NYC Midnight

            

Ghost of a Chance

An overworked couple, eager to start a family, engage in a night of role playing and fantasy at the airport’s hotel bar.

           

            Micah stepped out of the shower leaving damp footprints on the white mat. She dried off, wrapped the towel around her waist, and used her hand to clear away the mist on the mirror. Her phone buzzed and she glanced down to see an email alert about budget reports for tomorrow’s presentation. Tonight there would be no emails and no texts. Work would not interfere.

            Looking past the phone, she saw the waste bin and spied the pink and blue box boasting plus and minus signs. She paused. Maybe tonight would be the night.

            Connor was on the tail end of a three week business trip to Chicago. He’d be piloting his own Cessna into Salt Lake International airport. Only tonight he’d be Christian and she’d be Zoë. Two strangers on a layover, killing time in a hotel bar. They’d have a few drinks, feign interest, let the sexual tension build and in the morning, he’d be gone. They’d let the fantasy linger until tomorrow evening, when the de rigueur of married life resurfaced.

            She finished her hair and make-up then donned a black embroidered La Perla corset and panty set with silk nylons. This was her only really nice lingerie. She slipped into a white blouse and a grey skirt worthy enough (barely) to conceal La Perla, then paused and pulled off the panties. The corset had a built in garter, anyway. She selected her nicest pair of fuck-me pumps and before leaving, placed an ept stick in her clutch.

           

*  *  *

            Micah checked into the airport Hilton. She’d reserved a room on the top floor. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. She didn’t have any luggage—it was all part of the fantasy—so she went straight to the bar. Patrons were few, but she’d expected as much on a Sunday night in Salt Lake City, even if it was an airport hotel. Only a handful of tables and booths were taken, still she decided on a seat at the bar.

            The bartender gave her a glance and she ordered a Chardonnay. The sweet fruit and oak flavor of the wine caressed her tongue and she indulged herself with several more swallows. Her husband’s plane wasn’t due for another twenty minutes. She tried to mask her surprise when Christian sat down next to her. He put his aviator glasses on the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”

            She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored lenses. Damn, I look good. Hell, I’d switch teams for some of that. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “What if I’m waiting for someone?”

            “Does waiting preclude you from additional libations?” He signaled the bartender. “Grey Goose and get her another.”

            “Preclude? Libations? Your dirty lexicon is getting me all worked up.”

            The bartender brought their drinks. He snatched them up and headed for a table before she could object. He sat and nodded expectantly at the chair opposite him. Micah slid off the bar stool, letting her lithe movements hike up the slit in her skirt revealing the top of her stocking. She took her time crossing the room, watching him watch her. She sat across from him and crossed her legs, allowing the shoe of her upper foot to dangle from the toe.

            “I know your type,” he said.

            “Really? You’re that sure of yourself?”

            He raised his glass to his lips, then set it back down without sampling the vodka. “Rich, educated, probably divorced, living off your settlement. Am I getting close?”

            She glanced at the pale band of skin on his ring finger. Even though she knew better, the thought of their dalliance made her loins tingle. “If that’s true, what would I be doing here?”

            He cleared his throat. “You’re on your way from somewhere, New York maybe, to a benefit of some sort, but your plane doesn’t leave until the morning. Let me guess, you have the roof suite?”

            “Good guess.” She wanted to reach across and touch him, to feel the spark of skin on skin, but she refrained, letting her anticipation build.

            He stood, taking a money clip from his pocket, and peeled off a couple of twenties. She rose as well and nodded. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” He just smiled, but the light behind his eyes and the dimple in his cheek was nearly enough to make her drop her panties, if she’d been wearing any. “You haven’t touched your drink.”

            “I’m in the mood for something sweeter,” he said.

            “What makes you think you’ll ever see my suite?”

            “There you go with the sexy word play,” he replied.

            Oh, we are so bad at this.

            He pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear. “One night with me and you’ll swear off all other men. I’ll make you quiver.”

            His hot breath gave her chills.

            She led him to the elevator and by the time the doors opened on the forty-fifth floor, he’d made good on his promise.

*  *  *

           

            Christian’s deep regular breathing told her he was asleep. The clock read 02:30. She slipped out from under the covers and padded past their discarded clothes toward the bathroom, pausing to grab her clutch. She examined the body she saw in the full length mirror. Zoë’s body, free from flaws and imperfections.

            She unwrapped the pregnancy test and sat down on the toilet. It was too soon, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. After the requisite waiting period, a solid plus materialized. The clock read 3:30 before she was able to doze off.

           

            When she awoke, he was gone, just like they’d planned. Well, color me fifty shades of grey. They were dorks and she knew it, but she didn’t care. As she gathered her clothes from the floor, she flicked on the television for noise. A newswoman was reporting from O’Hare. A downed airplane. A Cessna. Connor’s.

            Quivering, Micah fell to her knees.