CHAPTER ONE
Bridget
I slam the door behind me, unable to believe what just happened. Because I just got back from the worst date ever. And I mean, this doozy would make you laugh, vomit in your throat, and gasp all at the same time, it was that horrible.
Where to start? I flop on my couch, tossing my purse to the side while shucking off my high heels. Ouch, those hurt. But I wanted to look nice, so I put on a floral dress and heels, with a matching purse. True, details like these were often lost on guys, but my best friend Renee said that this guy Bryan would be hot. Like smokin’, irresistible hot, and I needed that desperately after a string of bad dates. I was ready to be swept off my feet, if only while staring into the deep blue eyes of handsome man.
But when I got to the restaurant, Bryan wasn’t there yet. Hmm, weird. I was ten minutes late and ashamed at making someone I’d never met wait. So it was weird that the guy was late because I thought guys always ran on time. But evidently, not Bryan with a “y.”
I took a seat at the bar, looking around, a little shy. It’s always been hard for me to sit alone in a public place. I’m the kind of girl who never goes to restaurants by myself, and even going to a movie by myself makes me feel lonely. Instead, I’d rather curl up at home with a good book and some bon-bons, diving into the world of Fabio romances where he inevitably whisks a highland princess off into the sunset. I know, my idea of a good time is boring, but I know what I like after so many years.
It’s just that after seven bad dates, I was desperate to feel attractive again. It’s like what my therapist says. You have to take chances, and putting myself out there once again would be painful, but ultimately, rewarding. Hopefully I’d find someone that I’d click with. So when Renee gushed on and on about Bryan, I’d eagerly agreed to meet him.
“You’ll love Bryan,” Renee enthused. “He’s tall. Like about six one and you know, his sister submitted him to Embellish Magazine’s Man of the Year contest and he won!”
I was impressed for sure, my eyes going wide. I’ve seen that contest before, and the guys who won were male model quality. So I leaned forward eagerly.
“Sure, I’ll go,” I said quickly. “When? Don’t make me wait weeks because you know what happens if you correspond for a really long time before actually meeting. Someone goes out of town, or someone loses interest. It’s always inevitable. The sooner the better,” I pressed.
Renee laughed.
“Sure, I’ll see if he can do sometime this week, but I’m not your personal secretary,” she scolded sassily. “I’m just gonna hand him your email and say that you’re pretty free. I’m not going to schedule the actual date for you.”
“Of course not!” I said quickly. “And thank you so much, Renee. You know that the past couple dates I’ve been on have been completely, absolutely, disgustingly bad. So I totally appreciate it. I owe you one!”
Renee burst into laughter on the other side of the phone call.
“I know, Bridge. It’s been tough for you. And after you came back from that date with the guy who turned out to be eighty, I had to do something for my best friend. So have fun with Bryan, okay? It’s gonna be fun,” she said with another laugh before clicking off.
But the date with Bryan had been bad. Worse than bad, it was godawful terrible, and I was surprised I’d made it out alive. Because we got off to an unpromising start from the very beginning. Although he was ten minutes late, the man swanned in like nothing was wrong, expecting the world to kow-tow at his feet. At least he was handsome like Bridget promised with dark brown hair and a cleft chin.
But looks only go so far, for men as well as women, because the moment he opened his mouth, I was utterly turned off.
“Well,” he said with a queenly air. “This isn’t quite the place I expected.”
I looked around. Sure, Hudson’s isn’t the swankiest place in New York City, but at the same time it was totally first-date appropriate. After being on the market for years, I know exactly how this stuff works. You have to pick a place that’s nice, but not too nice, otherwise you’re sending the wrong message. So no to McDonald’s, no to a five-star meal, but yes to a mid-level restaurant that had warm wood furniture, a happy hour crowd, and lots of strong drinks.
“Um hi,” I said tentatively, holding out my hand. “I’m Bridget. You’re Bryan?”
He nodded while taking my hand and giving it a limp, unenthusiastic shake. Unfortunately, the man’s grip was cold and a little damp, and I had to resist wiping my palm on my thigh afterwards. That would have been rude.
But Bryan plopped down like he owned the place, immediately grabbing the drinks list.
“What do we have here?” he asked, squinting his eyes at the small print in the dim light. “Let’s see. Mojitos, yes. Cosmos, yes. Whiskey on the rocks? No.”
Again, I didn’t know what to say at first because cosmos and mojitos aren’t exactly the most manly drinks. I’m used guys ordering bourbon straight or a pale ale of some type. Not something that came in pink or green with fruit flavors added.
“Um okay,” I said hesitantly. “The grapefruit cosmos are supposed to be really good. In fact, I’m having one right now,” I said, indicating the drink at my elbow. “Do you want a taste before ordering?”
He squinched his nose again. Again, Bryan was really handsome but his odd habits and gestures had a way of making him look like a jumpy rabbit.
“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t like sharing straws, so no thanks.”
I sat completely still for a moment, just looking at him. Was this guy for real? Were we in kindergarten or something? But things just went from bad to worse because when the server came around, he leered at her before ordering a mojito and a cosmo.
“Make it quick!” he ordered. “I need my drinks.”
And unfortunately, that sentence pretty much summed up Bryan’s approach to life. The guy was a raging alcoholic, and proceeded to guzzle non-stop for the hour we were together. He went through a couple more cocktails before ordering a seltzer water and then passing out on the bar.
What do I do now? I texted Renee in a panic. Bryan’s slumped on the counter and snoring like a dog.
Do you have Uber on your phone? she texted back.
Yes, but how do I get him from the bar to the car?
Ask the driver, she typed back. The drivers are usually really helpful.
And fortunately, my Uber driver was really nice. Mohammed actually came into the venue and helped me haul Bryan into the backseat before strapping him in securely. I thanked him profusely and added a thirty percent tip, which probably wasn’t going to be enough given that there was a very real chance that Bryan might puke in the back of the sedan.
But at least the man was off my hands and I walked the five blocks back to my apartment, feet aching in the high heels. Much use they’d been. Bryan hadn’t even noticed my shoes, much less appreciated the high arch and the way they made my legs look longer. All he’d seen was the bottom of his drinks and I was thankful to finally get home and sit on my couch.
I looked longingly over at my most recent romance novel. I’ve been a fan of Judy Wright, a historical romance author, since I was a teen and I’d splurged twenty-five bucks to buy her new release in hardback. Why oh why had I ever thought going out with a strange man would be a good idea when I could have stayed home with my newest bodice ripper? At least there was no chance that anyone would puke on my shoes or force me into some uncomfortable situation while reading a book.
But at least these things are easily remedied. I was home now and comfortably ensconced on my couch, so I reached over to the book, turning to page fifteen. Ah, here we go. The hero, Magnus, was just about to disrobe the virginal heroine, Amelia, and she was squirming and crying, yet really wanting it. I read, eyes wide, for a few paragraphs because Judy Wright has a way of making the words leap off the page, and suddenly I desperately wanted to be Amelia with a handsome Roman soldier ready to rip off my clothes.
But the tingling in my pussy worked two ways because on the one hand, all I wanted to do was to read more. After the horrendous date with Bryan, I felt entitled to have some quality one-on-one time with myself, writhing and mewling on the couch as I followed Magnus and Amelia to climax.
But on the other, I felt pathetic as well because I desperately wanted a real man. Not some made up imaginary hero who wore a loincloth while fighting lions in the gladiator arena. Not some muscular Scottish Highlander who had an uncanny way of seducing virgins and making them melt all over his cock their first time. I needed a man who would appreciate a BBW with real curves and a sarcastic sense of humor.
In short, I needed a man-to-order.
Throwing my book aside, I sat up abruptly on the couch. Why not dial a date? In the city, you can get just about anything delivered to your door, from take-out, to puppies, to illegal drugs. Why not order a handsome man and have him service me? It’d be just the solution to the disaster that was my romantic life.
So I reached for my laptop, popping open the lid and staring at the search bar. What to type? I decided to be straightforward and entered the word “gigolo.” That did the trick because immediately hundreds of results popped up from the movie American Gigolo to what looked like Craigslist ads of guys looking for hook-ups. Ugh. I’ve learned my lesson from Craigslist, and it was not good. Do not go into the personals section unless you’re alone in your apartment because things are going to pop up that make your eyes bug out.
Instead, I wanted something classier. I understand how weird this sounds because I’m literally paying for a date, but at the same time, scraping the bottom of the barrel wasn’t my MO. The rule you get what you pay for is embedded in my mind, and in this particular situation, I especially wanted to go high-class and not low-brow. So I surfed around a bit before refining my search to “New York City gigolo.”
That helped somewhat. A lot of results were omitted, and my eye landed on one called Male Thunder. Hmm, what was this about? I clicked curiously, and a flash of lightning took over my screen before a fully-nude male popped up with a sly smile on his face. “Ready to go?” a deep voice sounded on my speakers. “Get ready to taste the Thunder!”
Quickly, I closed the box. This wasn’t my style at all. That was more Chippendales or exotic dancer, and that wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted an alpha for sure, but someone who wore a suit and smelled nice. Not a grease monkey who pranced around with oiled muscles while shaking his bom-bom. No thanks.
So slowly, I opened my browser again and typed “New York City gigolo classy.” I know my search terms aren’t very refined, but at the same time, it was the only thing I could think of. And this time, the search results were reduced even further so there were only about fifty or so. My eyes scanned the list:
Maximum Males
Gold Medallion Escort Services
Big Time Guys
Big Time Guys? Was that in reference to their employees’ desire to hit the big time, or their anatomy? With a sigh, I chose Gold Medallion just because the name seemed a little less cheesy than the others. And immediately, I was whisked to a new page where a model in a dark suit with a white collared shirt looked me in the eye. Ooh, just my type.
Get ready, the words on the browser read. 3 … 2 … 1 …
And within a second, I was directed to a new page, but this page looked like it had all the goods. There were thumbnails of pictures of men, all of them dressed immaculately in dark suits. Maybe Mr. Big from Sex and the City was on here! Okay, he was make-believe, but that kind of guy is exactly my type, and I was relieved to finally find a site that catered to my tastes.
Idly, I browsed around. Thankfully, the men had normal names like Chris and Ted instead of weird stage names like Rock and Storm. I clicked on the one named Chris and read his profile. He was a car salesman by day and an escort by night. Hmm, very interesting. His pictures showed him surfing in aqua waters, and then scuba diving with colorful fish surrounding him on all sides. I admired that sculpted body, but clicked off reluctantly because my fear of water pretty much eliminated him. He’d want to do something aquatic, and I’m not a mermaid-type girl.
Scrutinizing the thumbnails again, this time I clicked on a guy named Robert. Hmmm, this guy was hot but in a subtle way. It wasn’t about perfect bone structure or a chiseled bod that bulged, although judging from the way he filled out his suit, he was plenty built. It was more about the character in his face, from the strong nose to square jaw. Plus, the guy had dreamy blue eyes and a bit of salt and pepper in his hair. Oooh, I love older men. Give me someone who knows his way around a woman’s body because I’ll take him over a twenty year-old bonehead any day of the week.
I clicked on Robert’s pictures and was impressed. He seemed to travel widely, with photos of the desert behind him, as well as the Taj Mahal and the Kremlin. Wow. The only exotic place I’ve been to is Hawaii. We went to Maui for a family reunion, and after that event, I needed a vacation from my vacation because it was so stressful.
But Robert seemed to genuinely travel a lot, and I squinted while taking in more pictures. One photo seemed to be him kayaking on the Amazon River, while another showed … the North Pole? I blinked. It was crazy, but there was definitely a penguin waddling in the background.
Faced with these photos, I almost didn’t go any further because Robert seemed out of my league. Who wouldn’t want to be with him? The man was well-traveled and handsome, and his profile said that he was a businessman. Probably a high-powered something or other, with a lot to offer the right woman. But what were the chances that I was the right woman? I was a twenty-five year old curvy BBW with a job going nowhere in New York City. My resume was okay, but that was it. Only okay, not great.
But then the voice in my head spoke. So what? it asked airily. This isn’t normal on-line dating. This isn’t “dating” at all, in fact. This is where you pick out a guy to have fun with, so who cares if he’s way above your usual level? Money makes the world go ‘round, and in this case, it’s your cash that’s doing the talking.
I was stock still for a moment, just thinking. But the voice in my head was right because I was buying a date, so it didn’t matter if I looked like a troll or had bad breath. In fact, I could be an eighty year-old widow desperate for some male attention, and they’d still take my booking because it was a transaction and nothing more.
Newly emboldened, I clicked on the “Book Me Now” button which took me to my shopping cart. But then a gasp escaped because evidently one night with Robert was two thousand dollars. Two thousand dollars? Who could afford that? Certainly not I, with my low-paying job at Star Gazette as a copy editor.
Suddenly, my cell phone dinged. Grabbing it, I stared at the screen.
How was your date tonight? Renee texted. Bryan’s yummy right?
I sighed, slumping back into the couch. It had been terrible and seeing Renee’s text only drove me further into the depths of despair.
Snap out of it! the voice in my head said. You have a solution right here at your fingertips. Literally, at your fingertips.
I gazed warily at the screen again. Robert’s picture flashed before my eyes once more, and I let out another despairing sigh. Because after six months of bad dates, I was worn down. I needed something as a pick-me-up, and another purse or a mani-pedi wasn’t going to do. I needed to feel wanted and cosseted, and Robert was just the man to do it.
So taking a deep breath, I clicked the button “Book” before going through the rigmarole of entering my credit card. After pressing send, I held my breath before a confirmation page flashed on screen.
Thank you for booking with Gold Medallion, the page read. We will be in touch shortly. Your reservation ID is 436-298-8620. An email with this number will be sent to the address you entered.
And with a sigh, I shut my laptop case while slumping even further into the couch. Because I was out two thousand dollars now, and who knew what would happen next? Maybe Robert wouldn’t be Robert, or even worse, I’d go on another bad date. Except this time, it’d be one that cost two thousand big ones, and there’d be no way to get my money back.
Cursing myself, I reached angrily for my book. Because what had I been thinking? This was all so crazy, and I was frustrated with myself for going down this path. Acting out when you’re emotional and unstable is always a bad way to go, and I’d done exactly that. But unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it now, so I turned resolutely back to the story of the hunky Roman soldier. At least he was having a good time … even if I desperately wished it was me being seduced.