4. He’s Easily Likable
“Y ou’re telling me that Henry Cavill could have been here tonight, and you didn’t invite him?” Camilla Martinez, my boss and staff writer at New York Prestige gasped as she stared at my phone. I tried to steal it back, but her manicured, cranberry nails swiped feverishly across Nick’s Instagram feed.
“He’s hotter than Henry,” I defended, the almost sacrilegious statement for who she compared him to.
It was true though, Nick was hotter; a little older than me—probably mid-thirties—a tad larger in the forearms than Henry, and with just as deep of a voice.
“Sure, he’s not superman, but he might as well be.” I sipped on my third Mistletoe Martini, trying to dance as little as possible as a jazz pianist played Santa Baby in the corner. The music, the chatter, and the massive fifteen-foot Christmas tree that sat center of the lobby were all enriched by the soft, Manhattan snow that sauntered across our skyscraper view of Madison Avenue and 42nd Street.
“Well, he’s definitely a hero, or better yet, the man of my dreams.” Camilla oohed and awed, flipping the phone over, showing me the screen occasionally. On it, Nick carried a case of new tennis balls to an animal shelter, Marty barking by his side. “Did you see his vinyl collection? Oh, and he makes his own pizzas?”
“He fixes everything in the building, too. He’s good with his hands.”
“ Oh , I’m sure he is.” Camilla peered over the table-top candle, her large, black eyes caught in the flame. “And wait… he saw your dildo?”
“God, don’t remind me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, my cheeks hot from embarrassment and strong vodka.
“Relax, amiga. He’s obviously cool about it.”
“Ok, yeah, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s always catching me in the worst situations.”
“But he still comes over, doesn’t he?”
“He has to, he’s my super.”
“But nobody is making him drink your coffee. Coffee’s a date.”
“Coffee’s a courtesy. It’s hospitality.”
“This day and age, coffee is the precursor to dinner, which is also the precursor to moving in and splitting the rent. You’re practically twelve months away from getting engaged.” Camilla reached up, fixing my antler headband with the flick of its little jingle bells. I tried not to roll my eyes, the thought of ever marrying Nick, let alone being on a date with him felt so unreal.
I tugged on my black turtleneck, feeling antsy as I adjusted the length of my plaid skirt. Nick was clearly into models, which meant at least half the staff here was his type, but not me. Even Camilla, the only other Latina in the building, was different than me. She was taller, her hair flat and sleek, her breasts fuller, and her hips more trimmed. She was devastatingly gorgeous in her luscious black, floor-length gown, shimmering gold earrings, and thin see-through stilettos. She didn’t have to even resemble Christmas, because she lit up the entire room with her radiant smile. If only I could have an ounce of that confidence.
“He said he has particular taste.” I took another long sip of my Martini, catching Camilla’s attention.
“Yeah… particularly for a twenty-five-year-old Puerto Rican,” she laughed as if I were being stubborn and foolish.
“No.”
“Uh, yes .”
“He likes magazine hotties.”
“You are a magazine hottie.”
“Yeah, maybe for Highlights Magazine . I feel like a girl amongst women out here.”
“I see what you mean.” Camilla gave me some playful side-eye.
“So, you agree?”
“I do. But not for the reason you think. You’re gorgeous, trust me, and you don’t need to be some amazonian blonde to be desired. You need confidence! That’s what’s sexy, that’s what’s attractive.” Camilla tucked a strand of my hair back into my ponytail. “Honestly, I’d kill for these curls; I know Nick would, too.”
“You’ve had too much Jingle Juice,” I scoffed.
“It’s true! Your hair is to die for! Your lips are real, your smile is white, your skin is glowing like Rockefeller Center.”
“Ok, now I know you’re drunk.”
“Maybe, but so are you. And what you need is a Christmas angel to give you a little push.” Camilla swiped at my phone once more, double tapping not one, but three of Nick’s photos. The little red hearts popped on the screen, showing that I liked his posts.
I wasn’t even following his account.
“Camilla!” I screeched, snatching my phone out of her hands.
She cackled. “Don’t unlike them either. It’ll be more awkward if you do.”
“I can’t believe you.” I tossed back the last of my drink, stuffing my phone back into my purse.
“Believe it. And that’s not the only gift I’m giving you.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped box with a large red bow.
“Awe, you didn’t have to get me anything!”
“Well, it’s actually the last item for your countdown. I’ve been keeping my eye on your posts, and they’re a massive hit on instagram.”
“They’ve been a big hit for my personal life, too. As long as this one doesn’t get chewed up by Marty.”
“Actually, this one is meant to be shared… but no dogs for Christ’s sake. Maybe Nick can help you open it.”
“Ugh… I need another drink.” I slid my arms into my matching plaid blazer, fixing the gold hoops in my ears.
“Remember… it’s all about confidence. I know from experience. My ugliest moments are when I’m most insecure… it’s not me, it’s my fear.” Camilla gave me a quick hug. “Now, don’t forget. Finish up this last review, and I’ll promote you to associate editor. You’ll officially be on the payroll.”
We said our goodbyes one final time before I turned away, package in hand, and a pep talk that felt more like a cheer up, than an actual plan I could ever pull off.