“For real?” He sounded skeptical.
“What do you mean? Of course for real.”
“Last time you expressed interested in hooking up with someone, you only wanted to do it to get even with Vince.”
She laughed. “Right. No, I’m not talking about revenge sex.”
“Did Max do this to you?”
“What? No.”
Yes. It had been almost two weeks since the Central Park hug-with-a-side-order-of-calf-touching, and Dani was pretty sure that was what had started this. Incidental physical contact with an attractive man. But the origin of her newfound horniness was immaterial. Even though Max was apparently a master at the kind of no-strings encounter she was looking for, she wasn’t banging the baron. Heh. Banging the Baron. It sounded like a porno. “Why would you think this had anything to do with Max?”
“He’s here. He’s been here since he got back from New York. He told us you guys went to The Nutcracker.” Left unsaid was that Dani hadn’t told him, and historically, Dani and Leo talked about everything. Though she’d told Leo about Max being her plus-one to the departmental party, she hadn’t told him about their outing the next day. She wasn’t sure why, just that Leo knew about her list, and to be honest, she didn’t like to think of herself as the kind of person who dropped everything when a baron dangled ballet tickets. She steered Leo back to the topic at hand. “Which app do I use? Tinder? Or one of those ones where they only let girls make the first move? Stumble? What is it called?”
“You’re asking me? You were the one who was always telling me to get on an app.”
“That advice was theoretical. I didn’t know which app.” She’d wanted to tip Leo out of his grief, to get him to live a little, to do more than work and take care of his sister. And then he met a goddamn princess and moved to Europe. Talk about overachieving. “But you’re right. Why am I asking you?” There must be someone she could ask. There was Sinéad, but—
Hang on. There was the Baron She Would Never Bang. Ha. From porno to anti-porno. He had invited her to be in touch if he could ever be of service. She stifled a laugh and forced herself to tune in to the rest of the conversation. After she and Leo had caught up and made a plan for a bigger chat tomorrow, including her family and Gabby and Marie, Dani hung up and considered how to broach the subject. Should she open with some kind of pleasantry? Thank Max again for The Nutcracker? Nah, too deferential. Wish him a merry Christmas? Why bother? He hated Christmas. Better to get right to the point.
Dani: Hi. It’s Dani Martinez. Which app do you use for your man-whore activities?
Max: And a good day to you, too. Merry Christmas. Christ is risen, hallelujah, et cetera.
Dani: Come on. I need some advice. You invited me to let you know if you could ever be of service—don’t make a dirty joke here.
Max: I wouldn’t dream of it.
Dani: So? Which app?
Max: I don’t use apps much, but I’m on Raya.
Dani: Never heard of it.
Max: It’s like Tinder for horrible people.
Dani: Tinder for horrible people?
Max: Tinder for rich people. Same difference.
Max: Or perhaps it’s more accurately described as Tinder for famous people. You have to get approved by a committee to become a member. The idea is we all have to be discreet, I suppose? Mutually assured destruction?
Dani: That is no help to me since I am neither rich nor famous.
Max: You’re also not horrible.
Max: What seems to be the problem?
Dani: I want to find someone to have sex with, and I don’t know how to do it.
Max: Well, Daniela, when a man and a woman love each other very much and lie in a close embrace . . .
Dani: Oh shut up.
Max: If only you’d had this problem two weeks ago, I could have been of assistance.
Dani: I said no dirty jokes. And no you couldn’t.
Max: You’re overthinking this. The world is full of men who will gladly have sex with you.
Dani: I know that. I mean, if Vince can get people to have sex with him, why can’t I?
Max: That’s the spirit. There are probably dozens of them on your block alone.
Dani: But how do I find them? How do I find one? I only need one. But I need him to be not gross.
Max: That part might be harder. Also, it’s Christmas Eve.
Dani: People can’t have sex on Christmas Eve?
Max: No, but aren’t you supposed to be making those Mexican dessert things and packing up your cheater fruitcake and so on?
Dani: Are you trying to talk me out of getting on Tinder?
Max: Good lord, no. I would never do that.
Dani: What are you doing right now?
Max: I’m at the palace for Christmas. I was having a late lunch with my parents and brother, but I excused myself to take a very important phone call.
Dani: Okay, well, I’ll let you go.
Max: Please don’t. Then I’ll have to go back to tortellini and torture.
She paused. If he didn’t have any advice for her regarding apps suitable for commoners, why would they keep texting? She couldn’t help but be curious about his use of the term torture, though. It didn’t sound like he had the best relationship with his family. Her fingers, poised over her phone, twitched. Damn it, she was going to do it.
Dani: Lunch with just your family?
Max: Yes. We spend Christmas at the palace, but my father always insists on a family Christmas Eve lunch, and they give us a private room. Which I very much do not want to return to.
Dani: Okay, tell me about one time you used your rich-person app successfully. Maybe I can translate your technique into a proletariat app.
Her phone rang. He was calling her. She shouldn’t have gone along with the chatty texting-for-no-reason thing. “Hello?”
“I would never tell you not to get on Tinder or any other app, but please be careful.”
His voice was a shock, which made no sense. She had heard a great deal of it not two weeks ago. But over the phone it felt more intimate somehow, which also made no sense. There was an ocean between them. “What do you mean?”
“Do all the things you’re supposed to do. Tell someone where you are and send them the man’s name and photo. Meet in public—all those precautions.”
“That seems like a lot of work in order to have sex.”
“Just text someone the details. Text me the details.”
“Text you, halfway across the world when it’s the middle of the night your time, the details about the hookup I’m about to have?”
“Yes. I don’t sleep that much anyway, and I’m profoundly nonjudgmental. Send me his picture and the address where you are and check in when you’re done. I promise I won’t be a jerk about it.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She understood the logic behind what he was suggesting, but something about sending all that stuff to Max felt weird.
When the silence between them started to stretch out a tad too much, he said, “Or, you know there is another option.”
She snorted. “Let me take a wild guess. You, in the spirt of charity, are prepared to fly across the ocean and help me out with this.”
“Well, don’t sell yourself short; I would hardly call it charity.”