Firsts: Book One’s

by Moore, Portia

“Eight months. When you know, you just know.” Parker takes his face in her hand and kisses him. I can’t help but glance at Alex and I get butterflies when he takes my pinky under his and squeezes it.

  * * *

  “This has been the easiest move I’ve ever been a part of,” Alex says carrying my duffel bag and two roller suitcases into his loft. I follow behind him still in disbelief that I’m doing this. I’m moving in. Well, not moving in. I’m renting a room for him for a little while, probably not even a month. It’s not an official move-in like me and Ryan did. It’s just a mutually beneficial situation that works. He just happens to be an insanely hot guy that I really like with amazing eyes and a killer body, who also gives me butterflies. That’s all.

  Yeah, this was a great idea.

  “Well, I told you I came here with just the clothes on my back,” I say jokingly. Alley comes out from her corner and rubs against his leg greeting him with a meow.

  “Hey girl,” he says, giving her a pat on the head. I follow him to what is now my room. Except it looks completely different than it did when I first saw it last week. Now it has a full-size bed with white bedding, the desk in the corner with the laptop is gone, and there’s a white dresser and curtains.

  “I’m not good at decorating or anything so you can change whatever you want,” he says with a shrug. I look at him in disbelief.

  “I can’t believe you did this.” I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. It’s still surreal. Just looking at him you’d swear he was this self-absorbed bad ass guy that doesn’t give a shit about anything, but he’s actually a total sweetheart.

  “It’s not a big deal. I couldn’t have my first tenant curled up on a computer desk,” he says, downplaying it. I nudge him slightly in the shoulder.

  “You can thank me by cooking,” he says heading out.

  I follow behind him. “We just ate,” I laugh.

  “I’ll be hungry again in about an hour, trust me.” I sigh, take off my jacket, throw it on the bed, and head to the kitchen. After washing my hands I look through the fridge, pull out a packet of ground beef and spinach, and figure I’ll mix it together with rice and call it a day. I see Alex reach under the counter and pull out a couple of different bottles of liquor.

  “We’re drinking again too?” I ask knowingly.

  “Just one, we have to celebrate,” he says, and I arch my brow.

  “What are we celebrating?” I ask and he frowns at me as if it’s obvious.

  “You being here,” he says.

  “That warrants a celebration?” I laugh.

  “I think so. I mean, you’re not the easiest person to convince,” he counters and I grin as I find a bowl to pour the spinach into.

  “Well you don’t have to offer me a drink twice,” I tell him with a wink. He mixes what I spy is Malibu, Tequila, orange and cranberry juice, and he puts some frozen cubes from his freezer in glasses before pouring the juice into them. He stirs, pulls out some cut up oranges from the fridge, and drops them in the glass. “Try this,” he says as I turn the ground turkey on the stove. I take the glass and drink a sip. Of course it’s heaven from a bottle.

  “Amazing…” I inform him, but he already knows this.

  “Want to cut me up an onion?” I ask, having forgot to.

  “I’ve got you.” He pulls an onion and cutting board out, and a few seconds later the music pours through the apartment. I didn’t even notice he had surround sound speakers.

  “Also, I got a booking.” I stop cooking and look at him.

  “From Instagram?” I ask and he nods with a smile.

  “That’s awesome!” I say, super excited for him.

  “It’s because of you,” he says humbly.

  “Oh I can’t take credit, it’s all you.”

  “And what about you? You’re too good at designing to be serving tables.”

  “I will get back to it. I just needed something different, something easier for the moment. Give my creativity time to rest up and come back.”

  “It look like it has,” he tells me. I take the cut up onions from him and pour them on top of the ground beef.

  “I wouldn’t say that your project was fun and without pressure. But not all of it was like that.”

  “Well what if you just took projects you were passionate about?”

  “Most times they don’t pay the bills. It goes with the territory; work isn’t always going to be fun. I get it. I just need to get my head straight so I don’t get stuck,” I explain and he nods.

  “Do I have time to take a quick shower before the food’s done?” he asks.

  “Yeah I haven’t even put on the rice yet. Which I should do now, actually.”

  He points to the cabinet the rice is in and I boil the water and add some seasonings to the meat. I can’t help but think how nice this feels, being here, cooking, talking to…my friend. Yes, my friend. Now if I could just picture him with tits and no dick it’d be great…sort of like a Ken doll. I’m finishing up when I hear the water from the shower stop. I grab two bowls, pour everything in them, grab some spoons and stick them in the bowls, and toss the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I taste the food a little and it’s seasoned perfectly. Melissa would be proud.

  “Smells good,” he says as he walks into the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t it…” I try not to swallow my tongue when my eyes land on him. His hair is damp and chest bare…glistening in a pair of sweatpants resting over his sculpted hips. I knew Alex had a nice body. I could tell from the shape of his arms and the feel of him. But to see it on display like this, every perfectly etched ab, the curve of his arms, the firmness of his chest with dark blond hair trailing down his stomach…I tear my eyes away from his crotch. I’m sure I’m imagining the bulge I just saw there. Welp, there goes the theory of just pretending he’s a damn Ken doll.

  “You okay?” he asks, tilting his head with his eyes piercing mine. I reach for my drink and nod as I pour it down. He sits next to me. I repeatedly tell myself to keep my eyes ahead of me and do not ogle him.

  “This is pretty good. It doesn’t taste anything like this when I make it,” he says, tearing into his.

  “How the hell do you have a body like that eating like this?” He turns towards me and a slow sexy smile spreads across his face.

  “You just gotta burn it off.”

  It’s time to stand up. I almost jump off the stool and start to look around the place in more detail this time. He swivels his stool towards me and watches me curiously.

  “What are you doing?” he asks in between spoonfuls, amused.

  “Getting a good look at the place. Since I sort of live here,” I joke.

  “That you do,” he says with a chuckle. On one of his end tables, I see a picture of a man with hair a little darker than his, who has blue eyes, and a woman who looks just like him which has to be his mother.

  “These are your parents?” I ask, and he nods with a smile.

  “Don’t tell me I’m my mom’s twin,” he grumbles.

  “Your mom’s your twin,” I tease him.

  “They look happy,” I say and try to remember the last picture my mom and dad took.

  “They are.” He puts down his devoured bowl and grabs his glass. He finishes it off and rests his back lazily against the island, his eyes on me.

  “Oh, speaking of parents…I told you about my sister Mel,” I remind him with an eye roll as I flop on his sofa.

  “Any plans next month..?” I ask and he gives me a suspicious smile.

  “Why?” he asks amused.

  “Don’t you want to visit one of the best cities in the world?” I cheese widely at him.

  “Maaybe…” he says cautiously.

  “Because my sister Mel wants to make sure you’re not a psycho killer and doubts my ability to read people,” I blurt. “And she won’t get off my back about it. But if you don’t want to go I totally understand because really, why would you go? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything, I just thought it m
ight be kind of fun,” I say a mile a minute.

  “Stop,” he says with an authoritative laugh.

  “I’d love to meet your sister,” he tells me with an easy smile that makes all my anxiety melt away. I notice how often being around him does that. He turns on the TV and I ask him if we can watch Hell’s Kitchen. I’m shocked when he says he’s never seen it before. We get through four episodes and Chef Ramsay’s profanity, and that’s all I remember before I fell asleep. I wake up and feel his arm around me, my head against his chest. Somehow I’ve fallen asleep in his arms. It got cold and I remember him pulling me close to him and nestling in his body heat. He’s still fast asleep. I fight the urge to kiss him and realize that I could lie right here all night…maybe even every night. I’m in trouble.

  Fourteen

  “I bet there’s over a million dollars in this room.” Casey sighs as we hide in a corner and people-watch. This event is a fundraiser for something about the wilderness and there’s way too many of us here, so it’s giving us some down time, and fewer tips, unfortunately.

  We’ve gotten into the groove of things—well, I have. Things I know now I didn’t when I first started working here: make sure to wear Dr. Scholl’s, have a shot before working—just enough to make me extra friendly and able to put up with some of the more snobbery folk. Also, the more inebriated people are the better they tip. And my personal favorite piece of advice, which I learned from Kristen of all people, is that it’s pretty effective to pretend to have an accent.That way people think you’re foreign, and for whatever reason these rich people tend to be a little nicer when they think you’re from Russia or Switzerland. I just hope I don’t pick a country where someone actually knows the language of my said accent’s origin.

  “Have you ever dated a rich guy before?” Casey asks, and my thoughts go to Jackson. The days we spent in lavish hotel suites drinking ridiculously expensive liquor and traveling in foreign cars. The extravagant gifts…and I guess there would have been more shopping sprees had I stuck around. He was generous, more than he should have been with someone who wasn’t his wife. I also realize it’s been awhile since I’ve thought about him, and that fact is almost staggering.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I inform her as we head to the back to refill our champagne trays.

  “I bet it’s better than eating ramen noodles and date nights at Applebee’s,” Elice jokes.

  “I think that comes more with being a starving artist than not dating a rich guy,” I tell her with a grin. Not only is Casey in the arts, her fiancé Evan is a guitarist so all the extra money they make in their day jobs goes towards bills and funding their dream projects.

  “Hopefully Evan will land a gig that can make us feel rich even if we aren’t.” She shrugs optimistically. I turn and my stomach clenches at seeing Kristen laughing with her chest pushed out and her eyes gazing at Alex behind the bar. We’re not supposed to be behind the bar; Veronica scolded all of us about it. But Kristen, who seems to be Nathan’s favorite, walks around as if the rules don’t apply to her. “You know, you guys kind of look alike,” Bianca says, and I wonder if I’ve been staring at them.

  “Who?” I say pretending that I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Kristen,” she laughs as if it’s obvious.

  “We’re just both brunette. That’s where the similarities stop,” I tell her swapping out my empty tray for one full of hors d’oeuvres. I have to remind myself not to pop one in my mouth.

  “And have really pretty blue eyes,” she says in a singsong voice as she does the same. We slowly head back out onto the floor, and my tray is half empty by the time Kristen finally decides to leave Alex.

  “Something is wrong with me,” I whine and Casey gives me a sorrowful look.

  “Nothing’s wrong with you,” she tells me and I shake my head.

  “Nope, there’s definitely something wrong with me,” I sigh and she glances back at Kristen and Alex.

  “I shouldn’t care how long she talks to Alex. It’s a free country and he’s a single man and if they screwed each other in the middle of this ballroom, it shouldn’t bother me even a little bit.”

  “But it does,” she reminds me and I nod.

  Yes, it does, but it’s because Kristen is a bitch and it has absolutely nothing to do with me being jealous about him talking to—no, flirting with another girl. I think of all the numbers that get pressed into my apron or when I’m asked about my Instagram details by the younger guests, and I wonder how many Alex is getting? It’s none of my business though. Well maybe it is…it’s a friendly question, right? Probably not.

  “It matters to you because you’re snuggled up with your friend every night,” she says with a knowing grin. Casey is the only person I work with who knows we live together…correction, that we’re roommates. There’s a distinction.

  “You’re right, no more cuddling with him,” I say aloud with a definitive nod. She laughs and looks at me with a pitiful smile.

  “Cuddling’s not the problem, it’s a symptom of the problem.”

  “Which is?” I ask her desperately.

  “You have feelings for him,” she says as if it’s obvious.

  “Of course I do, he’s my friend,” I remind myself.

  “Whatever you say girl, but you need to stop lying to yourself about this ‘just friends’ mess. I’m his friend and I doubt if I had to move back to Pennsylvania he’d let me rent his room for $100 a week, cuddle with me every night, and would be going to meet my parents next week,” she reminds me and I’m kicking myself for telling her all of this.

  “You better make your move soon. He is a man after all and Kristen isn’t the only one interested, she’s just the boldest,” she tells me with a nudge before making her way back into the main area of the ballroom.

  I wonder if I could sneak in the back and down a glass of champagne without getting caught? I think better of it, hearing Melissa’s voice in my head, and make my way through the room until all the items on my tray are gone.

  “I need a break,” I mutter to no one in particular in the kitchen. You’re supposed to tell the senior employee when you go on break but since that senior employee is Alex and my break is to get out of his atmosphere, I decide to just speak it out into the universe and if someone asks me I’ll tell them I’m on my period or something. I head outside and greet the crispness of the evening air on my skin. The temperature is in the lower 60s and its fall, my favorite kind of weather. I take out my phone and start to scroll through Facebook.

  “You didn’t tell me you were going on break.” His voice is deep and authoritative. I turn around and frown at him. His face breaks out into a wonderful smile, but I don’t smile back.

  “You were busy,” I say shortly gluing my eyes back to the phone.

  “I’m always busy,” he teases.

  “Well, I’m on break,” I say not taking my eyes off my phone.

  “Hey, do we have a problem?” he asks through a laugh.

  “Why would we have a problem?” I ask pointedly.

  “I don’t know but your attitude isn’t normally this shitty,” he says but his tone is whimsical.

  “Oh I thought you liked girls with shitty attitudes.” I smirk with a shrug still not looking at him.

  “What?” he asks bewildered, and I hear his footsteps approach, but even if I didn’t I’d feel him approach. He takes the phone out of my hand and puts it behind his back.

  “Look, I’m not good at reading girls’ minds so can you let me know what you’re talking about?” he asks but this time there isn’t a playfulness to his tone. He’s serious and it’s the first time I’ve seen him like this. His light grey eyes darkened, his features sharper, his eyes narrowed in on me. If he didn’t look so hot I’d be intimidated but instead I’m flustered.

  “Kristen. You like Kristen don’t you?” I ask and as soon as the words leave my mouth I feel like a silly little thirteen-year-old girl mad at
her first boyfriend. And it’s ridiculous since I’m twenty-three and this guy isn’t even my boyfriend, nor are we dating.

  “Wait. You’re jealous?” He’s laughing and his features brighten instantly.

  “Jealous, no. It’s just she’s a bitch to everyone around her except you, and I think it’s strange.” He lets out a breath and smiles. He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t and just crosses his arms against his broad strong chest.

  “What do you want to eat tonight?” he asks with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen, completely dismissing my crazy behavior. I pout at him.

  “I’m sort of in the mood for Chinese,” I tell him with a shrug. He reveals a beautifully soft smile and I smile back.

  He reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me in against his chest. My heart drops when his lips gently press against my forehead for a soft kiss. I know I’m a goner.

  “Chinese it is,” he tells me after he lets me go, and walks into the building without another word.

  * * *

  “When I said Chinese food I thought it’d be accompanied with a movie or some reality TV trash, not working out at the gym.” I pout as we walk into Alex’s second home.

  “Do you see how much I eat? This body doesn’t look like this by itself,” he teases me as we head to the locker room.

  “Get ready,” he tells me with a warning smile.

  “For what?” I ask him hesitantly.

  “We’re about to put in some work,” he says clapping his hands together. I roll my eyes at him.

  That’s what he thinks. I’m going to walk the treadmill for the whole hour while I watch old episodes of Bad Girls Club on my phone. I’ll probably watch him, too.

  When I head out of the locker room wearing a pink fitted t-shirt and grey sweatpants I can’t help but feel overdressed as my eyes scan the gym. The girls are all in sports bras and shorts that are a step away from being considered lingerie. There isn’t a roll of fat or piece or cellulite in sight. These girls’ bodies have to be from a surgeon’s table but as I watch them working out I decide they aren’t faking it for Instagram.