A downtown train screeched into the station. Beads of sweat crawled down the small of her back. The air was thick on the platform and she wondered why she bothered doing anything to her hair and face in the summer. Expensive skincare serum melted off her face. She stepped into the cool car and took a seat in a quiet corner, the perfect place to daydream on the long trek to deep Brooklyn. "Fucking Brooklyn," she thought.
Her oldest friend, Liz, would be signing copies of her latest book. It was a mandatory excursion. These kinds of events should be behind her, she thought. Here in their 30s, friends' book signings should be at the Upper West Side Barnes and Noble, not some hole-in-the-wall hipster joint in Brooklyn called Das Books. She pulled a mirror from her shoulder bag and admitted to herself that she looked good tonight. She'd perfected her makeup over the years: not too much, not too little. Dark eyebrows arched perfectly over hazel eyes, just a hint of sun-kissed skin that was somehow porcelain in winter and olive in summer. She knew it could be worse. And she liked her body today. Her big tits, which often felt heavy, felt only ample and attractive. She felt shapely and sexy. She wanted the man across from her to notice her nipples straining through her top. She considered letting down her long hair, but it was still so warm. Instead, she crossed her legs, letting her short skirt ride up a little to give the man a little peek.
With that, the usual frustration crept in. Where was he? Where was her man? She was such a New York City stereotype: great job, smart, funny, considered beautiful by many, if not herself. She'd examined the "why" of it often enough over the years and didn't find a good answer. She simply hadn't found him. And tonight was no good. She knew the crowd at these events: sexless Brooklyn boys in glasses, at least one in a stupid hat. She had nothing against a nerdy vibe, but she needed to sense a man inside, too, something strong, hungry, and virile. She wanted a man with whom she could express the fullness of her sexuality, a man who would eat her pussy with the same sweetness and enthusiasm with which he'd dominate her afterward. The train car bounced and rattled and she started getting wet.
Outside the Brooklyn station, above ground, the sun was setting. The air still felt more solid than gas. She stopped worrying about the possibility of frizzy hair and melting makeup. The sexless nerds wouldn't care. Inside the shop, the usual suspects mingled. At least Das Books sprang for good air conditioning. Maybe too good; the rapid shift in temperature made her nipples harden as goosebumps erupted on her arms. She rubbed them, looking around for a familiar face.
"You can't possibly be cold."
She turned, startled. The face that looked back was open, friendly, and very masculine. He was just tall enough to make her feel short, no easy feat at 5'8".
Out of instinct, she recoiled. These days, it seemed only weirdos approached women so brazenly. Everyone else hid behind the anonymity of dating apps. But why was she assuming his intentions were romantic? She sized him up quickly: soft coral t-shirt, a brown beard with flecks of red (not too long and not too tidy), glinting green eyes, a swoop of brown hair in a modern cut; well, he didn't look like a weirdo.
She laughed, "Not cold exactly. My body just gets so confused in the summer. So hot outside, so cold inside."
"Are you a winter girl, then?"
"I can find something to love about any season."
"I feel the same way."
There was a pause before he swallowed and said, "It's Victoria, right? You don't remember me, do you?" She realized that he did look familiar. Strange that it took her this long to notice - she was normally good with faces.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't think I do!"
He laughed good-naturedly. "No, please don't worry, I wouldn't have expected you to. We met like three years ago at a Mets game, I'm Liz's cousin."
"Yes! Oh my gosh! You were in from out of town visiting your girlfriend." The memory slid into place: she had clocked him immediately at that baseball game, but he was so handsome, so her type, and so clearly in love with his date that she had forced herself to completely ignore his existence for the entirety of the evening.
"Is it... Matt?" She winced, unsure.
"So close. It's Mark."
"Mark! Right, of course. And your girlfriend is Celeste."
He smiled. "Right and wrong. Her name is Celeste, but she's not my girlfriend anymore."
She feigned indifference. "Ah, I see."
"Yeah, and I live here in New York now."
Now we're entering "too good to be true" territory, she thought. "Oh wow! That's great. How long-"
Someone clapped loudly and instructed everyone to take a seat. Mark extended a gentlemanly hand and they sat together near the back. She felt an electric jolt as his thigh made contact with hers in the narrow seats.
He turned and grinned at her, whispering, "So be honest, have you read the book yet?"
"Of course I have..."
"Uh-huh, sure."
Victoria giggled as Liz entered to polite applause. The truth was, she didn't care for Liz's writing. This was her second collection of essays and she found them at best too self-serious and at worst preachy and condescending.
She barely listened as Liz began to read. Her heart beat faster the longer she sat next to this beautiful man. She stole a glance and found him dutifully attentive, a mild and pleasant look on his face. Her eyes lingered to take in the shape of his lips. She knew he would be a good kisser. If it came to that.
Doubt flooded in. What she interpreted earlier as flirting probably wasn't. He was just being polite and needed someone to talk to since he'd come alone. She was too busty, too curvy, too old. She remembered the ex-girlfriend Celeste. She was in her 20s and somehow both thin and willowy and well-endowed in the ass department: not only an undeniably beautiful face but a perfect Instagram body. Victoria knew she should be wiser than this and should have evolved past these comparisons. She knew she should commit to cherishing her own beauty and worth. She often succeeded. But precisely when confidence was called for, the old demons crept back in.
She closed her eyes briefly and tried to channel the feeling she had on the train. As she took her hair down from its clip, she hoped Mark would notice the smell of her shampoo. She smoothed her hair to the side and crossed her legs in his direction. He shifted in his seat. "Worth a try." She thought. Was it her imagination or was there suddenly more pressure from his thigh? She gave up listening to Liz and tried to imagine his cock. It had to be gorgeous. Probably not huge, but just right. Straight. Hard. Fuck. Her mouth watered.
Finally, the reading ended and a small crowd of people started to line up for the signing. Trying again to play it cool, Victoria turned to Mark and excused herself to get a glass of wine at the refreshment table.
"I'll join you," he said.
She didn't even want any wine. It was cheap shit, a Chardonnay and a Cab, but she needed something to do with her hands.
They fell into an easy flirtation again. The demons of doubt had ebbed away again under his gaze. They laughed about the terrible wine and played an informal game of "Who Wore It Best?" when they noticed two of the sexless Brooklyn nerds wearing almost identical outfits.
Finally, the line dwindled and Liz bounced over. "Oh good, you found each other!" she said. "I was worried about you both coming alone since Tom wasn't here." Tom was her husband. Victoria tried to keep her face neutral. She couldn't have missed Tom's presence less. "I have to go chat with my agent but then let's get a drink or something? I'm starving!" She bounced away again and Mark and Victoria looked at each other.
"You can't stand him either, can you?" he asked.
"Oh God, you could tell?"
"Yes, but don't worry, Liz would never have noticed. I just like to study faces."
