The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  “Sounds like fun. I’d love to go, thanks.”

  I laughed and didn’t look back at him because I thought for sure he was kidding. But he texted me this morning to ask if I’d be coming home first or if he should meet me there. I had to come home, and he’s home now, so there’s no avoiding him. If he were anyone else, I would have ended things by now. But he’s like no one else. He’s Matt McGovern, Esq. It’s real. It’s happening. And no amount of antiperspirant or sarcasm can hide how much I’m panicking.

  We should end this. I should tell him so, tonight. Maybe when we get back from the party. Or before? On the way? So he can feel free to leave with someone else if he meets someone at the party.

  Or maybe after we get home so things aren’t awkward for either of us at the party.

  But we should stop seeing each other like this, or maybe start seeing other people. It’s getting too real, too intense. Too saturated. We need to dilute things with a complimentary color. Add some green to this red-hot mess of feelings.

  No, that’s not right.

  Add white, to make it pink? But pink is too romantic. This isn’t a romance. We aren’t dating.

  That’s not right either. It’s not one color. It’s all of them.

  That’s the problem.

  Somehow, this thing with Matt has developed into a monster-sized canvas covered with drips and splashes of all the vivid colors—swirling, heavy, but dizzying, abstract, and hitting me on a gut level in a way that my brain can’t understand. We’re redefining what it means to have a no-strings relationship the way Jackson Pollock led the abstract expressionist movement.

  Maybe I should apply my favorite Jackson Pollock quote to this situation with Matt: “The painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through.”

  Maybe whatever we have between us shouldn’t be defined or restricted.

  Or…maybe if that man gives me one more orgasm, my brain will short-circuit and I won’t be able to think about anything anymore, and that will be great.

  These are deep thoughts to be having while eating a flax muffin over the bathroom sink and blow-drying my hair.

  I need to respond to twenty-four messages about the party.

  I need to get dressed and get back into executive assistant mode.

  I need to calm the fuck down and let my handsome neighbor accompany me to this party, because that’s all that’s happening.

  I pull on my special dress, the maroon-colored one I was wearing when I first met Matt. The one I had bought with the intention of wearing to some future event, to get Sebastian to see me in a new way. The future is now, and I don’t even know if I care whether or not my boss thinks I look hot in it.

  There’s a knock at my door, and he’s here exactly when I need him to finish zipping me up.

  I sprint barefoot to the kitchen to dab at my armpits with paper towels for one final time tonight, cover my mouth and release one last squeal, flip my hair, and then saunter over to the door like a fucking supermodel.

  One look at Matt in a dark blazer, and I’m a goner.

  What an asshole.

  Why should anyone look that good in a blazer?

  He stands in the doorway, eyeing my dress.

  “You didn’t return it.”

  “Never got around to it.”

  “Been keeping busy, have you?”

  “No more than I can handle.”

  I turn my back to him, and he brushes my loose hair over one shoulder. He zips me up slowly. So slowly that my stupid knees nearly give out. When he’s done, he doesn’t move away from me. I can still feel his breath on my neck. I shake my hair out because I’m doing the big sexy hair thing tonight and because I need to not feel naked when I’m with the only man on earth who has seen every inch of my adult body and thrown my snot-filled Kleenexes into the waste bin.

  I take a deep breath. “To be clear…”

  “This isn’t a date. I know. I’m just curious about this party.”

  “Awesome,” I say, holding my hand up. I point to the palm of my hand with my two middle fingers in a V. “Here’s the same page. Here’s both of us on it. High five.” I remove my fingers from the center of my palm. “Don’t leave a neighbor hangin’.”

  He wrinkles his brow at me but indulges me by slapping my hand.

  I am determined for that to be the lamest thing I say and do all night.

  Turns out tonight’s the night I exclusively say and do lame things that make me cringe. For instance, when the Lyft driver tells us to “have a good night, you guys,” I immediately explain to him that Matt and I are just neighbors who aren’t dating.

  “I’m here because I’m working. I mean, I don’t work at the restaurant. I mean, I’m not an escort. He’s not paying me to come here with him. My boss is. I mean, my boss is hosting the party here, which I organized, and Matt’s just here because he’s curious. Not bi-curious. I mean, maybe he is. I can’t speak for him.”

  “You want to get out of the car now and let this guy get on with his night?” Matt’s standing on the curb, patiently holding the door open and holding his hand out to help me out of the car. Or maybe to strangle me.

  I take his hand, and Matt shuts the door just as the driver speeds off.

  I see two of Sebastian’s colleagues walking into the restaurant and immediately let go of Matt’s hand to wave to them. They pause at the door to say “hi” to me and wait for me to introduce them to Matt, because they’re gay and apparently they also think he looks exceptionally hot in a blazer. Matt is polite and friendly and casually introduces himself as my neighbor before I get a chance to.

  When I walk into this chic but cozy NoHo bistro and realize there are already over a hundred people here, I am stunned because normally I would be the first to arrive. We bought out the ground floor dining area as well as the downstairs lounge for this event, and I’ve been in such close contact with the manager all week that she invited me to her birthday drinks next month. But I was so consumed with thoughts of Matt that I didn’t even notice it’s 8:25.

  Some breezy contemporary French pop song is playing, and people are seated at the small tables and at the bar that extends all along one side of the room. Many stand around chatting. It’s festive and unpretentious, which is the vibe that we strive to maintain at all of the parties Sebastian has hosted. Somehow, people seem to have figured out how to show up and have a good time at a party without me. So that’s reassuring. Now I just have to try not to ruin anything.

  Normally, I’d approach Sebastian to make sure he’s calm and has everything he needs. Tonight, I see him watch me walk in. He’s near the front of the room, talking to his agent and several of his biggest supporters, but suddenly I have all of his attention. First, he scans the full length of my body in this dress. Next, he takes note of Matt. While Matt is a master of controlling his facial expressions, Sebastian’s face shows every single thought and emotion when he has them. He likes me in this dress. He doesn’t like that Matt’s hand is touching the small of my back. But while it has been my job to know what he wants even before he knows he wants it, I am currently at a loss as to whether or not I should go over to talk to him now or let him process his feelings.

  Fortunately, I don’t have to make a decision. Unfortunately, I’m the one who doesn’t know how to process her feelings. Sebastian excuses himself from his friends and walks toward me, smiling. He approaches me and pulls me in for a hug. This is the kind of thing that has happened exactly zero times before.

  “At last, Bernadette,” he says in my ear. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “I’m so sorry I’m late—traffic was…”

  “I’m glad you made it,” he says, cutting me off, but looks directly at Matt. “Hello, I’m Sebastian.”

  This is also something that doesn’t usually happen.

  Sebastian Smith waits for other people to introduce themselves to him.

  “So nice to meet you,” Matt says, offering a firm hand shake. “Matt McGovern. I�
��m Bernadette’s neighbor. We spoke on the phone.”

  They spoke on the phone?

  “Ah yes, Dolly Kemp’s nephew. Good to meet you. Thanks for taking care of my girl here.” He puts his arm around my shoulder.

  His girl?

  “It was my pleasure.”

  As soon as I register how these two men are staring each other down, my brain automatically switches to business mode. “Is everything okay here, Sebastian? Do you need me to do anything?”

  He blinks and loses the staring contest. “I need for you to enjoy yourself tonight.” He squeezes my arm, winks at me, and walks off to greet the art critic who has just entered.

  I didn’t even know Sebastian knew how to wink.

  “Why don’t I get us drinks,” Matt says. “Malbec or Pinot Noir?”

  “Whichever has a higher alcohol content.”

  “I’ll see if they have red Zinfandel.”

  I watch him go. Heads turn. Some heads do double-takes. Mouths subtly drop open. Matt seems genuinely oblivious to the way people stare at him, or maybe he’s just used to it.

  While he’s ordering drinks, I say hi to a few people and make sure everyone is more comfortable here tonight than I am.

  When Matt leans against the bar and makes eye contact with me, smiling just a little bit, I suddenly feel really good. I don’t know what I was so afraid of. Just because we’ve had intercourse and taken care of each other in each other’s homes and we’re in the same restaurant at the same time, that doesn’t mean we’re anything more than fuck buddies who happen to live next door to each other.

  I finally look away from Matt when I feel a hand slap my ass.

  “I’ve been texting you for fifty minutes, you nerd!” Tommy says as he hugs me.

  “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “I have like nine other places to be tonight, but I wanted to see you.”

  I pull away from him and grab his cutie pie face. “It’s been ages. So your show’s over but you’re going on tour with it? This is amazing, right?”

  Tommy takes one look at me, ignores my question, and says, “Girl. You’ve interacted with sperm since I last saw you.”

  “Shh! This is a work function!”

  “Your little Ferris Bueller finally got her day off, didn’t she?”

  I giggle. “She’s gotten off a lot more than once, if you must know.”

  “I must know everything!” he stage whispers. “Who’s been making your vagina twist and shout?”

  I burst out laughing and cover my mouth. “Shh! Please stop talking.”

  Tommy watches me as I look around for Matt. When I catch sight of him at the bar and realize he has been watching us even though some woman is trying to talk to him, I feel my cheeks flush and everything tingles.

  Tommy grabs my arm. “Please tell me Sexy Face Magee over there is your guy.”

  “He’s not my guy. But yes, he’s my neighbor.”

  He gasps. “You banged your neighbor!”

  “Lower your voice!”

  He speaks in a deeper voice. “You’re banging your neighbor.”

  I have to cover my face. “It’s not serious. I mean, it’s hot and it’s really great, and he’s great and everything’s cool, and I love his dog, but it’s not serious.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Matt locks eyes with me as he makes his way toward us holding two wineglasses. The expression on his face is serious, as it usually is, but that doesn’t mean that what he feels for me is serious. Just because I’m more aware of him than anyone else in the room or anyone else in the city for that matter, that doesn’t mean that what I feel for him is serious.

  “I’m only staring at you because you’re gorgeous,” Tommy says as soon as Matt’s within earshot. “You’re too good-looking to be straight.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me this.” He hands me my red Zinfandel. “I’m Matt. You’re definitely too good-looking to be straight,” he says as he offers his hand to shake. He somehow manages to not make that sound flirtatious.

  “You are absolutely right. I’m Tommy. Bern and I go way back.”

  “Tommy’s my best friend,” I say.

  “Very nice to know she’s friends with people other than retired ladies who live in her building.”

  “And dogs. I’m friends with a lot of dogs.”

  “Right. And Netflix.” Tommy pats me on the back. “You’re friends with Netflix. I’m already bored of this conversation, so I’m gonna go talk to that hot gay guy over there.”

  “You do that,” I say.

  “Take good care of our girl’s vagina,” he says to Matt as he squeezes past him.

  “I’m doing my best.”

  I give Tommy the stink eye, and he blows me a kiss. I am horrified that Matt knows I discussed my vagina’s activities with Tommy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tell him. He dragged it out of me.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “No, but we’re not supposed to—”

  “Bernadette. I don’t mind.” He raises his chin at someone at the back of the room. “What the hell. That’s my buddy Rufus over there. Come meet him. He’s cool.”

  “Oh, um, I’ll come over in a minute. You go ahead.”

  “Okay.”

  He walks away just as Anita approaches. She gives him a predatory look, which he meets with a quick nod. I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. Why didn’t he just ignore her? I mean, she’s a stunning woman in a skin-tight black dress and bright red lipstick, sure, but did he have to acknowledge her existence?

  “Bernadette! Baby doll!” She flings her arms around me.

  I can’t not like this woman. Besides the fact that she’s one of my boss’s best friends and owns one of my favorite art galleries, she has always been kind and frank with me. So I will forgive her for eye-fucking my fuck-buddy-with-friend-benefits.

  “Hi, Anita.”

  “You look hot! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”

  “Really? I just…”

  “Was that your boyfriend you were talking to just now?”

  “Matt? No—he’s my neighbor. My temporary neighbor. He’s Dolly Kemp’s nephew.”

  “Interesting. Are you two dating?”

  “No.”

  She eyes me. “Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

  My cheeks are on fire. I lower my voice. “We aren’t dating. We have…a no-strings arrangement.” Why did I tell her that? Why did I tell Anita that?

  She nudges me with her hip. “Well, honey, you need to wrap some strings around that man and tie him down before someone else does.”

  “No, we’re not… We’re different.”

  “Different from what?”

  “Each other.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not still hung up on the boss man, are you?”

  “Shhhh!” I look around to make sure Sebastian isn’t anywhere near us. He’s not. But I still don’t want anyone here to hear this conversation. “No. It’s not that. We’re just friends. I guess. We have nothing in common, but we have great sex and we hang out at home, and I mean, I helped him out when he sprained his ankle, and then he looked after me when I had the flu last week. But it’s just a no-strings thing like I always do, you know.”

  She lowers her chin and flutters her eyelashes at me. “Bernadette. By what ridiculous standard is that not considered a relationship? I’ve had husbands I was less intimate with than that.” She swats this silly idea of mine away with her hand.

  “No, really. That’s how it is.” I finish most of my wine in one big gulp.

  She shakes her head and looks back at Matt and the guy he’s talking to. “You kids today and your super chill non-relationships.”

  “Yup, that’s me. Super chill.”

  “You sure you’re not serious about him?” She studies my face, the way an adult looks at a child they suspect is lying to them.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, t
rust me. It’s totally casual.”

  “Mind if I have a go, then?”

  “Um. What?” Why did I not see that this is where she was heading. “No! I mean no, I don’t mind. Of course, yeah. You should definitely…have a go. He’s single and great and nice and completely unattached. Except for a recent ex-girlfriend he lived with for a few years. He probably isn’t in touch with her, though.”

  “Uh-huh. What is he—a lawyer? Corporate?”

  “Yeah. You can tell that by looking at him?”

  “Honey, I can tell a lot by looking at him.” She licks her lip. “Early thirties?”

  “Yeah. Thirty-two, I think?” Okay, now I feel like his pimp.

  “Good,” she says. “The twentysomethings always want a mommy who’ll fuck them, but once they’re in their thirties they know how to handle me.”

  Eww.

  “Great!”

  “Okay, I’m going in. Last chance to stop me.” She fluffs up her hair.

  I try to say the words I’m not stopping you, but my upper lip just sticks to my teeth as I fake a huge smile. I salute her and turn away to look for someone else to talk to, like Tommy or a shrink perhaps. I settle on the manager of this restaurant, who smiles and waves at me.

  “Hi!” I say, going over to where she’s hanging out at the hostess stand, giving her a grateful hug. “Everything seems to be going great tonight!”

  “Yup,” she says, pushing her ironed-straight hair behind one ear. “It’s a fun crowd. I was expecting a bunch of uptight gallery people, but everyone’s cool.” She leans in. “Who’s the guy you came with?”

  Oh my God. Is there really nothing else to talk about tonight? Are we not educated New Yorkers? Are there no Broadway shows or political scandals we can dish about?

  I sigh. “That’s my neighbor, Matt.”

  “Are you dating him?”

  I look back and see Anita give him her card. I see Matt thank her politely and put her card in his blazer pocket. I see him nod at her politely as she touches his arm and then his friend’s and then walks away.

  “Nope. Not dating him. Just friends.”

  “Is he gay?”

  “He certainly doesn’t fuck me like a gay guy, but how can you be sure?” Who said that?