by Vi Keeland
Bianca: Okay. Don’t forget my carving—I’m looking forward to our exchange.
“To Dumbo, Sam.” I climbed into the backseat.
“Brooklyn? Sure thing, Mr. Truitt. Where are we heading?”
I grumbled. “Anchorage Place. The Brooklyn Flea.”
My secretary had printed out a map, but it wasn’t doing much good once we arrived. There had to be at least a hundred tents set up as I wandered around trying to find booth G45. When I’d asked Josephine to locate a shop that sold small wood carved crafts—such as animals, I was certain she thought she was witnessing the first signs of my nervous breakdown. I was starting to think she was onto something.
The Brooklyn flea market was apparently home to a number of handmade and unique crafters—one of which was a gentleman who also sold his wooden carvings on a website, Jelani’s Kenyan Krafts. Just my luck, Jelani also sold his wares at the flea market, which happened to be open today instead of just Sunday this week, since it was the Dumbo Heritage Festival.
Eyeing a long table at the end of an aisle I’d just turned down, I was relieved to see a tall, black-skinned man wearing a colorful African hat and holding a carved wooden cane. As I came upon him, I saw that his table was filled with small, hand-carved animals. Mentally, I made a note to give Josephine a raise when I returned on Monday.
I perused the selection of carvings—admiring the beautiful craftsmanship. A week ago, I would have passed by and not taken the time to appreciate the work that had gone into these pieces—the skill and patience that they represented. But now, I was impressed by Jelani’s work.
“These are beautiful.”
“Thank you. Are you looking for a gift?”
“I am. For a woman.”
“Ah.” Jelani nodded like he understood. That makes one of us. He held up a small walrus. “Perhaps you can chose one based upon the special lady’s spirit animal. The walrus is the keeper of secrets.” He set it back down on the table and picked up another one. It was a billy goat—with two horns at the top of its head that curled back and then rounded back to the front. “The billy goat animal totem’s lifestyle is about power. It’s independent, strong and intelligent. They are curious, yet picky.”
“I’ll take the goat.”
Jelani smiled. He rang me up and slipped my purchase into a small brown bag. Handing it to me he said, “Watch out for the billy goats—their horns are strong enough to impale you if you cross them.”
Great. Just fucking great.
Caroline was not a happy camper that I’d cancelled our date to the banquet. I’d told her I wasn’t feeling well, probably the first time I’d ever used the sick card in my life. But being here with Bianca was worth it.
She was wearing a fitted, brown dress that exposed one shoulder. The color brought out the caramel in her eyes and complemented her raven-colored hair. She was a dark beauty.
Of course, while Dex knew the answer from earlier conversations, Jay had to ask, “What nationality are you?”
“One-hundred percent Greek. You?”
“My mother is Italian and French. My father is English.”
It was difficult not to stare at her from across the table. I couldn’t even concentrate on the menu, which featured a bunch of stuff I didn’t recognize anyway.
I’d picked Bianca up in a car I’d rented just for Jay. I figured him for a Jeep kind of guy. I had to really stop and think about what to wear, too. Dex would have probably worn a custom-tailored Armani dress shirt. Jay was more casual. I’d settled on a basic black Polo and dark jeans.
Looking around the table, I said, “I think they forgot to give us silverware.”
“No. You eat Ethiopian food with your hands.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“You’ve never had it before?”
“Never.”
“Well, I love it, only had it a couple of times. I love trying new things.”
“I love how adventurous you seem to be.”
“When it comes to some things, yes.” She smiled.
“I can’t wait to find out more about those things, Georgy Girl.” I locked my feet around hers under the table. “I’ll let you order for us, since you know this food. What were you thinking of?”
“Wot.”
“What are we eating?” I clarified.
“Not what. Wot. That’s the answer for what we’re getting. Wot. It’s a mixture of meat, sauce and spices, like an aromatic stew. And there’s this bread called injera that you use to scoop the food up with. You’ll love it. You like spicy food?”
“I do.”
After we ordered, I got antsy to be closer to her. So, I moved to the other side of the table.
Her tone was playful. “What are you doing?”
“I’d prefer to sit next to you. Is that okay?”
“Yes. It’s more than okay.”
When I placed my hand around her wrist, she looked down at my Rolex.
Her eyes widened. “That’s a ten-thousand dollar watch. Does your bike messenger service do that well?”
It was twenty–thousand, actually.
Shit.
“We have good months. I reward myself sometimes.”
“Nothing wrong with that. People who don’t live in excess can really splurge and appreciate nice things once in a while.”
Right.
She continued, “Speaking of nice things…I didn’t see that you brought anything that you whittled for me.”
“Don’t worry. It’s in the glove compartment of my car. I didn’t want to press my luck in presenting it to you right off the bat.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing what you made.”
I rubbed my thumb along her hand. “I’m looking forward to what comes after.”
Our eyes locked. God, she was beautiful, and it took everything in me not to lean in and taste those plump lips.
The waitress came and interrupted our moment, placing a large oval dish in the middle of the table. It was an array of brown and orange-looking sauces with meats and vegetables. Pieces of thin bread were rolled up around the edges of the plate.
“You’re gonna have to show me how to eat this.”
“Well, we basically use the bread to scoop it up. I’ve read that it’s customary in the Ethiopian culture to feed each other, actually.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You gonna feed me?”
“If you want.”
I liked the idea of this.
Feed me now.
I’ll eat you later.
“I would love nothing more.”
She unraveled the bread with her delicate fingers before scooping out some of the mixture. She then rolled it and gently brought it into my mouth. I made sure to touch my tongue against her hand as she did it.
She fed me repeatedly, and I eagerly awaited each and every bite. It was sensual and intimate, and there wasn’t anything else in the world I would rather have been doing.
“Your turn to feed me,” she said.
As I attempted to repeat Bianca’s perfect feeding process, I managed to get some of the spicy sauce into the small wounds on my fingers.
“Ouch,” I groaned.
“Are you okay?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. “Yeah. I have a couple of cuts on my hand. The spices sting. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I’m sorry. How did you cut yourself?”
Well, this was one opportunity to actually tell the truth.
“Whittling.”
“I didn’t realize it was that dangerous.”
“Yeah. It’s serious business.”
I tried again, scooping up some of the wot into the bread and then rolling it. When I placed it into her mouth, I let my fingers linger over her lower lip as she chewed.
“Mmm,” she said. “This is so good, right?”
“So, so good,” I muttered, watching the movement of her lips and yearning to lick the remnants of sauce off of them. “What other cultures don’t use forks?�
�
“I don’t know of any offhand. Why?”
“Because I’m thinking this could be like our thing.”
“Yeah? We already have a thing? So soon?”
“Why not?”
The next time I fed her, I did a sloppy job. Some of the food spilled onto her chin.
“This may not be your forte, Jay Reed.”
I couldn’t help myself when I said, “Cleaning it up is.” I leaned in and licked it slowly off her chin. When she closed her eyes and let out a little sigh, I took that as a sign that she wanted more.
Fuck the goat.
I realized that it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I was supposed to wait to get my whittling prize, but I just couldn’t help it. Placing my mouth over hers, I full-on kissed her.
My hand was wrapped around the back of her neck as she moaned into my mouth while I devoured her harder, flicking my tongue around the inside of her mouth, desperate to taste nothing anymore but her.
When a waiter came by to pour water into our glasses, she pulled back. Her face was flush, and she seemed embarrassed. I, on the other hand, couldn’t have given a shit who’d witnessed our PDA.
Rock hard and totally fucked, I was in no way prepared to lose this girl anytime soon. One thing was undeniable: the sexual chemistry between Jay and Bianca was off the charts. And I wasn’t ready to let Dex ruin it just yet until I had a better feel for what her reaction might be if and when I told her the truth. This time spent with her was possibly all I would ever have. Jay needed to exist just a little while longer.
She cleared her throat and said, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I, but you’re making me a little crazy, Bianca.”
It dawned on me that I hadn’t been making much of an effort to get to know her better tonight, hadn’t asked any personal questions throughout dinner. That was partly because I was ill-prepared to talk about myself as Jay. Dex had spent so much time getting to know her intimately that Jay apparently felt he knew everything he needed to.
It would have seemed like I was uninterested if I didn’t pry into her personal life at least a little bit. So, I spent the next several minutes asking her about her childhood, her last relationship, her career—things I already knew.
I did my best to answer the questions she threw at me, but the more we talked, the more I was feeling extremely guilty for letting this charade go on.
Bianca had a hungry look in her eyes. She was most definitely attracted to me, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be needing many wooden sculptures to get into her pants. That was messed up. Dex was pissed at Jay for even thinking about fucking her. And Jay was annoyed at Dex for judging him for thoughts that came naturally. Perhaps, Dex and Jay should have both called ahead to secure some space at the insane asylum.
From the food to the kissing, dinner was phenomenal.
Once we returned to the Jeep, she turned to me and smiled. “It’s time. I want my present now.”
“I guess I did things a little ass backwards tonight, huh?” Reaching into the glove compartment, I actually felt nervous about it. Handing the wooden figurine to her, I said, “This…is for you.”
Bianca covered her mouth. “Oh, my God! Is this a goat?”
“Yep, a billy goat.”
She marveled at it. “Look at all of the detail. I can’t believe you did this.”
Neither could I.
“Look at the horns!” She laughed.
“Well, I’m a horny kind of guy.”
She rolled her eyes.
I winked. “You like it?”
“Yes! I would really love to see you in action at some point. Watch you whittle.”
Ugh.
“Yeah. Maybe. It’s something I kind of do by myself to relieve stress. I’ve never done it in front of an audience before. I’ll have to work up to that.”
“Well, clearly, based on the state of your fingers, it’s not easy.”
“Yes. Harder than you think.”
“That makes what you carved for me even more special. Thank you.”
Guilt was suddenly consuming me. “You’re welcome, Bianca.”
I stared out the window for a bit, trying to snap myself out of the shitty feeling. “Where would you like to go next?”
“I have to be home by ten forty-five, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I have some work I have to do.”
“Work?”
“It’s actually my ongoing interview with Dexter Truitt. It’s via online chat.”
I sucked in my jaw. “Mister Moneybags?”
“Yeah. Rather than one sit-down interview, he’s scheduled me in during the evenings. Eleven each night, Monday through Friday. I guess that time works best for him.”
“So, you have to bend over backwards to accommodate his schedule?”
Two things were wrong with that question. One: I was making Dex look bad. Two: I was getting hard thinking about her bending over backwards with her legs open for Dex. Again…fucked up.
“Actually, it’s worked out well to have a set time at night. His daytime schedule is too full. It won’t be forever. My deadline is coming up at the end of the month.”
Funny you should say that. So is mine.
“Okay, well, we have at least an hour before I have to drop you home. What would you like to do?”
“Honestly? I would love to see where you live, if it’s not too far from me in SoHo. Maybe have a cup of coffee.”
“Really?”
“I hope asking to go to your apartment doesn’t sound too presumptuous.”
“No. Not at all.”
The reality of how far I’d taken this Jay lie really hit me in the moment. Knowing that my alter-ego was going to need a place to take Bianca to, I had rented a furnished apartment through an agency on a month-to-month agreement. How had I gotten myself here? If what I’d done ever came out, it was going to sound dirty—like I’d rented a fuck pad somewhere. When the truth of the matter was, I was inexplicably crazy about this woman and kept digging myself deeper in an attempt to buy more time with her. The entire thing made no sense to me, how would I ever get her to understand that down deep I’d done all this with the best of intentions.
She smiled at me with those big brown eyes, and somehow I justified my actions…again. “What part of the city do you live in?”
I had to think. Where did I live? I hadn’t had a chance to visit the place yet, even though Josephine had gotten me the key. This was going to be a risk, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. I checked my phone, pretending to look at the time and instead discreetly checked my email for the address of my “house.”
“I live in NoHo.”
“That’s perfect, then.” She grinned.
Yeah. Perfect.
An old man who apparently lived next to me gave us the evil eye as we stood in front of my door. Then, he disappeared into his own apartment.
“You don’t normally say hello to your neighbors?”
Not when they don’t know who the fuck I am, no.
“That guy doesn’t like me very much. He’s always complaining when I play music.”
Upon opening the door and getting a look at what we were stepping into, I was ready to kill someone.
This looked nothing like the furnished apartment I saw online. The décor was tacky and ostentatious with lots of white, purple, and gold accents. I was completely speechless. How the hell was I going to explain this one?
Things took an even weirder turn when I spotted a humungous portrait of Elvis hanging on the wall. And, in the other corner was a life-size statue of Liza Minnelli.
Bianca’s mouth was hanging open. “This is…”
“My aunt’s place,” I quickly said. “She…died. And left me the apartment. I haven’t had the heart to change her signature style.”
“That’s so sweet of you. How long ago did she pass away?”
“About a year now. Eventually, I’ll redecorate, but it
just seems too soon.”
She rubbed my shoulder. “I can understand that.”
God, I was getting so fucking sick of this. I just wanted to take her into my arms and tell her everything. Why couldn’t I?
She basically answered my question when she suddenly gripped the material of my shirt and pulled me into a kiss.
That was why.
I was going to lose this.
Nope. I wasn’t ready to tell her anything, because there was a very good chance I would never get to feel this again. She didn’t like liars, and you, Dexter Truitt…Jay Reed…whoever you are…are a liar.
A coldness replaced the warmth of her body as she stepped away. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s…actually…”
Where the fuck was it?
“Let me just check and make sure it’s presentable. I might have left some laundry on the floor this morning, not expecting you to come back here. Be right back.”
My heart was pounding as I ventured down the hall, opening each door until I found the bathroom.
Thank fuck I checked it. There was a huge stack of porn magazines next to the toilet. Without thinking it through, I opened the bathroom window and threw them out, praying they didn’t hit anyone on the head on the street below. Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead at the mere thought of having to explain that one to her.
“Everything’s decent,” I said, returning to the living room. “Last door straight ahead down the hall.”
With every second that she was in the bathroom, I became more and more paranoid about being in this place, about what else she might find. I remembered she mentioned coffee. Considering the cupboards were likely empty, I made a decision to get us the hell out of here. We’d passed a Starbucks around the corner on the way in. I’d suggest we go there.
When she emerged, I said, “I just remembered I’m all out of coffee. How about we head out for some before I have to take you home?”
“Okay…that would be nice. By the way, why does it smell like mothballs in this place?”
That’s a great question, Bianca George.
“I had to use them. Major moth problem.”
I fucking hated this. I would have wanted nothing more than to spend time with her in my real apartment. The next time I ever brought her back to this place, I would make sure it was inspected from top to bottom, fumigated, and stocked full of her favorite things.
