Chances Are

Irvin Mayfield's Jazz Playhouse
Royal Sonesta Hotel
New Orleans, Louisiana

 

I was sitting at the Jazz Bar on Bourbon Street. I'd already downed two Cosmos and was working on my third. I was feeling the mood, the atmosphere.

 

The Southern dialect heard in the distant background sounded as if I had crossed an entire continent just to hear such blended Southern accents.

 

Several moments later, I decided to sip the last remains of my drink. I decided to rise and check out several more jazz bar establishments along the stroll. However, before I rose from my bar stool, a handsome man of Italian lineage slid beside me. He leaned against the bar and tapped on the oakwood surface to get the bartender's attention.

 

Umm, the man smelled so good.

 

I turned my head the other way, pretending a coy act.

 

"Whatcha having?" the bartender asked the gentleman.

 

"Rum, no ice." He looked over at me. "And give the lady another round of whatever she's sipping on."

 

The bartender nodded at the man's request.

 

Darn, that meant I would have to twist my head around and face the source of that chivalry in his deep baritone voice. I told myself I was here for rest from ER patient caseloads, training for a marathon, and just to be me, which involved no kinky one-night stands.

 

I pivoted my head.

 

Damn, I swear, I couldn't get my mouth moving, let alone get the words out to properly thank this handsome Adonis.

 

Keep your poise, were the only words that rang out in the far corners of my mind.

 

The bartender placed a napkin down in front of us. He then placed our respective drinks before us. The bartender gave me just enough time for my brain to register a response if spoken to again.

 

"Thank you."

His midnight-colored eyes gently caressed my skin.

"I'm hoping so."

He lifted his drink and took a small swig.

Umm, his lips, succulent, a good indicator he knew how to use them along with his mouth.

I was too frightened to lift my drink. My hands were shaking.

Compose yourself.

I took a deep breath.

"Are you enjoying yourself, gorgeous?"

"I am now."

The man nodded at my affirmation.

My mind already fast-forwarded, imagining his tongue bathing in my essence as he indulged in his feast.

 

What was wrong with me? I had made a pact with myself before I boarded the plane from New York to pretend to be a virgin to this world. Somehow, that plan was being mentally challenged.

 

I swear this handsome one looked like Nick Lachey, from his aquiline facial features to his build concealed beneath his double-breasted, two-piece navy-blue suit.

 

"Have you eaten? If not, I know this nice restaurant not too far from here. This place serves the most mouthwatering steaks."

 

"Ooh, I'm sorry. I'm a vegetarian."

Good. Maybe he would finish his drink in silence and allow me to sneak out of here alone.

The stranger palmed down his smooth-shaven cheeks.

"This is New Orleans. The seafood is exquisite, much like the eye candy in front of me."

"The hard and handsome eye candy erected in front of me could use a good sucking as well."

Why does the erotic side of my nature always seep through? This man must think me to be easy.

He looked down following my words and then locked onto my smoky-colored eyes.

"Are you up for the job?"

"Maybe."

This was no Southern gentleman.

 

I looked around the bar and then faced his presence. I spaced my thighs, inserted a finger inside my pu$$y, withdrew it, and then smeared my finger under his nostrils.  

 

"You tell me."

 

He took a complimentary whiff.

 

This handsome man lifted that same finger and placed it against his mouth. He held my gaze as he drew my finger between his lips.

 

WTF?

He read the questions in my eyes.

"It smells like Heaven. I always wanted to see what an Angel really look and tastes like."

I nearly melted. Words floating from that generous mouth and those facial features already had me mentally stoned.

He allowed my hand to fall away.

I nervously lifted my drink and took a sip. I shakily repositioned my glass on the napkin.

He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Why don't we get out of here?"

"I'm sorry. I do not leave with strangers."

His minty breath was hot against my ear.

"I...I"

 

Would you just say something? Educated, and unable to form a simple reply. My own rules about being in charge had caught me off guard. I had no defense. The man was guilty of tipping me off balance in the most poetic way.

 

He kissed the bottom of my earlobe and inched his face back. He cupped my chin and slowly turned my face to meet his eyes.

 

Please tell me I packed those extended condoms. I racked my brain in a matter of minutes. Dammit.

He must have sensed my hesitancy.

"Tell me, sexy, I don't make you nervous. We have all night to get better acquainted."

"I have a stocked bar in my hotel suite."

 

I was flirting with danger, but spending a night of consensual passion in the arms of a man who looked like the spitting image of Nick Lachey was on this French-Creole woman's nightly agenda.

 

"This is nice."

 

He lifted my diamond Ankh and leaned his head down to inspect it closely. His hair was glossed, slicked back, and tapered into a V-shaped fade. He slowly replaced my piece of jewelry against my bare chest. The back of his hand took extra time to caress my sun-kissed skin.

 

"Very nice." His eyes never wavered from mine. "The necklace too."

I blushed, revealing my pearly-white teeth.

The man lifted his drink and took a healthy swig. He looked down at my drink.

"I also have a stocked bar in my hotel suite."

"Suite?"

"Yes, downtown."

"Lead the way, handsome."

 

Hyatt House New Orleans/Downtown
New Orleans, Louisiana
One Hour Later

 

We walked into the hotel lobby of the Hyatt House.

"Can you excuse me?"

"Sure."

 

He strolled away from me, confident in his stride. Thank goodness he had asked the taxicab driver to pull over at one of those convenient food markets. I felt inside my purse for the box of assurance, should this night progress as I hoped.

 

I pivoted my head.

Marco, that's his name, was conversing with another handsome-looking gentleman.

 

New Orleans, from what I could remember, was not this stocked with men who looked like models when I blazed through here years ago.

 

Marco walked toward me.

Damn, the man looked good.

"You are a very gorgeous woman. Are you American?"

 

"No. I was born in Santo Domingo, reared by my grand-mère in France, and spent my adolescent years in Haiti with my grandmother until I went to college in America."

 

Marco stepped back and looked down at my toned ass.

 

My curvaceous body hugged the soft material of my tight silk red dress, worn as a second skin, next to wearing nothing.

 

"I must give those countries their proper credence in producing gorgeous and scrumptious-bodied women."

 

Mm, his voice sounded velvety. The man was making love to my mind, and we had not even arrived at his hotel suite.

 

We finally stepped onto the elevator.

"Was that man someone you know?"

"Yes, my business partner."

The elevator doors closed. He pushed the up button.

"Are you here on business or pleasure, sexy?"

His voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Pleasure."

"Which awaits us."

"Marco, do you reside in New Orleans?"

"No. I'm here on business. I live in Canada."

The elevator doors opened.

We stepped off and walked in the direction of his hotel suite.

Marco lifted the key card, opened the door, and stepped aside, permitting my entrance.

I entered Marco's lavish hotel suite.

His suite was bathed in soft, illuminating lighting.

Near the floor-to-ceiling windows stood a table draped in a white tablecloth.

Two covered dishes sat upon it.

Marco closed the door as I turned to face him.

He encircled my lower back and pulled me into his arms.

"Just like you requested."

"I'm sorry, like I requested?"

Marco leaned his face downward and tenderly arrested my lips.

Dreams meeting reality. Oh yes, my mind screamed.

"Just like you requested."

"Wait, excuse me, love."

I gently pushed against Marco's chest.

"Can you please explain your comment about me requesting this?"

"Okay. It's your money being spent," he said.

What the hell?

"I'm a little confused here."

"This fantasy date. Which I'm being paid for by the hour."

My temper went from zero to pissed off in mere seconds.

"Wait. I hope you don't think I'm a... a prostitute?"

 

"No, but I'm a male escort." He caressed my soft cheek. "And why are we wasting time? After all, you already paid me fifteen hundred dollars for my services tonight."

 

This situation was not fair. Handsome, probably well-endowed, looking like Nick Lachey, and he's a male escort. Wow. This was the sort of thing one must keep a tight lid on and never divulge.

 

"I think there has been some form of misunderstanding. I am not the person who paid you for your services."

 

"The woman I was supposed to meet at that particular hotel bar was stunning, curvaceous, with spiraling curls past her shoulders and catlike light-gray eyes. From what I saw when I entered, you fit the bill perfectly. By the way, I like the fairy tattoo on your upper thigh."

 

I blushed and then cleared my throat.

"I think we need to end this evening. It appears someone is waiting for you, someone who paid you. Sadly, it's not me."

 

Marco palmed his cheeks.

"Would you..."

"No."

"I've been told the hot-looking women are always taken or fleeing my presence."

How do you think I feel? I have an unused box of condoms.

Marco escorted me back downstairs and paid for my taxicab.

Before the cab pulled away, he handed me his business card, just in case I was ever in Canada.

 

I gave him my home telephone number and cell phone number in case he was ever in New York. In addition, I provided my website profile addresses for his reading pleasure, the telephone number for my hotel, and my webcam website and pseudonym, where he could view my performances at his leisure.

 

Marco called me that same night.

We talked from two o'clock in the morning until four-fifteen.

 

 

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