by Whitney G.
I walked in front of the floor-length mirror and made sure everything matched before hailing a cab to The Brunch 7.
By the time I made it through rush hour’s grueling gridlock traffic, I was three minutes late to meet Bennett. When I walked inside, I noticed he was sitting in a booth near the back.
Dressed in a light grey suit and bespoke tie, he looked exactly like the brown-eyed boyish accountant in his picture. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, though.
I didn’t feel any sparks or butterflies fluttering in my stomach. There was a small hint of attraction—the same feeling I’d felt this morning when the building’s postman dropped off our latest runway catalogues, but nothing more.
Taking my seat across from him, I smiled. “I’m sorry I’m late, Bennett.”
“No worries. I wanted to make sure I was here early to ensure a good impression,” he said. “You look beyond amazing in person. Even better than your photos.”
I waited to feel my body react to his compliment. Nothing.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“Let’s start this off simple to break the ice,” he said. “How was your day today?”
“It was pretty good, but hectic. Even though my boss gave me a huge compliment about my performance, I spent most of today—”
“I bet it wasn’t as hectic as my day.” He cut me off. “I work an insane schedule that you wouldn’t believe, one that most people can’t even dream of handling.”
Okay, so you’re one of those annoying, boastful guys… Welp! This date is getting cut super short.
“No one in this city works as hard as me,” he said. “I can guarantee you that. You’ll be amazed at how I’m even awake right now, once I walk you through everything that I do.”
A waitress set two glasses of water on the table, briefly pausing his spiel.
“What can I get for you two today?” she asked. “All treats are half off for happy hour.”
“We’ll have an order of cookies for the first course,” Bennett said. “Then we’ll have the double brownie and beignet tray with extra baked peanut stuffing.”
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” I said. “It’s not deadly, but it’s two levels right below that. I could’ve sworn that I told you this yesterday morning via our chat thread.”
“This place serves amazing peanuts, though.” He smiled. “A few bites won’t kill you.”
“They literally will.”
“Nah, trust me.” He looked at the waitress. “We’ll also have two coffees and a truffle. Light with the peanuts on that one, since she’s a little sensitive to them.”
I rolled my eyes and opened my purse, making sure I had my epi-pen.
“Like I was saying,” he said, leaning back in the booth. “My day has been really crazy, so I’m looking forward to bringing you back to my place tonight for some much-needed Netflix and chill time. Speaking of which, on your profile, you answered a few questions about certain fantasies and although I left mine blank, I wanted to discuss them with you.” He lowered his voice. “One of my favorite things to do in the bedroom is…”
Tuning him out, I tried my best to keep a straight face, as he continued to have a one-sided conversation.
Annoyed, I stared past him and looked out the window as snow fell over the streets. Just when Bennett took a breath, when I thought I could turn around and make an excuse to leave, he opened his mouth even wider and vomited more words.
I discreetly held my phone under the table. Opening my inbox, I sent Gillian a quick email.
Subject: PLEASE SAVE ME NOW.
HELP! Date from hell!
Call me the second you see this email, Gil. I’m on my umpteenth nightmare Tinder date and I can’t see this one through to the end.
Try to scream loud as hell into the phone, so I can act shocked and pretend like it’s a real emergency.
Thanks a million,
Meredith
“You know, I’m enjoying our conversation so much, that I feel like we may need to order a round of wine,” Bennett said, winking. “Although, I don’t think I’ll need to be too buzzed to lay down this pipe in the bedroom later.”
Right…
The waitress set down two cups of coffee and the first tray of treats. The non-death sentence ones. I immediately picked up a cookie and stuffed it into my mouth.
“How do you feel about performing a few anal tricks on me?” Bennett asked, mid-bite.
“Excuse me?”
“Like, with a dildo and a few other fun toys I have at home,” he said. “This is going to sound intense, but bear with me.”
I looked down at my phone. Please save me, Gillian.
I’d like for you to push each toy inside of me as deep as you can, and after you’re done, I want you to lick everything off and let me do the same to you.”
I picked up the mug and chugged the coffee, pushing down the vomit that nearly left my throat. I was getting the hell out of here within the next few minutes, emergency call from Gillian or not.
“Do you think you can handle doing that, Meredith?”
His question hung in the air, but he didn’t wait for a response. He launched into yet another one-sided conversation. I didn’t even pretend like I was listening anymore.
I turned my head to the window and watched more cars pass by. I started counting the number of red cars that rolled by and vowed to get up and leave once I reached the number eight.
As I was getting to lucky number seven, a sleek, midnight-colored sports car pulled next to the curb, and the driver’s side door swung open.
A man dressed in a black trench coat stepped out, holding his phone up to his ear. His eyes met mine and his full lips parted, the recognition immediate.
The Devil…
The butterflies in my stomach took flight, and my nipples hardened under my blouse. My mind raced a mile a minute, stunned that this man was actually real. That he’d actually shown up.
Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he said a few more words into his phone and ended the call, tucking it into his pocket. He stared at me for several seconds, looking as if he wanted to fuck me on the spot. Like he was tempted enough to crash through this café’s glass window and bend me over the booth right now.
His lips curved into a smirk, and he looked me over one last time before walking to the entry doors.
I watched him as he slowly strolled over to the counter, as every waitress froze and blushed at the sight of him.
His lips were moving and he was pointing up at the menu board, but they remained standing still, staring at him.
As if he could tell that he had them under his spell, he smiled and revealed a set of pearly whites—pulling them in a bit deeper.
“So, I’ll bend you over the desk and spank you a few times.” Bennett’s annoying words interrupted my thoughts, but I kept my eyes on The Devil as he started walking toward us. “After that, we can probably trade places and I’ll want you to do it even harder to me.”
“Excuse me,” The Devil said, his deep voice cutting off Bennett’s ongoing ramble once and for all. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but—” He paused, looking between us. “Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m not over the woman you’re currently talking to, and she just messaged me to say that she’s still not over me. You’re sitting here wasting your damn time.”
“What?” His face reddened and he glared at me. “You said via the chat that you were ‘beyond single’ and down to fuck after one night! You said you wanted me to fuck you so hard, that you passed out!”
My cheeks reddened. The rest of the café became a lot quieter, and the other patrons softly whispered and stared.
“So much for that, huh?” Bennett scoffed as he stood to his feet. “I can’t believe you were lying to me the entire time, that you got my hopes up. I was excited about fucking you tonight.” He wrapped a scarf around his neck and looked me right in my eyes. “Pay for your own cookies, bitch.”
He walked away, and I slumped down in
my seat—absolutely mortified.
The Devil’s lips curved into a smile as he sat across from me. He pulled off his dark leather gloves, revealing a series of black tattoos that were inked on all of his knuckles. Within the intricately drawn spider’s web were four small skulls, and the most valuable chess piece—the queen. The tattoo was the same on both of his hands, and upon a second look, I noticed faint flames burning between a few gaps in the web.
“I um…” I felt my cheeks burning as he stared at me. “I’m not sure what to say right now.”
“I think, ‘Thank you for saving me’ will suffice.”
“What exactly do you think you saved me from?”
“A terribly boring date, for one. For two, I saved you from wasting more of your time on someone you clearly aren’t interested in.”
“I was definitely interested in him.”
“If you were, you wouldn’t have been staring at me,” he said. “And you damn sure wouldn’t have invited me to come.”
“I thought you were a fake sock-puppet.” I couldn’t stop staring at this man if I tried. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up and be real.”
“You have a very odd way of saying, thank you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For the record, all of that stuff he was saying about me being single and down to fuck after a night weren’t really true. They’re um—”
“The exact words that are written on your profile.” He smirked and lifted his hand, signaling for the waitress. “Those are the tamest ones, though. If I were him, I would have flipped any of the other ones before saying them aloud. Something like, ‘I want to devour your pussy until you come on my face,’ or ‘I want to bury my cock so deep and hard inside of you, that no other man will ever compare.”
“Those lines aren’t on my profile.”
“If you’d ever fucked me, they would be.”
I crossed my legs and tried not to react to that.
“Yes?” The waitress approached our table, her cheeks still red. “What can I get for you this evening?”
“A fresh cup of coffee and a brownie. No peanuts, please.” He pulled a few hundred dollar bills from his pocket and held them out for her. “I also need to pay for whatever food was ordered before. Keep the change.”
She nodded and walked to the kitchen.
He untied the scarf and I noticed another tattoo inked low on his neck. This one featured a raven and the king chess piece, twisted in a smaller and far more intricate web.
What do those tiny letters under the web say?
“I bet it’s hard to get a corporate job with all those tattoos,” I said, admiring the work. “Dare I ask what you do for a living?”
He smiled, and I was immediately wet. He didn’t answer my question, though. He just sat back as the waitress served his coffee.
She took a little too long to set it down on a plate, unnecessarily asking if it was hot enough before leaving us alone.
“They really are stunning tattoos,” I said, giving up on trying to read the tiny letters. “I don’t get to see too many like that on the people I know.” I paused. “They act like they’re too good for them…Do you have any more?”
“Several more.” He brought the coffee to his lips and took a long sip. “Do you have any?”
“A few. They’re hidden, though.”
“What was the point in getting them, if you were going to hide them?”
“I guess I like keeping them hidden because it’s like having something for myself. Something other people will never know.”
“Well, there’s something I’d like to know,” he said. “At what point in all your conversations with other men online did you say, ‘I’m down to fuck, let’s set up the date?’ Since I was flagged for being a fake account and only received left swipes from you, I’m truly curious.”
“I say that after determining that they’re worthy of being trusted,” I said. “I ask what kind of work they do, their real name, what they like to do on weekends.”
“I’m in the entertainment business and I own a lot of companies in this city,” he said. “My name is Michael Anderson, and I like to play chess. I also like to fuck.”
“Is that last line supposed to turn me on?”
“No,” he said. “Me staring at you from outside the window already did that. Did it not?”
I didn’t answer that. I’d never been this turned on at first sight with a stranger before. Never felt compelled to say, “You know what? Let’s just go back to my place right now and do away with this conversation.” This man could literally sit there and force me to concoct fantasies all day without even trying.
“What type of work do you do?” he asked. “Assuming that the whole ‘work in a coffee shop’ via your profile is a lie.”
“I work at Vogue,” I said. “I’m the first assistant to the editor-in-chief. I do that, and on the side, I occasionally—” I paused, catching myself before I foolishly let down my guard. I wasn’t sure why I felt so comfortable around him, why I felt like I could let him in and not worry about any judgment.
“And you occasionally do what?”
“Design runway clothes,” I said. “I do that for some of the local shows.”
“I see.” He looked as if he knew that I was lying. “Well, that’s quite impressive. What do you like to do on weekends?”
“On a perfect day, when my boss lets me off and doesn’t make me run random errands…” I had to pause and think about it. “I like to slip into other people’s lives for hours at a time, live like they do, and get to know what’s under their skin.”
“Come again?” He raised his eyebrow.
“Read.” I laughed. “I like to sit on my bay window and read about other people’s lives.”
“Hmmm.” He looked into my eyes and I saw a hint of something in his green irises that I often saw in mine.
Pain.
“What type of books do you like?” he asked.
“All kinds. Right now, I’m reading memoir collections and taking my time—soaking in all the rhythms, and underlining things like I’m in school again. Things like, ‘I began to cherish the loneliness of New York, the sense that at any given time no one needed to know where I was or what I was doing’.”
“The Goodbye to All That essay by Joan Didion,” he said, downing the rest of his coffee. “I enjoy her work as well. Anything else in particular you want to show off about your reading?”
I swallowed, completely stunned that he knew exactly where that one line came from. My ovaries had been burning before, but now they were on the verge of exploding. A ‘sexy as fuck guy’ was one thing, a ‘sexy as fuck guy who was well-read’ was another.
Tapping my fingers on the table, I tried to think of the most obscure piece I’d recently read. “I reread Such, Such Were the Joys by George Orwell every year at least once.”
“He’s the only author I know who can pen an entire story about bedwetting.” He smiled. “Not sure why you would enjoy rereading that. Is that some type of kink you’re into?”
“So, you’re well-read,” I said, rolling my eyes at his last question. “Did you major in English?”
“Do I look like a goddamn English major to you?”
“Real readers never judge books by their covers.”
He smiled wider than he had all evening. “I studied English for three years before I realized it was for the fucking birds.” He leaned forward. “Is this the part where you tell me that we can finally stop with this small talk and go straight to the sex? Or do we need to talk more?”
“I can’t remember.” I blushed and started putting on my coat. I needed to leave before I invited this stranger to my condo and fucked him without another word. I felt way too comfortable around him for some strange reason, and I needed to put a little distance between us before committing to the inevitable. “I um—I have to go right now.”
“Why is that?”
“I just remembered something,” I said, standing to my f
eet. “It was nice to meet you, Michael.”
I extended my hand and he clasped it, instantly setting every nerve in my body on fire, making me want to change my mind about inviting him home with me.
Letting his hand go, I grabbed my purse and stole one last, long look at him before rushing outside. I made my way to the closest corner and hailed a cab.
Within seconds, one pulled over and I moved onto the backseat.
“Where to, Miss?” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
