December. Time again to bring out the two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree with branches missing. Time again to organize the office cookie exchange. Time again for the spring marketing workshops across the country. I don't know yet where the company is sending me this year, but last year I had just put the pitiful tree in the front office when Miranda, CEO and my childhood friend, paged me into her office.
"Lara." She smiled at me. "How do you like sunshine?"
"What's that? I forgot." I glanced past her shoulder and nodded at the grey mess outside her window. The building across the street was visible only if I squinted and the wind halted the swirling snow.
"You'll find out in a few days."
"Miami this year, then?"
"No, it's your turn for Los Angeles. You'll have to deal with the smog, but at least someone else gets crappy Chicago this year—"
"Oh my god," I sighed, crumpling into the chair facing Miranda's desk.
"What's wrong? You can't go?"
"No. I mean, yes. When do I leave?"
"Three days. Your plane leaves Thursday morning. Will you tell me what's so 'oh my god'?" Miranda leaned forward in her chair, training her eyes on me. I took a breath, amazed that my lungs still worked.
"I told you about that guy I met here two years ago, right? Anthony?"
"Yeah, the Italian cutie I never got to meet."
"Right. Well, we've kept in touch. But I never thought—"
"You've been talking for two years?"
"Yeah, we're friends."
"Just friends?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.
"Come on. We can't do anything three thousand miles apart. He's helped me through some tough times emotionally. We're friends."
"After two years, all that friendship crap will go out the window, and I'll be wasting company money on you." She wagged a finger at me, but she was grinning broadly.
"I work. You know me." I didn't want her to think I'd run off with Anthony instead of attending workshop sessions.
"Yes I do. So it's probably a good thing the only flight I could book for you gets you into LAX two days before the workshop begins."
"You're horrible," I chided, "You've been planning this."
"Lara, I had no idea." Miranda threw her arms above her head in mock surrender. "Funny how it all worked out, huh?"
"Yeah, real funny."
"Why don't you go home and pack? It's almost time to leave."
"I think I'll finish up the tree first," I trotted out of her office and returned to the tiny tree. Another limb threatened to fall, and I picked a stray ornament hook from its dusty branches. Every year I had to patch the tree up to make it presentable.
Thursday morning, the rain soaked me while I flagged down a cab outside my apartment building on Fifty-Seventh. I'd called Anthony Monday afternoon, and he'd agreed to pick me up from LAX. My hair was still dripping when I arrived at LaGuardia, but I had a first-class seat and a book to keep me company through the cross-country turbulence. But I couldn't concentrate on the story. Fifteen minutes into the four-hour flight, thoughts of Anthony flooded my mind. I had a few pictures of him, but my one memory of him in person stood clearer than all of them. I came up to his shoulder, barely, and he had short bleached curly hair framing a face with big brown eyes. I put tinsel right on top of his head, and he laughed, refusing to take it off while we talked. His hot, strong hand pressed against my lower back as he ushered me inside a restaurant to have drinks before he left New York. I still felt his lips, soft when they brushed across mine just once. I held on to the sight of him leaning against the back of the cab seat and tapping the front seat with his hand before waving to me and pulling away. I napped to dreams of Anthony and how he would greet me.
When the flight attendant woke me, I still had my seatbelt on from takeoff. I was within ten minutes of LAX, a half hour or so away from seeing Anthony. I felt my toes and fingers tingle, and the back of my head felt tight. I didn't remember landing or disembarking. The feeling rushed back to my limbs as I held my carry-on bag tightly and scanned the throng at the gate. I wondered why everyone else thought it took five people to pick up one person from the airport. Then I saw Anthony, in a long black coat, looking exactly as I'd remembered him, standing a head above most of the crowd. He caught my eye, grinning, and began to push his way toward me. I didn't dare weave through the crowd; I was short and too easily lost in the underbrush. I stood as still as I could, with people pushing from each direction, and waited until I felt Anthony's warm hand clasp mine, pulling me back to where he'd come from.
"I can't believe I'm here," I breathed after Anthony pulled me into a quiet corner in the bustling airport. He held my shoulders and gazed at me and stroked my cheek with his fingers.
"I've got something for you, love." He pulled something shiny out of his pocket. I tried to see what he had, but he kept his hand closed until he'd sprinkled the tinsel on my head. The silver strands shimmied down my straight hair and onto the floor. I smiled, and he pulled me into a tight hug. Then he kissed me, the same way as when we first met. He looked at me and kissed me again, this time sipping at my lower lip, then gently pushing my lips apart with his tongue and caressing mine. He pressed his body against mine, and my legs threatened to give out. When he let me go, my chest felt ready to explode. I took a gulp of air and grabbed my carry-on bag.
"Let's go."
We made our way to baggage claim and waited for my luggage to come around. He plucked the suitcase off the track and guided me to his car outside, all the while keeping a hand on my shoulder or my arm. He drove deliberately, slam-shifting through the chill rain and slow traffic. Miranda had made reservations for me at a Beverly Hills hotel, but I couldn't recall the name of it. I had told Anthony on Monday, though, and he remembered where to go. He stopped the car in front of the lobby and looked at me a moment, his eyes warm with hunger and his breath quick.
"I can't wait to get you upstairs."
A valet tapped his window, startling us both. Anthony cleared his throat and we got out of the car. He carried my suitcase and bag as I checked in, and we took the elevator to the second floor. We didn't have time for anything more than a brief, deep kiss before the doors opened and we found my room. I unlocked the door and Anthony followed me in, dropping my bag and setting my suitcase just inside the door. A light was already on in the room. I shut the door.
"God, am I glad you're here," Anthony sighed and backed me against the wall. He had one hand on the side of my neck while the other pulled my coat open and squeezed my waist. He pressed his hips against mine and kneaded my lips with slow, deep kisses. I couldn't believe how soft his mouth was. His velvet tongue slipped past my lips and stroked the inside of my mouth, rubbing against my tongue and stealing my breath. I felt dizzy.
"How have you been?" I asked once he broke away, holding me and looking into my eyes. He smiled and chuckled.
"Right. I'm sorry, love." He smoothed my hair and stepped backward. "I'm getting ahead of myself."
"I didn't mean for you to stop," I admitted, "But it would be nice to talk."
Anthony set those warm brown eyes on me again, giving me a lopsided grin, and scanned my face. I flicked my eyes up and down his body. The black coat fit his shoulders and fell past his knees, where I could see stylish black shoes and the neat grey pants of what was undoubtedly an Armani suit. I kissed him.
"Or not," I laughed and kissed him again. I would never tire of feeling those lips on mine. Between kisses, we shed our coats, and I unbuttoned his slate-grey jacket to reveal a black shirt underneath. He stepped back a moment to survey my dark green traveling suit, then started on the jacket buttons. Before long, I stood before him in my black satin slip and stockings. I had to admit I'd chosen the items that morning with Anthony in mind.
