Page 90 of The Love Interest
“Thanks. So are you. I can’t wait to fuck you when we get back to my place.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me all morning.”
“I’m pacing myself—be patient.”
I check my watch. There’s a homeless guy who always stands outside Grand Central with his little boombox. Yesterday, I gave him a hundred bucks and an old Frank Sinatra tape, with instructions to show up here this morning—well aware there was a good chance he wouldn’t. But he does. He walks in through the entrance at 42nd Street, boombox hanging around his neck. He stands near the entrance and waits for me to give him a signal.
“Fiona…” I say into the corner as I reach into my pocket.
“Yes, Emmett?”
“I’ve wanted to ask you this for a while, but I didn’t want to distract you from your schoolwork. You’ve been spending so much time at my place lately, and I think you should move in with me.”
I hear her little gasp. “You do?”
“Yes. As my fiancée. Will you marry me?” I turn around to face her, from thirty feet away, holding up the ring box that’s been burning a hole in my inside jacket pocket since last night.
That’s the homeless man’s cue. He presses play on his boombox, and “The Way You Look Tonight” starts blaring from it.
Fiona spins around, both hands covering her mouth.
We meet in the middle of the concourse. She has teared up, and she’s nervously fiddling with her bangs to make sure they’re in place. She is so beautiful, and my heart still hurts sometimes when I look at her.
“Will you?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you, Emmett.”
I slide the diamond ring onto her trembling finger.
“I love you.”
“Good. I love you too.” I give her a quick kiss, slip the empty box back into my pocket, take one of her hands in mine, and place my other hand on her waist. “Thank you for making life beautiful for me again.”
We slow dance to Sinatra in the middle of Grand Central. People walk around us. Someone films us with their phone. Someone screams out the lyrics as he passes by. It’s a perfect New York moment, and Jack Irons can kiss my romantic ass because this is a more baller move than any he’s pulled off.
When the song is over, the homeless guy turns off his boombox and salutes, yells, “Mazel tov!” and walks out.
Fiona shakes her head at me, wiping tears from her eyes. “Emmett Ford, you are full of surprises.”
“I’ve got another surprise for you.” I dip down to whisper into her ear. “We don’t have to wait until we get home to fuck…” I start to explain, but before I’ve finished, she’s grabbed my arm, leading me toward the exit.
I booked a nearby hotel room with early check-in. It was a five-minute walk from the train station, but we jogged here in three minutes. Good thing we’re both so young.
My fiancée pulls my jacket off before we’re inside the room, and I manage to remove her jacket and shirt in two seconds. In between frantic kisses and unzipping my pants, she is breathless when she says, “You are the smartest man I have ever met. How did you know I’d want to have sex with you before we went to your parents’ house?”
“I’ve read your manuscript. I know your story.” I unhook the bra she wore because she knew she’d be seeing my family today. She had no idea I’d be pressing her up against the wall of a hotel room, lowering myself to kiss her tits as I kneel before her and pull down her jeans.
Turns out Fiona is the smartest woman I’ve ever known. She’s wearing black panties that sayYes, I’ll marry you, Emmettin white vinyl on the front.
“What the fuck?”
She laughs, threading her fingers through my hair. “I’ve readyourbook too. I know how your mind works.”
“How long ago did you have these made?”
“Few weeks. After you told me we’d be taking the train to see your parents.”
I pull those panties down, and she stops giggling as soon as I remind her how my tongue works. I pause to quote from her book, “I’m going to kiss you until you beg for more, dear Fiona.”
