Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
It is official.
We are official.
Despite a blizzard of epic portions, a girl too stubborn to see what was right in front of her, and a very handsome, some might even call him debonair, man who foolishly believed he had a say when it comes to matters of the heart, we did it.
Not that. Unfortunately, we haven’t had sex yet.
All for good reasons, but I’ll come back to that.
I happily traded in my bachelor card for one lovely Ms. Virginia Ryan.
Seven days ago, we made an agreement to put this lesson plan and asshole business behind us.
It’s worked out well for me. The weather is my friend, a supporter of love, and what I might have cursed that night, is now my ally.
Since the storm grounded all flights, Virginia was stuck with me on Christmas.
Game point to Richard. Her family was disappointed they didn’t get to see her, but they were thrilled to meet me on their video call.
They had no choice. We were trapped in her apartment for two days.
Match goes to Richard. Our Christmas gift to each other was easy—Hallmark movies, her choice.
In bed, my choice. Naked. Both of our choices.
How we didn’t seal the deal is beyond my comprehension.
Game point to Ryan. I’ve never had to wait to be with a woman.
I’ve always dated women who were more than happy to lead the charge right into bed.
What I’ve discovered is that I don’t need someone to lead the charge or to make it easy.
I need Virginia. Match goes to Ryan. I need something that was real, something that I want for more than a few hours of fun.
I want love. Not for just a few days, and when I look over at her sleeping soundly next to me, years comes to mind.
Ladies and gentleman, Ryan and Richard have met their match—Winners all around.
Not to sound too sentimental, but she makes me want to break out in song and dance on the regular, and you’ve heard my theory on singing.
Well, my dancing is okay. I know you thought I’d say something charmingly self-deprecating, but I have a few moves that might make Channing Tatum jealous. That’s a lesson for another day.
Love.
It’s all that matters. It controls almost all my thoughts and I look at life differently. It’s all consuming, heart filling, blood rushing. It’s magic for the soul, and we’ve got it in spades.
So when it comes to V’s V-card, she’s pounced me more times than I can count.
It’s like that thing is burning a hole in her pocket she’s so anxious to spend it.
It’s been a real damn feat keeping her off my junk.
Big Richard has seen so much hand action that I needed lotion for the chaffing.
On the bright side, cuz yeah, me getting off can’t really be on the dark side, it’s not me doing the work anymore.
She’s become a sexual goodwill ambassador and my dick is the beneficiary.
A sexual animal feeding for the first time with me as her prey.
Just last night I showed up at her place and within minutes, I was handed a beer “to sit back and relax,” then she proceeded to pin me to the window, the little minx, while she rubbed on the outside of my jeans.
I drank that beer because it was damn refreshing, so was my view of the woman in front of me.
Eye to eye with Big Richard, she looked up at me, and said, “Take your pants off. This job isn’t going to blow itself. ”
I’m not gonna lie, beer spewed everywhere. But the shower we took more than made up for the fact that I was now dating myself in female form. Hot in some ways, mouthy and a lot cocky in others. But I digress . . .
When it comes to lesson four, it isn’t about the sex anymore.
I’m a sappy sucker for love now. I even wrote Hardy hearts Virginia in the fogged up glass at the coffee shop two days ago.
Luisa treated me to coffee, recognizing the old Hardy Richard is a thing of the past, and this new lovesick version is here to stay.
So when she finally does get that V-card stamped and turns it over to the sex commission, it has to be special.
It has to be worth waiting all these years for.
Fortunately, I’m the man with a plan. The man for her job.
I’m on it, and plan to be in it, kissing it .
. . you get the drift. After all, we’re #MFEO.
***
New Year’s Eve is booming in the hospitality sector. Running a popular business during the second biggest holiday for a bar means we were booked six months ago for a private party.
All the guys are working tonight—Romeo has a small audience of ladies hanging on his every cock tale.
Clive is tossing bottles into the air and entertaining the crowd Cocktail style with flaming drinks.
Leo has hit his stride and fits right in.
He’s a solid tender, and has a regular clientele, including the fashion icon, Vittori, which brings the bar more press.
Eddie has everything under control—the ladies, the liquor, and the party. I knew he was ready to take on the job.
As for me, that’s my name above the door, that one that shines on the glass. That means I get to cut out early and meet my girl just in time to kiss her under the midnight mistletoe.
I make my rounds and wish everyone a Happy New Year, including some of the ladies I used to spend private time with.
Virginia has caused this goofy grin and I can’t seem to get it to go away.
I don’t fight it too much. It kind of says everything about how I’m feeling these days, much to the ladies’ chagrin.
But we always had an understanding, so even though I’m off the market, they wish me the best of luck.
They also tell me to keep in contact, but I’ve already deleted that contact list from my phone.
I wasn’t even bothered by deleting the numbers. I rarely used them anyway, but when I looked my sweet girl in the eyes and we committed to this relationship, it needed to be fully. Virginia has a jealous streak. I don’t want to feed the beast when she has nothing to worry about.
I receive a few catcalls and compliments when I’m leaving. Stealing Barry’s move, I tip my imaginary hat and rush out to catch a cab. At this stage, karma even thinks I deserve some nookie. I’ve been a very good boy this year and plan on being extra naughty tonight.
Yep, karma’s on my side when I’m able to get a taxi right away on one of the craziest nights in New York. “The Waldorf-Astoria, please.”
“Traffic’s bad. Just letting you know ahead of time.”
I hand him a fifty. “If we can cut some time off, that would be great.”
“I know some detours.”
Leaning back, I check my phone. There’s a text from my mom: Your dad has been fondling his balls for days. Should I be worried?
Me: What?
Mom: I bought some silver balls last time I was in the city that came in a cute Asian fabric covered box. I was told they would help spice up our love life. So far, he plays with them all day, instead of me.
Me: No. Not having this conversation. Happy New Year.
Mom: Happy New Year, Hardy. Dinner this Sunday. You’re bringing Virginia.
Me: Yes, Ma’am.
Next message is a photo from my dad with the message: Your mother got me these hand massagers for Christmas. You manipulate them around your hands with your fingers. I think they’re helping my arthritis. If you need a Valentine’s Day gift for Virginia, you can find these cheap in New York.
I’d bang my head on the plastic shield dividing me from the driver, but I don’t want to catch some disease, so I reply to him instead: Dad, those aren’t hand massagers.
His reply: What do you mean?
I’m not in the right state of mind to explain what Ben Wa balls are tonight. It’s a Big Richard downer. I type: I can’t do this over text. Let’s have a drink later this week. Come by the bar. Happy New Year.
Dad: Sounds good. Have a good night, son. Happy New Year.
The driver pulls over, and announces, “The Waldorf-Astoria.”
I pay the cabbie, and work my way through the hotel.
When I find the party, I search the ballroom for a red dress, but come up short.
I step farther in, and let my eyes adjust to the low lighting.
In the middle of a room of traditional black tuxes stands my beautiful girlfriend in a holy-shit-that’s-short-glittering-gold-dress with the red soled fuck me shoes, as if seeing her long legs wasn’t enough of a fantasy fulfiller.
Her dress might be shiny, but my smile far outshines it. That’s my girl. That’s my sexy as all get out woman. I make my way through the party and through the sea of suits. I reach through the pack, and ask, “May I have this dance?”
When she turns, her smile is kilowatt bright.
Her long, dark hair is pinned back on one side with gentle waves rolling down the other.
She might be a champagne cocktail tonight, but she’ll always be my Paloma.
“Of course,” she replies, taking my hand.
The suits part for her and she’s in my arms in an instant.
My lips are on hers, a fiery passion ignited.
My hands are on her ass, because why not stake the claim for her whole company to see.
I swing her out and back again as a slow song begins to play. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I lean in to whisper in her ear, “Nice dress. What there is of it.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Every guy in this room has noticed. There’s no mistaking it anymore, V. You may be the only woman in your department, but you most definitely are not one of the guys.” We spin slowly around and I look into the eyes I’ve fallen in love with. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Hardy. You look pretty damn delectable yourself.”
“Speaking of, how much longer did you want to stay?”
“It’s not midnight yet. I thought we’d kiss as the clock strikes twelve and all that traditional stuff that couples do.”
“I was thinking we’d do something else.”
“I’m open.”
“That’s part of the plan.”
A devious smirk accentuates her red lips. “I’m liking the sound of this plan. Should I say my goodbyes?”
I send her a wink. “You should definitely say your goodbyes.” Stepping back, I add, “Meet me at the elevators in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
I could stand here all day, watching her sway through the crowd, but there’s no way I’m missing this very important date. Screw the lesson plan, this is a date with destiny.
The elevator arrives just as she does. When we step on, she asks, “Your place or mine, big boy?”
“Mine,” I reply, referring to the apartment and the girl.