The Scent and The Siren

twenty one

"Why am I not winning today?" I scowl in frustration, covering the square of my bingo board with a red chip when the caller announces G-51 drawing a ball from the Bingo spinner.

I am seated on a wooden deck under a beautiful canopy of string lights at The Porch in the southwest corner of Bryant Park. 

The sun is about to go down, and this watering hole is an al fresco delight providing sweet serenity amid a concrete jungle. People are on rocking chairs gossiping, eating at picnic tables, sipping cocktails on porch swings, and having romantic dates under the sky near the Fountain Terrace. 

With all the chaos spinning in my mind, I didn't feel like returning home so early, so I came here after work to sip some lemonade and play Bingo.

"Hot pastrami on rye with loaded fries on the side and sangria." The cheerful server settles the food tray on the table and collects the empty lemonade glass. "Hmm. It looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

"Try a completely different bed." I put another red chip on the number announced next and thrust my chin up to look at her. "Hey, you're back. How did your mother's hip arthroplasty go? I hope she's recovering well?"

"She is." She smiles, adjusting her baseball cap. "I got her treated by the best doctors in the country because of you. I'll start repaying the loan amount in installments."

"Not needed. Add it to your savings." I grab the glass of sangria. "Next time, do not hesitate to reach out when you need help. You have access to my private line for a reason, Amy. Don't make me rely on your colleagues to know your whereabouts."

"You're very generous, Juliette. Thank you." She leans for a quick hug, taking me out of surprise before she returns to tending other tables. 

I return the half-eaten juicy and unbelievably tender pastrami to the plate. Somehow, I feel so full already. 

Wiping my hand, I lower my head to put the straw between my lips and sip a generous amount when my phone lying on the table vibrates with my tormentor's name flashing on the screen. My heart does a stupid little flutter before a volcanic outrage follows.

His Testosterone-On-Legs Highness 

I visibly flinch, huffing an outraged breath. It has been more than six hours since I made a hasty escape from the restaurant. He hasn't bothered contacting me since. Not that I was expecting him to. 

"Let the damn phone ring. I don't care." I murmur to myself. "He can return to his Janine, Lianna, or Gabriella for all I care." I shift my attention away from my phone and focus on the game.

My phone vibrates, and I ignore it until I feel someone blocking the light from the lamp post beside me. 

It's him. 

He's towering over me like an exquisitely dark fallen angel. 

His mighty, well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ripped frame of a warrior is draped in a dark pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. The humble black Yankees baseball cap on his head is a terrible disguise to keep him safe from the public eye, which I presume is the purpose. However, it gives him a human touch and completes the overall picture of a casual macho persona. 

"His Testosterone-On-Legs Highness, huh?" Reaching out, he cups my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His dark hooded stare subjects me to a tight clench by the sheer force of his will.

"Huh?" I feel lost in his touch.

"My name on your contact list." He prompts, pointing towards my phone with the angle of his chin, and a mortified blush creeps up on my face.