At his big age, he ordered a lobster bisque despite having a shellfish allergy. Had I known, I would have stopped him. But over the months we conversed, he never mentioned it. I’m not a big seafood lover, so it hasn’t come up in conversation, but given that the allergy is so severe, he keeps an EpiPen in his glove compartment, you would think that’s something he should have mentioned.
Imagine the scene we caused as I’m running through a restaurant to get the valet to bring us the fucking EpiPen.
On top of nearly dying on my birthday, he got sick because he actually consumed the bisque and threw up on my feet. I was disgusted but still tried to make sure he was okay. Oncewe got him stable, the waitresses from the restaurant took me around back and gave me a bowl of water and towels to try to clean myself up. Honestly, I’m not that self-centered, so at the moment I genuinely did not care. I was thankful that nothing had happened to him because, had he not had the pen, things could have been a lot worse. He was so apologetic, and I knew that it was something beyond his physical control. But on the way back to the hotel with him groaning in the passenger seat, concern was quickly replaced with agitation, because damn.
It was only heightened when I had to walk through Walgreens to get him some Benadryl, smelling like stomach acid.
I spent the next hour of my birthday, sober, my appetite completely ruined, trying to get Corey to drink fluids and take meds. After I got him in bed for the night, I took a shower and then sat on the couch trying to figure out how the hell I could get out of this room and enjoy what was left of my night.
I grabbed my phone and went to my messages. I scrolled a bit, and then I came across a thread that I had missed.
Wood: “Happy Birthday, beautiful. Why haven’t I seen you today?”
I had a message attached to an Apple Pay from the man I’d like to call Wood- short for Sandalwood. He was fine. He was tall, dark-skinned, with a very athletic build, the brightest smile, and hooded eyes that made it feel like he was staring into my soul every time he spoke to me. He’s older than me, slightly less than ten years my senior. We met at an event, and he gave me a polite two-second hug. The entire night, his scent lingered on me. It made me clench my thighs and squirm all night; it smelled just that good.
He and I hadn’t gone past the point of exchanging a couple of messages back and forth and an occasional FaceTime, but tonight would be the night that I gave him an invitation that I don’t think he could refuse.
Me: You can see me tonight.
I wasn’t usually this forward. But right now, there was no need to beat around the bush. Corey had at least a few hours until he got up looking for me, and I didn’t have time to waste. Either he was going to make the time to see me, or he wasn’t.
Although he had texted me hours earlier, he responded immediately.
Wood: Let me know where to be, and I’m coming.
Me: Book a room at the St. Regis and I’ll be there.
Wood: See you soon.
I didn’t need to tell him I was already here. I didn’t want to travel to meet him or have him pick me up, so why not have him book a hotel where I was already staying?
I put down the phone, went into my bag, and brought out a dress I had just packed to lounge around in. It was perfect for the occasion. I went into the bathroom, took off my scarf, styled my hair, and got ready to leave.
Maybe forty-five minutes passed by before he texted me a room number. I waited another ten, grabbed my phone and keycard, and then headed toward the door.
Before I left the room, I glanced back at Corey. He was still sleeping peacefully when I pulled open the door and left without a word.
I walked to the elevator, with no remorse in sight for what I was about to do. Tomorrow morning, Corey taking me home would be the last time that we spoke anyway.
I went down to the sixth floor and then stepped off the elevator. As soon as I exited, I could smell the scent of a fine-ass man in the hallway, and I knew Wood had been here. I don’t know what he was wearing; I’ve never cared to ask, but it never failed to leave a trail. His nickname was well deserved.
I made it to the room and double-checked the number before I tapped lightly on the door. He pulled open the door, holding aglass of whiskey, and tucked his lip between his teeth. He looked even better out of business attire, wearing only a T-shirt and some loose-fitting pants. I could tell that we were both dressed for comfort.
The imprint of his dick spoke before he did, thick, long, and resting comfortably against his thigh. My eyes lingered on it for a second before I smirked and gave him my undivided attention.
“Hey…” I said lowly, just as he extended his hand for me to take and then gently pulled me into a hug.
“Happy birthday.” He said, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.
I took a deep inhale before I said, “Thank you,” and we parted ways.
I followed him deeper into the room, and we took a seat on the couch near the bed. I sat next to him with one leg crossed over the other and placed a hand on his knee as we talked. But the truth of the matter is, I wasn’t here for conversation. Phones are made for talking; hotel rooms at 10 p.m. aren’t.
He was giving me a spiel about how I should have let him take me out today when I straddled him.
“We could’ve….” His words trailed off as I threw my arms around his neck and caressed the nape of it.
“We could’ve what? I’m listening…” I teased, waiting for him to finish what he was saying.
