My iPhone screen shows a missed call and my heart warms, hoping it’s from him. I slide open the screen to see that my missed call is from Emma. Disappointment once again fills my heart as I dial my friend.
“Jessssssss!” Emma shrieks upon answering the call. “What’s up, girl? Are you on your way?”
“Hey! Yes, at the airport waiting for my flight. I should get in around 3:30. What are y’all doing?” I inquire, hearing clanking dishes and laughter in the background.
“We're just brunching right now. Aannnnd we're drinking.” Her voice becomes muffled. “Yes, another pitcher of sangria please.”
“Jess? Hi! Sorry the waiter came by. And he's hot by the way. I’m totes getting his number for tonight.” I can't help but laugh out loud. She's such a lightweight. “You do that, Emma! Can't wait to see you girls soon. I'm ready for a night out.”
“Yay! Well we can’t wait to see you.” I hear more shuffling through the phone, and then I hear the other girls yelling in the background. “Emma, get off the phone! It’s time for a shot. Marco just brought tequila for us!”
I hear more muffled chatter as she moves the phone around. “Jess? Hi! Ok, sorry I've got to run, but we'll see you soon?”
“Ok, you girls have fun! Yes, be there soon. Will call you when I get in.”
“Great! Have a safe flight!”
“Will do. And don't drink too much, I don't want to arrive to all of you passed out!”
“Ha ha. Ok, Jess, we'll try our best. See you soon. Muah!”
I hang up the phone and can’t help but laugh to myself at the sound of my overly drunk friends. The laughter gives me a mental reprieve from the torturous self-doubt about my boyfriend. Dammit, why can't I get him out of my head? Should I call him? Or text him? No, I need to trust him. Just give him more time.
“Are you finished with this, miss?” I look up from my magazine to see a young waiter before me.
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” I hand him my empty beer glass and debate whether or not I want another one. I watch the waiter walk away, and clear a glass from a well-dressed business man a few rows up. He's facing the window so I can’t see his face, but purely judging by the cut of his suit I can tell he’s well-to-do. The man lifts his arm to set his empty glass on the waiter’s tray, and on his wrist rests a shiny yellow gold watch peeking out beneath his cuff. I laugh to myself. Definitely rich, it’s probably a Rolex. It’s funny, his build actually reminds me of Mr. Lust. I recall the memory of that beautiful, sexy man. I wonder what he’s doing now? And why does that man still enter my mind?
I still have a few minutes to kill, so I decide to get another drink. I approach the bar and try to get a glimpse of the man with the gold watch reading his iPad. As I walk closer, I catch the side of his face. His jawline, it’s uncannily similar to Max’s. But it can’t be him. Can it? My heart races with wonder as I propel myself forward. I stare at his familiar profile, forcing my legs to keep walking so that I don't stop and stare.
“Hi, I'd like another Sweetwater please,” I squeak to the bartender, my mind racing with possibilities, desperate to get a confirmation glimpse of this man. Finally, as I wait with baited breath, the man looks up from his iPad as someone sits next to him, and he turns just enough for me to see those same lips that I enjoyed in Paris. Oh my God.
What do I do? Do I go say hello? Hi, it’s me, Jess, the girl who has wet dreams about you. For all I know he meets girls all the time and won’t even remember me. I nervously watch the bartender pour my second draft. What would I even say? Ask if he’s still working with Jack’s company?
I do a quick mental inventory of my appearance. I'm in my dark skinny jeans, cognac brown boots, and a tight black sweater. I did put on a red necklace to add some color to my outfit. It’s certainly not the fancy red dress he met me in, but it will have to do.
The bartender returns with my drink. I take a deep breath, move my tongue across my teeth to make sure I remove any rogue lipstick, and give my hair a quick smoothing.
“Here you go, gorgeous.” The bartender pushes my drink toward me and surprises me with his compliment.
“Oh, thank you!” I respond, thanking him both for the drink and the kind words. His unsolicited and timely compliment gives me the confidence to move forward. Ok, here I go! I whirl around, ready to make my move, and my breath instantly escapes me.
Standing directly in front of me is the beaming white smile of Mr. Maximus Ferrari, posed with his arms crossed across his body. “Hello, Jessica.” Oh. My. God. I've never really been fond of my name before now. The way it rolls off his delicious tongue, with his beautiful accent, leaves me dripping with desire. “Did you think you could get out of here without saying hello to me?” He raises his eyebrow disapprovingly and my mouth falls open. How does he do this to me?
“Oh, hi! I didn't see you in here.” I lie and pray he can't see how red my face is from the heat that literally floods my body. He simply smiles as I squirm in front of him, failing to fill our silence with words. “So where are you heading today?” I ask him, hoping I’ve hidden the quiver in my voice.
“New York. Going back home. You?”
“I’m actually going to New York as well.”
“Ahh, with Jack? I didn’t see him with you?”
Oh, Jack. The mention of him stings, despite the tempting view in front of me. Wait, Max is going to New York too? Guess that figures, he did tell us he lives there. I find my words again. “No, with friends. For a bachelorette party.”
“Yours?” He grabs my left hand, turning it over playfully in search of a ring, and I enjoy the slight glimpse into his rarely visible playful side. His smile grows wider and I know we both feel the instant connection beyond our skin.
“No,” I laugh. “I wouldn’t consider such a thing without an oversized piece of carbon to truly represent my commitment,” I joke.
“May I buy you another drink before your flight?”
“You know the drinks are free in here, right?” I laugh.
“Stealing someone’s drink doesn’t make it free,” he quips back at me, and I blush at the memory of the night we met.
I release my biggest smile. “Actually I quit drinking champagne with strange men. It seems to have a bad effect on me.”
“Something to remember.” His words continue to confuse yet intrigue me. What does that mean? He will remember that I make poor decisions when I drink champagne? Or I should remember to avoid it as to not embarrass myself? “Are you on the 1:30 flight?”
“No, the 12:30 actually, so I need to get going.” I solicit the clock as regret swirls between my ears.
Mr. Lust’s face twists and I can see a slight furrow in his brow. It’s as though he wants to say more, but he won’t let himself be that transparent. “It was nice to see you, Jess.”
“It was nice to see you again. I hope you have a good flight home.”
It’s an awkward goodbye. I don’t know him well enough to give him a hug, and shaking hands would be too business-like, so I simply turn and walk away.
I take a deep breath and will myself to leave him. Right foot, left foot. I walk to the chair where I previously sat, grab my luggage and head toward the door. I feel his eyes burning into me, and I desperately want to turn around for one more look, but I don’t. I’ll leave him wanting more. Right, for what? Our next spontaneous encounter?
thirteen
The brisk, windy New York City air slaps my hair back and forth. I’ve never seen the taxi line this long before, and it’s not the welcome I was hoping for on top of my delayed flight. My standard go-to Uber is quoting me a 3x fare surge, so I’ll be planted here, freezing my ass off as I wait my turn for a yellow vehicle to get me into Manhattan.
“Jessica?” My ears perk up at the sound of my name from afar. I glance up from my phone and see lusty Max approaching the side of the taxi line.
“You’re still here?” I stand there for a moment, heart racing and befuddled, but ecstatic to see him again.
“Oh, well, our flight was delayed. They didn’t have a gate for us when we landed. And this line”—I gesture to the horrendous queue of people around me—“I guess it’s just not my lucky day.”
“Come on. Let’s turn your day around. I’ll take you to your hotel.”
“You left your car at the airport?”
He snickers at the idea. “No, I do not drive in New York City. My driver is picking me up.” DUH. Of course he would have a driver.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to go out of your way. Really, a taxi is just fine.”
“I won’t take no for an answer.” His brown eyes furrow with a hint of care and concern that melts me as he awaits my response.
“Well, thank you. If it’s really no trouble I accept.” I give him a sweet smile and feel the shameful thoughts flood my mind. Simmer down, Jess. You’re spoken for.
“I insist. Now come on, you’re freezing.” He reaches his hand out for mine, and I gratefully accept, instantly feeling the warmth from his skin and his spark-inducing touch. I wiggle between the metal stanchions, excitedly swapping my boring yellow car for a short adventure with the one and only Mr. Lust.
***
I climb into his beautiful, black Maybach in complete awe. I’ve never seen a car this expensive, let alone ridden in one! He really must have a ton of money—I make a mental note to google him later. The driver puts our luggage into the trunk and quickly climbs back inside.
“Enzo, can you please head to the W Hotel on Lexington? We need to drop Ms. Bauer off there.” Enzo turns around, and I can see his gray hair peeking through his driver’s hat. He smiles a crooked, toothy, but charming grin back at me.
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Bauer. It’s my pleasure.” Enzo’s soft wrinkles tighten around his eyes and mouth when he smiles. He’s older, maybe mid-fifties, and clearly Italian, based on that accent.
“Thank you, I really appreciate the ride. And please, you can call me Jessica.” Enzo nods, acknowledging my directive, and shifts the car into drive. Enzo lifts an earbud into his ear and quietly hums along with some music while he drives. He must be used to tuning our Mr. Lust and his lady friends’ conversations.
“Jess. Suh. Cuh,” Max purrs the three syllables off his tongue, then turns toward me. “Why would you go by Jess?” I stare at him, a bit dumbfounded by the seemingly obvious question.
“It’s a nickname. I’m sure people call you Max, short for Maximus?” He laughs at my simple answer, and I feel my cheeks flush, wondering what I’ve missed.
“Yes, I know the concept of nicknames. I’m wondering why you’re called Jess. Why not Jessa?”
“Oh.” I ponder the idea. “I really don’t know. I guess Jess is the typical way of shortening it.”
“Well there is nothing typical about you, Jessa.” For a man of few words, these manage to unnerve me completely. I half swoon at the compliment, half ponder his true intent.
“To answer your question, yes, sometimes people call me Max. But you should call me Mister Ferrari.” What? My face twists into unintended confusion, and I’m left silent. His face turns serious while awaiting my response. “That was a joke!” He laughs, giving my hand a quick squeeze. His innocuously-intended touch radiates every nerve on me, feeling more like a hand fucking if such a thing existed. Remember your boyfriend, Jack. Yeah, the one that still hasn’t called you. My conscience fights itself for the affections of my boyfriend.
Screw it. Exchanging words doesn’t qualify as cheating, right? I push any guilt about Jack aside. “Well, Master Ferrari. You’re just a knight in shining armor today, coming to rescue me from the big, bad, taxi cabs. I guess one visit today wasn’t enough for you?”
His face becomes more serious. “No. Because I haven’t had you yet.” What? He quickly shakes his head. “I mean, I haven’t had enough of you yet.” He turns a tinge red at what I can only assume was a Freudian slip, and I instantly imagine having my way with him, over and over again.
“So how is our friend Jack doing?” Friend. His words seem so…intentional. He knows Jack wasn’t just my friend. So why call him that?
“Ok I guess. He’s out of town and I haven’t spoken to him.” As the words leave my lips, I realize how that could be interpreted. I decide not to clarify the misconception. “Have you been traveling much lately?”
“Yes. I’ve been back and forth between Europe and New York a lot the past few months. It will be nice to get home for a weekend.”
“So you consider New York to be your home?”
“Well, not exactly. Italy will always be my home, but New York is where I live.”
“Do you imagine living in Italy again one day?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been back since my mother died.” His instantly sullen eyes gaze out his window, and I feel my tongue taste my foot that’s now jammed into my mouth.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I quickly change the subject, and Max excuses himself to take a phone call. I can’t help but wonder if I overstepped, clearly stumbling on a sensitive topic. I grab my own phone, using the opportunity to google him.
We turn onto Lexington and I know the hotel is just a few minutes away. Enzo must realize this as well. “Excuse me, sir,” Enzo says politely to Max. He looks up, pausing his now five-minute-long phone conversation in Italian. “We will be at Ms. Bauer’s hotel shortly.” Lust nods in acknowledgement, and I quickly shut down my open internet search for Mr. Maximus Ferrari, which did everything to confirm that he’s obscenely rich, and decidedly unattached. My Google Image review affirmed he’s never been seen with the same woman more than a few times.
“I apologize. That call took longer than I expected. Are your friends at the hotel?”
“I’m sure they’re nearby. I will track them down as soon as I get to our room.”
“We will wait with you until they arrive.” I see Max’s eyes connect with Enzo in the rear-view mirror, and Enzo nods, acknowledging his boss.
“No, thank you. It’s very kind, but completely unnecessary. I’ve been in many hotels alone before.” My words make me recall our first meeting. Alone, in a hotel. Now here we are. Our fourth rendezvous. What are the odds of that happening on two different continents?
“Enzo would be happy to drive you and your friends anywhere you need this weekend.” Before I can consider this offer, he continues, “We have a bigger car, so it’s not a problem.”
“I think we’ll be ok, but thank you for offering.” I immediately reject the very generous offer, without really considering it.
“Just in case, take my phone number, and Enzo’s.” Mr. Lust grabs my phone from me and begins programming numbers into it. He enters the information and hands the phone back to me. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but then shuts it, seemingly contemplating his words. “If you need anything this weekend, you can reach me at any time.”
I nod my head and simply say, “Thank you. For everything.” The Maybach rolls to a stop in front of the hotel, and Enzo quickly jumps out to get my door before I can open it myself.
“Thank you, Enzo. You’ve both been so helpful to me today. It was lovely to meet you.”
“My pleasure. I’m available all weekend, so call me if I can be of service. You have my number.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you again.” I smile at him. He nods and I watch him move swiftly around the car to retrieve my bags and hand them to the bellman.
Max is now outside of the car, holding my purse for me. “Have fun this weekend.”
“Thanks, I intend to,” I say with a laugh. I stand there awkwardly, not sure of how to part, given this unexpected afternoon together. Mr. Lust leans forward, giving me a slight embrace and a slow gentle kiss on each of my cheeks. I close my eyes as the want for him radiates through me, willing it to leave but craving that it stay.
“Until we meet again?”
“Until then,” I respond, wondering what he really means. Until our fifth spontaneous encounter? Unlikely.
“Ms. Bauer, right this w
ay.” A bellman appears to escort me inside.
“Oh, ok,” I mutter, finding it hard to leave this beautiful, intriguing man, but knowing I need to. I have to. “Bye.” I leave him with my sweetest smile and follow the bellman inside.
fourteen
“Who wants another round?” Callie shouts across the table. Her brown curls whip around her shoulder as she turns back to the waiter. “Four more shots, puhleeze!” she announces to him, without consulting us.
“What’s next on the list?” Emma leans over to show me and I have to squint to help my eyes focus on the words in front of me. “Ohh, this one!” she exclaims loudly enough for the other girls to hear.
“What is it?” Meredith questions.
“Oh, nothing,” we respond in unison, trying to contain our laughter.
“Come on, guys, tell me! I’m the bride, you’re supposed to be showering me, not torturing me!” Meredith slurs her words.
“This one isn’t too bad. We’re saving the really embarrassing stuff for later!” I say, glancing down again at the bachelorette party to-do list we came up with.
“Well then, lay it on me!”
“Ok, you have to go up to the bar and get a guy to buy you a drink,” I instruct.
Meredith rolls her eyes back at us. “Come on, Jess, I thought this would at least be a slight challenge. I can do that in my sleep.” She retrieves her powder and lip gloss from her clutch and begins her touch-up routine.
“Not so fast! We get to pick the guy,” Callie proclaims.
“Yeah, whatever. Any of these guys would be damn lucky to buy me a drink.” Meredith gestures her wobbly hands toward the bar that sits twenty feet behind us. The restaurant is pretty crowded, no surprise on a Friday evening in New York. I have just enough self-awareness not to start drunk texting yet, and I keep reminding myself not to do something I’ll regret. But Jack’s complete lack of communication, and having Max’s number stored in my phone, is nearly killing me. My fingers are desperate to text both of them, especially considering Max doesn’t have my number, so any communication would have to be initiated by me.
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