by Sophia Henry
It’s scary because I haven’t felt like I couldn’t live without someone in my life in a very long time. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before—not even with Fozzie. I freaked out before leaving for tour and tried to make our friendship more than it was. Thinking back on it now, I’m glad he turned me down because I would have been settling for the comfort of the familiar. I would have missed out on the intensity and sparks that I have with Zayne.
“I can’t wait to see you, Z.”
“Hold up,” he says. After a few seconds, my phone buzzes telling me I have a video call coming in from Zayne. I immediately press the screen to accept.
“Hey!” I say a little too excited as I look at his sexy face on the screen.
“Hey!” He squints a bit as if trying to figure something out. “Are you in bed?”
“Yup!” I hold the phone on its side on the pillow next to my head. “Look! We’re sleeping together.”
“That’s exactly where I’ll be tomorrow.” He smiles. It’s a bold statement because we haven’t slept in the same bed—yet. “Ugh! I wish I were there right now, Em. I’ve missed you so much.”
My eyelids flutter, but I keep them open. “Tomorrow’s going to be the best day ever.”
“Girl! You don’t even know,” he says, voice rising in excitement. “I have a huge surprise for you.”
“That’s what they all say,” I roll my eyes jokingly and press my cheek into the pillow.
“You’re absolutely beautiful laying there, with your sexy, sleepy eyes and parted lips.” He licks his lips. “You’re making me hard.”
His prompt set me off, and I jump right in. “I’d love to feel you slide through my parted lips.”
Zayne face is like a cartoon character, eyes and smile widening at the same time. “Fuck! Having your mouth on me would be amazing right now.”
“What are you doing?” I ask in a breathy whisper.
“I’m stroking my cock. Finally getting to look at your beautiful face and hear your voice while I do it is fucking amazing.”
“Should I talk dirty?” I ask. “I’ve never done that before, so I don’t know what to say.”
“You could recite the alphabet, for all I care. I’ve been aroused since the first day I met you. This is not going to take long.”
“I want to watch,” I tell him, sliding my hand between my legs. I’m completely soaked. “Can you get your body in the shot?”
He extends his arm, adjusting the phone as he tries to find the right angle. I take a deep staggered breath when his cock shows up on screen. His hand barely fits around it. The only thing that would be sexier than watching Zayne slide his hand up and down his dick is if I were the one doing it.
“Oh my god, Zayne. I can’t wait to have you in my mouth.” I almost want to lick the screen, but that won’t do me any good, so I focus my energy pushing my fingers in and out of my pussy instead. If I didn’t have to hold the phone, I’d have my vibrator in the other hand directed on my clit. It’s the perfect one-two punch.
“Yes, babe,” he moans. “Fuck, yes.”
Watching Zayne jerk himself off is hot as fuck. It’s not that I want to get off the phone, but as soon as we do, I’m going to grab my vibrator and go to town on myself.
“You just got me off, but we haven’t even kissed yet.”
“We do everything backward. We were bickering like an old married couple before we even started liking each other.”
“I really like being with you, Zayne,” I say since we’ve already laid the cards on the table.
“I feel the same, Em. You rock my world.”
“Not to be a jerk about you hanging with your family or anything, ‘cuz I totally get it, but can you get your ass back here early tomorrow?”
He laughs, but his eyes are kind. “Absolutely, babe. I’m so excited to see you.”
“I want to fall asleep staring at your gorgeous face so I can dream about you,” I say sleepily.
“Put the phone down and close your eyes. I’ll stay right here with you, Em.”
The last thing I hear before I drift off is Zayne saying, “Sweet dreams, love.”
Zayne finally gets back to the city on the last day we’re in New York. It feels weird to say that I’ve missed him, but I have. I’ve missed his smile and his voice and how everything he says makes me feel good about myself. I love the way I feel when I’m with him.
We’re in a cab on our way somewhere—Zayne won’t tell me where. So, all I can do is stare out the window and try to guess, which is virtually impossible in New York City.
"Come on, Z! Please tell me where we’re going!” I beg, rapping my hands on his leg.
“It’s a surprise,” he says. “But I will say, we’re almost there.”
When the cab pulls to the curb, I climb over his lap to get out first.
“What the are you doing?” he asks, laughing and slapping my ass.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder as we approach the W. 57th Street entrance to the restaurant I’ve dreamed of since I was a child.
From the outside, the Russian Dining Room already holds the appearance of a magical place, but even the deep, red canopy over the sidewalk and scrolling gold RDR logo stamped into the concrete directly in front of the door don’t prepare me for the inside.
Elegant, extravagant decor and gorgeous, gold-framed art adorns deep green walls. Red banquets and tables with white linens frame the room while square tables fit for two are lined up in the center in the middle. It’s exactly like the photos online—but better.
A hostess wearing all black leads us back to our table, weaving through multiple two-person tables draped in white tablecloths before motioning for us to sit in one of the enormous red banquets. An antique samovar rests on the ledge connecting our booth to the next. We slide in next to each other.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” she says.
“Holy shit, Zayne!” I pat the top of his arm. “This place is fuc—” I stop myself. The Russian Dining Room seems too elegant for me to drop the f-bomb. “—fricking amazing.”
He smiles, glancing at me quickly before returning his attention to the drink menu. “I thought you’d like it.”
Out of the blue, a waiter in a black, military-type jacket with five gold buttons down each side drops two shots of vodka in front of us then disappears. I’m surprised and because we haven’t even ordered anything yet.
“Try it.” Zayne lifts one of the shots and sets in down in front of me. “It’s the Beluga Gold Line. It’s absolutely amazing.”
According to the vodka menu, one shot of this shit costs forty-five dollars. I’ve never even spent forty-five dollars on an entire bottle of vodka.
“Well,” I say, raising my glass to Zayne and swallowing my hesitation. “I said I wanted to have a shot of vodka and a glass of tea here. Might as well do it right.”
He lifts his glass. “We’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating? Our last night in New York? Going into the last week of the tour?”
There’s a sparkle in Zayne’s eye. He reaches down and grabs my free hand. “Not only are you going to have a feature in an upcoming issue of Ink Scene Magazine, but you will also be on the cover.”
Maybe his touch disoriented me, but I thought I heard him said I’m going to be on the cover of Ink Scene. “Say what now?”
Despite the enormous size of the booth, we’re sitting so close, our shoulders and thighs press against each other. As the excitement builds, heat travels across my chest and up my neck.
“They called me earlier today to give me the news. I wanted to do something extra special to celebrate.” He clinks his glass with mine. “Cheers to your first cover.”
Too stunned to speak, instead I follow Zayne’s lead, and tip the shot back, downing the entire thing in one gulp. No matter how good the vodka, it still burns going down—I don’t care what anyone says. Through my squint, I scan the table, looking for a chaser. There
isn’t one, only Zayne.
He leans closer, dipping his head and licking his lips as if beckoning me to taste him. My heart pounds in my ears. My hands shake as I reach out and skim my fingertips over the buttons of his crisp, white dress shirt. Our mouths move toward each like magnets. My eyelids flutter shut, heady with anticipation. The sharp, citrusy scent of his cologne fills my nose as his lips touch mine.
Kissing Zayne is like skydiving. The anticipation makes my heart skip, my stomach drops when our lips touch, and after that initial jolt, it’s absolute euphoria.
His hands slide across my face and into my hair, tugging softly on the roots as his fingers curl. His lips are perfect; soft firm, and he knows just the right pressure to use and how to change the intensity without getting sloppy. It doesn’t feel like a Saint Bernard is licking me.
Every time I kiss someone new, I revert to my preteen years, back when I was practicing on pillows—which are nothing like real lips by the way. Sometimes I can’t tell if my heart speeds up out of nervousness or fear. I don’t know what to do with my hands.
But I do know one thing: I’m quite certain I could kiss Zayne forever.
Unfortunately, we’re interrupted by two waiters, one drops off a three-tiered tray filled with crustless finger sandwiches, while the other waiter serves us Formosa Oolong tea.
“But—” I pick up the menu and scan it, confirming what I already knew. “We can’t eat any of this stuff.”
He takes the menu from my hands and sets it in on the far corner of the table, out of my reach. “All of our courses are completely vegan tonight. You’ll be able to eat every delicious thing they serve us.”
My heart flutters and I can’t keep the smile off my face. How the hell did he get an iconic restaurant to make vegan meals?
I blink and look around the bustling restaurant, then look at him. “How?”
“You’ve wanted to come to this place for so long, I had to give you the full experience.” He hesitates, taking a sip of water before answering. “I know the manager, so I pulled a few strings to have a special meal prepared.” He lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “Vegan afternoon tea.” Then he places his finger over his lips.
He’s the most thoughtful, wonderful man. I’ve never had someone make me feel as special as Zayne makes me feel. I’ve never had someone pulls strings or jump through hoops for me. Hell, I’ve never even had someone send me flowers.
Now that I know I can eat everything without worry, it’s on, and I spend the next few minutes stuffing my face. Zayne joins, but he doesn’t seem as hungry as I am. The portions are small, but there are so many of them, I’m already feeling full. Every time I come up for air, I see him out of the corner of my eye, gazing at me with a silly grin on his face. It’s the most wonderful feeling because I know he’s not judging me, but happy to see me so excited.
“What do you think?” Zayne asks after I’ve polished off my third (maybe fourth) sandwich.
“Every single thing I’ve put in my mouth tonight has been amazing.”
“Don’t speak too soon.” He winks. Which automatically makes my eyes drop to his crotch.
He must have seen it because he bursts out laughing. “I meant that we still have dessert to try, but I like where your mind is at.”
When someone delivers a fourth round of shots, I hold up a hand and shake my head. I’m not equipped to go round-for-round with Zayne. He downs his, then holds the second shot glass up as if asking permission to take mine. I give him a-be-my-guest wave.
The same man who chewed me out for getting shit-faced the first night of the tour and showing up at work hungover the next day is the guy who’s been nodding for another round of forty-five-dollar vodka shots every damn time the waiter’s come by.
Ass.
He’s also the man who had a special meal prepared so that I could experience the cuisine and culture of a place I’ve been obsessed with since I was a kid. I’ve never known anyone as thoughtful as he is.
Thoughtful. Hot. Sweet. Ass.
“Ya know, Zayne, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be when I first met you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment considering how we treated each other when we first met.”
I wonder how long it’s been since he’s had this much to drink? He doesn’t seem too wasted, but the effects of multiple shots are apparent in his glassy eyes. Though he’s not a huge man, he’s definitely taller and larger than I am. I’m three sheets to the wind, and he’s had far more shots than I have, so he has to be feeling something.
If he’s trying to keep his focus right now, it’s not working. His gaze has slipped to my boobs multiple times. I’m not mad; on the contrary, I love that he can’t stop looking at me. After two weeks of barbs and banter, I’m ecstatic that his guard might be slipping. It would do us both good to give in to the sexual energy that’s been building between us as we’ve gotten closer. I’m down for testing the stability of my hotel bed frame with him.
Afternoon tea at the Russian Dining Room can be a two to three-hour affair (even when served in the evening), depending on how long you want to hang out, which is a blessing and a curse. I was feeling fine after the first couple of shots, making sure to scarf down as much of the fabulous food Zayne had specially prepared for us as possible. But the vodka starts to kick in while the waiter brings out our final course, a delicious tray of assorted sweets—scones, cupcakes, and petit fours.
I’ve just shoved a delectable, strawberry cupcake into my mouth when a tall, slim man in an expensive, black suit stops at our table. The way he presents himself screams importance.
“Zayne! It’s wonderful to see you again! How was everything?”
“Amazing as always, Ivan.” He slides out of the booth, greeting the man with a hug. “An all vegan option should be on the menu all the time.”
“Ah, yes, an animal-free meal for the authentic Russian experience,” Ivan says, voice coated in sarcasm. “It would go over like a lead balloon.”
“Ivan, this is my friend, Emily. She’s a tattoo artist from Charlotte. She’s been over at The Vortex this week. We’re headed to Detroit tomorrow.”
I slide to the edge of the booth, so I can reach out and shake his hand.
“Welcome, Emily. It’s nice to meet you.” Ivan clasps a and over mine, then leans in and kisses me, right cheek, left cheek, then the right again. I’ve never experienced the triple kiss before. But I guess the only Russian I really know is Stan, and thankfully, he keeps his lips to himself. “I’m glad you could join us tonight. Though, I’m a little disappointed that Zayne waited to bring you.” He shoots Zayne a wry glance.
“You gave me enough shit for having to make an all-vegan meal for one night. I can’t even imagine what you would have said if I requested it all week.”
“I would have taken your money happily. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”
“Can we go upstairs?” he asks the manager. “She’d hate me if I didn’t show her the bear lounge.”
“Absolutely.” Ivan motions for us to follow him.
As soon as I stand up, my knees wobble, and the room starts to tilt. I take second to get my balance. Zayne slides his arm around my waist, guiding me gently to the doors of a small elevator where Ivan is waiting. It only goes up one floor, which seems a bit anti-climactic, but I don’t give a fuck because I know the famous crystal bear lives on the second floor.
Once the doors open, I’m absolutely blown away. Photos do not convey the magnificence of the second floor.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whisper when the elevator door opens, and we step into the bear lounge. Zayne squeezes my hand, but it barely registers because I’m overwhelmed by the extravagance of the room. If the main floor is like going back in time and dining in Imperial Russia, this floor is knowing how lavish and over the top it is to live like royalty. It’s the epitome of everything I loathe, and yet—absolutely breathtaking. It’s something to experience once, rather than indulge in every
day.
Suddenly, Ivan turns the lights on, and the room truly comes alive. Vibrant colors bounce off every surface. Multiple electric candlesticks adorned with arches sit in front of mirrored wall panels carved with sunburst and star patterns. The giant, fifteen-foot-tall crystal bear “juggling” four golden balls above his head is the focal point of the front part of the room, but a monstrous, iridescent tree in the back with Fabergé-inspired eggs hanging from swirling branches catches my eye—and my breath.
As if being pulled by an invisible force, I move towards the tree, but I can’t pass the storied bear without reaching out and skimming my fingertips over the glass. Flashes of color sail past. At first, I think it’s just a trick of the light or all the alcohol I’ve had deceiving my mind, but I keep gazing into the belly of the bear and see movement again. The great Russian bear is a fish tank.
“We use this space for events and parties,” Ivan explains as I watch the fish. “It’s not usually open to the public, but I’ll show anyone who asks.”
“It’s breathtaking. Do you ever host weddings here?” I ask, turning my gaze from the fish to the manager.
Ivan turns to Zayne, his eyebrows lifting in a surprise question. “Absolutely. We use this room, as well as a ballroom that can accommodate up two hundred people.”
Maybe I’m drunk—okay, I’m definitely drunk—but that’s not why I asked. And it’s not like I’m talking about Zayne and me getting married. I just think, in general, it would be a perfect space to have a wedding reception. When I tie the knot someday, it’ll be a small affair, with just family and close friends. This space would be phenomenal. A dream I never knew I had come true.
Even Cookie and Harris would approve. Hell, it might catapult me from zero to hero on the daughter list. Now that Liz is shacked up with a musician and Maddie left them to live with her husband in the Czech Republic, my sisters have started to slide. When you start at the top, the only way to go is down. Could the black sheep sail from zero to hero?