“I’ve dug my hands into the earth more times than I can count, and each time, I think I’m saving the world. But there will always be a hunger – humans crave more.”

Chapter Seven

Levi: You’re so sexy when you’re wet.

Smiling, Levi rereads his text and powers on the treadmill. Removing his T-shirt, he jogs on a slight incline while gazing out the window of his Brooklyn loft. At nearly twelve-hundred square feet, and with ceilings twenty-feet high, Levi’s loft is considered an industrial mansion in the middle of Vinegar Hill.

Early morning ships and the occasional yacht sail along the East River – it’s normally entertaining, but Levi can’t seem to focus on anything other than Thessaly standing in the rain. He quickly glances at his phone, waiting for her reply – because if he’s right about Thessaly Sinclair, she’ll have a snarky comeback . . .

Tess: I’m so embarrassed! I never get that wet on a first date.

Nailed it.

Slowing the treadmill as he pecks at the screen, Levi thinks of something clever.

Levi: Then I did something right.

Tess: Maybe it was my position? Over the shoulder, ass in the air.

Levi grins, remembering the shape of Thessaly’s cute butt bouncing in the rain.

Levi: We could do this all day.

Tess: We could, but I’m running late for a photo shoot @ The Hive.

Levi: Please tell me you’ll be naked.

Tess: Topless and covered in honey. The family will be so proud.

His erection growing, Levi misses a step on the treadmill.

Levi: Can I stop by?

Tess: NO! You’ll make me laugh.

Levi: I’ll bring cupcakes . . .

Nearly tripping over his shoelace as he types the ellipses, Levi stops the treadmill and sits on the couch. He waits patiently, imagining her smiling at his offer.

Tess: Deal. I like strawberry with cream cheese frosting.

Levi: Delicious.

Tess: And sprinkles. Or like those curls of white chocolate.

Levi: I’ll see you this afternoon.

Tess: I may regret this.

Tossing his phone on the couch, Levi drops to the floor and completes two sets of twenty pushups. Flipping to his back, he folds his arms over his chest and brings his knees to his waist for a set of fifty crunches. He never played organized sports, and he rarely goes to a gym, but the three years he spent in the Peace Corps afforded him with a physical appreciation of general health, and a body with lean muscles that makes all the girls swoon.

After graduating from Georgetown University with a Bachelor of Science in Business Development with an emphasis in agribusiness, Levi landed a prestigious job with an environmental law firm in Washington D.C. He worked fifteen-hour days as a consultant to lobbyists, pouring his agriculture knowledge into projects he didn’t believe in. So one night, after beers with a few of his buddies from college, they made a drunken pact to volunteer for the Peace Corps. Whether or not the other guys actually applied, Levi will never know, but he did – and within a year, he packed his bags and shipped off to Belize.

Broken Spanish, weekly immunizations, and a bout with dehydration were mild setbacks to the rewarding experience of watching a community harvest a small crop. Along with three other American Peace Corps volunteers, Levi led a team of ten farmers in the agribusiness community project. His main objectives were to teach families financial literacy, like bookkeeping and report analyses, and to facilitate product development through marketing.

In the midst of helping the world become a better place, Levi met a beautiful girl from California. Taylor Johnson was a former Miss California, a graduate from Berkeley in Women’s Studies, and the daughter of a Congressman. Levi and Taylor would have been the perfect couple – future leaders changing the global perspective of farming and business. But once they left the adventurous bubble of Belize and settled into the normalcy of Brooklyn, the relationship once fueled by wanderlust, soon became an awkward friendship.

Taylor eventually moved back to California to work as a liaison to the Mexican government, and Levi started Brooklyn Soil with a silent business partner. Within twenty months of opening the doors, Levi has elevated the rooftop project into an actual business with satellite farms all over New York City. But it’s his humanitarian projects that bring him the most joy – well, that and the six-figure income for doing something he loves.

Cooling down with three minutes of jogging, Levi powers off the treadmill and heads to the industrial bathroom. He removes his sneakers and his running shorts, and then steps into the lukewarm shower – another side effect of living modestly in Belize for twenty-seven months. Quickly washing his hair and scrubbing his body with an organic blue agave blend, he stands under the large ceiling-mounted shower head, closes his eyes, and strokes his hard shaft.

Sex in the rain, he thinks. With Tess. Dripping wet. The smell of summer. Warm. Hot. Hot sex. Breasts. Take her from behind. Take her. Mmm. Pummeling her sweet ass. Oh, Tess.

Levi stops and opens his eyes – another trick he learned in Belize from using an outdoor shower with horrible plumbing. No PCV wanted to be the one held responsible for clogging a drain. He quickly adjusts the water to a freezing temperature and rinses off his soapy body. Finishing his shower, he steps onto the slate floor and grabs a towel. Wrapping it loosely around his waist, Levi applies deodorant and a spritz of woodsy cologne. Moving through the loft, Levi grabs a coconut water from the refrigerator, and then shuffles to his closet.

Selecting a white dress shirt and a pair of steely-blue dress pants, Levi dresses the part of a young businessman. He forgoes a tie, opting to keep his appearance less intimidating than the group of lawyers from the Afghani Alliance.

He clasps his watch on his right wrist, weaves a brown belt through the loops of his slacks, and then sits on his bed to pull up his socks adorned with skateboarding chickens. Stepping into his brown leather wingtips, Levi guzzles the coconut water and recycles the cardboard container.

Back in the bathroom, he brushes his teeth, applies a small amount of product to his thick, candied-pecan hair, and pops open the top button of his dress shirt. Making his way toward the galvanized steel door, he grabs his phone from the couch, and an apple from a handmade, South American bowl in the kitchen.

The industrial loft sits on the fourth floor of a converted mechanical warehouse. When he bought the space last year, he wasn’t trying to be hip or in front of the trends, he simply wanted to be close to the farm. The building is geographically located in a neighborhood referred to as Vinegar Hill, a tiny section of DUMBO, situated under the Manhattan Bridge with views of Downtown and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. At one point, there were only two residents living in his entire building – now the complex is maxed at thirty occupied lofts, and a new building permit to install a rooftop pool.

Stopping by the only deli in the neighborhood, Levi buys a newspaper, two egg whites on a whole wheat bagel, and a small bottle of Tropicana orange juice. “Hey, Mr. Bertucci. Any plans this weekend?” He places ten dollars on the counter and smiles at the man behind the register.

“Nah, family is in Sicily,” Mr. Bertucci replies, returning his change.