by Adams, S. C.
“Listen, Jasmine,” I say when I can’t take it anymore. “You’re being paid to be here, so you don’t have to keep talking. Can we just agree to be quiet for the rest of the night?”
She doesn’t seem affected. Jasmine shrugs and leans against the window, falling asleep quickly.
The silence is welcome. I couldn’t stand another minute of Jasmine’s nasally explanations of whatever she did or witnessed. Doesn’t she realize no one cares? I’m not being paid to listen to her bullshit. The worst part is, she never asked me about myself. I wonder if Jasmine behaves this way on dates, too. It’s no surprise she’s single if that’s the case.
Traffic is heavy, so it takes longer than usual to drive from my restaurant to the Ritz. Their ballroom is smaller than some others in New York, but the non-profit hosting this event likes the name of the hotel. The rest of the details don’t matter.
As we drive, we pass by Alyssa’s street. What was she doing outside my restaurant tonight? I can’t imagine what was running through her head when she saw Jasmine waltz down the sidewalk on my arm. I wanted distance, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I couldn’t look at her face, just in case it showed the pain I caused her.
The Ritz overlooks Central Park. People pour from the Park to watch as limos like mine release celebrities in front of the overpriced hotel. We’re stuck in a long line of black cars. After fifteen minutes, my driver finally pulls up in front of the hotel.
A doorman opens the car door and steps aside so I can climb out. In an attempt to keep up appearances, I offer my hand to the now-awake Jasmine so she can climb out safely. Despite my snapping at her earlier, she smiles brightly at the flashing cameras as we walk into the hotel. If modelling doesn’t work out for her, she might want to take up acting. She’s playing her part perfectly.
Paparazzi, tabloid photographers, and a few entertainment news hosts line the red carpet. My agent said I don’t have to stop for them if I don’t want to. I don’t want to, but Jasmine tugs me towards a famous host for questioning. These kinds of interviews always feel more like an interrogation than anything else. They’re asking me questions in the hopes that I slip up and give them something they can use against me.
“Nathaniel Glover! Who is the beautiful woman you have with you tonight?”
“This is Jasmine,” I say, forgetting her last name. My agent is going to rip me a new one for that. “Isn’t she gorgeous? Just look at her dress.”
I pull my arm away so Jasmine can twirl for the camera. She loves the attention more than I ever will. Part of why I go along with these stupid charades is to have something else for the gawkers to focus on.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“At his restaurant,” Jasmine replies, using her practiced line. It’s not technically a lie – today at my restaurant was the first time we met in person.
“Well, isn’t that fun! Food bringing people together. That’s my kind of love story.”
We all laugh like this is the funniest thing we’ve heard all day. The host thanks us for our time and allows us to move on to the next person. Jasmine is all too happy to repeat the same conversation a hundred times, all the way up the carpet.
After what feels like an hour but was really less than thirty minutes, Jasmine and I are in the lobby of the Ritz. Formal signs lead us to the ballroom.
I’ve been in the Ritz ballroom a few times. This event is different than those. The ballroom is dimly lit with crepe paper twisted between the bannisters. It looks more like a kid’s birthday party than the black tie event I was expecting. No one else seems to care. It’s been a while since I last attended a charity banquet. Maybe this is how things are done now?
Jasmine decides that she’s on a networking trip rather than a fake date. She drags me towards a gaggle of producers and actors who are maintaining a short distance between themselves and the shrimp appetizers.
“Hi!” Jasmine says brightly. I recognize a few of the faces. This is the cast and crew for an action movie coming out later this year. They filmed in New York City and had their wrap party in my restaurant. “I’m Jasmine.”
The men ogle my date. If I was better at this, I’d put a possessive arm around her. Instead, I take a step away. It’s better for both of us if the patrons know she’s available. The only people we needed to fool were the ones with the cameras outside.
“I’m Carlos,” a producer says, shaking her hand. He turns to me. “It’s good to see you again, Nathaniel. How is the restaurant business?”
“Still doing well, thanks. Are you excited for the premiere?”
His smile widens. I remember from the wrap party that this is Carlos’ first movie as an executive producer. If the movie does well, it could be the beginning of a long career for him. “I can’t wait. Three more months! We have a New York red carpet a few weeks before. You’ll be on the list for sure.”
“Sounds great, I’ll be there.”
My agent will be thrilled at the publicity opportunity.
“This party is awesome,” Carlos continues. “I just love coming out to charity events. The fans will come out in droves if they think we support whatever cause we’re here for.”
I’m too annoyed to respond. The conversation turns to movies and production, so we take that as our cue to leave.
Jasmine and I continue to wander the party. Everyone here smiles and acts like they’re here for the charity and not because of the red carpet they walked to get inside. Two of the people we talked to went on about how happy they are to be helping cancer research. I decided not to point out that the charity we’re here to support has nothing to do with cancer.
Everything about this is fake. No one cares about the cause, they care about the payout. Am I better than they are? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my celebrity status. My donation was public because my agent said it would be good publicity.
I guess I’m fake, too.
“I need some air,” I tell Jasmine. She doesn’t say anything, just walks away to find someone more interesting. At least she took my silence proposition seriously.
There’s a balcony off the second level of the ballroom. It looks out at one of Central Park’s biggest bodies of water.
It’s a little cold out here, but my suit jacket keeps out the wind.
Seeing the Park immediately makes me think of Alyssa again. What is she doing with the rest of her night? I’m glad she got out of her apartment and explored a bit. Did she stay out after she saw me, or did she go back home? Was she meeting someone? When we were together, she mentioned she was single. It’s possible that changed over the course of twenty-four hours. I noticed some of the guys in class were eyeing her thick hips.
When we kissed, my fingers dug into the soft skin on her sides. It was the best kiss of my life. That little moan she gave when I dipped my tongue between hers nearly killed me.
Then there’s her chest. Jasmine has fake breasts, but Alyssa’s were clearly real. She’s well endowed on top and on the bottom, with a perfectly slim stomach in between. It’s a miracle she’s single. I can’t believe I had her within reach and convinced myself we needed space.
As her teacher, I should not be thinking about her this way. As a man, it’s nearly impossible to stop.
Alyssa is the kind of girl I could share a home with. She would be an incredible wife and mother to any future children. We share the same passion for cooking. We could open a restaurant together, turn it into a family business.
Was I too hard on her today? I don’t even know if Alyssa will show up to class tomorrow. I might have crushed her lifelong dream of being a chef just by being a harsh judge. In my head, I knew why I was being mean. I wanted to give her a thick skin so she can survive in this industry.
Thinking back on it, I realize she wouldn’t have known my motives. She probably thought I was just being an ass.
I sigh. I’ve been standing on this balcony for over an hour. My agent said I only had to stay at the party for two hours. With the ti
me spent schmoozing with Jasmine, I think I’ve fulfilled my quota.
Jasmine is easy to find. She’s flirting with a businessman I don’t recognize.
“Hey,” I tell her. “I’m going to head out.”
She sips her drink and eyes the older man. I don’t want to know what thoughts are running through her mind.
“I have a ride home. Thanks for tonight, Nathan. It was fun.”
Correcting her would be pointless. I squeeze her shoulder and head out. The hotel has a low-key exit in the back for people who don’t want to be seen. My driver is waiting for me out there when I get out.
“How was the party, sir?” he asks.
“The same as the others. Next time I ask you to take me to a party like this, tell me no.”
“You don’t pay me to say no,” my driver jokes. “That bad?”
I laugh. “You ever find yourself in a room full of people trying to convince everyone else they donated the most money to a charity they don’t understand?”
“Can’t say that I have,” he says. He drives away from the Ritz to take me home, our conversation over. My driver is one of my favorite people. I don’t have time for a lot of friends. Aside from my financial advisor/best buddy David, my driver is all I’ve got.
“Have a good night,” I tell him when he drops me off. “Say hello to the wife and kids.”
“Will do. They’ll just ask when they can go back to the Fancy Place.”
My driver has three kids and they love eating at my restaurant. It’s not exactly a kid-friendly place, but they’re well behaved enough.
“Name the date. I happen to have an in with the owner.”
He laughs as he drives away. My three story, six-bedroom home is outside of the city. They don’t make buildings like this within city limits.
The clang of my keys hitting the table by my door echoes through the empty house. If I was where I thought I’d be at this age, I’d call out for my wife and two kids that I’m home. They’d greet me in the foyer and we’d settle into the kitchen for dessert. We’d talk about our days and the kids would tell me about their friends or the frog they found in the backyard pond.
Instead, I climb the stairs to my bedroom alone.
As I undress for bed, I imagine Alyssa was here with me. I wouldn’t be falling onto my mattress alone if she were. I’d be crawling up her sexy body, peppering her skin with kisses. She’d moan that little moan and we’d make love the way a couple should.
My room feels twice as lonely with that image in my mind. I consider sending Alyssa a text but that would feel too close to a booty call and that’s not what I’m looking for.
I’m looking for a woman worth marrying, and I think I might have found her.
If only I didn’t totally screw it up before it had a chance to start.
9
Alyssa
Tuesday
After a good night’s sleep, I’m ready to tackle the kitchen again. I prepare breakfast in my apartment as a warm up to class.
This morning’s early trip to the grocery store stocked my cabinets with everything necessary for a fancy breakfast. I whip up pancake batter, scramble eggs, toast bread, and fry sausage and bacon in a pan on the stove. It might seem simple, but it’s what I add to each dish that makes it an extravagant breakfast.
The pancakes are apple cinnamon, my favorite. As I slice apples for the batter I’m reminded of Nate’s body pressed up against my back when he showed me a better cutting technique. A cold breeze blows behind me, reminding me that Nate isn’t here.
That moment should have been enough for me to recognize him, but I’m glad I didn’t. I got to know him as a person before I knew he was a celebrity. I really liked the guy I met. Nathaniel, Nate’s celebrity alter ego, though? I could live without seeing him again.
My scrambled eggs are cooked with red and green peppers to add flavor. I sprinkle a tiny bit of cinnamon-sugar on my toast for an added level of sweetness. The sausage, bacon, and eggs are savory, so I need the pancakes and toast to balance that out. Everything works well together. This is what I love about cooking: finding combinations that might be unexpected, but that taste incredible when they’re eaten as a meal.
When my breakfast is finished, I settle down at the table with my open textbook and a mug of coffee. I was too depressed after seeing Nate with that bimbo last night to read the assigned chapter. Since I woke up at five this morning, I was able to get a lot done before now. I still have an hour before I need to get to the train station for my eight-fifteen subway. There’s no way I’ll be late today.
The apples in my pancakes are perfectly cooked. I love when I bite into them and they’re so tangy yet soft. Absolutely delicious. The homemade butter pecan syrup on top adds a necessary sugary sweetness. Breakfast is one of my favorite meals to cook, and it’s definitely my favorite to eat.
This textbook is so boring. Why can’t textbook writers make things more interesting? In fact, they should stop using textbooks altogether and start recording videos instead. I would learn so much better watching someone talk about pasta and sauce instead of reading about it.
Someone knocks on my apartment door. The neighbor across the street mentioned in passing that she wants to stop by this morning and see how I’m settling in. This is probably her now.
I welcome the distraction from homework. I don’t bother checking the hallway before opening the door. This proves to be a big mistake, because the person standing in front of me is decidedly not my old-lady next door neighbor.
It’s Nate.
“Hi,” I say, confused. “Do you want some breakfast?”
I’m not sure why I say it. He caught me so off-guard by showing up that I didn’t know what else to say.
Nate shakes his head and takes a step towards me, pushing me into the apartment far enough that he can close the door. As soon as he’s sure we’re completely alone, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me roughly.
“Nate,” I try to say, but he cuts me off with another kiss. I hesitate against his lips. Is this a good idea? He was a jerk yesterday, but his kiss feels so good that I don’t care. I melt against his warm body and allow Nate to have me.
I moan against Nate’s mouth. He pushes me harder against the wall, lifting my feet off the ground.
“I’ve wanted to do that since Grand Central Station,” Nate whispers into my ear. He nudges my head to the side for access to my neck. He nips at the tender skin below my ear causing my entire body to shiver.
I start to run my hands over his chest but he stops me, pulling them above my head. I’m completely out of control but I like it. It’s so different, but in a good way to have Nate calling all the shots. He wants to kiss my neck, so I tilt my head. He wants to taste my tongue, so I open my mouth. My heart races in my chest from the intensity of this make-out session. I force questions from my mind, like why is this happening or what does it mean? Right now, this is all about Nate and me. For the first time in my life, I’m ready to let Nate have everything … and I mean everything.
“Shirt off,” Nate commands. He reaches under my sleep tank-top and tugs it over my head. “Much better,” he growls when the fabric lands on my carpeted floor.
Since I don’t sleep in a bra, I’m completely exposed above the waist. Nate takes a step back to take me in. My arms instinctively cover my chest, seeking to hide my giant Double Ds. Most girls would be proud of having such a huge rack, but me? It makes me feel nervous and self-conscious. But Nate isn’t having it.
“No Lissie,” he says sternly. “I want to see you. All of you.”
Slowly, my hands lower, revealing acres of soft, creamy flesh. His eyes flash, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a sudden jerk at his crotch too. Oh god. Could it be? Could he be aroused from seeing me like this? Those cobalt eyes meet mine for a moment, but before I can open my mouth in question, his fingers brush the band of my night shorts, pushing them down into a puddle on the floor. I don’t wear panties to sleep, either, so suddenly, e
verything’s on display from my swollen nether lips to the tiny bit of clit poking out.
Oh god, oh god. It’s so embarrassing, but I’m intensely aroused and can’t help my body’s reaction. Of course, Nate is completely in control. The big man holds my arms at my sides so he can look at me all the while running those blue eyes up and down my hills and valleys. A hot flash scalds me as his eyes caress my frame and I let out a small moan.
My lover grins.
“You’re beautiful, Alyssa. Turn around so I can see that perfect ass.”
But Nate doesn’t wait for me to turn myself around. Instead, he helps me do it, those big hands guiding my frame until I’m facing away from him with my nipples pressed hard against the cold white wall. Oh god, this is so wrong. I can feel the chill against my sensitive flesh, and instinctively, I arch my hips as if eager to show him my bare pink pussy.
Behind me, Nate chuckles low in his throat.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Show me everything. Reach your hands behind and spread for me like the good girl you are.”
My eyes fly open. What in the world? Reach behind and spread what exactly? Could he mean my butt cheeks? I’ve never been truly nude like this in front of a man, and now he wants me to go even further, showing him my most sensitive parts?
But it’s true, and without even realizing it, my hands reach around until I’ve got one palm on each heavy white mound. Slowly, they spread my flesh and I bend over even more if possible, displaying my sweetest spot to this commanding man.
“That’s it,” he rasps, those blue eyes fixated on the slit between my legs, making it drip all the more. “Fuck, you’re so pink and tight.”
But my pussy isn’t the only thing he’s obsessed with. Before I realize exactly what’s happening, one big finger brushes lightly against my brown star, and I shriek a bit, bolting upright.
“Stop!” is my breathy cry. “Oh my god, stop!”
But he doesn’t stop at all. Instead that same big finger trails downwards through my folds to niggle my clit, and I squirm and mewl helplessly as electric jolts run through my body.