Sutton
“Please tell me you didn’t bring that hideous brown dress to wear to the wedding.”
No hello, no how are you—just straight to the point when I answered. It was one of the things I loved about Miles Hartley, except when his point was a critique of me.
I took a step forward in line. “It’s a beautiful dress.”
“It is. You should wear it to bingo when you go down to visit your grandmother in Florida.”
I rolled my eyes, but chuckled. “I hate you.”
“No, you love me. You hate when I’m right. Which is often, when it comes to your life. And because you love me so much, I’m currently in your room digging through boxes looking for the red dress you should’ve brought. I’ll bring it in my bag tomorrow. Also, why did you answer the phone? I thought I was going to leave you a message. Shouldn’t you be in the air by now?”
“Hang on a second.” I took another step and handed the gate agent my boarding pass.
She scanned it. “Have a good flight.”
“Thank you.” Once I entered the jet bridge, I lifted my phone and returned my attention to Miles on FaceTime. “Weren’t you just wearing blue glasses a minute ago?”
He shrugged. “These match your panties.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. My best friend had a collection of more than a hundred pairs of glasses, each more colorful than the last. He had a penchant for matching them to his outfits, but pairing them with my panties was a new one.
“I thought your flight took off at eight?” he said.
“It’s delayed an hour. And you better pack everything back up and seal the boxes when you’re done rummaging through my life. The moving company is coming tomorrow morning to bring me those.”
“Ooh. When did you get this red mesh bra? Does it have matching panties?”
“Can you please stop going through my underwear?”
“Seriously, this thing is hot as fuck. It might even make my gay ass a little hard if you put it on.”
“Wonderful. I can finally achieve my life’s goal.”
“If there aren’t matching panties, I’m going shopping and finding you some. Because this is what you’re wearing under the red dress at the wedding.”
“I’m not wearing the red dress.”
“Then how are you going to bang the best man?”
“I am not banging Brendan’s brother.”
Though I was definitely overdue for a good banging. Way, way overdue. And I hadn’t mentioned to Miles that I planned to remedy that problem sooner rather than later.
“Why not? His underbite doesn’t make him look as much like a bulldog as it did before the braces.”
I boarded the plane and found my row. “I have to go. I just got to my seat, and I need to put my luggage in the overhead bin and get situated.”
“All right. But promise me one thing.”
I sighed. “What?”
“You won’t have a couple of glasses of wine and respond to the jackrabbit’s text. You get emotional when you drink.”
“I am definitely not responding to Brendan.” I was stopped in the aisle with my luggage, and the woman behind me didn’t look happy. “Gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After I hung up and stowed my bags, I settled into my seat. The flight from LA to New York was five and a half hours. I’d been annoyed when my mother had called the airline pretending to be me and upgraded my ticket to first class, but the big, comfy seat that reclined to a bed now made this section seem more and more like a little slice of heaven. Especially when the flight attendant walked over carrying a tray.
“Would you like orange juice or champagne before we take off?”
“Oooh. I love mimosas. I’ll take both.”
She nodded. “Good choice.”
It had been a year since I’d flown home to New York, and I’d forgotten how big these planes were. Boarding went on for a full half hour. So when the flight attendant returned with the bottle of champagne and offered a refill, I happily nodded.
“Yes, please. It’ll help take the edge off.”
She smiled. “Nervous flier?”
“No. But I’m going home for a wedding I’m not looking forward to.”
“Is there someone you don’t want to see attending?”
I nodded. “The groom. He’s my ex.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. You must be a bigger person than me. Not sure I’d go to my ex’s wedding, if I was invited.”
“I don’t have too much of a choice. He’s marrying my stepsister.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh my.”
I sighed. “Tell me about it.”
She refilled my champagne flute to the brim and set the half-full bottle on my tray table. “It’s going to be a bit before we get to pull away from the gate. The runway is backed up since we missed our time slot. I’ll just leave this here. My name is Aileen. Buzz if you need anything else.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She leaned down to me. “My ex-boyfriend is a pilot. I got stuck on a flight with him last month, and I accidentally spilled the soda he ordered on his shirt when I was bringing him his dinner. It didn’t make it any less awkward, but it made me happy to look at the stain every time I had to see him after that. Maybe you should have a little accident at the wedding.”
“Who should I bump into, the bride or the groom?”
She smiled. “Both. And maybe order a Bloody Mary instead of a soda before you do.”
“I might just do that.”
We wound up sitting at the gate for another forty-five minutes, during which time I polished off my second glass of champagne and the remainder of what was left in the bottle. I was feeling no pain by the time we started to taxi toward the runway. Unfortunately, I was also feeling—damn Miles for always being right—emotional. So after I switched my cell to airplane mode, I pulled up Brendan’s text. It had come in a week ago, and I’d read it at least twenty times since then.
Brendan: Hey. Could we get together to talk when you get to town? Your mom said you’re coming in Thursday. Maybe we could meet for a drink at Buvette?
A few minutes later, a second text had come in.
Brendan: I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to Colette.
The latter had made my blood boil. I’d kicked around taking a screenshot of the text and sending it directly to my stepsister, but I wasn’t up for the drama that would inevitably ensue. I also didn’t want Colette to think I was jealous or petty. Even though petty was exactly what you should be when your boyfriend of three years marries your freaking stepsister. I shook my head and swiped the text closed, deciding to watch a movie to keep me distracted. At some point I must’ve dozed off, because when I woke up, the movie was no longer playing and there was only a little over an hour left in the flight. My new friend, Aileen, appeared at my side.
She smiled. “Good nap?”
“Definitely. Exactly what I needed.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m about to wheel around the ice cream cart, so you woke up at the perfect time. The only thing better than champagne and a nap is having a hot fudge sundae when you wake up. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Ice cream sounds great. And just some water, please.”
While I waited for the flight attendant to come back, I dug out my phone and connected to the free Wi-Fi so I could check email. As soon as the three little bars illuminated, a text popped up in preview.
Miles: Who’s better than me?
There was a paperclip at the bottom corner of the message, so I clicked to see the attachment. A photo of my best friend appeared on the screen—he was beaming, holding a pair of red mesh underwear that seemed to match my bra perfectly. I snorted. Only Miles.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I should’ve brought the red dress—though not to lure Brendan’s little brother. What I needed was a stranger, a quick fling with someone who was good in bed. Great in bed, even. My mind leaned into the idea. No-strings-attached, anonymous sex. No names, no numbers—hell, no faces would work at this point. It could be hot if he wore a mask. I just needed to have sex with six inches that didn’t require batteries. Tonight, I was planning to go to a bar and not come home alone. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t shared that tidbit with Miles. He’d been my best friend since elementary school and knew everything else about my life.
Aileen wheeled over the ice cream cart, interrupting my thoughts. I ordered vanilla with peanut butter sauce and chocolate chips, and it was freaking delicious. Devouring it, I decided maybe I shouldn’t object so much in the future when my mother wanted to throw her husband’s money around and spoil me.
There wasn’t enough time left on the flight for a second movie, so I opened the internet browser. Spooning the delicious sundae into my mouth, I checked my email, did the daily Wordle, and finally googled best bar in Manhattan to meet a man for a one-night stand. I was pretty surprised how many hits came back, and not just your typical Reddit chats either. There were articles in legit magazines and entire websites dedicated to the subject. Yelp had a Top 10 Best Hookup Bars in NYC list. Too bad they didn’t have Yelp ratings for the men who frequented them. I clicked into one website that had a map of all the different neighborhoods of Manhattan, and each of those had a clickable list of bars. I double tapped into Gramercy Park and scanned the six places listed. Bullets underneath outlined the reasons each place was good to meet someone. While I was reading the write-up of the last bar, an animated ad popped up showing a bird inside a cage. The door opened, and a bright red finch fluttered its wings and flew out. It was cute and colorful. Underneath read: NY Loves DARE—dating freedom.
Though I’d decided tonight was the night I was finally going to find a man, it had never crossed my mind to use a dating app. I’d joined a few after Brendan and I broke up, but something about the constant cut-and-paste introductions I’d received turned me off. Yet this one had me curious. So I clicked and read. DARE wasn’t your typical swipe-right-and-swipe-left-type deal where you judged people in two seconds based on their looks and a few sentences. Instead, you had to answer a ton of questions before your supposed matches were presented to you. Users didn’t even see photos until the matches had been selected. The site claimed to be ultra exclusive and charged a whopping $599 a year. Considering I was no longer employed, that price was too rich for my blood. So I clicked the X to close out of the site. But rather than shutting down, a banner flashed on the screen: Try free for five days.
Hmmm… What the heck? Why not? I had another hour to kill. It might be fun to see who a computer would pick as my perfect match. Lord knows I hadn’t had luck finding the guy on my own. So I clicked to redeem the offer and started entering some basic data. The first few questions were simple—age preference, type of looks and physique I was generally attracted to, religious beliefs, languages spoken, hobbies, rating the importance of salary and different values.
I was moving right along until the question about what I was looking for in a relationship gave me pause. There were three choices to select from—a long-term partner, an occasional companion, or no strings attached. I knew the answer, yet it took me a full five minutes to find the courage to check the last box. I’d never had a fling. As I continued, the questions became more personal—did I like a dominant lover in the bedroom, was I open to multiple partners at once, and did pain turn me on. Let’s be real, I had no idea what I truly liked after wasting all those years with Brendan. Yet I chewed my lip, considering my answers anyway. Multiple partners at once? Definitely not. I wanted someone with more experience than I had, so a lover who took control sounded good—yes to dominant partner. And who knows, a little spanking might be fun. The rest of the questionnaire took another fifteen minutes, and by the time I was done and hit submit, I had to admit, I was a little excited. An hourglass appeared on the screen with sand falling from one globe to another. Eventually a message flashed. We’ve found your match.
Match? Just one? Not matches? Why did I think I was going to be given a smorgasbord of men to choose from? I’d wasted almost half an hour for one measly guy who was probably going to be creepy? I sighed, but clicked anyway since curiosity had already gotten the best of me. I was certain I was about to be shown some troll based on a dumb computer algorithm deciding who was my Mr. Right.
But the man whose photo appeared was most definitely not a troll.
Wow…just wow. This had to be an AI photo, right? Real men weren’t this beautiful, certainly not any of the ones I’d run into lately. I lifted my cell to my nose for a closer inspection. Pictures generated with AI, or ones that were heavily retouched, tended to be too smooth or overly blurry. They were also usually missing shadows, or the background lighting was unnaturally even. But this guy wasn’t like that at all. I could see the texture of his skin, the sexy stubble of his five o’clock shadow. The ocean was also in the background, and the water reflected the sun. Not to mention, different shades of blue and turquoise revealed the changes in depths beneath. I was almost certain the photo wasn’t generated by AI.
Jesus, that means this guy is actually real?
I scanned down to his short bio, assuming that was where I would find his blatant flaw, some big smoking gun. His hobbies probably include stalking his exes and poking dead things with a stick.
Though what I found made my jaw fall open.
Hobbies: Snowboarding, scuba diving, and travel.
Those were the same three things I’d written. Astounded, I kept reading. Jagger L.—even his name was sexy—had a well-written bio. It was personable, yet funny. In the languages fluent section he’d written “sarcasm,” and in the looking for section he’d written “no strings attached, except the one you allow me to tie you up with.”
This guy seemed like exactly what I was looking for—even more than I’d thought possible. But it couldn’t be this easy, could it? I was still mulling around the potential pitfalls—he’s a catfisher and using someone else’s photos, he’s made up everything in his bio. Or what if his profile isn’t even real—the company made it up to get people to pay their exorbitant $599 fee. That was probably it. The people at DARE dangle a seemingly amazing guy in front of your face for five days, and it’s only after that when Mr. Perfect responds and says he’s not interested. Yeah, that’s probably it. My eyes slanted to the message button. I was just about to type a short note, see if the guy would even respond, when a chime sounded, alerting me of an incoming message from my new match.
***
God, why didn’t I bring the stupid red dress? I looked in the mirror one last time. I looked nice, but not Jagger L. nice. That man was a dozen echelons up from nice. Though I did look better than I had earlier. I’d blown out my long, chestnut hair and used a curling iron to style a few loose waves into it, swept eyeshadow across my lids that made my green eyes pop from my warm Italian skin, and lined my lips in a bold red. I had on a blue dress that wasn’t as dull as the brown one Miles had forbidden me to wear. This one hugged my curves nicely, but it was high necked and didn’t show any cleavage or anything. Though there wasn’t much I could do about that now. I was already going to be late to meet my perfect match by the time I grabbed a cab and got to the bar. So I took a deep breath, swiped my purse from the counter, and forced myself to walk out the door.
When I arrived, the Copa bar seemed pretty busy for a Thursday night, but what did I know? The last time I’d lived in this city, I wasn’t even legally allowed to drink. My heart raced as I scanned the room looking for my date, though part of me still doubted my perfect match would show. And if he did, I probably wouldn’t be able to find him since he likely looked nothing like the amazing photo in his profile. But then my eyes landed on a man seated at the corner of the bar, and my galloping heart came to an abrupt halt.
Holy. Freaking. Cow. He’s real. And the man might’ve been even better than his picture, if that were possible. My eyes met with Jagger’s, and his lips curved to a seductive smile. He stood, but it took a few beats for my frazzled brain to get my feet to move. I somehow expected the sparkle of his looks to dim as I moved closer, but the exact opposite happened. His broad shoulders and custom three-piece suit hit every one of my hot buttons.
My date waited for me to make my way over, all the while keeping that delicious smile on his face. It was slightly crooked, considerably mischievous, and told me more about him than his bio already had. This man had oodles of confidence. At the risk of sounding like a sappy romance novel, I felt the air shift as I stood across from him.
He extended his hand, exposing a chunky watch and silver cufflinks, and I stared at his face, unable to form words. Or…apparently function at all. After an extended period of time with his arm outstretched, and me obviously incapable of completing basic etiquette tasks, he leaned forward and smirked.
“I don’t bite.” His deep, raspy voice lowered, and he winked. “Unless you want me to.”
I blinked a few times, finally managing to place my hand in his. “Sorry. I…I…it’s been a long day.”
I’d come for a hook-up, even checked the box that said as much, but suddenly I was a shy, nervous wreck. A man this spectacular had a lot of experience and probably wanted a woman with equal skills—which I didn’t have.
While I stood there drooling and acting like a complete idiot, my date seemed completely at ease. Jagger pulled out the chair next to him, and I miraculously managed to plant my ass on it without falling off. It seemed like a monumental accomplishment in the moment.
The bartender walked over and dropped a coaster on the bar in front of me. “What can I get you?”
Alcohol! Oh! Yes, yes, I definitely needed alcohol! Wine wasn’t strong enough to calm these nerves. “I’ll take a vodka cranberry, please.”
Jagger put his hand out. “Would you give us a moment before taking her order?”
The bartender shrugged. “Sure thing.”
My face wrinkled in confusion as I watched him walk away.
Jagger’s sexy smile was now gone. He looked me in the eyes and spoke matter-of-factly. “No alcohol. Please.”
I felt my brows knit. “What?”
“I don’t want you to have any alcohol.”
My eyes shifted to the bar, zoning in on the half-full drink sitting in front of him. I motioned to it. “You have a drink? Why can’t I have one?”
“Because it’s my preference.”
“Your…preference?”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem?”
Not having a drink wasn’t a problem, but him telling me I couldn’t have one certainly was. I didn’t care how good-looking this guy was, no man was going to push me around. I folded my arms across my chest. “Do you have many other preferences I should be aware of?”
A ghost of a smile feathered onto his lips. “I do, actually.”
His lips were curved, but there wasn’t a trace of laughter in his tone.
“I’ll humor you,” I said. “Let’s hear them.”
“The most important of my rules is no alcohol or anything else to impair your judgment and blur the lines of consent. Other than that, I keep things simple. I demand punctuality—my time is too valuable to be kept waiting. And you’ll also need a safe word.”
“A…safe word?”
Jagger’s eyes swept over my face. Two lines formed between his brows. “Why does it seem like it’s the first time you’ve had rules like these?”
“Umm...because it is.”
He tilted his head, looking as confused as I felt. “You’re new to the community?”
“You mean the DARE dating app?”
“I mean the dominant-submissive community in general.”
My eyes bulged. “The what?”
He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, maintaining eye contact, but I could see the wheels in his head spinning. “You have no idea what type of site you joined, do you?”
“Isn’t it a dating site?”
“It is, for people with specific tastes.”
“What kind of tastes?”
“DARE stands for Dominants, Alphas, Roleplay, and Exhibitionism.”
“Dominants? Exhibitionism?” My jaw dropped open, and my hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Oh my God. I guess that site isn’t the best place for a virgin.”
