“Yes, I did. He wrote it on my hand after he kneeled on the fucking street to bite and tear my G-string off me.”
Lorena hums. “Fuck, that’s certainly one way to make sure you call him.”
“I know. He had this energy about him that was closed off and serious but still a little unhinged.”
“Unhinged as in?”
“Like he’s purposely trying to hold something back. Or force himself to behave. It was like he was at war with himself. I don’t know any other way to describe it. I mean, I saw his dick, piercings and all, and as well-endowed and ready as he was, or how badly I wanted him to fuck me, he was solely focused on me.”
“You have his number. Call. Him. Damnit. And if you don’t, I’ll call him for you. Men like that are a rare breed.”
“You’re telling me.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Me.
Lorena continues. “Listen, I have to get going but before I do, as a wise woman once said to me…”
As Lorena goes on, my phone vibrates against my cheek. It doesn’t take much for me to get distracted. Though, as I glance down at the name flashing on the caller ID, distracted is an understatement. I feel completely thrown off. Frozen.
“Ri, you there?”
I shake my head, trying to snap out of it, my throat suddenly feeling dry. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here,” I say, forwarding the call to voicemail.
“Okay, like I said, we need to get together for drinks this week, and ooh—” Her voice raises an octave or two in excitement. “—I almost forgot, this weekend is salsa night at Tino’s brother Dante’s bar, Hummingbirds. Remember it’s the bar you met me at the night of Tino’s James Beard Award viewing party? You need to come. That way you can finally meet everyone.”
In the time that Lorena and I have been friends, I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t met her friends or family.We met in college at NYU, and any time that we had off, summers included, I never stayed around the city. I always flew back home to Colorado to spend time with my grandma who had been battling cancer for years, unsure of how much time she’d have left.
“Sounds good,” I respond, actively ignoring yet another incoming call, forwarding it to voicemail. “I’ll definitely need a night out after all the work I have ahead of me.”
“At Luxe?” Lorena asks, confused.
“No, I’m on temporary suspension without pay.”
“Seriously? That guy was harassing you. That’s bullshit.”
“Yep. The current owner is the worst. But lucky me, I got a last-minute email from a law firm I applied to for temporary paralegal work. Turner & Vize.”
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“Turner & Vize,” Lorena repeats, “that’s the law firm my brother Tomás works at. He’s a Junior Partner there. Small world.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“How funny. Who knows, you might meet him there before salsa night.”
“It’s a big firm, their offices carry over fourteen floors, so that might not be as probable as you’re thinking.”
“Never say never. Either way, I’ll be finally adding you to the group chat this week, so be on the lookout.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call with Lorena and unease settles in the pit of my stomach as I forward yet another call to voicemail. I’m not in the mood to talk to him. I never am. But the more he calls, the more I’m afraid something bad might have happened, and that’s the only reason I’ll answer. But before I do, something possesses me to take the gray suit jacket I’ve kept on the chair near mybed and drape it over my shoulders in the hopes that it will give me some of that energy Mr. Armani had when he stood up for me. Something that I’ve never had a problem doing for myself, except when it pertains to the name flashing on my illuminated phone screen.
DO NOT ANSWER: S. DONOR.
