New York, New York

I left Chicago four months ago.

These days, I’m happily finding out there’s nothing quite like the buzz of New York City.

Like right now. The noise of the bar swirls around me. Loud music and voices hem together, and I flash a cordial smile at my date.

He’s got brown hair, blue eyes, and a soft smile. To top it off, he’s nice.

I haven’t gotten a single asshole vibe from Brandon in the hour we’ve been on this date.

And that’s exactly what I’m looking for right now.

He’s opposite of the last man I “dated” last summer.

If you want to call it that.

I’m about to inch toward him a little more when his eyes light up at something on the flat screen TV behind the bar.

“New York is playing Chicago tonight,” he blurts out. “And I fucking love this guy on the Wolverines.”

“Which guy?” I ask.

The bartender turns up the volume on the television. When I follow Brandon’s pointer finger and realize who he’s referring to, my heart practically smashes through to my lungs.

The post game show is of Carter being interviewed.

Carter freaking Flynn.

I massage my forehead with my thumb and forefinger.

Just when I’m finally starting to feel like I’m actually over him, he appears again. It’s like the universe won’t let me let me move on.

I fix my eyes on the TV, watching as Carter leans back for his interview with a smug look, the dimples on his face coming out. His sunglasses are on even though he’s inside.

I have to fight so that my body doesn’t respond to the man with butterflies in my stomach.

“Carter, you scored more than half your team’s points tonight. But toward the end of the game, you appeared to be trash talking Josh Evans pretty heavily,” the reporter begins.

My heart thumps, seeing Carter on the flatscreen.

Carter smirks, and chills roll through me watching the muscles in his face move. “You know I’m just extremely grateful that our team is coming together this year. He was riding my bro Chandler all game. Chandler was going to let it go, but I decided not to.”

The reporter seems confused. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have an apology for him?”

Carter takes off his sunglasses, squinting at the reporter.

“Apology? Look, Mr...whatever your name is, asking all the questions for the hot takes—you want a quote to print, is that it?”

Brandon seems as entranced by Carter’s actions as I am.

The reporter shrugs. “Sure.”

“I don’t like it when people step on my laces, and Josh Evans deliberated did that. Anyways, I’m looking forward to lacing them up for the next game.” He turns, looks right at the camera, and winks.

My cheeks flush, involuntarily, when Carter talks about this laces, and I hear his voice in my head without even trying.

Every second I see you, Laces, I want to rip your clothes off and do terrible, unspeakable things to you.

Lifting my head up, I force a smile that I can’t quite seem to make reach my eyes, trying to stay engaged in our conversation. “What were we just talking about?” I ask him.

Brandon ignores my question, revved up by Carter’s interview.

“That’s funny how Carter Flynn was talking about his laces. And your name is Lacy. What a coincidence.”

“Yes, weird.” I echo, clearing my throat. I take a long pull of my beer.

I was a passing fancy for Carter, so I doubt he’s still thinking about me. Not that I’d know if he was trying to contact me, since I’ve blocked his email and phone number.

Brandon smiles and rubs my shoulder. “I’ve had a great time tonight, Lacy. You’re a cool chick. Be right back. I’m going to hit the bathroom real quick.”

I nod. “Alright.”

As he jumps down, he jiggles his jacket and something falls out of his side pocket. He doesn’t notice, and I pick it up and I’m about to call to him, but Brandon is already to the bathroom hallway.

It’s a small black notepad, and when I pick it up I can’t help but glance at the page it opens up to. Inside he’s got a list of dates and names.

Curious, I read on. It seems to be a planner of some sort. I squint when I see today’s date.

Tuesday, November 27th Dates

Scrolling through the other pages, I see the dates are filled with names of girls and notes on them. The bathroom door swings open, and I plant the little notepad back in Brandon’s jacket pocket.

As he strides toward me, I catch the bartender’s eye.

“Will you have another one, Laura?” she asks.

I sigh, trying not to glare. “It’s Lacy.”

Not her fault this guy is stacking dates by the hour at the same place.

“Oh,” she says, her face turning a little red. “I must have confused you with someone else.”

Damn right you do.

“Yes, I’ll have another Yeungling,” I say.

She flashes a faint smile and pours me another beer as Brandon sits down again.

“You know,” he says, putting his hand on my forearm. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I haven’t met someone special in the city lately. So many people. So many options. It’s hard to find someone who sticks out.”

My heart hammers as I come up with an impromptu plan in my head for how to deal with Brandon. Should I just come right out and tell him I read the list of girls in his notepad—and how I’m clearly just hot dancer = good sex? to him, and he doesn’t have a shot in hell with me?

I secretly bunch my fist next to him as the bartender slides another beer in front of me, and flash Brandon a look I make sure is extra sexy, batting my eyes, a playful smirk tugging at my lips.

In spite of my rising desire to confront him, I decide to go another route. Why not play a little?

“I completely agree,” I say, bubbly. “It’s hard to find someone genuine. I haven’t been on a good date in way too long. I’m just ready to open up. Have a good time. And let the good times roll.”

He swallows a pull of his drink and nods. “Good times. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. After we finish this drink, we could head back to my place and check out my fish tank.”

“Your fish tank?”

He winks. “Yeah, my fish tank.”

I take a little swig of my drink, and turn my body toward him, spreading my legs as I toss my hair.

Breathing heavily, I lower my voice to a whisper. “That sounds amazing. And we could explore other things, too. I mean Brandon, you do know what they say about dancers. Don’t you?”

“I’ve heard a few things. But by all means, tell me more. Enlighten me.”

“Well it’s a known fact that dancers have very tight…Oh, hang on, text coming through.”

Pulling out my cell phone, I shoot a quick text to Lance before turning back to Brandon.

“Sorry about that.”

“You were saying?” Brandon’s eyes are as wide as a kid at the candy store as he hangs on my every word.

I grin, putting my hand on his leg. Leaning forward, I brush my lips close to his ear and whisper. I use my throaty voice for maximum effect. “That we’re really good at getting bent into those hard-to-form positions. Do you understand what I mean, Brandon?”

I linger close to his ear for a few breaths in his ear before I pull back. I can practically hear his heart beating harder than the music as he swallows. He puts his hand on my leg, and licks his lips. “I think I do.”

The bar has a glass of pretzel rods on it. Grabbing one, I dip it into my mouth and let my bright red lipstick bleed onto it as I pull it out of my mouth slowly, keeping my eyes on Brandon.

I hand him the pretzel, which he takes with a confused look on his face. “Mmm,” I whisper with a devilish grin.

“You want to get out of here?” he asks.

“Definitely. And I can’t wait to—“

My phone buzzes on the bar.

Shaking my head, I pick it up.

“Hello…Mom?…No….She’s where?…Oh my goodness, I’ll be right there.”

Hopping off of my bar stool, I throw on my jacket.

“Wait…who was that?”

“I’m so sorry Brandon. My mom’s sick. I have to go. This was fun though.”

He throws his palms open. “Are you fucking serious? You can’t just…just….leave me like this?”

“It’s a shame, I know.” Without saying goodbye, I walk away from him, heels clicking on the ground. “I’m sure the bartender won’t mind you paying my tab. See you soon. Have a good night.”

“We could meet up later tonight?” he calls over my shoulder.

I turn and, I’m about to shout what I have to say, but I think better of it. Brandon might be a good guy. But I’m feeling devilish tonight.

Walking back to him. I put my lips to his ear again and whisper, no idea where the stream of consciousness comes from: “Actually, I’m meeting up with my ex tonight. Carter Flynn. Ever heard of him?”

His jaw drops and he recoils from me.

I don’t know why I feel the need to name drop Carter.

I’m not meeting him again tonight – that’s something I definitely won’t allow myself to do. Seeing him on the flat screen stirred up a stew of feelings I’ve been trying my best not to acknowledge.

With a satisfied smirk, I speak again. “Maybe you could call Laura and see if she still wants to hang out.” I wink. “Since you’re too good for her.”

Carter does have a talent for bringing out the forthright side of my personality. Turning again on my heel, I walk out of the bar and hail a cab to my place.

I don’t feel bad about it.