide my disappointment that I don’t see him anywhere. All of a sudden, a sign catches my eye. There is a man dressed in a nice black suit, holding a white sign with words on it.

  SMUK AMALIE

  I smile and shake my head. The man is funny, if nothing else.

  “I’m Amalie,” I say to the man as I pull my handle up on my rolling luggage.

  “I’m Ben. Mr. Harrison is regretful that he could not meet you here today. I will take you to his home, and he should be there within an hour,” Ben says, slipping the handle of my luggage out of my hand.

  He begins to walk, and I follow, curious.

  Ben leads me toward a black Mercedes town car. It’s nice and sleek. He opens the door for me, and I slide inside on the soft leather. It’s dark and cool inside, and sitting in the backseat with a driver makes me feel awfully special. I can’t imagine what Jarrod does for a living to be able to afford a Ferrari and now a driver. It excites me and makes me completely nervous all at the same time.

  My phone begins to ring, and my eyebrows pinch together as I look at the display.

  Niklas.

  I should ignore it and let it go to voice mail. I haven’t heard from my brother in three years. We were best friends, and because I didn’t do exactly as our mother and he wished, he just stopped talking to me, breaking our bond and my trust in him. He’s my twin. We should have had an unbreakable bond.

  Why would he be calling me now?

  Against my better judgment, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I choose to answer the call.

  “Niklas?” I don’t bother with the hello. I know it’s him.

  “Amalie,” he breathes, almost sounding relieved.

  “Why are you calling me?” I need to get to the point. I am going to have an amazing weekend, and I don’t need my brother ruining it for me.

  “Amalie, I am in New York for a trial, and I know Boston isn’t too far. I would like to see you this weekend. I miss you.” He sounds genuine.

  I can’t help but feel a bit hurt by the fact that I haven’t even heard from him for years, but he’s my brother, and I miss him so damn much.

  “I’m actually in the city this weekend, visiting with a friend. Maybe we can meet up for drinks or something tomorrow night?”

  Drinks are good. Drinks are casual. If we get into a fight or something, I can just leave.

  “Yeah, that would be good, Lee Lee.”

  Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I haven’t heard my nickname in years. I miss him, my Nik.

  “I’ll text you later with the time and place,” I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check.

  Ben takes me into Manhattan, and I am in awe as we pull up to a beautiful building. It’s tall, and glass windows surround every square inch. It’s beautiful, modern, and so clean. We walk up to the doorman and then over to reception or security or whatever.

  “This is Miss Amalie. She will be staying with Mr. Harrison this weekend. Please see that she has access to his building, George,” Ben requests. Then, he nods at me with a smile and leaves me with George.

  “Miss Amalie, please enter that elevator and use this key. Then, press the button labeled P. The apartment is open, so there should be no issues entering.”

  I smile and thank him. This is seriously swanky. I can’t imagine what Jarrod does for a living now. This is just all way too much…of everything.

  My phone begins to ring again just as I am pressing the button labeled P.

  “Hello?” I don’t recognize the number.

  “Hello. Is this Amalie?” a sweet woman’s voice asks on the other line.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “This is Marium. I have a modeling job in New York. Your agent said that you were going to be in the city this weekend.”

  I knew this was going to happen. A friendly conversation with my agent turned into a job. Why am I not surprised?

  “When are you thinking, Marium?”

  “Sunday morning, early. I wouldn’t want to waste your whole day or anything. I can send hair and makeup to you, and then we can do the shoot in the hotel that we have rented for the day.”

  Hotel? I’m not used to working in hotel rooms. I’m used to on site locations, against old beautifully rebu
ilt cars or in a studio.

  “What kind of shoot is this exactly?” I think I know, but I need to know for sure before I assume anything.

  “It’s for a new retro lingerie company. Brand-new on the scene, high-end stuff. Their product is extremely expensive, and this is their first catalog. They requested you by name for the cover.”

  I am taken aback. Not too often am I requested by name. It has happened sometimes but not very often. And on the cover? Hardly ever.

  “Nothing fetish, right? Just lingerie?” I was almost duped once into posing for a fetish magazine. It was almost scary. I love Bettie Page like the next girl, but I wasn’t about to follow in her modeling footsteps. It’s just not my scene.

  “No, of course not. The average price for their bustiers is five hundred dollars. Amalie, this is completely legitimate.” She sounds halfway offended, but a girl can’t be too careful these days.

  “How much is my cut?”

  I could kill my agent for not calling me ahead of time. She’s a shit agent, and I should have fired her years ago, but I tend to procrastinate on some things, and firing people is one of those things. I would make a horrible HR person.

  “Since you are the cover, you will be given the most—four thousand dollars—and by the end of the shoot, they would like to set up a meeting to discuss future catalogs and payments. They will be doing four catalogs a year and would like you to be the face and body of their line. You will get the most pages and always the cover.”

  The elevator doors ding open, and I step out without looking at my surroundings because I am in shock from what she has just proposed. Sure, I’ve been in magazines, websites, catalogs, and now, a calendar, but this is different. This is the face and body for a company. I am in completely astounded.

  I make the split decision. “Text me the times and information, and I will be there on Sunday.”

  This could be good for me. It could push my modeling career a little further. It’s something I never thought I wanted, but it’s not something I will be able to do forever, so I need to take the chance while I can. Once I get married and have babies, I’m sure it will all be over for me anyway.