He should have known the flight from LAX to LaGuardia would be delayed, and that once they landed in New York that the plane would be held on the tarmac, patiently waiting in line behind other planes. Because he had plans—important plans with a girl, a hot girl he hadn’t seen in almost a year and was anxious to see again—Murphy’s Law would kick in and those plans would fold in on themselves and tumble like a house of cards in the wind.

It was nearly an hour past the time he was supposed to be in a car next to said hot girl. Gabby was probably fuming, circling the airport, low on gas, cursing his name. He dug into his pocket once again for his cell phone and tried to dial her. Voicemail. Where was she???

The screen lit up and the phone rang in his hand. The Caller ID popped up and he was relieved to see that it was Gabby.

“Hey,” he said as he picked up. “Are you pissed yet?”

“Nah. I checked your flight and saw it was delayed, so I stayed late at work. I don’t get good service on the train and I just got your voicemails. So you’re here?”

“Yeah, we’re here. But on the tarmac. Just breathing in this nice reconstituted air they pump through here. If I get sick, I know how it happened.”

“You won’t get sick,” she said, laughing.

“I’m really sorry to keep you waiting. I’m kind of embarrassed about it.”

“You can’t control this. Try to relax and call me when you’re getting off the plane. I’m not far from the airport. I’ll circle around and pick you up. Tie you to the roof of my shitty blue Toyota.”

He laughed, louder and harder than he intended. God, he couldn’t wait to see her. 

“I’d like to see you try to get my ass on top of that car. I’ll call you when I’m making my way out. See you soon.”

He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. His frustration had subsided a little. He was ready to see her though. Had been ready for awhile—he just finally got up the nerve to call and tell her that he was going to be in town.

What possessed him to tell a random woman—a journalist, no doubt—that he’d come see her he would never know, but the words were falling out of his mouth before he realized it. Those words put a smile on her face and made that solemn, gloomy ‘shit, I met someone new and I can never see her again’ feeling go away.

And then reality hit. He got busy and kind of forgot about her, except every time he passed the Viper Room or that pharmacy on Sunset where she picked him up, he’d remember her. It took months to decide that he would keep his word and go out to New York to see her.

But… finding her was the thing. In all the excitement and romantic promises, he forgot to get her number. He had to call in a few favors to get her last name. He remembered everything they’d talked about, including the company she said she was going to work for. Once he had her last name, it was easy to dig through Pearson’s website and find her. Actually dialing the number was a different story.

And if he was being honest with himself, he hoped to get voicemail so she’d have to call him back. When she picked up, his chest tightened and his body perked up at the sound of her voice. That was how he knew it—that he was crazy about a woman he’d only met once and only spent six hours with, and had now boarded a plane and flew across the country to see. This would either be really, really good… or really, really bad.

“Hot date?” The kid next to him leaned in. He was easily college age, sporting a goatee and the kind of hairdo that looked messy but actually took an hour to get that way. “You must have a ton of girls. Like one in every city, huh?”

JC had a healthy chuckle at that. Not that it was a ridiculous notion, but at the assumption that he still lived a life that would get him a ‘girl in every city’. “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Just seeing an old friend I haven’t seen in awhile. But,” he added, “She does happen to be hot.”

“Lucky,” said the kid. “All’s I got is a dog waiting for me. Hope we get out of here soon.”

The plane lurched and began a slow crawl forward. JC began mentally estimating how long it would be until he saw her. Ten minutes? He could last that long. Probably. He sent her a text that he was on the move. She texted back that she was on her way.

Twenty minutes later, he walked through the sliding glass doors at baggage claim and saw the two-door indigo blue Toyota swerve into the nearest lane. Before he got to the car, the driver side door opened and Gabby hopped out.

“Finally!” She squeaked, walking around to the back of the car and inserting her key to pop the trunk. “I’ve been circling forever.”  She reached for the handle of his carry-on suitcase and hefted it into the trunk with no problem. Once it was secure, she slammed the hood down again and grinned at him.

She was adorable, just as he remembered her when she walked out of his house that morning. Maybe more, because he hadn’t seen her in so long. Her long, dark hair was still shiny, falling in waves over one shoulder. Her jeans were skin-tight; her top was sleeveless, showing off shapely arms and a neckline that dipped just enough to give him a hint. In three inch heels, she could rest her chin on his shoulder as she leaned forward to give him a brief hug. Much, much too brief.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

As he folded himself into the compact car, he wondered how she’d managed to get him in the car the first time. Maybe being drunk made him limber and bendy.

“You can scoot that seat back if you’re uncomfortable. It’s so good to see you. And smell you.”

JC reached under him for the lever that shot the seat back several inches. He adjusted for comfort, staring at her while she started the car again and pulled away from the curb. “Smell me?”

“Yeah. You smell like LA.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “I smell like LA? Interesting. Tell me what LA smells like.”

She sniffed the air inside the car, breathing deeply, staring ahead at traffic around them. “Besides whatever amazing cologne or soap you use? Salt water. Sand. Sunshine. And tacos. I miss Pinches on Sunset and Hugo’s on Santa Monica.”

She sighed, a wistful grin slightly visible in the flash of lights as they passed the airport.

“You should have told me. I would have brought you some.”

“Oh, no. They’re best when they’re fresh. Are you hungry?”

“Honey, I can always eat. What do you have in mind?”

They were squeezed into a cozy booth at TukTuk, a hole-in-the wall restaurant in Long Island City serving Asian cuisine lightning fast with a smile. Over wine and beer, sizzling fried rice and lemongrass chicken, they caught up on events in the past year.  She painted a pretty picture of what she did as a Junior Editor and he glossed over a rather uneventful year as a TV personality and music producer.

“Well, hopefully you haven’t had to get a ride to your house from some other very nice girl.”

JC could only shake his head, since his mouth was full. “I learned my lesson,” he said when he had swallowed. “Besides, it’s not like it would be the same. It wasn’t the situation. It was the girl.”

She glanced up at him, caught his eye and looked back down to her plate, where she was picking through her entrée with her fork.  “Uh. So, I haven’t… really… since then.”

JC blinked, incredulous. “You’re kidding. You haven’t… since… really?”

She shrugged, a rosy color washing over her. “Well, I mean… I went from your house to my apartment, packed up the last of my stuff, then went to the office and cleaned out my desk. I left the next day, started working as soon as I hit New York. I date a little. Here and there. I’ve met guys, just not anyone I’m interested in.”

“You mean you’re not interested in having sex with another drunk guy you don’t know?”

“Whatever, JC,” she said, full on blushing. “Like you said, it wasn’t the situation. It was the guy. It hasn’t been the same for you, then?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve had sex every day since that night. Sometimes twice.”

She giggled, almost snorting the last of her wine. “Right. Okay.”

“No, really. I have.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

“Fine, I haven’t. But I bet I’m not nearly as hard up as you.”

“I’m not hard up. I’m picky.”

“Right.”

“What? I am.”

“Right. Yeah, picky girls always pick a guy up on Sunset, go to his house with him and wiggle their way into his bed.” He laughed lightly, sipping his wine and said, “And they always say things like I never do this….”

“I have never said those words in my life,” she said, her brown eyes rolling. She tried hard not to laugh, but in the end a giggle escaped, giving way to full blown laughter.

“Oh, so you do stuff like that, then? Why didn’t we meet before? We could have been having fun all along.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said I’ve never done the I never do this bullshit. Everyone knows that’s a lie. And also, that is hardly what happened. I remember trying to leave a few times, but you wouldn’t let me. You wore me down until I was delirious. And then had your way with me.” She gave a single, final nod. Resolute. “That’s what I remember.”

“Hunh,” said JC. He propped an elbow up on the table and dropped his chin into his palm. He furrowed his brow, scratched the stubble on his chin, and studied the popcorn ceiling of the small restaurant, feigning deep thought and concentration. “I just… yeah, I don’t remember it that way.”

“Of course you don’t. You were drunk.”

They scraped the last of their meals from their plates. The sound of a vacuum startled JC and he looked up toward the sound. The restaurant was empty except for the staff gathered around the bar, chatting and nonchalantly glancing toward the single occupied table.

“I guess we’ve been here awhile,” said JC, checking his watch and noting that it was nearly midnight. He picked up the check, which had been sitting on the edge of the table, unnoticed. Smirking, he pulled out his wallet and laid a platinum card on top of the slip of paper. A waiter came to collect it, smiling warmly and rushing away.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gabby said. “They have no problem telling people to get out.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmmhmm.” She nodded, gathering her purse and pushing her plate aside. JC was happy to see it had been practically licked clean. That meant she wasn’t dainty or high maintenance. “Sometimes I bring work here. I always lose track of time and they have to kick me out at least once a month.”

The waiter brought the card back, JC signed the receipt and slid his card back into his wallet, then sighed, satisfied and comfortable. And relaxed. It was good to see Gabby. Really, really good to see Gabby. He was ready to see more of her.

“So, take me to this pleasure palace you call your apartment. You don’t have roaches, do you?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Bedbugs?”

She laughed, leading him out of the restaurant and down the block to where she’d parked the car. “Shut up or I’ll make you sleep in the car. What kind of place do you think I live in?”

“Just asking.”

They rode to her apartment, talking and laughing along the way. Gabby expertly weaved through traffic as if she’d been a New York driver her whole life.

“So you take the train to work? But you must drive on the weekends and stuff.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and swerving. “I figure if I pay for a parking spot I may as well make having a car here worth it. Here in town, I drive. If I have to go to the city, I take the train. If I’m going to the city for the night, I take a cab but late at night a lot of cabbies won’t go to Queens. Better just to drive.”

JC nodded. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been to Queens proper—he’d always flown in JFK and was whisked away to a plush, overpriced Manhattan hotel. There was a whole world outside of what he was used to. That was what he liked about Gabby, how she unknowingly showed him something wholly different without trying. Like late night Thai in a non-descript restaurant where no one knew his name.

He drank in the experience, so happy that he’d been able to make himself dial her number.

She pulled into an underground lot and zipped around the parking spaces until she found her spot. Once the car was securely in the space, she cut the engine, turned off the lights and hopped out. JC followed, meeting her at the trunk to lift his suitcase out.

“Okay, now,” she said, sighing as she led him toward the elevator. “I’m just warning you that my place isn’t spectacular. I mean it’s not a hole, but it’s not like I make a lot of money. My mom pays half my rent, or I wouldn’t even be able to live here.”

“I’m the one barging into your life and insisting you let me stay with you. I’m not judging you, Gabby. Relax.”

A melodious ding sounded and the elevator door slid open. The compartment was tiny, just big enough for two people and a carry-on suitcase. The floor was carpeted in a dark, musty forest green and the walls, painted metal grey, were pocked with dents and marred by graffiti: For a good time call Rhonda, 212-555-8673.

“Hey,” JC said, nodding his head to the scribble on the wall next to him. “We should call Rhonda.”

Gabby glanced at the marks on the wall and blanched. “Oh. You probably don’t want that kind of a good time.”

“Hmmm. I’ll take your word for it. I’m also not going to ask how you know what kind of good time they’re talking about.”

The elevator doors opened again and they stepped out into a dark, narrow hallway dotted by doors along each side. JC followed Gabby to 5-E and waited for her to twist the locks open, turn off the alarm and step aside.

He didn’t know what she was nervous about. Her apartment was small, sure. So was every apartment in New York, but she’d done a lot with it to add her own touches. Along the wall were artistic prints—music and art and flowers. There were colorful throw pillows on the couch and a vase of fresh flowers on the counter and the sweet smell of vanilla hung in the air. The floors were wood, the walls were brick and the appliances were black, giving the place an urban contemporary feel. JC liked it. It felt like home. And smelled like Gabby.

“So, this my place. Well, most of it.”

“It’s nice. I like it.”

She stood in what he guessed was the living room but could also be the dining room, since there was no room for a table. Three bar stools were parked under the chest- high counter in the kitchen. Music played in the background, a light rock station. A single lamp was lit, lighting the room but not too brightly. Coupled with the music and the scent and the general feel of the place, the atmosphere was romantic.

Seductive, even.

He crossed the room, moving slowly toward her and stopping directly in front of her. He circled her waist and when her arms lifted and closed around his neck, he moved in even closer, dipping his head toward hers. Their lips met for the first time in a year, a soft kiss that lingered but was full of pent up emotion.

JC pulled back, looking for her deep brown eyes but they were closed. A smile sat on her lips, making them look sweet and inviting, so he kissed them again. Gabby laughed and moved in even closer, pressed herself up against him.

“What’s so funny, Gab-Gabrielle?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not really laughing. It’s just… a nervous reaction.” She laughed again and buried her face in his neck. He dug his fingers into her hair and gripped the small of her back and they stood there, in the middle of the room, swaying in time to the music.

He bent a little, to whisper in her ear. “You don’t have to be nervous with me. You know that, right?”

She nodded, then said something he couldn’t hear, muffled in the hollow in his neck. “Hm? Can’t hear you.”

She lifted her head. “I asked if you were tired.”

He shrugged. “A little. Not sleepy, just worn out. And full. How about you?”

Slowly, her eyes rolled up to his and she smiled. Then shook her head. No.