Hot in the City

He stopped short for a second. He never had thoughts like that with other women he’d slept with. Never had a problem leaving after the moment had passed. As he plucked his clothes from the floor and the coffee table where he’d thrown them earlier, he realized he didn’t really want to say goodbye. He wanted to see her again.

That didn’t happen often, either. But Della was...different. She leaned on the doorjamb between the living room and the entryway, watching him, looking sleepy, and maybe a bit sad.

Or was Gabe imagining that? Wishful thinking?

Once he was dressed, he planted his hands on his hips, took a breath, his resolve returning.

“I should get some sleep,” she said, clearly trying to avoid the awkward goodbye. “Thank you. I hope you...have a nice stay in the city.”

“Della, wait.”

He walked toward her and drew her into a hug, kissed her hair, then her cheek and her lips, before he backed away.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but no words came out, so he walked to the door, stepping out into the early morning darkness. The upper Manhattan streets were quiet. There wasn’t a cab in sight, so Gabe headed to the nearest subway station, refocusing on his task and leaving Della’s welcoming warmth behind.

* * *

DELLA DIDN’T HEAR the conversation going on around her, she was too busy thinking about randomness. The odds of her meeting Gabe were, in the context of the entire world, astronomical. If he hadn’t been seated next to her, would the night before have even happened? Would they have met by some other mechanism? Would she have tripped over his foot in the aisle on her way to the bathrooms, and he might have caught her? Or would they still have mixed up their bags?

No, her analytical mind rebelled. That would suggest fate or determinism. That they were “meant to be.” That was romantic nonsense, according to her mathematician’s mind. It was impossible to know how they ended up sitting next to each other, only that they did. If she had more data, such as when they had bought tickets, how many seats were gone at the time and a swath of other information, she could figure out the probabilities. Then their ending up together would seem far less magical.

But the night they’d spent together had been magic. Chemistry, not physics.

“Della? Della, what do you think? What do you have there?”

Chloe Brown, her colleague and friend, marched across the carpeted floor of the fancy dressing room to pluck a napkin from Della’s fingers that had been under her champagne glass. The ladies she had been chatting with walked back out into the main area of the store, no doubt to retrieve more dresses.

Chloe’s huge blue eyes widened as she glanced at the paper in her hand.

“Math? You’re doing math? I need opinions on this dress, and then we need to get your dress, as well. The wedding is in three weeks, you know.” Chloe sighed. “I must have been out of my mind to agree to such a rushed date, but with Justin’s job moving, we couldn’t wait.”

“I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to be the one supporting you, but I’m just distracted today,” Della apologized.

She should be focusing more on the dress choices and helping Chloe, but all she seemed to be able to think about was what happened with Gabe last night.

Chloe looked at the napkin more closely.

“Wait a minute...what’s that graph? Who’s Gabe?”

Della had forgotten that she’d labeled her variables with G and D, and reached to snatch the slip of paper from Chloe’s hands.

“Nuh-uh. Come to think of it, you were late this morning, and you’re never late. You have shadows under your eyes, like you didn’t sleep well. And what’s that red mark behind your ear...is that a hickey?”

Della scrunched her shoulders, hiding the mark, and inwardly chastising herself for not wearing a scarf, but it was summer in New York—wearing a scarf would draw even more attention.

“What are you, a detective?” Della grumbled, sticking her tongue out, but having a tough time hiding a smile.

She, Della Clark, had girl talk to share.

How many times had she sat at lunch or out for drinks, listening to friends talk about their dates, man troubles and sex lives, when she had nothing to contribute. Now she did.

But she was finding it hard to talk about her news, surprisingly.

What would Chloe think of her? She was marrying a guy she’d been with for years, since college. And Della had taken a man she met on the plane to her apartment for a night of amazing sex.

And she wished she could do it again. Maybe that was the problem with her dating life. She was looking for Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now. If she wanted great sex, did she really need a relationship?

Chloe plopped down in the large, cushiony chair next to Della, the satin and lace of the dress she wore billowing all around her. Della reached out and took one edge of the lovely fabric between her fingers, marveling at how soft it was and how detailed the design of the lace.

“It almost looks like fractals,” Della murmured, studying the design.

Was she really only interested in one-time sex? It satisfied a short-term goal, for sure, but what about longer-term goals? What about a day when she might get to wear a dress like this? Have children? Grow old with someone?

What if she missed meeting the man she could spend the rest of her life with when she was pursuing simple pleasure? Not that any of her dating profile responses today looked any more promising than before on either score.

“Della, honey, tell me what happened,” Chloe said, breaking into her thoughts and taking Della’s hand with a friendly squeeze.

“I don’t know if I made a mistake. But it’s made me rethink everything,” Della said. “I’m a little confused.”

Once she started telling Chloe about Gabe, and what had happened, it all poured out much more easily than she thought it would. Chloe listened, and when Della was finally finished explaining as much as she could—without certain details, of course—she saw her friend was smiling.

“Well. Good for you, Della. It’s about time.”

Della sat back in the chair, surprised. “You don’t think I’m a...well, a slut?”

Chloe burst out laughing. “No, not at all. It sounds to me like you met a great guy and had a good time. No harm in that. I slept with Justin the first night we met, too. And had fun with quite a few men I knew before him. There’s nothing wrong with sex for fun.”

“Really?”

“Really. Who knows, a one-night stand could be your wedding-dress guy someday. Stranger things happen. People meet in all kinds of ways.”

“I just wish... I’d really like to see him again. Gabe. I feel like last night was kind of a dream, and believe me, the odds of me finding another man like him are not high.”

“Well, why don’t you see him again?”

“Our meeting was totally random and totally random things are not repeatable,” Della said, and then saw that look on her friend’s face.

“This has nothing to do with math, Della. What’s really going on?”

“He made it clear it was just a one-night thing. He’s only here for a short time, works with the government, something with Homeland Security. When he left, he didn’t say he wanted to see me again. Or what if I did, and it wasn’t as good? Maybe last night was just a fluke.”

Chloe paused, sitting back in her chair. “There’s only one way to find out. You contacted him once about your bags, just contact him again. You don’t have to wait for him to ask, Della. You can ask for what you want, and you should.”

Della frowned. “I don’t know, I feel weird calling him again. Especially for, um, you know for—”

“For sex. Believe me, he won’t mind,” Chloe said with a chuckle. “The worst that can happen is that he says no, or doesn’t pick up the call. Then you have your answer.”