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There’s not much worse than standing around watching everyone else in a room toast to the future with someone they love while you whither in your lonely destitution.
A little dramatic? Probably. But my dismal business situation has me riding quite the emotional wave. Cowabunga, dude and all that.
Walt hands me my glass, and I take it gratefully. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I lift the bottom edge of my mask and slip the glass underneath to take a hearty gulp, and he does the same.
Lost for words now that I’ve forbidden myself from saying anything too sarcastic, I flounder in my awkwardness and fidget obsessively. A tug at the fabric on one strap of my dress, a smoothing hand across my stomach, and a tap of my toe on the marble floor later, the lights of the room finally flicker their absolution.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a disembodied voice says over the speakers of the room. “Make your way to the windows and find your companions. The ball will be dropping in one minute.”
I’m half expecting Walt to excuse himself to find his wife or girlfriend or someone else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds out a gallant arm. “Shall we, Beyoncé?”
Oh, Walt. We definitely shall.
With my hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, he guides me across the room and to the windows, even managing a spot for us right up front with an unobstructed view.
We face forward silently as a countdown begins from thirty.
Lights flash in Times Square below, and the crowd in the room gets restless. They chant the numbers exuberantly, but with each progressive number of their countdown, I retreat deeper into uncertainty.
Disquiet about why I’m here and what I’m doing with a guy I only know as Walt and insecurity about the big interview with Turner Properties.
What if I fail?
What if I put everything I have into this business of mine, and I walk away with nothing but years of stress and aging?
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I almost don’t notice when the crowd turns bloodthirsty for satisfaction and winds their way down from ten.
A roar of noise penetrates the windows from below, and still, I don’t flinch.
It isn’t until the touch of a warm, gentle hand slides across my back and puts pressure on me to turn that I realize Walt has rolled up the very bottom of his mask and is reaching for mine with the hand not at my back.
Seconds masquerade as millennia, and cheers take over the room. The transition of one year to the next is official, and Walt’s lips are on mine.
Slow and exploratory, he teases and tastes and builds energy in the bundle of butterflies at home in my stomach.
The kiss is…exquisite.
It’s new and unfamiliar, but satisfyingly right.
It’s everything I’d want out of a midnight kiss with a stranger and more.
There’s a buzz between us—a hum of electricity or energy or some other new age shit—and my body sways toward his naturally. His big hands move down my sides and over my hips until they’re gripping the silk material covering my ass, and a soft moan escapes my throat.
He feels so good. Tastes so good. Like mystery and excitement and promises of sex and sin.
I slide my hands to his broad shoulders, letting my fingers explore the firm and taut muscles of his upper body.
Time is nonexistent. The partygoers around us go poof. And the music coming from the speakers of the dance floor disappears entirely. This mind-blowing, deepening kiss commandeers all of my senses until the only thing I can hear is the excited rhythm of my heartbeat pounding inside my ears.
Our lips tease and explore and take all of my breath, so that when he finally pulls away, when the moment finally ends, when we finally come back down to earth, I don’t even have the air left to sigh.
All sorts of reckless possibilities run through my mind and pulse in my vagina as I work up the nerve to ask Walt back to my room. It’d be a night of wild chemistry if nothing else, and a good cleaning for these dusty pipes.
With his hands gently gripping my fingers, he leans back and looks down at me, and I can’t stop my gaze from fixating on his now visible mouth.
God, no wonder he’s such a fan-fucking-tastic kisser.
His lips are full and round and just…perfect.
Damn near entranced, my eyes follow the path of his tongue as it sneaks out and runs across his bottom lip, almost like he’s savoring the taste of our kiss.
It’s incredibly arousing. Even my vagina agrees. The horny little bitch is already throbbing and aching over the mere idea of spending the night with him.
“Hmmm…interesting…” he says on a near whisper, and I honestly get the vibe that it’s more for himself than for me.
But I can’t be sure.
