Free Bicoastal Babe by Cynthia Langston Page B

I
have
eaten their sushi, but… Well, forget it.” I open my menu. “And I do like sake, by the way. Love it, actually.”
    “Two sake martinis,” Victor tells the waitress.
    “Certainly, Mr. Ragsdale.”
    Victor goes back to the menu. “I’m going to order an assortment –”
    “Excuse me,” I interrupt. “Are you wearing a sticker on your back that says, ‘Hello, My Name Is Mr. Ragsdale’?”
    He laughs again. I’m three for three! “I just come here a lot.”
    Really? With whom? How many women has Victor taken here? How many women has he sat at this very table with? Bad to ask. But I bet a lot.
    “As I was saying… I’m going to order an assortment and let the chef make us whatever he wants. Adventure eating, I like to call it.”
    Adventure eating. Has a trend-sounding ring to it. Mental note.
    After he orders and we get our drinks, Victor sits back and loosens his tie. “So.” He smiles. “How do you like New York?”
    “Oh, I love it! All the sights and sounds and smells. It’s so glamorous and energetic and fun and –”
    “Lindsey. You sound like a tourism brochure. New York smells like a shit in a sauna.”
    “You don’t like New York?”
    “Yeah, you know. It’s home. I’ll never leave. So what else? What do you
really
like about it?”
    Hmmm. What
do
I like about New York? I guess it’s hard to put into words. Words that don’t sound like a tourism brochure, that is.
    “I don’t know,” I mumble. “I just do. Just the feeling I have here.”
    “Ah, the Un-Reason.” He nods slowly.
    “What’s the Un-Reason?”
    “It’s what my mother used to say was the reason she loved my father. Trust me, she hated everything about the prick, but she still loved him for a reason she couldn’t explain. She used to call it the Un-Reason, and she swore it was the only reason that mattered.”
    I feel a tear well up in my eye. “That’s incredibly romantic, Victor.”
    “And that’s why you love New York. But then again, you just got here. You’ll find other reasons.”
    “But reasons that don’t matter.”
    “Nah. It’ll just mean that you’ll love it without it driving you crazy. That’s what you wanna shoot for.”
    He grins and I grin back. Well, then, that’s what I’ll shoot for.
    •   •   •
    The rest of dinner is slow and delicious, and as the sake sets in I’m beginning to feel like New York royalty. I love the restaurant, with its dark, sharp decor contrasted by candle flames casting out a warm, glowing swirl. And in addition to being the most strikingly handsome man in the room, it turns out that Victor is the perfect gentleman (despite that he called our waiter a “fucking asshole” – albeit very quietly – when he forgot our tuna sashimi).
    After dinner, Victor suggests a carriage ride in Central Park, and I just about fall over. It’s the most romantic, perfect, wonderful thing I’ve ever been asked. The night is warm, the park is peaceful, and Victor holds my hand in the carriage as we stare at the stars. It’s everything I’ve always dreamed of, aside from the fact that those horses actually fart quite a lot, and loudly I might add. But Victor laughed, so I did too. A silly little cute thing in our perfect night.
    When the carriage pulls up to let us off, I notice that Victor’s building is right across the street. Without missing a beat, he kisses my hand and asks me up for a nightcap. A nightcap – so romantic. Guys don’t say that anymore. Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant used to say that in old movies. Yes, I would love to have a nightcap, I answer, and float up the elevator to his dream apartment.
    Once in, Victor dims the lights and opens a bottle of port. Sade softly swells from the stereo. I step into the bathroom to powder my nose, and that’s when it hits me: He’s brought me here to sleep with me.
    Shit. What should I do? I’ve never had sex on the first date. It’s just not me – just not my thing. Well, except for after my