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and hurt and discovering the deceit of the partners we had thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives with.
"Maybe we'll both be lucky in life," I said. "Even if we fail at love."
"Let's hope," she said. "Whatever I end up doing, I'm going to give it the old college try."
"Me, too. Turning around a failing newspaper is probably even less likely than success in love. Obviously, we're both fools." I held up my beer and she held up her spritzer and we clinked bottles.
We drank.
I had a feeling I was going to really like this woman.
One drink led to another and another. Soon the two of us were more than slightly tipsy, dancing on the tiny dance floor and going wild, like we were teenagers. We sat back down and I slid in close beside her – enjoying the moment, feeling like I'd be happy to carry on with much more than dancing. She seemed to feel the same.
"So, if you're not into marriage and happily-ever-after, what about dating? Do you favor promiscuity or are you going full celibate cat lady?" I asked, giving her a grin.
She took a drink, her eyes amused. "I'm definitely not a cat lady. If I'm going to live the single woman's dream life in Manhattan, I'm going to have to get some experience. I was with Mr. Boinking-My-Sexretary ever since my father had selected him as the perfect husband for me. The two of them were conspiring to unite their empires."
"You're shitting me," I said, frowning at the thought that her father had actually picked her husband. "You went along with it?"
"I had no idea. He was several years older than me and really handsome, ambitious, and wealthy. I was young, dumb, and under my father's thumb. I thought he actually liked me for me."
"How did you find out about the whole arranged-marriage thing?"
"I walked out of the office and he chased after me, tried to convince me that it was all just a moment of weakness, that he had panicked because of the lifetime commitment but that he loved me and only me. You know – the usual sob story of a cheater caught cheating."
"But you didn't take him back."
"Bunni with an 'i', the sexretary, texted me that he was only marrying me because of my father. I broke it off at that point."
"Her name was actually Bunni with an 'i'?"
"Swear to God. Apparently, he got her a Playboy bunny logo tattooed on her fake left boob as a birthday gift."
"That sucks," I said, thinking it was wrong to marry a person for political connections.
"Yeah. So I decided to get a revenge tattoo. A lock and key tattoo over my heart. Even if he'll never see it, it means something to me."
"You got a tattoo over your heart?" I asked, needing to see it now that I knew it existed. My dick throbbed just a bit at the thought.
She pulled her dress over to the side, just enough to display a bit of cleavage and the tiny lock and key tattoo in navy blue.
"Cool," I said – and of course, I couldn't help but gawk at her cleavage, given the chance.
She adjusted her dress and then checked her cell. I took a sip of beer and tried to rein myself in while she read. When she was done, she glanced up at me.
"I hate to ask," she said and bit her bottom lip in a very sexy way, "but is there any way I stay at the apartment tonight? My landlord hasn't replied yet so there's no way I can get into the Airbnb."
"Of course," I said, wondering if she might like me to stay with her. "I know the boss won't mind.," I said with a laugh, now that she knew that the boss was me. "You can stay there until your landlord is able to get you the keys."
"Thanks," she said. "It'll probably be tomorrow. I'm sure she'll get the message and be willing to give me another key."
"No rush. Use it as long as you need." I leaned even closer. "There's more vodka in the apartment if you'd like another drink in a more private venue. My specialty is vodka and tonic with lime."
"That sounds wonderful," she said, a gleam in her eyes that sent a jolt of lust right to my dick, which jumped at the thought of her body. I couldn't help but imagine her naked and ready for me, that tattoo waiting to be inspected and licked, the cleavage nuzzled. "Shall we?"
I slid out of the booth and held out my hand, pleasantly surprised by this turn of events.
"If I'm going to live the life of a Manhattan single lady, I might as well start now," she said and took my hand. Together, we walked to the bar. I asked Lenny, the bartender, if I could have a couple of lime wedges. He laughed, tucked a few into a bar napkin, and gave them to me.
