Sophia
When dinner is finished, we don’t race back to bed, although I wouldn’t have minded if we did. Instead, James and I walk towards Central Park.
When the wind blows strong, I can feel the icy chill on my upper legs and between my thighs. It’s not uncomfortable. In fact, it drives me wild.
The cold is like an ice cube on my clit. The rest of me is warm while I walk leaning into James.
He’s put on a thick wool hat that I think looks a little silly. A little incongruent with the rest of his outfit. But it is ten degrees out.
Our fingers end up entwined, and I’m not sure if there’s anything intimate about the gesture or if we both just have cold hands.
He’s the one who breaks our hand holding anyway. He stops at the railing that overlooks Wollman’s Rink. There are a few dozen ice skaters on the ice. Kids and couples. Families old and young. It’s a sweet sight.
“You can ice skate, right?”
“Of course.”
“That’s too bad. It would’ve been fun to teach you.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. You have tickets to skate at Wollman’s?”
“Always. Perks of being filthy rich.”
My mouth hangs open. I’m squinting because this is not the kind of thing you do with a girl before throwing her to the curb after casual sex. Unless James doesn’t know any better. But he’s not that kind of guy. He knows the romance of this.
The romance…
“You want to ice skate with me?”
“I’m sure I could find another taker if you’re not interested.”
I playfully slap his chest with the back of my hand. “Oh. I’m interested. Just no lifting me over your head. I’m not trying to get charged with indecent exposure.”
“Hmm. Fine. Let’s go.”
He takes my hand. The world blurs even more strangely than it did during the times we’ve been intimate. I can see James Callaway wanting to have sex with me. I’m attractive enough. I’m close enough to garner his interest. To be forbidden fruit.
But this? A private dinner followed by ice skating at Wollman’s Rink? The dinner alone could be marked off as celebratory, but not anymore.
This is a date.
A date with James Callaway. We walk to the entrance, and James shows his phone tickets to an employee. We’re put into the shorter of two lines.
“This is a date,” I repeat aloud.
“Does it really need a label?”
“I’m just saying. And it’s a cute date.”
“I save my best ideas for nearly kidnapped employees.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
We get our skates and go to our little lockers to lace up. It’s been a while for me, and I have to duck walk to the ice. James has a much more graceful way of moving himself towards the rink.
“How do you know how to ice skate?” I ask. I can’t exactly picture him figure skating.
“I played hockey at Dartmouth. Just for two years. I quit the team when Aquarius took off.”
“I was wondering if you were ever an athlete.”
James breaks away with a graceful stride. He glides across the ice. He gestures for me to join him. It takes me a minute to put one foot in front of the other, to skate, but it comes back to me as easily as riding a bike.
I skate to him, and he catches me in his arms and gives me a spin. I shriek and start to laugh. He holds on to my arm, and the two of us spin for a minute, laughing. I used to think James’s heart was as solid and cold as this ice rink. But under the surface, he’s human. He’s kind and gentle.
And sure, maybe he’s a little dangerous still. But not to me.
James pulls me in so I’m pressed against him. He looks me in the eye, and my breath freezes in my throat.
“My… You’re fucking pretty,” he says in almost a growl.
We’re both distracted as a young girl flies past us with a dusting of ice and does a layback.
“Do something about it,” I challenge.
We lock eyes, and my heart freezes. My insides tangle. I know what’s coming, and I try to freeze this frame. My feelings are too much to ignore. It’s now that I’m forced to admit that I’m not just horny. It’s not just lust.
It was never that simple, as much as I wanted it to be.
I do like him.
James moves his lips down to mine and kisses me ever so gently, and the feeling that erupts isn’t between my legs so much as in my heart.
He kisses me once. Twice. It could last forever. I wouldn’t mind if we stayed here until we froze and turned to statues as solid as the ice under our skates.
When he’s done, he pulls back and smiles. But I’m not done. I move in and kiss him. Hard.
A young kid heckles us in a Bronx accent. “Oh, get a room, you two!”
James and I erupt into laughter. There was something about the prepubescent tone of his barb that sounded ridiculous.
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” James says.
“Me neither.”
“Maybe the kid is right.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. I’m biting my lip teasingly.
“I knew I should’ve just bought this whole place out for the evening.”
“Would you ruin all these kids’ evenings by flexing the power of your American Express Black Card?”
“Would show them right for cock-blocking me. They can go bowling.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
He kisses me again. It’s not butterflies that I’m feeling. That’s too soft and fluttery to describe this feeling—these are fireworks.
Roaring. Bursting. Bright.
Even when he pulls away again, they don’t stop exploding.
“How about we get a room?” he asks.
“Yours or mine?” I’m intoxicated with how much effort it takes to say a few words. My breath is light. Hard to hold down for long enough to talk.
“Mine,” James says.
I feel a little ridiculous finally getting to Wollman’s Rink for the first time in my life and spending five minutes on the ice. But I don’t want to stay and skate. Nor do I want to stay and try to pull more fireworks from this moment. No, it was perfect, and now we can’t get out of here fast enough.
We skate off the ice, back to the lockers, and start to get dressed. I have to sit strategically with my butt a little lower on the side of the bench so I don’t accidentally flash anyone.
When we’re in our shoes and back in the park, James takes my hand, and we start to walk fast. Impatient to be alone in a warm room already.
We approach Central Park East to get a cab, when suddenly, James starts patting his pocket as he gets a call. It’s 8:45, which would be very late for anyone to call me but is probably nothing out of the ordinary for a man as important as James.
But my smile still fades when I watch his face twist in confusion as he looks at the caller ID.
“I should take this.”
“Sure.”
He lets go of my hand and strolls a little so he’s out of earshot while I wait under a park lamp. Christmas has passed, but there’s something special in the air. Winter is back to being pretty. It’s not dreary and unwelcome anymore like how I felt when I watched it snow out the gallery window a few weeks ago. A few minutes before meeting James.
I’m happy. Giddy. But the feeling starts to fade the longer James is away.
He pinches his temples, kicks at the odd small patch of snow. I don’t kid myself. The magic left as quickly as it had come. There’s bad news coming.
James hangs up and walks over to me with his head low.
“Don’t tell me you have to work,” I say.
“A private buyer wants to look at the artifacts. Tomorrow. They might purchase the whole batch.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, but they want to speak with me personally.” James shakes his head. I can tell there’s something else he isn’t telling me. The fireworks are gone, replaced by a cold that seeps in slowly from my bare crotch.
“They want to meet tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“They’re in town for two days only. I should’ve warned you at dinner. It’s a rare evening that some problem doesn’t require my attention.”
“Sounds miserable,” I say, because I’m miserable. I’m as lethargic and defeated as if I were standing in the pouring rain.
“Well, fortunes don’t come free,” James says a little defensively.
“I know. It’s fine, James.”
“Could you also do me a favor?”
“Is this a work thing?”
“They want a photo of each artifact with a timestamp.”
“So, you want me to go into the inventory room and take pictures?”
“You know the code, right?”
“Yeah, I know the code.” I try to hide my disappointment from my tone, but I don’t do a good job.
“When these are sold, you’ll get a bonus.”
“You don’t need to bribe me, James. It’s my job. I’m happy to help. I don’t need more cash.”
“Who said the bonus was money?” He winks, and finally that smile comes back.
This little hiccup is just that—a small inconvenience. Although small as it is, it feels like it slaughtered our evening.
And how often would this happen if I actually dated James? How often would he be gone? Busy? Called away on business?
There’s a very valid reason he doesn’t date. It’s because all the man does is work. My shoulders sink as we walk to get a cab. There’s a reason what I felt was magic. It’s because a relationship with him couldn’t be real, could it?