Page 20 of Tips and Trysts

I wish I’d done it last night.

She says something to one of the officers, who scribbles on a notepad. While he writes, Cora bites her lip. Her lips are the best thing about her: not quite puffy, but full and plump. She always wears dark lipstick—black or as close to black as red can get—and when she delivers a particularly clever insult, she occasionally scrapes the edge of her thumbnail along her lip line like she’s wiping blood from her fangs.

Whenever she does it, I want to suck the taste of her lipstick off her thumb.

But what I’ve always appreciated most about Cora is her understated liveliness. It’s partially because she’s so striking—credit to the combination of her high cheekbones, her round nose, and the graceful column of her neck, yes—but that liveliness really comes from her eyes. They’re big and brown, set under delicately arched, thick eyebrows. The corners of her eyesare set level with her lower lids, and their distinct shape seems to amplify whatever emotion she’s experiencing at the moment.

Something the officer says makes Cora’s shoulders slump, and she rolls her eyes. Current mood: annoyed as fuck.

But hospital gown aside, she does look like herself, whichfeelslike a Cora Flores move—Shoot me, fine, but I’ll make it look like a minor inconvenience at best.

Right then, she glances to the side and her eyes meet mine. She turns back to the officers, immediately does a double take, and looks at me again.

She did a double take the first time she saw me at Smoke and Shadow on the night we met. That night, I set out to do a favor and play wingman for my lifelong best friend and ended up meeting the woman of my dreams.

That night, the woman of my dreams turned out to be a camgirl.

That night, the woman of my dreams unnerved me in such an unprecedented way that my stone-cold, unflappable demeanor abandoned me, and I became an awkward, dickhead who insulted her.

That night, the woman of my dreams dumped a gin and tonic on my head.

I remember the song playing in the club: the downbeats, the fuck-me lick of the bass line, and how Cora swayed her head to the chorus. I remember the exact earrings she was wearing in the seven piercings in her ears—exactly seven. I counted. I remember the borderline nonexistent dress she was wearing: this black one trimmed with leather—tight as fuck. I remember the black polish on her nails and the silver decorations on the tips. I remember the lock of deep black hair caught between her breasts for the first ten minutes of our conversation, taunting me without even trying.

That night, I was positive of five things.

The first: Nobody—with the exception of my two best friends—had ever spoken to me with so much confidence, dismissiveness, and cleverness all rolled into one.

The second: Cora Flores was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most stunning woman I had ever seen.

The third: I had to have her.

The fourth: She would scandalize the shit out of most voters.

The fifth: Due to the four previous reasons, I needed to avoid her at all costs until I established my political career.

The plan has always been—and will always be—to get Cora. Avoid her for now, build my credibility as a politician, and then quietly launch our relationship in, like, I don’t know…a few years. But after tonight, one thing is for certain: I’m never staying away from Cora Flores again.

Strategy.Being together will depend on strategy.

Lucky for us, I was born and bred for this.

***

Except an hour later, we haven’t discussed any strategies because I still haven’t spoken to Cora. I’m anxious enough to fight a grizzly bear—and I would never inflict violence against an animal, especially not grizzly bears because they’re a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act.

And typically, I don’t get anxious. Cora does this to me though; she does it a lot.

Once MPD finished interviewing her, they took my statement, which is why I’m just now heading to her room with pockets full of the sour candies she likes from the vending machine.

This conversation is going to be momentous for us.

She’ll see me bearing gifts and a reassuring smile. She hasn’t seen me smile before, but it’s dazzling, frankly. She’ll love it. I’ll finally tell her about my feelings for her. She might be surprisedat first, but she’s brilliant and she’ll understand why I had to keep my distance.

I’ll thank her for saving my life and apologize again for the misunderstanding in the elevator—for everything.

Then we’ll get on the same page.

We’ll keep our relationship under wraps for the next five months, and once I win the election, we can come out publicly. She’ll be down for it, I’m sure. Excited—because who doesn’t like screwing in secret?

---