by Scott, S. L.
Everything inside this act of passion comes complete with heart palpitations for this man. A horn from a passing cab startles us, bringing us back to the bustling Manhattan street. And we even receive a round of applause from a woman smoking nearby. Before we have time to take a bow, I hear, “Well, shit. I didn’t expect this.”
It’s been years, but I recognize Todd by face and voice. He comes closer, but Joshua remains as we both lower our arms to our sides. The grin on his face is as youthful and full of resolve as it ever was, but also genuinely happy. “Hey, Chloe. It’s good to see you.” We hug like the friends I always considered us to be back then. “Josh and I were just talking about you.”
My gaze moves back and forth between the old friends, and I say, “I hope all good.” Eyeing his jacket and realizing their friendship endured long past us doesn’t make me sad, but happy for Joshua. To know he had support during . . . those years, makes me happy for him. “You work here as well?”
A thumb is stabbed toward Joshua. “Yeah, I’m this guy’s sous chef.”
“That’s amazing.”
Joshua says, “Through thick and thin.”
Todd crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you have other priorities right now, but you also have a kitchen to run that was already a cook down. What’s the plan, Chef?”
Reality isn’t just found in street noise and busy sidewalks. It’s found in obligations and commitments. “It’s okay.” I touch his fingers while our hands stay apart. “You go to work, and we can see each other another time.”
“That’s not what I want at all.” He’s not shy about holding my hand. The heat exchanged is just as fiery as it ever was between us. Where our tattoos come together is an added inferno I’ve only felt with him. Together, we were always so combustible.
And I guess one day, we did just that.
Backing back toward the alley, Todd says, “I need to get back in there. I’ll hold down the restaurant.”
The strain of debate isn’t only heard in Joshua’s voice but seen in eyes. Running his hand through his hair, he finally says, “I know you can handle the kitchen, but Lola will flip out.”
“Don’t worry. I got your back.” Just before he disappears into the alley’s shadow, he says, “Go. I know how to handle Lola.” Pointing at Chloe, he adds, “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” I reply, turning to the man next to me. “This makes no sense.”
When Joshua turns back to me, his eyes start mapping the features of my face. “We never have.”
He’s right. It was never about locking us into expectations of others. We existed almost to defy them. How we felt about each other back then was overwhelming. There were no easy answers to us because we never knew the question. We only knew what we felt, and what I felt for this man was everything. If I can recapture what we were for just one night, I’ll take it. “What do you think about having one night without our past coming back? What if—”
“Kind of wild, don’t you think?” A smirk slides into place as his hand takes ownership of my waist, making me want to be reckless with him at least one more time. This line of thinking goes against everything I was taught, against everything I’m used to. But it’s right in line with the best time in my life. My happiest time. “Tonight isn’t about the past.”
“It’s about right now.” Right now, the loneliness I try to hide inside isn’t lying in wait to hit me when I’m down. I don’t feel it at all. That’s not because of the lack of opportunity. Trevor proved that. It’s because the man in front of me is the only one who can make that feeling dissipate. Good or bad, Joshua Evans still owns my heart. And until the day he doesn’t, I’ll never be able to move on.
Bringing my hand to his lips, he places gentle kisses on each finger. With the warmth of his chestnut eyes on me, and his lips still pressed to my skin, he says, “We’ve gone and done it now, Doc.”
“We sure have.” Looking past him down the sidewalk, I watch as the door to Salvation opens, and then eye Joshua again. “What do we do now?”
Lola’s voice carries into the night air as she tells Trevor to get out. Grabbing my hand, Joshua waggles his eyebrows and signals to the alley. “Let’s hide.” We run to the corner, past the smoker, and duck into the shadow of the side of the building. With my back pressed to the brick and him pressed to me, our breath is shared and our faces mere inches apart. A flame burns bright in his irises. When my chest rises, his hands land above my head as if he needs to grip onto the brick to keep from doing wicked things to me. “What do you want to do?”
I’ve never wanted to sex in public, but the way he’s looking at me like he could devour me alive has me considering the possibility. Not letting the passion I have for this man overrun my better senses, I say, “I want to go somewhere private.”
He turns, looking down the alley, and then back at me, pushing me out of my comfort zone. “A hole in the wall, a bar, a walk along 5th Avenue?”
I start to laugh. “I guess saying private can mean many things.”
“There are plenty of places to go where no one is in our business, but I have a feeling you’re thinking more lowkey than Times Square.”
Be direct, Chloe. Say what you want. It’s Joshua. The one thing I could always be with him was me. “Your place or mine?” Doesn’t matter that we’re in the city that never sleeps, my heart beats wildly in my chest, making me wonder if he can hear it. I close my eyes just long enough to take a deep breath.
His mouth caresses mine—more pressure, roaming hands in my hair and on my neck, and then he comes to rest his forehead to mine. “God, I was hoping you’d say that.” His breath slips across my skin, his whispered words an aphrodisiac of what’s to come.
Operating off an unspoken plan, we start for a cab, but I jerk him back when I spy Trevor pacing while texting in front of us. Not wanting to be the receiving end of his agitation, or to put Joshua in the middle of it, I pin myself to the wall, out of sight, again, and tug Joshua close. “Any suggestions to get out of here undetected?”
“It’s always good to have an escape route.”
“Do I want to know—”
“No.” We start down the alley as he calls for a rideshare. When our request is picked up, he says, “They’re close.” Joshua holds his hand out for me. When I slip mine in his, he says, “Come on.” We hurry to the other end and hop in the back of the waiting car. The door is closed, and the blue sedan pulls into traffic. Soft jazz fills the tight space as I sit back on the gray velour seat.
While Joshua talks to the driver, I take the time to look at him, really look at him. I got a good look in the restaurant when he came to the table, but that was before we kissed.
This is insane. Wild. Out of control. But I can’t stop looking at the man he’s become.
In the back of the car, his features aren’t harsh, but handsome, highlighted by a myriad of colors flashing by outside the window. Dealing with Trevor has his jaw ticking and anger stiffening his build. That jaw is still just as sharp around the edges as it was in the soft glow of Salvation, but the anger isn’t there. The black shadows are higher in contrast against his skin, a side effect of less days to freely spend. Instead of hanging out in the park, sunbathing by the pool, or swimming in the lake, I sleep most days so I can work nights. I imagine his schedule is similar as a chef.
Resting back, he holds my hand in his lap like we do this all the time. Like it’s natural and not building excitement in my chest. Like I’m his and he’s mine. As if I know what every scar on his fingers is from and every new bump. Traveling in New York City traffic is never a quick endeavor, but the quiet between us isn’t so bad when we’re connected. It also gives me time to process what I’m doing.
I walked out on a date with Trevor League. The gossip back home caused by this might have been a concern for me once, but I just can’t seem to care now when Joshua Evans is looking at me like I just saved him. Galaxies of stars and questions, answers, and emotions lives in the depths o
f his vivid universe. I could stare into his eyes forever and never see the same thing twice.
His grin is contagious enough to entice mine to the surface. I say, “Never in a million years—”
“Did I think I’d ever . . .?” Troubling his brows, he narrows his eyes as he stares at our hands.
My smile falls, my heart scooting a few inches lower just in case it needs to plummet altogether. I muster the question, “Ever what?”
“I was going to say I didn’t think I’d ever hold your hand again.”
I see the way he peers through the windshield ahead, a little anxious even in the comfort of my company, like I am with him. Or maybe it’s nerves because whether we go to his place or mine, the privacy will be about more than sex. It will also mean addressing the elephant in the room. All the hurt and pain and time between that night and tonight.
The car stops not too far from the restaurant, and the driver eyes us in the rearview mirror. “We’re here.”
When I look outside the window, this is not my neighborhood. It’s way too nice. Common sense kicks in, and I remember that the driver never asked, and Joshua doesn’t know where I live. I lean forward to get a better look at the building beside us, and then my eyes shoot to his. “Is this where you live?”
He opens the door and helps me out. Standing on the curb, I’m in complete awe of the building in front of me. From the doorman with the golden epaulettes to the art deco architecture. “This is a historic building.” I don’t know if I’m asking or just blabbering, but I still don’t understand how he lives at such an expensive address. Who is this man and where did the boy from the diner go?
Glancing at the building, he returns his attention to me, and says, “I know this isn’t what you expected, and you probably have a million questions. Tomorrow, ask me anything your heart desires, but this falls into the past I don’t want to revisit tonight.” His tone isn’t demanding or upset. It’s small in some ways, unlike him, so I know he’s not hiding anything on purpose. His reasons are genuine.
“Okay.” Walking into the expansive lobby with crystal chandeliers hanging above our heads and marble under our feet, I realize the roles have reversed.
Holy shit. Joshua Evans is rich.
44
Chloe
On the tenth floor in the heart of Manhattan, I stand in front of picturesque windows staring out at a million dots of light that make this city sparkle like its own little universe. It’s quiet in here, the outside kept at bay.
His soft footsteps are heard on the rich wood flooring. I see Joshua in the reflection of the glass before I feel him against my back, spiking my heart rate on contact. The thrill I feel with him has awakened a dormant side of me that I’d long forgotten. A glass of white wine comes around me, making me smile. “You remembered.”
Spinning around, I wrap my arms around his midsection. The darker features of Joshua’s younger years aren’t as murky anymore. With eyes that shine from the moonlight streaming through the glass, so open, so clear, I’d almost suspect he still wears his heart on his sleeve these days.
When he holds his arms around me, he says, “I almost brought you whiskey, remembering how well you liked it back then.”
God, it’s scary just to hope, to see if we can find ourselves again. I giggle softly. “I do appreciate a good drink now and again, but wine works. Thank you.” Kissing his chin, I then slip out of his arms and take the drink. With our eyes fixed, we both sip from our glasses, studying each other.
A smile wiggles into the corner of his mouth, and he says, “I never thought I’d see Chloe Fox standing in my apartment.”
“That’s funny because I never thought I’d be standing in your apartment.” The leather of the couch is buttery under my fingertips as I meander into the living area. He leans against the bricks dividing the windows. Silhouetted with the lights behind him, I can’t see his expression clearly in the dark, but I can feel his gaze moving through the room with me and exploring my body. Stopping behind a velvety soft chair, I lean against it, take another sip, and then find him through the distance between us.
Although we agreed not to bring the past into the present, at least tonight, I’m the first to break the rules. “You never took me to your place in New Haven.”
He’s not fazed, not bothered one bit judging by that rogue grin he’s sporting. “I had a lot more pride back then. Your apartment was nice.”
“You didn’t have to live somewhere fancy for me to fall in love.” I give the room another scan. “This place is beautiful, but the other was your home, a part of you that I never knew.”
“You don’t know this place.”
The art isn’t his taste—too abstract in all the wrong colors. The furniture is expensive but looks unlived in, unloved. Not one plant lives here, no pets, no life exists between the exposed brick walls, except for us, and we just got here. “Neither do you.”
Moving, he comes around the couch to stand not two feet from me. “Tell me something, Chloe, why’d you come here?”
“I can’t resist you.” Even I don’t believe the words. Sharing the first thought that comes to mind is a terrible side effect of nerves.
“No, you did. You resisted just fine if memory serves.”
“A week, at best.” Why am I nervous, though? Two words: Joshua. Evans. Put me in front of anyone else, and I’d be fine. His presence still consumes a room, and if I’m not careful, I’ll lose myself in him.
“I’d say a day before you were sniffing around the diner.” He winks. “At best.”
I whack his arm, laughing. “You always did bring out the worst in me.”
Reaching over, he moves close enough to rub his hand over my hip, but there’s still space between us. If he only knew I didn’t need any . . . He says, “I can argue against that as well if you want to go another round.”
I close the gap for us, wishing we had music for the dance we’re doing. Touching. Not too much. Easing into each other, old habits and new patterns. With his hand rubbing my lower back, and my arms around him again, I give in. Why suffer for no reason?
Like the other times we’ve held each other tonight, my eyes dip closed, and I breathe him in, needing his air to fill me. Whether this is the beginning or ending to something more with him, I’ll survive off these moments until the last of his breath leaves me.
With only the two of us to hold each other accountable for any indiscretions, I decide to be brave. Turning with his hand in mine, I start walking. “Is the bedroom this way?”
“Last door on the right.”
I peek in each room we pass. No, he’s not found in the fancy furnishings or the décor. I’m not sure what’s happened.
His large hands pull my hips to a stop. I look over my shoulder. “What?”
He says, “Before we go in there, I need to set the record straight.” Since we’ve been in the apartment, not an ounce of anxiety has rolled over his face.
I mentally brace myself, my breath caught in my chest. “What is it?” I didn’t notice I was leaning away from him until his hand takes my wrist, and he brings me in, wrapping my arm around him, our fingers clasped behind his back. “Letting fear slip in is only natural, Chloe. I feel it, too, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to be on guard with me. So, if we go in there, I need you to know that my heart is on the line.”
The admission doesn’t give my lungs the reprieve I need. Instead, it sends my heart into my throat. The hours, the days, the years that divided us have finally caught up. I hug him, my head resting on him as I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat. The confirmation that I was right bears down on me. “You once told me it wasn’t wise to wear my heart on my sleeve. Even if I only wore it for you.” The back of my head is stroked with his arms holding me tightly to him and a kiss placed on top. “I didn’t listen.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t either.” Tilting back, he adds, “It was shitty advice.”
I swallow down the anxiety, feeling we’re now on ev
en ground. “I don’t know why you’re keeping me in the hallway, but I imagine things aren’t that scary in that bedroom.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
I laugh lightly. “If this were a movie or I didn’t know you so well, that comment would have me running out the door.”
I turn but am brought back to him again. “Maybe you should listen to your instincts.”
“You don’t scare me, Joshua Evans. You were always a risk worth taking.” This time, I push back and enter the room. My feet come to an abrupt stop just inside the door. Looking around, my heart fills with happiness and lifts the heavy that was beginning to set in. I smile with my hands clasped in front of my chest because this room is everything the rest of the apartment isn’t—pots of plants line the windowsill from one end to the other, the nightstands hold stacks of books that overflow to the floor, the bed is a mess, and sneakers are littered around the bench at the end of the bed.
This room is everything I remember him to be—messy and more concerned with other things, like plants. Even his scent of clean soap and a light cologne permeates the air. “It’s exactly how I imagined your other place.”
He hurries past me to kick the shoes under the bench as if that will make a difference. “Yeah,” he says, standing there awkwardly, mussing up the top of his hair. “It’s a mess. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I like it.” Oddly, the only thing that feels out of place is a Yale sweatshirt neatly folded on top of the dresser. It draws me in for some reason. It’s new, in pristine condition with the sticker still stuck to the care tag.
He sits on the edge of the bed, watching me snoop around the room and letting me explore on my own. Curiosity captures me, and I walk to the windows. Rubbing a basil leaf, I glance back at him. “I’m glad you’re still into plants.”
“The ones we eat more than others.”
