She looks like an Autumn Quincy.
I ruffle Clover’s fur in a silent thank you, thinking about the electricity that shot through me when our hands connected. If that was from mere palm contact…
Nope. Not possible.
I wait until she turns the corner, her purplish-black ponytail swishing over her shoulders, and immediately send her a text. I want her to know I’m interested. No sense in waiting a day or two to play it cool.
I smile to myself.
I can’t believe I whipped out one of my Band-Aids and she gave me her number.
“I’m free tonight.”
I spin around. She’s behind me, grinning up a storm.
“Then I’m free tonight too,” I reply.
“Sweet.”
She pivots on her heel and runs off, leaving me feeling like I just got caught up in a whirlwind.
I spend the rest of the walk brainstorming while Clover sniffs at everyone and everything in her path.
I don’t know anything about Autumn, just that she jogs, her ass looks great in spandex shorts, and she’s clumsy. That doesn’t really narrow down potential date ideas.
I close my messages app and search for events going on tonight. Something fun has to be happening on a Saturday night in Brooklyn. A website advertising a series of concerts at the park catches my eye.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I buy two passes. Normal people just sneak into those things, but I’ve never been much of a rulebreaker.
An hour later, she sends me a paragraph of laughing emojis, followed by a question about what we’re doing at six thirty.
Something about her brings out a flirty, probably idiotic side that I didn’t know I had. I feel like a kid with a crush, grinning at my phone every time this pretty girl texts me back.
We arrange to meet in front of her apartment building since the park is within walking distance, and I’m left with a couple of hours to tidy up my already neat apartment.
Not that I expect to bring her back, but I’d have a hard time saying no if she wanted to.
And once again, I’m instructing myself to get my shit together and spectacularly failing.
Autumn is reclining on the bench outside her apartment, scrolling on her phone, when I arrive five minutes early. Her head tilts up at the sound of my footsteps.
“Hello!” she sings happily.
“Hey, Autumn.”
Her enthusiasm is contagious. And hot. The way she springs from her seat, the tiny dress fluttering around her legs…
“So, what are we doing tonight?” she asks, falling into step beside me.
Metaphorically crossing my fingers in the hopes that she likes the idea, I share, “Concert at Fort Greene Park.”
“Ooh, I love those,” she squeals. “What type of music do you like?”
“Would you believe me if I said I’m one of those people who listens to everything?” I ask.
She furrows her brows. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“People usually say it’s a cop-out.”
Autumn purses her deep red lips.
“They need to diversify their music portfolios, then. I listen to everything too, but punk music is my favorite. Could you guess that from looking at me?”
I honestly never would have guessed, and Autumn reads it on my face.
“I look like a pop gal, don’t I?” She laughs.
“A little bit, but I can see it now. It’s the purple hair,” I tell her.
She lets out a giggle that carries through the air like wind chimes.
“My mom helped me dye it, and her hands were purple for a week.”
“Well, it looks great, so I’m glad she was willing to make the sacrifice.”
Her cheeks flush a tiny bit, and I internally pat myself on the back.
I’m usually not the smoothest guy. If you ask my ex, Katie, that’s an understatement. She broke up with me in June, claiming that I’m too serious.
I started making an effort to become more carefree to win her back and give her the fun, flirty relationship she wanted, but she started seeing someone a month after our breakup.
I figured I’d keep the effort going anyway, just to improve myself. I guess it’s working. Autumn doesn’t seem like the type to waste her time on awkward, boring guys.
“So, Maddox, tell me about yourself,” she requests as we turn the corner.
“I graduated from NYU in May with a criminology degree. I’m doing data entry for a nonprofit prison reform organization now, but I’ve been applying to different jobs to hopefully get into something a little more interesting.”
I pause in a panic, wracking my brain for something better to say. If she didn’t agree with Katie before, she definitely would now. I’m boring myself.
“I play the guitar, but I promise I’m not one of those guys who whip out their instrument at parties,” I add, throwing my hobby in there as a Hail Mary.
She snorts.
“I would have politely turned around and gone back to my apartment if you were, so thank you for clearing that up.”
“You’re very welcome.” I laugh. “Besides dumpster-diving, what do you like to do?”
She tosses her head back, somehow managing to cackle and giggle at the same time.
“Running and painting. Not at the same time, obviously. I’m going into my sophomore year at Cordray College. I’m an interior design major and fine arts minor.”
“Are you from New York?” I ask.
Her nose wrinkles, which answers the question.
New Yorkers are proud to be from New York, but everyone else who lives here emphasizes that they’re transplants. “Do I sound like a New Yorker?” she asks.
“I don’t hear an accent, but you never know,” I reply, shrugging.
She shakes her head. “Nah. I’m from Colorado. What about you?”
“Massachusetts.”
Her posture straightens up in excitement. “I love Boston! My aunt, uncle, and cousins live there. Do you know BUI Bags?”
I do, in fact, know BUI Bags.
I bought Katie at least five of them, plus countless wallets, over the course of our three-year relationship. They’re expensive as hell.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” I reply.
“Courtney Bui—she’s the CEO, if you couldn’t tell from her last name—is my aunt,” Autumn shares.
“Wow. What’s it like having a fashion designer aunt?” I ask though I’d like to kindly suggest that Autumn tell her aunt to lower her prices.
“I get a ton of free stuff. It’s awesome. If you need a wallet or briefcase or something, let me know.” She grins. “My uncle tried to get her to do a line of manly purses, but it didn’t go over well, so I’m afraid I can’t score you a handbag.”
“I think I’ll survive,” I say dryly, “but thank you. I’ll keep the wallet and briefcase in mind.”
We fall into a discussion about my employer’s mission for the rest of the walk to the park.
I quickly realize that Autumn is passionate and knowledgeable about social issues, with strong opinions on the US criminal justice system.
Clover seriously did a great job picking a woman to knock over. She’s sweet, friendly, and thoughtful but with sarcasm and wit on full display.
Snarky comments follow jokes and literary references, all within the same reply.
I don’t know what the hell she’s doing with me, the entry-level data enterer who carries Band-Aids in his pocket at all times, but I’m not about to question her judgment.
After passing through the security line, Autumn and I spread out the blanket I brought on the grass. She leans back on her elbows, making herself at home.
I wonder if she’s always this comfortable around people she just met or if it’s me. Probably the former, but I like the idea that it has something to do with me.
I find myself relaxing in her presence, which never happens when I meet new people.
Our conversation drifts from family to friends to hobbies to life in general, carrying us through all four sets.
The bands are pretty good, but I barely pay attention. I don’t think Autumn is all that wrapped up in the music either. Throughout the concert, her eyes stay on me, rarely flitting to the stage.
The sun drops below the horizon, and as night falls upon us, I notice Autumn shiver. “Are you cold?” I ask, regretting not having thought to bring a sweatshirt.
“Yes, but I have a solution.”
Without hesitation, she slides across the small gap between us and reclines against me, nestling her head on my shoulder and tucking herself beneath my arm.
I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her fruity perfume, and I feel like I’m home. Content, peaceful, relaxed. Like Autumn’s supposed to be here, and not just today.
Sensing her gaze burning into me, I meet her eyes, deep brown and bright. Slowly, we close the distance between us.
Our lips touch. Just like when we shook hands, electricity shoots through my veins.
I hear a tiny gasp when I cup her face with my hand, running my thumb down her smooth skin, and it tells me that I’m not the only one so strongly affected by our chemistry.
As if we’re communicating on a subconscious level, we deepen the kiss together. Her tongue moves into my mouth, and I slide mine into hers. Our lips follow a slow but passionate rhythm, one that allows us to savor one another.
I lose myself in the taste of vanilla and mint, in the soft strokes of her tongue, in the heat simmering between us.
Our kiss is a connection, something deeper and stronger than lust.
Kissing Autumn feels like home, even more so than merely holding her in my arms. This might be our first date, but I already know this is the start of something beautiful, something that will bring me back to life.
We only disconnect when the music stops. Her cheeks are red. Mine burn, most likely approaching a crimson territory. That kiss was earthshattering. Mind-blowing. Addictive. One hit and I’m hooked.
Autumn pouts.
“I guess it’s over.”
“The night doesn’t have to be,” I blurt out.
A sly smile overtakes her features. “Oh, yeah?”
I reply with a grin and an outstretched hand that she immediately grasps.
I scoop up the blanket, not bothering to fold it, which is a big deal for me, and lead her out of the park.
Autumn pays no mind to the crowds of people milling around us, planting stealthy kisses along my jawline and giggling into my ear.
Thank God I’m the one holding the blanket. Offering a view of my hard-on to departing concertgoers isn’t on tonight’s itinerary.
We round a corner onto a quiet street. Barely a second passes before Autumn pushes me against an empty storefront.
The moment my back hits the concrete, she captures my mouth with another kiss. This time, her lips and tongue are lustful and hungry.
I’m stunned and dazed when she pulls away, but she shocks me right back into reality when she palms my erection, smirking.
“Good concert, huh?” she teases.
“Great,” I choke out.
She giggles, tossing her hair over her shoulder as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Lead the way, Maddox.”
We power-walk to my apartment, taking short breaks to make out against buildings and telephone poles.
I won’t say no to sex, but I hope she knows this is something I want to pursue. Maybe I can bring her on a breakfast date or we can grab a coffee on the walk back to her apartment tomorrow morning.
Autumn buries her face in my neck, trailing wet kisses that threaten to blind me with lust as I fumble with the key fob to my apartment building.
“Left or right?” she murmurs, gently pushing me through the door.
“Right,” I say breathlessly.
She tugs my hand and pulls me along like she owns the place. I have to call her name twice before she stops walking, already having rushed past my apartment.
Once again, I struggle with the keys, too uncoordinated to kiss and unlock doors simultaneously. Finally, a loud click tells us that we can enter.
Wasting no time, Autumn reaches around me and turns the handle, shoving me into the apartment as she invites herself inside.
An overexcited Shiba Inu leaps at us, nearly sending Autumn tumbling to the ground for the second time today. I catch her with one arm and, with the other, point toward the cushion where Clover likes to sleep, choking out, “Bed!”
Clover tilts her head in disapproval but lops over anyway. That command took a while to teach, but clearly, it was worth the time and effort.
Autumn’s needy fingers trace down my chest, unbuttoning my shirt as she goes, all the while kissing me like her life depends on it. I return the enthusiasm, pulling the strings that hold up her strappy dress.
With a shiver and a tiny shake, the fabric droops from her shoulders and rests on her chest, giving me the perfect view of her cleavage.
She’s anything but shy, lifting her arms and allowing me to lift the entire dress over her head. Too consumed by lust to think straight, I toss the discarded garment onto the sofa.
Autumn doesn’t notice.
She’s preoccupied with ridding me of my shirt and jeans. Her lips caress my neck as she undoes the last button on my shirt and unzips my fly.
“Take it off,” she breathes.
I cast my shirt aside, aiming for wherever her dress landed, and kick off my jeans. We’ve made it five feet inside, and we’re already half-naked.
Autumn studies my body as I gaze at hers, barely covered by a lacy red bra and matching panties, wondering if I’m dreaming or the luckiest guy on the planet.
