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The last time Mason came to her Pearl Street apartment, they had unemotional, senseless sex. Less than a year ago, Thessaly was dining with a family friend at a Downtown restaurant when Mason staggered into the bar with a group of stockbrokers in custom suits. Mason noticed Thessaly immediately, always drawn to her light hair and fair skin – my naughty angel, he often called her.

But he didn’t approach her. Instead, he sent a drink to her table – strawberry vodka lemonade rimmed with extra sugar.

“From an admirer at the bar,” the waiter had said.

Thessaly knew instantly who sent the drink, as this was the exact cocktail she ordered on their first night in Manhattan – the same fruity drink Mason teased her about for months. She thanked the waiter and continued the dinner with her friend. But as the evening progressed, and a few glances were exchanged between Thessaly and her admirer, the sexual tension became unbearable. Declining dessert and saying goodbye to her friend, Thessaly eventually made her way to the lounge. She quietly sat at the opposite end, ordered a cocktail of pineapple vodka, threw it back in two gulps, and then slapped a ten on the bar. Full of confidence, she went straight for what she wanted. But as she tapped Mason on the shoulder, her heart raced and her skin prickled with a fiery twinge. They were not a couple anymore, and most likely, never would be again.

“Hiya,” he’d slurred.

“Hey,” she’d replied.

“Let’s get out of here,” he’d demanded.

Taking her familiar hand, Mason led Thessaly through the group of colleagues, knowing the immature assholes would high-five each other in his wake. Once they were outside the restaurant, the two former lovers kissed – Thessaly’s breath sweet and fruity, and Mason’s lips burning from the expensive brandy. Their arms groped each other tightly while their hands teased and fondled their favorite spots. Walking the two blocks to Thessaly’s apartment was painfully intolerable, so as soon as they entered the elevator in her building, clothes were ripped and removed.

And then they fucked.

Against the door. On the couch. And hunkered over the steps leading to her elevated bed.

It had been a night of carnal pleasure shared between two strangers that sort of loved each other. There was a level of trust that allowed them to cross every conceivable boundary yet still remain comfortable.

Lying in bed, sated yet confused, Thessaly quietly asked Mason the important question. “What exactly happened?” she’d probed.

“You didn’t touch that stupid drink. I saw you differently – you weren’t Tess Sinclair the adorable honey heiress, you were a sexy woman I wanted to fuck,” he’d explained flatly.

Had she changed? Or had she actually conquered New York on her own? Either way, Mason had tested her intentions and gave her hope all in the same breath that night. And even now, as she crosses the street to meet her former lover in control of their confusing relationship, Thessaly wonders if she should quickly shave her legs and change into a lace thong, or make some biscuits with honey butter and get out the wedding magazines.

Approaching the steps to her apartment building, Thessaly spots the man with the peacock feathers lounging on the tiny camping stool against the wall of the next building. Stretching out his long, tan legs, he glances at Thessaly, and then returns his attention to a cardboard sign in his lap.

Walking toward him, Thessaly says with a friendly smile, “We meet again.”

Looking up from the cardboard sign briefly, the man smirks. Returning his attention to the sign, he takes a long string, wraps it around the end of a marker, pierces a hole through the cardboard, and then ties the string to the sign. Flipping it around and displaying it on the wall beside him, Thessaly bends to read the text.

LOVE IS ____________

The man offers Thessaly the marker, but she retreats in fear.

Not wanting to scare her away, the man tries to lighten the mood by writing: Starbucks.

Embarrassed and offended by his attempt at humor, Thessaly backs away from the alcove and rushes to the safety of her apartment building.

Asshole. He doesn’t know me.

Love is Starbucks? Ha! With extra caramel, maybe.

What is love?

Love is . . .

“Love is a battlefield,” she blurts.

Taking the stairs to clear her head, Thessaly tries to imitate Pat Benatar, but her pitchy voice echoes throughout the stairwell. When she reaches her floor, she grabs an invisible microphone and performs a dramatic finale before opening the door.

Inside her apartment, Thessaly lights a candle that promises to bring the allure of a Bahamian vacation, lowers her shades, and powers on the Bose speakers. Dancing to her favorite R.E.M. song, she removes her bra and changes into a flouncy kimono shirt and red leggings. Pleased with her casual yet chic attire, she darts to the bathroom to freshen up. She brushes her teeth, spritzes on some perfume, and tops off her you-know-you-want-me look by applying ruby red lipstick.

Hyper but still needing a quick fix, she settles for a can of whipped cream stashed in the refrigerator. Careful not to smear her lipstick, she sprays the cold cream in her mouth and swallows. Replacing the cap to the can, she tosses it back in the refrigerator just as there’s a knock on the door.

Shit!

She takes a deep breath and then unlocks the door. Leaning against the door frame with a cocky smile is Mason, dressed in a white dress shirt and loosened tie. He runs his hand through his chestnut hair, and then guides Thessaly back into the apartment with his body.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies.

Dropping a small white bakery box tied with floss to the floor, Mason presses her against the living room wall and breathes into her hair. “Dessert.”

New Amsterdam: Tess _2.jpg

“My first acting audition as an adult was for an off-Broadway play in the role of Hooker #2. I didn’t get the part.”

New Amsterdam: Tess _2.jpg

Chapter Five

 “But it was good, right?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Debating whether or not it was good is a waste of time – it was sex.”

“So it was good,” Seth stresses with a grin.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Seth. We can’t do this – I barely like you.” Meg jumps from her bed, yanking the sheet from Seth to drape around her naked body like a giant cape.

Grabbing his boxers from the floor, Seth slowly stands up and stretches. “Oh, you like me. You like my tongue all over your breasts, and you really like my dick jammed . . .”

“Ohmigod, no.” Meg shakes her head as she darts to the bathroom. Slamming the door and locking it behind her, she shouts, “You should leave.”

Meg lowers the sheet and stares at her figure in the full-body mirror behind the door. She hasn’t worked out in years, and it’s slowly beginning to show. Places that used to be firm and tan are now freckled and flabby. Meg cups her breasts and sighs, watching in horror as her boobs lose their perkiness and her stomach puckers.

“Meghan?” Seth says outside the door.

“Go home, Seth!” Meg snaps.

Starting the shower, Meg waits several minutes before getting in. After feeling the vibration of the front door slamming, she jumps in the scalding hot water to wash away her confusing thoughts.

It was just sex. After a night of mojitos. But Seth is pretty cool. And he likes me. But we work together. And he annoys me. Immature fuck gave me a hickey! We’ll have to forget last night. Can we? The sex was pretty good. And he didn’t seem to mind the cellulite. I need more shampoo. I’ll avoid him for a few days. Maybe he doesn’t like me. What if he ignores me? Fuck, I’m late for work.