by Livia Ellis
“Just because I don't live my life spontaneously doesn't mean I micromanage.” She stopped talking, then started laughing along with Simon. “Okay, I can be a little neurotic at times.”
“A little?” Simon laughed then groaned. “I got to go, babe. The bathroom is calling. I love you. Have a great time in Bermuda. Go sidle on up to Caballero Caliente and ask him to give you a Spanish lesson. And by Spanish lesson, I mean get naked. Just in case you didn't understand.”
“Oh, I got you. I'm not going to get naked with a total stranger, but I appreciate the potential for living out a fantasy.”
“You don't have to get naked with the guy,” Simon told her. “But that doesn't mean you can't pretend you wouldn't.”
She snapped her phone shut after saying goodbye, then edged around the bar to where Caballero Caliente sat. Using elbows and determination, Henna found a standing spot at the bar next to the man to call her own. She gave him a smile before turning to the bartender who took an inordinate amount of interest in the man she thought of as her Caballero Caliente. When logic and the rules of waiting politely for the next turn dictated she should be next, the bartender ignored her as she moved on to another male customer.
“Have my chair.” The man spoke a smooth and sufficiently accented English, making him automatically sexy. She smiled at what the universe offered up. He met every requirement on her mental list of perfect for a purely sexual relationship for a predetermined length of time. That time being both short and hot. Dark eyes, dark hair, mid-thirties, fit, foreign, and well dressed. The tea-dyed linen suit coupled with a pristine white shirt was sophisticated and expensive looking. Perfect. “I was just leaving.”
“Pity,” she said. “You look about as bored as I feel. I thought we could commiserate.”
“Or I could stay and we could have a drink together.” He stood from his stool, shifting places with her before someone else could steal the coveted spot. She added tall to the list of what made him an ideal temporary lover.
“Thank you.” She adjusted her ass on the seat, then turned to her new friend, tall and handsome with deep brown hair. Eyes the color of coffee beans were not diminished by the fine lines that proved he smiled often. His most handsome trait had to be the air of confidence that surrounded him. No boy still trying to find his place in the world could ever seem so confident in his own skin. She gestured to herself. “Henna.”
“Eduardo. What will you have?” he asked with a vintage Ricardo Montalban accent. He raised a finger and hooked the bartenders attention as if he were the only person at the crowded bar.
“Whatever you're having.” She smiled as she mentally checked her posture and adjusted her legs to show them off as best she could. A few moments later, she had a glass of ruby Port in front of her and Eduardo's undivided attention. A bad morning turned into a promising afternoon. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome,” he replied.
As he gave her a steely stare of intense passion, her body began to tremble, and heat radiated from her core. She feared if she looked him in the eye for long, he would see how his attention affected her. So in an effort to temper the sudden longing that had gripped her body, she studied her drink. A small voice that sounded a lot like Simon's taunted her. Chicken. Big, yellow chicken that hasn't had sex in months or done anything even remotely daring in a decade.
Shut up. She grabbed onto the adventurous and daring part of her personality, pulled up, and forced it forward. You don't know this man. He doesn't know you. As far as he knows, you are sexy, fulfilled, adventurous, and daring. There is no reason you cannot be that person for an hour or two while you're waiting for an airplane. Be awesome, Henna! Be fabulous! You don't have to have sex with this man, but you can make him think you would, given the right opportunity.
“So,” she said. “Have you ever fantasized about picking up a total stranger in an airport and having your way with them?”
“What makes you think I haven't picked up a total stranger in an airport and had my way with them?” The look in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth told her what she needed to know. They were equally bored and up for a bit of naughty, flirty talk that might or might not lead to something more, depending on the direction Hurricane Delores decided to take.
The who of her fantasy had been sorted out. The how and the where could be problematic, but nothing was impossible. She had credit cards and determination. She lacked courage. That could be found in the depths of her soul. No one, especially Eduardo, knew who she was. At that moment, she could be anyone. Even someone with the confidence to take a risk and do something outrageously bold.
“Have you?” She returned his look.
“No,” he said. “But there is a first for everything. You are very beautiful and my flight is delayed.” He reached up and his knuckles ran down her jaw. “Perhaps we can have a drink or two and discuss the nature of this fantasy of yours.” He picked up his glass and raised it to his mouth.
At that moment, she got a good look at his hand. “Or, perhaps not.” She reached over, lifted his hand, and examined the pronounced tan line. “I'm not blind. At my age, a girl knows what to look for.” A white ring around his finger where a wedding band had recently been told her more than a month of casual chat in a bar could. Married men equaled bad mojo in her mind. She'd walk under a ladder or even own a black cat, but flirting with a married man, forget sleeping with one, just invited bad karma. “Married men are just one stone I prefer to leave unturned.”
“I'm not married.” The words came out simply, without being forced or sounding practiced. “I kept the ring on longer than I probably should have. It was time to take it off.”
Divorced. Of course. Because that was where life had taken her. Men, in the age range to be interesting to her, were either divorced or married. The ones who were still single were usually single for a reason. Generally not a good one. Not that she was in a position to judge, but she did.
“How long have you been divorced?” Why did she ask that? Why? The last thing she wanted was for him to be thinking about his divorce and his ex-wife.
He looked into his drink for a moment, gave the cubes a swirl, and then finished off the contents. “Two years.”
“Eduardo!” An older man with graying black hair and the smell of money about him approached. “Commo estas?” He smiled at her as the two men greeted each other warmly.
As she spoke about three words of Spanish, Henna silently sighed in despair as her fantasy man was pulled back into reality.
“Henna.” Eduardo gestured to the older man. “This is my very good friend Rodrigo Sandoval.”
“Hola.” She waved a little as she smiled.
Rodrigo gestured to himself, then Henna, then Eduardo as he spoke rapidly in Spanish.
Eduardo responded with a hand gesture then turned to Henna. “You speak Spanish?” Eduardo asked hopefully. “Perhaps you could join us?”
“Taco, hola, cabana, margarita, amante.” Around them the bar began to clear out. To be safe she leaned over and looked at her gate. Still full of people.
“Amante?”
“Doesn't that mean almonds?”
“No.” He smiled as if she perhaps both perplexed and amused him. Not a look men ever gave her.
“Good to know.” She would have to tell Simon what amante meant. “I don't speak Spanish. I'm sorry.”
Eduardo looked genuinely disappointed. Precisely how she felt. ”I’m so sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I am afraid I will be disappointing you. Perhaps destiny will bring us together again.”
“Destiny?” She smiled a little. “Really?”
“Don't you believe in destiny?”
“As a rule, no.”
“Perhaps something will change your mind.” He then did the impossible and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “You are very beautiful, and it is not with a little bit of regret that I am going to say goodbye. I have not seen my very old friend in many years and will perhaps not see him again i
n many more. As much as I would like to stay here with you, I am going to walk with him down to his gate. Maybe with some luck, you'll be here when I return.” He put a large bill on the bar then gathered his things. With a smile and a nod, he left with the other man.
The male bartender in a black uniform T-shirt with the bar logo stretched across his impressive pecs stopped in front of her. “You know, if you want to fulfill some stranger in an airport fantasy, I have a backroom....”
“Oh, my god,” she moaned. Her cheeks flamed and her mouth formed an O. “You...you didn't hear that?”
“Oh, I sure did,” he smiled. “So that backroom?”
She openly checked him out. Clearly, the guy spent an inordinate amount of time both at the gym and on personal grooming. If Simon were with her, she'd put money on the bar that he was a model. Then Simon would take the bet and lose. Henna could spot a model, actor, or musician from a hundred paces. Especially when she was itching for a man.
“What's your name?” She looked into eyes the color of honey in the sun then down at his full mouth that was perhaps a touch too pink and girlish. He just didn't do it for her. Not even a little. Odd. Normally she'd be all over a man like him. He was even a bartender. Perfect. Just the sort of man who presented absolutely no risk of emotional attachment, but a great deal of fun.
“Anton,” he said.
“Anton. Nice.” She smiled a little. “I'm flattered, but I'm going to pass.”
Anton, with his exceptional biceps and his practically perfect jawline, pouted. Eduardo would never pout. At least, she guessed he would never pout. The fantasy of Eduardo held more appeal than the reality of Anton. Anton was sexy. Eduardo was sexy and sophisticated. Her taste in men had suddenly evolved. She would take the more mature and refined Eduardo over the younger and more disposable Anton anytime.
“I have a break coming up, and I just got a fifty dollar tip. How much for a blow?”
Henna glared at him, lips curling, eyes narrowing as her head put the dots together. “Do you think I'm a hooker?” Did Eduardo think she was a hooker? A naughty thrill shimmied up and down her body. Now that would be a fun bit of fantasy…role-playing.
“Aren't you?” the bartender asked. “Because I'm pretty sure your Colombian friend thought you were a hooker.”
Did he? Her grin widened and she nearly laughed. Too bad he had to go. She picked up her phone and texted Simon. Caballero Caliente thought I was a hooker.
“How do you know he's Colombian?” she asked Anton as she held her phone waiting on a response.
Awesome! Tell me you went for it. Please. I live vicariously through you.
“The accent,” he said. “You do know that all Spanish speakers don't sound alike, right? There's a difference between how Colombians speak Spanish and Cubans speak Spanish.”
“Are you Cuban?”
“Everyone in Miami is Cuban.” The meticulously groomed Anton, with his exceptional musculature, clearly spent a great deal of time on his appearance. He moved around the section of the now nearly empty bar near her with the pretense of cleaning and stocking, but with the same actions and stances of a silverback gorilla trying to attract a mate. She watched him as he flexed and moved, feeling like an anthropologist observing apes in the wild. No appeal. Not even a little.
She looked at her phone, and the message she automatically typed to Simon before she hit send.
No :(. He had to go before we could negotiate a price and a service. Totally bummed! He was hot and sexy. Officially ruined me for lesser men regardless of the amount of time they spend in the gym. Is it weird that I would have been happy to pretend to be a hooker? Because it does feel kind of kinky.
“Everyone in Miami is Cuban? I didn’t know this,” she said to Anton after the message was sent. He did nothing for her. The moment had passed anyway. If Eduardo returned, so would the moment. Could it be possible that the Anton's of the world no longer held universal appeal? That was a sobering thought.
“Be right back,” Anton told her then walked to the other side of the bar to serve some patrons.
Her phone chirped. A text from Simon fills the screen.
You are repressed. Have you never role-played? Not even once? Honestly... You really need to get out more often. I would pay Waverly thousands—no I'd actually buy her that car she wants—if she'd come up to me in a bar and come on to me like a well-practiced escort.
Henna texted back. The cute bartender offered me $50 for a blow.
LOL!!! Are you going to go for it?
Anton returned to her as her fingers sent a response to Simon's text. Foxy bartender just does nana mucho for me. Sad :( Oh!! Amante does NOT mean almonds.
“Do you want another? On me. I don't believe you're not a hooker, but I get that you'd rather go for the big money client rather than a fifty. It's possible he might be back. He was pretty into you. Looked like he had a lot of money, too.”
Her phone buzzed. Did you get his number?
No. I'm supposed to wait for destiny to bring us together again.
LOL!!! Henna could hear Simon laughing in her thoughts. She missed him already. But if he had been with her, she never would have approached Eduardo. Life had its payoffs.
“If I were a hooker, I'd charge a whole lot more than fifty to blow someone.” She smiled at Anton as she raised her empty glass. “I'll take that drink.”
“You got it.” He walked away from her with the empty glass.
She sent Simon another text. How much does a professional blowjob generally cost? Because I'm thinking $50 might be a little insulting.
Anton returned with a filled glass lined with mint leaves. “Mojito. Cuban like me. You like Latin men?”
“Who doesn't?”
“How much do you charge? Just curious. I've always thought about hiring a real professional. Just for the experience. As a rule, I don't need to pay for it, but I figure you only live once. Right?”
Her phone chirped. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't divide her attention between her phone and the person she conversed with, but Simon was a part of the conversation from her perspective. Besides, he didn't feel well and probably needed some cheering up.
Not that I know from personal experience... Henna rolled her eyes as she read. There were things Simon didn't want her to know, but that she knew anyway. But you have to pay for the entire hour. This would be around $300 for a girl of your caliber.
She glanced from her phone to the bartender. “More than that tip you received,” she said with a saucy wink.
Pretending to be someone else might be the ticket to resetting some of her fairly deeply entrenched habits. Simon was right. She needed to break out of her claustrophobic life for even just a moment. He was no better than she, but that's what friends did. They helped each other especially when they couldn't help themselves.
There is a compliment in there somewhere! :)
Anton grinned. “I knew you were a hooker.”
Absolutely! Falling asleep. Let me know if destiny makes reappearance.
Chapter Two
“I think the industry name is escort.” Henna put her cell phone away and looked at Anton. “So what's a hunky Cuban guy like you doing working in a bar?”
“I’m a model,” Anton said. “This helps pay the bills. I thought about getting into your line of work. I'm just not sure I could go gay for pay. But then again, I won’t know until I give it a try. Do you work with an agency?”
“Wait...” She held up a hand and concentrated on the cacophony of noise, trying to pick out one certain sound. “Do they make announcements in the bars?” She leaned to the side and nearly fell off of the stool. The crowd at the gate area was gone.
“No,” he said. “We get more people missing their flights because they're sitting at the bar and not keeping an eye on the departures boards for updates.”
She grabbed her purse and jumped off the stool. “You are great. Thanks for the drink. Good luck with the modeling!”
Henna ra
n without a backwards glance from the bar to her gate. No one remained in the boarding area except for the agent who had taunted her. He stood at the door to the jet way. The plane, with jet way still attached, could be seen outside the window.
She waved and hooted at the gate agent. “Please! Please let me on!”
He watched her approach, his face lighting up as she neared. “And here I thought you had abandoned all hope and left,” he trilled. “Because I'm feeling benevolent and I really don't feel like the idea of dealing with you again, I'm going to let you pass. That and I found an extra special seat for you. You're just going to love the people you're sitting between. Ticket.” He held out her boarding pass, which she snatched from his fingers. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the jet way. “Go.”
Her frustrated, angry, and somewhat befuddled brain screamed at her that something wasn't right. Something was missing. Something important. Why did airports turn normally intelligent people into dunderheads? She ignored her inner voice until she reached her aisle. Then, as the flight attendant closed the door to the airplane, she felt the lack of her carry-on dragging behind her.
“My carry-on!” She waved down a flight attendant counting passengers. “I left my carry-on in the bar. The sports bar right outside the gate.”
“You need to take your seat.” The flight attendant smiled a practiced professional smile. “Now.”
“I forgot my carry-on in the bar,” she said, moving up the aisle. “I need to go and get it.”
The flight attendant barred her path like a bridge troll. “The door is closed. You need to take your seat.”
“What do I have to do to get you to open the door?” Screaming in frustration tempted her. Not a very Henna like thing to do. Picking up Eduardo in the bar didn't fit her normal pattern, but she'd done that. Somewhere between going ballistic and just accepting the loss of her bag remained a solution.
“You don’t understand. My two thousand dollar dress for my sister's wedding is in that bag. And the shoes. The seven hundred dollar shoes are in the bag. Along with about two hundred dollars’ worth of underwear. And the makeup. I'm not even going to tell you what I spent on makeup. Please. I need my dress. I very purposefully didn't check it because I didn't want to lose it.”