Come As You Are(20)

I moved out of the apartment I’d shared with him and into my cousin Daisy’s place, returned the gifts that had arrived in advance of the wedding, and buried myself in work until I lost my job.

Now, months later, I stare at a phone call, a dumb smile still splashed on my face, and think maybe I am on the other side at last.

As I head for the train, a nearly foreign sensation bounces around inside my chest.

Something I haven’t felt in a long time but do now, thanks to that phone call.

Hope.

A little later, that hope turns into the next course the universe is serving to me on its silver platter, when a text message arrives.





9





Flynn

Duke: I have your halo and your panties.



Angel: You’re taking excellent care of them, I trust.



Duke: Yes, I’m quite the keeper of angel accoutrements and lingerie.



Angel: Lucky you. All I wound up with is your start-up button.



Duke: You have my button?



Angel: I wanted something to remember you by. That’s not weird at all to be reminded of someone because of a button, is it? It did start you up, after all.





Laughing, I slip my hand into my pocket, confirming the button is where I left it earlier. It’s also right next to her panties. I place them both on the table as I sink onto my couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows that afford a stunning view of Gramercy Park and beyond. Lights from high-rise buildings flicker in the dark sky, and I wonder where in this city she is. If she’s looking at the same view. If she lives in Manhattan, even.

Duke: Not weird at all. I hope the button brings fun memories. Also, did you slip your hand in my pocket while I was fucking you against the wall?



Angel: Is it an issue that my hands were in your pants while your cock was inside me?





Her directness makes me chuckle as I set my bare feet on the glass table in front of me, next to a signed copy of Astrophysics for People in a Hurry.

Duke: Not when you phrase it like that.



Angel: Also . . . kidding. Completely kidding. I have nothing to remember you by. Except, well, I’m not likely to forget the hottest ever sex in my entire life.





Pride surges through me as I read her text again. This is a message worth saving. Maybe soon I’ll know the name that goes with Angel, but for tonight, I’m fine keeping up our masked identities. Some part of me is damn curious who she is in my world. It’d be ironic if she worked at my biggest competitor, so I’ll hope she’s truly an angel investor.

Duke: Glad the orgasms were so memorable you don’t need the button.



Angel: Everything was memorable: the dancing, the sex, the talking . . .



Duke: Personally, the talking is what made the sex fantastic. Well, it was part of it. A big part of it.



Angel: I have to agree, and I have to agree that other big parts played their role ably, as well.



Duke: Now I’ll have to revise my earlier assessment to clever, handy, and good with wordplay. But then, I kind of knew that.



Angel: And does that make you even more powerless to resist my charms?



Duke: Considering I’m texting you an hour after you ran away from me, Dirty Cinderella–style, I’d say you have all the power.



Angel: Ha. Doubtful. But thank you for saving my undies. There’s something rather noble about rescuing a damsel’s underthings.



Duke: You’re into this whole nobility thing, aren’t you? Duke and whatnot. Perhaps you should just call me your grace next time. Or Prince Charming.



Angel: Next time, Prince Charming? That seems presumptuous. I don’t believe you arranged a next time.



Duke: No? Does asking for your number and using it sixty minutes later not count?



Angel: Should I be impressed with that timing? Is that some new sort of land speed record?



Duke: You should be impressed I remembered your number. Who can remember numbers anymore these days?



Angel: You.



Duke: It’s amazing what I can recall when I really want to.



Angel: Like?





A visceral memory of earlier in the evening flashes before me, so real I swear I can taste her. I can recall perfectly how she felt against me. I’m parked here on my couch, alone in my dark apartment, the whole of the city keeping me quiet company beyond the glass, and yet, I’m back in time to an hour ago.

Duke: The taste of your lips.



Angel: How did they taste?



Duke: Like champagne. Also, the feel of your body.



Angel: How did I feel?



Duke: Addictive, as I predicted. I want another hit.



Angel: All this talk about next times, and another time.



Duke: I’m getting there. But first, I can recall your eyes perfectly.



Angel: What about them?



Duke: Warm, glittering hazel eyes with bronze and green flecks.





She doesn’t answer right away. There are no indicator dots on my phone, and I resign myself to the possibility that she fell asleep, or reconsidered. As I click over to my Japanese app, though, her nickname flashes on my screen.