Page 19 of The Love Interest
“I’m intrigued.”
“Good. Go ahead and call a cab. I’ll be right back with a four-foot cock.”
8
EMMETT
Inever thought I’d be so relieved to see a woman holding a four-foot metal rooster. I guess it’s meant to be yard art. Given the alternative, this is…less disturbing. I don’t think I even noticed just how beautiful Fiona is until I realize that seeing her with her arms around a somewhat gaudy, multicolored cock statue does not diminish her attractiveness at all. She has a mischievous grin on her face as she carries it toward me. I automatically hold my hands out to take the thing from her.
“You’re still here!”
“Cab’s on its way. What is happening, exactly?”
“This is Goliath,” she says, as if introducing me to an adorable puppy. “My mom made him. I have to take a picture of him at Grand Central. And any other touristy location I happen to go to. For her. For my mom. You don’t have to hold him.”
I give her a look because yeah, I do have to. She places Goliath in my arms. It’s about twenty pounds worth of iron. I’m really glad it’s a quarter to five in the morning. Unlikely that anyone I know will see me. Fairly unlikely that anyone who recognizes me will see me.
Or maybe…maybe I don’t care right now.
Fuck it. I’m taking a pretty girl and a four-foot cock to Grand Central. This is New York. I once saw a guy make out with someone in a tomato costume at the back of a subway car and no one cared. At least I know what to do with a big cock. I bet James Patterson doesn’t.
“You’re sure you’re okay? Holding the cock?”
“Yes. I appreciate the concern. And the consent. To letting me handle your cock.”
“Just let me know if you get uncomfortable.”
“I will.”
She’s fun. Fiona is fun. Her hair is even shinier now, and she put on lip gloss and more perfume, I think. It is surprising, just how happy that makes me.
I need to remember that kind of detail, for Jack to notice and feel the same way.
A cab slows down and stops about fifteen feet away instead of pulling up alongside us. I go over to open the rear door and tell the driver it’s just a metal rooster, in case he thought it was—I don’t know—something else. I wave Fiona over, holding the door open for her. As she steps in front of me and slides into the back seat, her earthy floral scent transports me to another time and place.
My cabin upstate. In the summer. I was writing in the living room. The windows were open. The lavender fragrance wafted in and mingled with the sandalwood incense, and I remember feeling good. So good that I wished I had someone to share it with. And then I had realized I felt guilty because I wasn’t wishing it were Sophie who was there with me—it was some nameless, faceless wish of a woman I hadn’t met yet.
I had forgotten about that.
Fiona holds her hands out, reaching for Goliath, and then places him on the seat between us.
I’m not going to feel guilty tonight, Sophie. And that’s okay.
“To Grand Central Terminal,” I tell the driver. “Take Third Avenue. We aren’t in a hurry.”
* * *
“It’s so beautiful.”
I think I read that around 750,000 people pass through Grand Central Terminal every day, and I bet only a few hundred of them actually stop to look up at the ceiling in the huge Main Concourse. There are only about a dozen of us in here right now, and Fiona is the only one who is staring up at the celestial turquoise blue and gold painted mural on the vaulted ceiling. I’m staring at the graceful curve of her neck and jawline, the way her lips part as she blinks in slow motion. New Yorkers rarely appreciate the beauty of the city around them, and being able to watch a gorgeous young woman appreciate one of the most beautiful buildings in this city is a gift.
I wonder if she’ll still be this full of wonder a week, a month, a year from now.
I hope some guy doesn’t fuck the wonder out of her.
I hopeIdon’t.
She takes in the gold constellations, and I wonder if she’ll notice the quirk—or defect—of the murals.
