THIRTY NIGHTS OF REKINDLED FLAMES

I'm hungry for your eyes, mouth, and body...

James said those exact things to me right away.

I yearn for your mouth, your eyes, and your kisses.

He was reading a poem in both Spanish and English in front of the University of Miami class on a beautiful October day. During the first week of classes, he had moved to Public Speaking 101. On the day he read aloud, he was observed by all because he had already missed several courses.

He was the center of attention for all the girls. Both were unable to

It was my nineteenth birthday.

James, who was rather tall, had on a simple black T-shirt and faded trousers. With his short black hair, dark lashes, and dark eyebrows, his face was covered in dark stubble, giving him the appearance of the devil's finest pupil. A red-lighting threat to my heart.

James just stared as he spoke. At me. I took a seat in the second row. I wanted to kneel at his feet and beg him to do everything he wanted with my body and soul because his eyes were so full of possessive need.

James gave me a half-smile that hinted at pleasure as he regarded me after he had finished speaking.

I was out of breath. Hypnotized.

"I'm grateful, Mr. Menendez. The professor's voice startled me so much that I quickly gathered my papers and said, "Ms. Lavoie, you're next." I grabbed one that had fallen to the ground and picked it up with trembling fingers.

I moved by James as he took his seat and stepped to the front of the room. Our eyes locked for a brief moment, and I swallowed hard. I folded my arms, and my lips were uncomfortably damp. I would have liked to take off my vintage Betsey Johnson slip dress with its black and rose print and my black flip-flops because I knew they scraped against my flesh. James looked at me, and I felt exposed. made me desire to strip off. alongside him.

The professor asked, "Could you please tell us the title of the poem you're reading?"

"I've chosen 'Sonnet Seventeen,' by Pablo Neruda," I said, stuttering as I looked down at the floor.

"Open your arms wide. Additionally, you'll need to speak up more. Recall that this is a lesson on public speaking, not whispering in public."

The few pupils who bothered to look up giggled, and I looked up at James. With his lengthy legs spread wide and taking up room in the front row, he slouched low on his chair. A seductive smile developed on the contour of his lips. My curly hair was tucked behind my ear.

I took a deep breath and started.

As I read the poem aloud, James gave me slow, lingering looks. His mouth opened, allowing me to see his tongue poking out from the corner. I grinned by the time I got to the second sentence. I kept it a secret from him. We had the impression of being the only two people in the space.

I shivered with restless need as I ran outside into the white-bright Florida sun after class. My wrist was softly grasped, causing my fine hair to shake on my nape.

"Mary?" he said in a soft voice.

"Yes."

I think I had kissed a couple guys at that point, maybe a bit more. I used to be somewhat shy. Additionally, I avoided guys that resembled James, primarily because I thought they wouldn't be interested in a woman like me.

"Where are you from?" My tiny wrist appeared so frail in his large grasp.

"St. Augustine."

James's smile showed off his dimples beneath his stubble.

He rhymingly added, "So, Mary from St. Augustine," and instantly won my heart. What do you have planned for the weekend? Are you planning to attend the Fantasy Fiesta costume party that everyone is talking about? Do you have makeup?"

For a moment, I could only laugh. I was notified about the party by my closest friend Diana, and she was pushing for me to go too. No, I had replied.

However, perhaps I would if James was present. Heat burst through my skin, like I'd been at the beach all day in August. His eyes glinted in the sunlight, a most unusual color, almost coppery.

"I have no plans," I said to myself.

One more smile, this one evil. I had never seen a man with such long eyelashes.

"Do you know what you should be for Fantasy Fiesta?"

He looked at me for a long, smoldering beat after I shook my head once more.

"Mine."

After fifteen years

There's a pirate standing next to me on the pavement.

"Seriously?" I say it aloud.

I swat the man sprawled in front of my newspaper building with my hand. A purple feather atop a black hat covers most of the man's face.

"A drunk pirate? Today?"

He doesn't hear me, even though we are the only ones on the street. since he's completely lost. If his stomach didn't rise and fall, I would assume he was dead. Black boots, a black vest, and dirty green pants. Nothing on top. His chest is bare, flabby, and white with a fishbelly. When the pungent smell of beer reaches my nostrils, my nose naturally wrinkles. A tiny sigh slips from my mouth. It's likely that the man had a wild weekend during the yearly pirate celebration in the city. Here on the concrete in front of the St. Augustine Times, the last stop on the Sunday night parade party route, he would have run out of steam and energy.

I curl my lip in disgust as I see a limp strand of green beads hanging around his neck.

My newspaper features a catchy headline to commemorate the ten-day celebration of foolishness, as it is the primary attraction for tourists visiting the city. As it has been for decades, at every annual pirate festival. Hell, as the publisher of a small paper, you have to fill in sometimes when your city editor is on vacation, so this year I even wrote the headline.

Mardi Gras meets Pillage the Village! With the Pirates!

I snort out loud. Pirates, tourists, and Florida.

Ridiculous.

Now it's Monday morning, and I-the youngest female newspaper publisher in America-am the cleanup crew. On the day I'm supposed to look gorgeous, sound sharp, and make a case for salvaging my business,.

Awesome.

"Hey. Excuse me? Hey!" I shout in the guy's direction, and he doesn't move. I don't need this, not today. Taking a few steps, I prod the pirate's forearm with my black, pointy-toed stiletto that's already rubbing my heel raw. He's not budging.

Larry, the newspaper's security guard, opens the front door and peers down at the slumbering man. I take a few steps back and grimace. It's all I can do to contain my annoyance that Larry didn't deal with this when he arrived that morning. I wave my hand at the drunk.

"We need to do something. Now. Call the cops. We can't have a potential investor stepping over a passed-out pirate on their way into the paper this morning."

Larry ducks back inside, and I pace, the skin of my left heel eroding with every step. I check my watch. It's eight-thirty, and the morning air is as foul as the beer that's in the plastic cup sitting a few feet from the pirate. Already, a bead of perspiration is trickling down the back of my thigh.

I pause on the corner, trying to figure out if we can somehow drag the drunk out of sight, near the loading dock where the circulation crew tosses newspapers into the trucks at three every morning. Moving the guy ourselves might be quicker than relying on the local sheriff's department, which hasn't been thrilled with me since the paper did a kickass exposé six months ago on a string of officer-involved shootings in the city's black neighborhood.

I sweep my long hair off my neck, expecting to cool myself, then let it fall to my shoulders in a thick, sticky curtain. Why had I taken the time to blow it straight when I could have slept for an extra half-hour? I dislike wearing my hair down when it's this hot. My natural waves are fighting the humidity already.

The humidity's winning.

Maybe I should withdraw into the air-conditioned security of my office, twist my hair in a bun, and pretend I never saw the drunk. Feign ignorance when the vice president of the private equity investment fund comes up for our meeting at nine.

No. I can't do that. It's too cowardly. A real woman looks a challenge in the eye and winks.

I tap my foot faster. The guy's beefy, and I doubt if Larry and I could handle him on our own. Who else can help? Is anyone even in at this hour? Over the past two weeks, since rumors about our impending bankruptcy started to swirl in the city's alt-weekly newspaper and on a local blog, reporters, editors, and ad salespeople have been coming in a few minutes later each day and leaving a few minutes earlier every night.

My gaze falls on the newspaper's building, a four-story concrete-and-stucco behemoth built by my great-grandfather. To me, the building always had its own personality. Imposing. Serious. A place of importance.

It takes up an entire block. It's an ugly building, but it's my ugly building, and I'm trying like hell to save it.

I sigh. Crap, I forgot to tell maintenance how I'd been driven by the previous evening, and the light of the letter S on the building's sign is no longer illuminated. The time was said in bright green letters. Add it to the long list of broken things on the paper.

I'm item number one on that list.

"Mary!"

My oldest friend Diana, the chief financial officer of the paper, comes charging out the front door, landing belly-first. She is carrying a child. Very, very pregnant. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her tanned skin-I keep telling her to use sunscreen or else she'll look like an alligator in ten years-is shiny with sweat.

"Hey. Be cautious when approaching the pirate. My hand instinctively goes to my forehead, and my thumb circles my temple. I should have abstained from my second glass of chardonnay last night while getting ready for the meeting today.

"Oh, hell." Breathless, she dashes past him and comes running towards me. Why is she in such a hurry? She's never in a hurry, pregnant or not.

"Yeah, we need to get him out of here. Do you know if Larry's calling the cops?"

"No idea. This morning, did you see the Wall Street Journal?

She handed me a copy of the newspaper. To make it into a manageable rectangle, fold it twice.

"Not at all. We only had time to read our paper, get ready, and guzzle a gallon of coffee. And stress about today. What's up?"

"Florida Capital."

"What about it?" I snatched the paper from her.

"Read the article."

"Later. The meeting's in fifteen minutes. I'm waiting for the VP to show up. I don't want him to see that drunk."

"I know when the meeting is. That's why you need to read this." She points to the bottom of page one with a chubby finger. Pregnancy and humidity have conspired to make her fingers look like sausages, but I won't tell her that.

Squinting, I read the first sentences aloud. "In a surprise move, MDA of Miami has agreed to buy a majority stake in Florida Capital. As part of the $800 million cash deal, MDA will assume all of Florida Capital's investments and continue to expand its acquisition of media properties and other companies throughout Florida and Latin America. Assets under MDA are valued at $18 billion."

The article jumps onto another page, and I don't bother to search for it. I look up into Diana's wide, blue eyes and shrug. "So? It sounds like this is good news. They'll be more likely to take a chance on giving us money. Score!"

She takes the paper and smacks my arm with it. "Read the rest."

I shove the paper toward her. "I need to deal with this pirate. Do you think you, me, and Larry can haul him across the street? Wait, no. You can't. You're too pregnant. Is anyone in the newsroom?"

"A couple of guys. But keep reading. Second paragraph. Top left column." Diana's lilting Southern accent is uncharacteristically blunt.

"Okay, Jesus, you're pushy today." I grab the paper, flip it over, and read fast, out loud in a buzzy voice. "Founded just one year ago, MDA backs midmarket companies in a variety of industries, including media, consumer and business services, consumer products, distribution, and financial services. MDA is owned by Florida's wealthiest man and number 275 on the Forbes 500, Miami condo king James Menendez de Aviles."

My voice trails off, and my chest tightens. My eyes read the name five times. I haven't said it aloud in years.

"Oh God," I whisper. It's suddenly hotter than hell and half of Florida. I fan myself with the newspaper and look around. My headache erupts with vengeance. "Oh God."

"I think it's the same, James."

"Thanks. Of course it's the same James." For a second, I suspect a vein in my temple is going to burst. I inhale.

This is bad. Worse than bad. Disastrous.

____

She's there when I park the Tesla in front of the newspaper. She's looking at a man who's lying flat on the pavement. The only way I can see her is from behind, and what a fantastic view it is.

Her hair falls halfway down her back and is long and straight as a pin. She emphasizes her little waist by placing her hands on her hips. She still has an apple for an ass. Her long legs are not concealed at all by the tight black skirt.

She is my forever love. And, well, everything else about her as well. As soon as I laid eyes on Mary in that University of Miami class, I knew I was in love. I felt overwhelmed, crazy, and tender when I gazed at her. simultaneously.

She betrayed me, and it hurt so much because it was something I've never felt with anyone else.

and the reason I no longer adore her.

Nevertheless, my gaze roves over her body in a possessive manner, for I see her as mine. My emotions are improper, sexist, and wrong by today's standards. I would never acknowledge this to anyone, even if I am positive about it. However, I would have told Mary about it once, a long time ago. Most likely, she would have laughed and reprimanded me.

Not that I view her as my property. No, she's more like my primitive extension. even after the eons. She belongs to me just as much as my arm or leg. I watch her tap her foot and smile, even though I'm not here for pleasure. She must still be impatient. She'd always wanted more when she was younger. More adventures, more sex, and more accomplishments in her work.

Hold on. Is she slapping that man with her feet? No, it looks like she's nudging him with the toe of her shoe. I scowl and depress the brake to switch off the Tesla, which is an electric vehicle that requires no ignition key. Now that I have the car turned off, I'm prepared to beat the man silly. I reach across to undo a cuff link so I can tuck my shirt sleeve up.

I never imagined that my first fantasy of seeing Mary after all these years would look anything like this.

She takes a step back from the still-motionless person and raises her hands in a frustrated gesture. I give up uncuffing myself. Is this guy dead, Jesus? I grudgingly shift my focus away from her and narrow my eyes on the man on the floor. No, his breath is visible to me. He's most likely a jerk.

My gaze returns to her. I may now view her profile. Seated in my Tesla's driver's seat, I examine her little nose, her recognizable jaw line, and her pouty mouth. She has matured into an even more stunning woman than she was in school. A part of me wished she had let go, that in the years since I'd last seen her, she had somehow become horrible.

I hate to say it, but I still want to kiss her.

After running the air conditioning for five hours throughout my five-hour drive from Miami, the air inside my car is freezing. Still, I'm nervous, which is why I'm perspiring. I am James Menendez de Aviles, the wealthiest man in Miami, and that is what Mary does to me. It reminds me of a college student.

Before I met Mary, I'm not even sure whether I had spoken to any girls. Had I remembered them all, that is. Before Mary, there was nothing, and after, well, there have been years of the same. The same woman mimicked the same emotions while feigning laughter. All with the intention of marrying me, or at the very least, getting a steady hookup with benefits.

Despite or perhaps because of this, I've never moved on from Mary.

I'm not sure how I had the guts to approach her when I saw her in class at UM that day. With her naked legs, full lips, and large eyes, she was the most stunning girl I had ever laid eyes on. A little portion of my recollections pass across my memory quickly, one after the other. the superior ones.

The first time I gave her a hug, she shook in my arms. "I was scared at first because you're so much taller than me, because you rode a motorcycle, and because you looked like you wanted to devour me," Rafa would add in a southern drawl.

The way the sinking Miami light caught her eyes turned them into the perfect shade of sea glass.

How her contented, quiet sighs in her sleep would fill me with wholeness, and how I would wake up with her in my arms.

I watch her walk quickly down the sidewalk, and she looks really angry. She's biting her bottom lip, her eyes are squinted, and I'm guessing her lovely little nose's nostrils are flaring as well. She starts at her forehead and works her hand through her hair, letting the strands fall between her fingers in a cascade of colors that is mostly chestnut. I almost let out a loud moan. She looks amazing with her hair loose. I remember taking it in one hand in college, putting it around my fist, and pulling. It wasn't this long.

I nibble her neck, cup her breast, and give her a passionate kiss.

Because getting even is the reason I'm here.

and then to let her go.

Lastly.

Yes, I am here to make money as well. If there's no profit, I don't do anything.

Mary turns to face me, and I automatically fix my shirt collar. I smile, realizing that the car's tinted windows keep her from seeing me. I drove up, and she definitely didn't hear me, mostly since my electric car is as quiet as a cat. Compared to her younger years, her face has a little more fullness. With eyes as big and innocent as a doe and a mouth fit for sin, it's still the most gorgeous face I've ever seen. Both angelic and demonic at once.

Mary used to be both my whore and my Madonna.

She frowns. Upon noticing a strand of hair covering her eyes, my first thought was to remove it.

and give her a kiss. One final taste...

The newspaper door opens, and she whips around to see a pregnant woman running toward Mary. The expectant mother appears quite recognizable. Yes, that is Mary's closest friend, Diana. She also works for the paper. Before I arrived, I had read everything I could about the paper.

I glance up at the newspaper building, a massive old building that will eventually require an insane amount of work to transform into an amazing condominium. When I turn the building into a residence, I'll profit handsomely from this acquisition because the downtown St. Augustine real estate market is booming.

I consider my role as being to atone for her racist, deceased father's karmic debt. I plan to purchase the Lavoie family newspaper, manage it efficiently, and eventually sell it for a profit. The company is a complete failure, and I'll buy it for a song.

Mary will sing this song as I do everything I want with her. It won't be long before I get her in bed now that I've seen her. I look at my wristwatch. Now that it's nine o'clock, I would wager that we will both be nude in twelve hours if I were a betting man.

If we didn't have to pretend to be talking business, sooner. I cast a quick glance at the structure, and a bitter recollection of her father comes to me. I give out a disgusted look.

Edward Lavoie had two loves throughout his life. The St. Augustine Times was one of them. Mary was the other.

I'll win over both.