“Someone you swiped right on?”
“No…”
“Someone you’d prefer to spend the night with instead of me?”
“I don’t think I can answer that yet.”
“We both know that you can.” He pressed his lips against mine and kissed me, rendering me senseless and breathless all at once. He threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled me closer—dominating my mouth with his, owning my tongue with his rhythm, kissing me like no other man had ever kissed me before.
When he finally pulled away from me—the back windows were slightly foggy and I was struggling to catch my breath.
“Do you still have plans for New Year’s Eve?” he whispered.
“I don’t want to, but yes.” I completely regretted letting Jameson Turner reschedule our new date so far in advance. “He dropped thousands of dollars on a booth at one of the best night clubs in town. It’s one of the hardest places to get on the list, and I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like on the inside.”
“Which nightclub is this?”
“Fahrenheit 900.”
“I see.” He smiled. “Well, after you get done seeing the club with him, you should come and spend the rest of the night with me.”
“Um…” My panties were officially soaked. “I don’t think my date would appreciate that.”
“Your body will in the morning.”
I was speechless. I looked ahead and realized that there was only one more stoplight left until we reached his promise of four.
“Let me guess,” he said, saving me from having to figure out my next line. “Your date for New Year’s Eve is a suit?”
“Yes.”
“Wall Street or regular corporate?”
“Makes no difference.” I shrugged. “All suits are the same.”
“They are,” he said. “Let me take another guess. He’s been begging to show you his side of life and promised you a night you’ll never forget?”
I nodded. “Very good guess. Are you a suit, too?”
“Never will be.”
The cab slowed as we approached a red light, and he looked me over one last time before moving back and opening his door.
“Have a good night,” he said. “Hope your date goes well this weekend.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Not at all.” He smiled and stepped out.
“I’m free tomorrow and any time after the weekend,” I said, now knowing that my date with Jameson was a mere formality. “Now that I know you actually exist, I can unblock and message you back on Tinder.”
He looked up at the light as it turned green, sighing. “Happy New Year, Meredith.”
“Happy New Year, Michael.”
He shut the door and I kept my eyes on him as the driver pulled away. Until the only thing I could see was a blur of other yellow taxis and town cars.
When I made it to my condo, I noticed a bouquet of bright white roses and a blue box on my counter. It was my fourth bouquet this week. Just like the other deliveries, a small silver note hung from one of the stems.
* * *
I’m very sorry, Meredith.
I’d love to meet in the new year to apologize over brunch and start over. Just us.
(I’ve also decided to postpone the political things to focus on what’s most important.)
* * *
I love you.
* * *
Sincerely trying,
Dad
* * *
I sighed and sent him a text.
Me: I got your flowers (again…) A brunch after New Year’s works for me. I want to start over, too.
Right after hitting send, I logged into Tinder. I wanted to see Michael again tonight—logic be damned, but when I clicked on my inbox, our entire message thread was gone.
He’d deleted his profile.
Meredith
Before
New Year’s Eve
Nights like tonight, I wished I had an Instagram account with tons of followers. If I had one, I’d pick this very moment to flip through the hundreds of shots I’d taken of myself in Fahrenheit 900’s glittering VIP lobby. I’d select the one of me standing in front of the colossal mirror in a revealing, emerald low-cut dress and sparkling silver stilettos. Then I’d write one of those vapid and pretty posts in hopes of garnering thousands of likes.
Currently looking at myself in one of the city’s biggest mirrors to REFLECT on everything I’ve learned this year. Getting ready to bring in my New Year the right way. With tons of friends, a VIP table at NYC’s hottest club, and wishes for a fresh start at midnight. #dayinthelife #livingmybestlife #NewYorkGirl #fahrenheit900
Having something to do would make my wait time to get into the club more bearable. Even with a VIP reservation, getting inside of this place was like getting into Fort Knox. They’d asked for my driver’s license, made me go through three different metal detectors, and asked me how well I knew the other person on the reservation at least six times.
Sighing, I looked over at the group of women who were standing across the room, donned in matching designer dresses. They’d gone through the same routine with me, and although the hostesses were bringing us drinks and small bites whenever we requested, we were more than ready to get inside.