My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon

 

 

KASSIDY

 

Together, we walk out of Café Zest in search of my home for the next five nights. Jarett insists on walking with me, committed to my safe arrival. Honestly, I’m grateful for the company, but my body aches, and I’m deteriorating quickly. Plus, Jarett needs my location for when he picks me up tonight, I guess.

It turns out I’m staying at the Central Inn, midway between Roman’s café and Jarett’s art gallery. Yeah, he owns a gallery and specializes in buying and selling work by local and international artists.

We walk into the hotel’s reception area, and the young woman behind the desk drools at the sight of Jarett. I give her my name and offer my card for payment, and still, she doesn’t acknowledge me.

Am I fucking invisible?

“Miss, my girlfriend here wants to check-in, please,” Jarett announces, a hint of irritation in his tone. I snap my head toward him, and he winks, taking my hand.

The woman shakes free of her trance and gets on with her job. “Of course, Mr. Evans. Right away.”

Mr. Evans? They know each other.

I check-in, and we step into the elevator.

“Dare I ask what that was about?”

Jarett shakes his head and sighs deeply. “People read too much.”

His response confuses the shit out of me.

“She practically drooled over you and called you Mr. Evans, like you’re royalty or something.” I chuckle nervously. “Oh my God, tell me you’re not royalty.”

Jarett frowns at me a moment before he opens his mouth to speak. Then he stops and says, “No, not royalty.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

We make it to my room, and I take my bag from Jarett without inviting him in. I thank him for his hospitality, and he pulls me forward, planting a kiss.

Not a peck-on-the-cheek-between-friends type of kiss.

No, he teases me with his soft lips on mine and leaves me wanting more.

“Pick you up at seven.”

I nod and promptly shut the door in his face.

Trust me, it sounds worse than it is.

I hope he doesn’t find it rude after he’s been so adorably sweet. The truth is the wall I’ve been on the verge of crashing into for the past hour has come plummeting down.

After a fulfilling lunch and a bottle of wine, a hot shower is calling my name.

 

 

JARETT

 

I stand in the empty corridor staring at the door to Kassidy’s room—the door she promptly closed in my face—and I grin. The woman has class, and she’s sassy too.

I like her.

Pulling out my phone, I do a quick Google search for Jarett Evans. When nothing new comes up, I pray it never does.

Happy with the turn of events for the day following a bad business meeting at the gallery this morning, I elect to take a casual walk to my office.

I’m not going to lie, I am pretty chuffed.

My feet walk in the general direction of the gallery while my head is stuck in the metaphorical clouds. The corners of my mouth pull upward of their own accord.

When was the last time I smiled like this?

Even the moody weather can’t ruin my afternoon. I wander mindlessly through the streets completely oblivious to my surroundings until my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Sophia’s smiling face lights up the display when I pull it from my jacket.

“Little sister, what must I do for you?” I answer, knowing full well she’s chasing details on the blonde bombshell I shared lunch with.

“Little brother, you dirty manwhore,” she jokes. “Kassidy is adorable. Are you sure you two only met today at the café?”

“Yes, Soph,” I groan out. “You were there when I nearly knocked her ass over tit, remember? That was our meet-cute.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Anything else I can do for you?” I roll my eyes as I continue my leisurely stroll toward the gallery.

“Was this your first date? You know, since…” her voice trails off, and my feet stop moving.

In an instant my mood changes. I hang my head and kick at the snow on the sidewalk with my boot. “It wasn’t a date, Sophia. I shouted a beautiful woman lunch after humiliating her in a crowded café.”

Snow starts to fall harder, and I retreat to the nearest shelter which is the overhang out in front of a woman’s clothing store. That’s when I see it.

The sign in the window reads, ‘Get the Kassidy Look.’ The mannequin wears a beanie with a matching scarf wrapped around its neck. The tag on both shows the Kassidy Lane logo.

Fuck the universe.

“Jarett, you there?” Sophia’s voice brings me into the present again.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. You were saying?”

I turn away from the shop window to concentrate on my sister’s incessant need for information.

“I said, is she coming for drinks with us tonight?”

I already told her we’ll be there.

“She is. I’m taking her to dinner first. We’ll meet you guys there at the normal time.” I pause to weigh the meaning of this, and Sophia laughs.

“So not a date,” she chides through the phone.

Again, I roll my eyes.

“Goodbye, Sophia!” I groan once more, a common response to my interfering older sister.

“Wait!” she yells. “I’m taking the mickey, brother. Date or no date, you shared lunch with a woman today. A gorgeous woman. I want to make sure you’re okay mentally and emotionally.”

I close my eyes and tilt my head upward, allowing the flow of mixed emotions to coarse through me. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a beautiful woman before, Soph.”

“I’m aware, but…” Her words haunt me, and neither of us wants to acknowledge it.

“There have been others, so stop overthinking this.” My patience with this call is withering away, and my words were growing sharp.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, bro.”

I give up.

“See you both tonight,” she adds and ends the call.

 

 

The gallery is my safe place where I can focus on the art, the beauty of the world, and allow all else to fall away. Sometimes I stand in front of my artwork and the pieces of others I commission for hours, alone, while imagining a different life dwelling on the beauty of the art.

Picturing life as it should’ve been.

Acknowledging the pain, knowing it was never as I believed it to be.

And it never will be.

Lindy, my receptionist of nine years, greets me from the front desk as I breeze past her toward my office—to the place I love, the room where I do my best work—both creatively and in business. “Good afternoon, sir,” she sing-songs and hurries over to me with a pile of messages.

“Why are you so damn happy?” I grumble.

“Your morning meeting may not have been as disastrous as you first assumed.” Her eyes twinkle as she palms the notes off to me and skips over to her desk.

I flick through the handwritten phone messages on my way upstairs. It appears the buyer I met with this morning has reconsidered and is willing to come to the party with my offer. This is a welcome distraction and puts a bounce in my step after my call with Sophia.

I lock myself inside my sanctuary to return the calls, set another few meetings for next week, and return the call to the dealer from this morning.

I end the conversation feeling pumped. I’ve been trying to secure this new business relationship for months, and the scales have finally tipped in my favor.

We should expect a brand-new shipment of first-class portraits to fill our walls right in time for next month’s gallery showing. These were the events used to pull in the most cash and cement new relationships with dealers and buyers.

I peer at the portrait on my wall and reminisce of a time I spent in the drawing-room with the stunning beauty in front of me. Elegantly displayed and semi-naked, I sketched her magnificence. It was the last time I did a live sketch.

It was the last time I created anything.

For the first time since the accident, my pulse quickens at the idea of standing before a blank canvas and pouring my soul into new work. It’s time to move forward and re-engage in my craft. It was once the thing I lived for, but subsequently, it died along with my greatest love.

My artistic ability is the one thing, the one love which will never be taken from me. The desire to create or not is completely in my control.

The chance meeting with Kassidy today ignited a spark that had dimmed so much, it had become non-existent. Sophia is right to call me a bullshitter. I haven’t entertained a woman for dinner or sexual gratification since my world fell apart. Nor was it on my agenda to ever do so again.

Until now.

I can’t ignore the natural flow of events.

The old Jarett is swooping in, the confidence and charm I once had—it’s still there—I had simply buried the fucker beneath the pain of loss and emotional torment.

I run my fingers around the edge of the frame holding the seductive portrait in place opposite my desk. I allow the memories to flow through my mind and try to ignore my pending date tonight, one I unconsciously agreed to with Kassidy.

Prompted by my meddling sister.

Soulful eyes glare at me from the canvas, and I imagine her lips turning upward into her signature smile.

At this moment, I sense her approval in moving on.

In moving forward.

For I have no other choice but to live the life she and I never could.