I close my eyes and bring up the image from my past. I envision the one person I’d like to have look at me in a negligee—the one man I’ve imagined since our secret night. I recall his gaze when I woke in his arms, his playful smile as he helped me remember what Fireball had tried to erase, and the way we kissed the last time we saw one another.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I make my way backstage. “I’m going to need nipple tape if my thoughts go there.”
“Shana?”
I turn to see my possible new boss. “Vicky!”
Her expression is more enthusiastic than her voice. “I heard about Jenese. I can’t believe she isn’t here.”
“Things happen,” I say with more confidence than I possess. “We will still make this work.”
“I don’t need to tell you that there’s a lot riding on this show.”
“You don’t.”
“And the designers paid for their spots.”
“But not for the models wearing them. Every outfit will be spotlighted. The show must go on.”
She takes a step back and nods. “Grace under pressure is an asset we can use in lingerie.”
“I’m going to be backstage, but we can talk after the show,” I say.
“Count on it.”
Chapter Four
Trevor
Eric laughs as he settles against the cool vinyl of the booth and listens to his future. “You guys can’t be serious? This sounds like The Hangover meets Impractical Jokers. This is my bachelor-party weekend. I was thinking bars and nightclubs. Last night was a good start.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking of crashing a fashion show. A. Lingerie. Fashion show.” He says the last part staccato like it will change Max’s mind.
“Deadly serious,” our friend Max says. “I didn’t travel across the pond to sit casually at some gentlemen’s club. The fashion show is perfect. There will be beautiful women for you blokes and some nice eye candy for me. It’s a win-win.”
Max lives in the UK. How he became part of our inner circle is a long story. Suffice it to say, as an investment banker, his work with McCobb, the engineering firm where Eric, Matt, and I work, brought him to our New York offices many times. He has one of those personalities that is the complete opposite of most engineers: outgoing, gregarious, and fun. Yes, I’m admitting we can be boring. The thing that makes Max unique is that he brings out those traits in others. When I was in Washington and Eric was in Indiana working on different projects, Max used our apartment when he’d come to New York for work. Our interests may not all be the same, but we’ve become friends. While this weekend is about Eric and his impending wedding, Matt—the fourth of our foursome—knew inviting Max would keep the weekend lively.
It seems he was right.
As I try to smother the alcohol from last night in greasy eggs, potatoes, and thick bagel, I don’t have the energy to argue. However, while taking a large gulp of good ole black coffee, my deductive reasoning is getting the better of me. “You don’t expect us to just crash the Saks Fifth Avenue lingerie fashion show, do you?”
“Now, wouldn’t that be fun?”
“You can’t be serious. I’m sure there are tickets and shit. They don’t just let four men off the street—”
Max holds up his phone, interrupting my only attempt to change our plans. The screen appears to have some sort of ticketing information. “Not crash. The dare...” He lowers his voice as his expression explodes with excitement. “...is to make contact with one of the models.”
Eric shakes his head. “Are we twelve?”
“No,” Max says. “Twelve-year-olds don’t purchase tickets to see beautiful women walk around in lingerie.”
“No, they sneak on to their father’s porn sites,” Matt says with a laugh.
“So we’re too sophisticated for that. Besides, we can all afford our own viewing pleasure. This is different. It’s unique and unusual. This fashion show only happens twice a year. How many times do you blokes get to watch lovely models parade in front of you?”
“Listen,” Eric says, “I’m not doing anything to jeopardize my marriage to Cynthia.”
“No one is asking you to,” Matt says, joining the persuasion. He and Max have obviously worked the details out amongst themselves. “Make contact. That doesn’t mean fuck or even touch.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Well, contact... no. Talk to, get a phone number, have a conversation. Unlike the show, the dare is not for all of us. One of us needs to be the judge. That, my man,” he says to Eric, the groom-to-be, “is you. Max, Trevor, and I are the ones who have to do the dare. You choose the one who wins and the other two pay for this entire weekend...hotel rooms, drinks, and all.”
I can’t help but think that the overall expense would be less if Max had taken me up on the offer to use my apartment for this weekend.
Eric laughs. “No offense, Max, but I suspect the models aren’t your type.”
Max’s cheeks rise. “No offense taken. As we said, fucking isn’t the object. I’ve been known to be very debonair and besides, American women love a man with an accent. I can admire a beautiful woman as much as any one of you.” He eyes the table where we’re all slightly hung over.
Our eyes are undoubtedly bloodshot and none of us have showered. I know that because we all dragged ourselves out of our rooms with dry, messy hair and the lingering aroma of last night’s drinks. Food and coffee were our primary objectives.
“Better than any of you blokes, actually,” Max clarifies. “And as I said, it’s about contact. The one who gets the most intel, the one who gets the closest wins. He then gets to spend the rest of the weekend at the expense of the other two.”
We all look at one another and shrug. “I’m game,” Matt says first.
“If I’m only the judge,” Eric says, “I’m in.”
They all look my direction. I narrow my gaze at Matt and Max. “You two were planning this. You know I suck at coming on to women. I should just throw my credit card on the table and call it a day. Hell, Max will pick up a model before I do.”
The truth is that I have been on a rather dry spell. First, I’m not a lady’s man. One-night stands aren’t my thing. With my job that takes me from place to place for months or even years at a time, I find making commitments difficult. And then there is this one woman.
The unexpected surprise is that Eric’s impending wedding has put her in the forefront of my mind. I met her at a wedding, well, the night before. It was my brother’s wedding, and I’d gotten into town late. I told myself I’d have one drink in the hotel bar to wind down from the flight and let my body adjust to the time difference. With a beer in hand, I made my way out of the loud piano bar and outside to a patio.
There she was.
Was she beautiful?
Without question.
Was I attracted?
No doubt.
Did I do something about it?
For one of the first times in my life, I did.
I could blame my brother, but he wasn’t there. The thing is that I’d spent the entire flight from Washington to Indiana thinking about my brother’s wedding. I was and am happy for him. My sister-in-law, Kimbra, is a great lady. I’d gotten to know her before my job moved me across the country. It’s just that there is this brotherly competition.