My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon
KASSIDY
“I met a guy. He’s sexy as fuck, successful, and set on showing me around the city.” I walk around the room getting ready for the day while speaking with Miah on FaceTime. “Oh, and he’s a billionaire, but who cares, he is adorably sweet and swoon-worthy as hell.”
“Meaning you fucked a stranger last night, he was so fucking hot in bed, and you want a round two.” She laughs at her cleverness in assessing the situation.
“Yes and no. The sex was off the charts, but…” I scramble into my skinny jeans and layer the top with a thick woolen sweater and scarf.
“Wait, he’s a billionaire? What’s his name, I’ll Google him?”
“Don’t you dare,” I practically scream at her.
“Killjoy.” She huffs. “What’s with the but?”
“He’s a great guy, the kind of guy you’dtake-home-to-your-parents great. The I-feel-like-I’ve- known-you-forever type.”
Miah continues to nod at me with no regard for my dire situation.
“Help a girl out, would ya? You know me, I prefer cock over chatter and his name? Who the fuck cares?”
Miah roars with laughter. “Yes, girl. So, you.”
“Well, this is not that.”
“Oh? But you’re leaving in a few days.” She sighs sadly.
“Exactly. I’m open to the company and hot sex for the next few days, and I’ll fly home, no regrets.” The words flow from my mouth but fail to connect where they should.
“Oookay. You keep telling yourself that.” The bitch rolls her eyes at me.
Who am I kidding? Not myself and not her, either.
Ending the call, I send a quick text to my mother.
Me: London is great. Love you.
On my way to the gallery, I stop to enjoy a big breakfast of bacon with a pancake stack for one and the best beet juice I’ve ever tasted. For the remainder of the short walk, I order the largest coffee available with a few extra shots.
Now I stand outside the gallery thinking of the day to come until the door opens, and Jarett ushers me inside. “I wasn’t sure how long you were going to stand there, but I was beginning to feel uncomfortable watching you,” he jokes.
At the reception desk, he introduces me to Lindy and takes my coat. “Thank you.”
I scan the area. “You have a coffee shop in here?” I observe, raising my cup.
Once we tour the upper exhibition level and return to the smaller public galleries near the entrance, I stop in front of a sculpture of a Greek god. Beyond the statue are two intimate gallery rooms, much smaller than the others. I start to veer toward them when Jarett subtly urges me in the opposite direction.
He shares the history of the prints lining the walls, and the expanse of artwork is exceptional. Being a modern gallery, it’s less about history and culture than aesthetically appealing artistic greatness.
Making no attempt to take me into the room on the left of the Greek god, curiosity gets the better of me. “Is there a reason we’re skipping this exhibit?” I ask, pointing to the one area we have not yet toured.
His gaze bounces between me and the entry before giving in. “Sure, why not?” I follow behind him this time as he moves through the gallery at a faster pace. That’s when I see the sign at the end of the viewing room. “Jarett Evans’ Personal Collection.”
“Wait, what?” My legs abruptly stop moving. I eyeball Jarett, “How did I not… artist and billionaire… you’re a man full of secrets, aren’t you? “Jarett slides his hands inside his pockets and lowers his head.
“Creating art isn’t a huge part of my life anymore.”
Only twelve pieces line the walls, but they vary from street art, boudoir portraits, and abstract prints. “Wow, this woman is phenomenal. Her beauty is outstanding, and you capture it perfectly. You have a few sketches of her. Is she a model you work with regularly?”
Jarett pauses, avoiding eye contact with me or the portrait I’m referring to. Instead, he turns to the opposite wall filled with large abstract paintings.
“As a digital designer, I’m sure you can appreciate abstract art for the color sequence, depth, and tones. Color speaks a lot to the personality and feelings, like a calling card, I guess. You’d be familiar with this from your marketing experience, yeah?”
We continue to talk about the abstract pieces, but it bugs me he avoided the question about the model. If she is more than a model to him, what will it matter?
I remind myself it’s five nights. Lack of personal information isn’t a deal-breaker.
Besides, the less personal we are, the better.
The remainder of the day is action-packed. We explore all the main attractions Central London has to offer. We laugh, roam the streets hand in hand, and take ridiculous selfies like a couple in love. I learn so much about the English culture and the history of this beautiful city.
Jarett is the best tour guide.
And true to his word, I saved money on all the entry fees. I guess it pays to be a someone, even if you don’t want to be. We visit Westminster Abbey, photograph the River Thames and surrounding historical sites from a bird’s-eye view on the London Eye, walk the London Tower, and inspect the castles.
We picnic in the park, feed the squirrels, marvel at the swans on the lake, and attend the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace after a group tour inside.
“You look knackered, sweetheart.”
“Aren’t you? I’m royally fucked.”
We both crack up as a woman from a tourist booth approaches us with tickets for a three-course dinner and burlesque show package deal.
My feet ache, my stomach grumbles, and light rain in the past five minutes has made me cold and irritated. But I love burlesque and where better to enjoy it than right here in London.
Jarett produces his wallet without question. “No, please. Let me,” I argue, digging into my purse for the paper bills I still can’t quite decipher.
“Call me old-school, sweetheart, but if I’m taking you on a date, I’ll be making the booking and getting the bill.”
Of course, he will.
I’ll be sure to thank him later.
We have ninety minutes until seating commences.
“How far from here to my room on foot?”
“Under ten minutes.”
“Great, walk with me and wait while I change?”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.”
My phone needs charging from all the photos and videos I’ve taken of our adventures, and there’s still so much more to post on Instagram. I have been hash-tagging everything, and my followers have grown over two thousand in less than twenty-four hours.
I was feeling a little Emily in Paris, but hey, it’s a tourist’s prerogative. Priorities first, I charge my phone and sneak in a quick shower.
Pouring my aching legs into my skinny black leather pants and favorite pair of stilettos, I make my outfit pop with a shimmering gold swing top. A touch of product enhances my curls, a fresh coat of makeup, and I’m good to go.
“Wow.” Jarett is waiting on the two-seater couch for me when I step out of the bathroom. “Beautiful. And I’ve never known a woman to get ready in…” he eyes his wrist, “… less than fifteen minutes.” He kisses my cheek affectionately. “I’m impressed. In more ways than one.”
“You ought to be,” I play with him. “Not all women can be this eager to be on your arms.”
Jarett’s grin widens. He helps me into my coat and offers me his arm.
“I feel I’ve taken over your life since the moment I stepped off the subway yesterday.”
Jarett takes my hand and turns my chin toward him with the other. “Believe me, I don’t want to be doing anything else.” He leans in slowly, and our lips meet in a soft, sweet exchange. The flavor of our wine and cheese from earlier mixes with sizzling lust. When we pull back, Jarett’s eyes are dark and filled with emotion.
“Oh, one sec.” I swap my plain Jane earrings to a set of large diamond hoops and add a spray of Black Opium.
“Mmm, what’s this?” Jarett swipes the bottle of Opium from my hands and inhales deeply. “I must buy some of this to keep around after you leave.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Yes, you must.” We both laugh and head out to catch our show and enjoy a meal.
