She doesn’t look at me. “I’ve been working a lot, Lloyd.”
“Right, well, you were going to tell me about your job just now…”
“Was she?” I put my hand on Roxy’s shoulder. “I would love to hear about your job.”
“It’s really not that interesting, Lloyd.” She smiles at me through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you tell me about your job, Lloyd?”
Just as Lloyd starts to tell us about his job at Matt’s company, two beautiful little girls come over to grab Roxy’s hands and pull her into the family room. Harriet and Joni. Harriet is Matt and Bernie’s daughter, and Joni belongs to Vince and Nina.
“Hey girls,” I call out.
“Hey, Uncle Keaton!” Joni yells.
“Yo, Keats!” Harriet says. Because that’s how her mother addresses me.
“Excuse me, Lloyd,” I walk away from him when he’s in the middle of explaining something about computer engineering and follow the girls to the family room.
My so-called best friend Chase McKay is seated at a portable electric keyboard—probably the one we used to keep in the SnapLegal office, back in the day.
He’s playing the intro to “Jingle Bell Rock,” and Joni, Harriet, and Roxy are holding pink wireless microphones. I lean against the doorframe and watch the three of them do what may be a rehearsed routine gone awry or may just be three people moving around and bumping into each other while singing random words that are not the lyrics to this song at all.
It’s cute, though.
Suddenly I feel someone rubbing my back. “Yo, Keats.”
“Hey, Bernie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “Okay. Nice party.”
“Yeah. So, you heard…about the thing. Sorry. This is all Aunt Dolly’s fault. And my husband’s. I mean, everything’s his fault, obviously. He’s the worst. But also the best. It’s annoying.”
“It’s cool. I’m glad you’ll get a break. You deserve it. If you need someone to look after Daisy while you’re gone, I’d be happy to do it. If I’m in town.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet, thanks. But Daisy and Harriet are going to be staying with my parents at the farm, so…”
“Even better.” We both know that she’d never let Daisy stay with me because I must be a terrible dog daddy if my dog hates me so much. It’s cool.
I’m cool.
Everything’s cool.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
2
Roxy
I finally get a moment alone with Aimee in the kitchen, and I’m so happy to talk to her it’s almost embarrassing.
We do a rapid-fire catch-up session, and she pours us some more white wine.
“So, work’s still good?” she asks.
“Yeah, same as always. You and Chase still expanding?”
“Slowly but surely. You still dealing with that employee situation?”
“I’m dealing with it. But it’s still a situation.”
“How’s the apartment?”
“I’ve been redecorating. You have to see it. It’s very elegant and cozy.”
“Mmm! Send me pictures! I love this dress, by the way. You look amazing. Are you seeing anyone?”
And there it is. The question I have come to dread. I take a big gulp of wine. Nobody wants to hear about how the holidays make you feel even more single than ever. My married friends just want to hear about my sex life and how terrible the dating world is so they can simultaneously envy me for getting some and feel great about the fact that they don’t have to deal with all the crap that goes with it anymore.
Well, I’ve had a great time with a lot of guys and had a lot of great sex over the years. I’ve had fun. A lot of fun.
But I guess you get to a certain point in your life where having fun just isn’t fun anymore.
What I haven’t told anyone, not even Aimee, is that almost a year ago, I made a decision. A promise to myself to stop having sex with guys who wouldn’t make a good baby daddy. Not that I’m trying to get pregnant. I’m not. It’s not my goal to be a single mom or anything. But I’ll be turning 35 soon. If I should accidentally become pregnant—as people do—the truth is, I would probably want to have the baby. And I’d at least want the father to be involved somehow.
And it’s shocking just how few of the men I had been seeing were actually men I could imagine raising a hypothetical child with. In my twenties, I found the more money a man made, the less capable he was of giving me orgasms, so most of the guys I fooled around with were really good at sex and really bad at maintaining a career or a respectable credit rating. The foxhole has basically been sealed up, so Foxy Roxy’s got a whole lotta nothing to report on the man front.
“Not really,” I say. “No one serious.”
She groans. “I wish we knew someone we could set you up with. I keep asking Chase, but he’s so protective of you. It’s like no one’s good enough for you.”
“Well, that’s sweet, I guess. And probably true.” And so hilarious that you guys don’t think Keaton is good enough for me.
Aimee polishes off her glass of wine. That was quick. “You got any vacation plans or anything coming up?”
“Nope. Do you?”
“Kind of, yeah.” She goes over to the sink—to wash the wine glass or maybe just to turn her back to me. “Something just came up for February.”
“Sounds like a great time to get out of New York.”
“Exactly. We thought it would be a good time to go to an island. None of us has ever been on vacation without the kids, and we’re planning to try again.”
“Oh, you’re going without the kid? Do you need me to look after him?”
She laughs. “No! I mean—thank you. But he’ll stay with Chase’s parents.”
“Right. Wait. You’re gonna have another kid?”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re all planning to start trying again. Bernadette and Nina too.”
“Oh. So all of your kids will be the same age. That’s so cute.”
“Anyway, Matt’s aunt went to this couples-only resort in Antigua a few times, and she had great things to say about it. She travels a lot, you know, and she has impeccable taste. So Matt called the resort to see about reservations, and it turned out they only had three cottages available for the week around Valentine’s Day. So he booked them. For the six of us. Are you mad?”
Whaaaaaat?
“I’m not mad.” I’m so freaking happy you’re all going to be together, getting a tan on the dumbest day of the year, and I’ll have to fend for myself in the middle of an ice storm probably.
Her shoulders slump. “I feel guilty.”
“Enough with your Midwestern guilt. I’ll be fine. I’m sure there will be all kinds of parties to go to.”
And that’s when Nina and Bernadette walk in. It’s almost as if they were waiting and listening right outside the door for Aimee to break the news to the lonely single girl about their awesome couples vacation. I still remember the days when Aimee was single and I was the wisecracking wise one with more experience than her, who gave her great advice and got her out of her comfort zone. Now I’m the problem child. Well, I’m one of two in this crew.
“So Keaton isn’t going either?”
“No. He isn’t dating anyone seriously.”
“Oh.”
“That we know of.” She looks over at Bernadette and Nina to confirm. “Right?”
Bernadette shakes her head vehemently.
“Definitely not,” Nina says.
“Good.”
Aimee arches an eyebrow at me.
“I mean good, I’m glad I’m not the only motherflorking loser who isn’t invited.” Nina taught me how to fake-swear. It’s sort of satisfying. In the way that not having sex with hot guys you wouldn’t want to raise a kid with is satisfying.
Aimee squeezes my arm. “Honey, it’s not that you aren’t invited. It’s a couples-only resort and they’re all booked up.”
“Y
eah, yeah. Sure, yeah. I didn’t realize there were couples-only resorts.”
“It’s adults-only and couples-only. You know, it’s geared toward honeymooners and people celebrating their anniversary,” Bernadette says. “Boring people.”
“Right. So they don’t have to deal with loud children and single adults who get drunk and try to steal their spouses. That’s a good angle.”
“You’re mad,” Nina says. “I don’t blame you. You know what—we should have a girls’ night before we go.”
“Oh my God—yes!” Aimee claps her hands, just like her son does when he gets excited. “Let’s go to a movie and get drinks!”
“Or! We could kick the kids and the guys out and stay in to watch a movie and have drinks!” says Bernadette.
“I’m in for either option,” I say. “But I gotta go. I have another party to get to. I love you guys.”
Aimee pulls me in for a hug. “You’re coming to our New Year’s Eve thing, right?”
“Yes! Definitely. I have a few parties that night, but I’ll come to yours first. Before the kids go to bed.”
“Call me later,” she says. “Text me when you get home.”
“I’ll let you know about girls’ night,” Nina assures me. “It’s really happening this time.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Bernadette rubs my back. “Oooh, this is so soft. I think I ordered this dress online a few months ago, but I’ve never worn it.”
I wave to the kids and signal that I’m leaving, but I think they’re so upset about my departure they’re in denial. Or maybe they care more about Mario Kart. I don’t know.
“How are you getting to the next place?”
“I’ll just grab a cab.”
“I can have my driver drop you off somewhere.” I have no idea how long Keaton has been right behind us, but he is right behind us and not hiding the fact that he was staring at my ass.
“Not necessary.”
“You were wearing a coat, weren’t you?” Bernadette says, right before scurrying off to the bedroom.
“Yes, by all means, please just disappear and leave me alone with this guy!”
Keaton is grinning at me. “We aren’t exactly alone. Maybe it just feels that way to you.”
“Are you following me again?”
“Are you crying again?”
“Why would I cry?”
“Did you hear about the amazing couples-resort getaway that we aren’t invited to?”
“Yes. Why would I cry about that? I’m not a couple. If you want to go, find a girl and book a room.”
“They’re fully booked for that week. I double-checked.”
“Seriously? You double-checked? You actually called the couples-only resort to see if there were any rooms available?”
“I put myself on the waitlist. People cancel reservations all the time. People become one half of a couple all the time. So I hear.”
“Why don’t you take some girl somewhere else for Valentine’s Day?”
“I just might do that.”
“Fantastic. Please give the unfortunate lady my condolences.”
“Well, I don’t have a particular girl in mind yet, so how about I just give every lady I know and meet your condolences from now on?”
“Sounds about right.”
“And you? Do you not have a particular victim in mind for a Valentine’s week excursion?”
I do not have to answer that. I lower my voice. “Thanks for cockblocking me with Lloyd, by the way.” I do a quick scan of the room. Lloyd is nowhere to be found. “He was nice.”
“I thought so too. That’s why I was pretty sure you weren’t into him.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then you’re welcome.”
“I did not require your assistance. I am perfectly capable of cockblocking myself, thank you very much.”
He laughs. It always surprises me when he laughs. I expect him to have an arrogant Bond villain cackle, but his eyes get all sparkly, and I hate it because it’s confusing and I hate being confused. “My apologies,” he says. “I suppose I underestimated your ability to repel him on your own.”
Bernadette returns with my coat. “I love this coat. I think I ordered this online too. I wonder where I put it.”
I hug her. “Merry Christmas,” I say to her and to her only.
Keaton opens the front door for me. “Shall I call my driver?”
“Not on my account.”
“Come on. I won’t go with you. I’ll just have him drop you off.”
“Oh my darlings, look who’s standing under the mistletoe!” A stylish lady in her sixties or seventies—or maybe late fifties—is standing outside the door, holding shopping bags filled with gifts. It’s Matt’s Aunt Dolly.
“Good evening, Dolores,” Keaton says with his stupid flirty voice, stepping out onto the front steps to help her with the bags. “Happy holidays.”
“Mr. Keaton Bridges, you’re looking very handsome as always. Hello, Roxy, my dear gorgeous vixen.”
“Lovely to see you, Dolly.” I step aside. “Come on in. I was just leaving.”
“I’ll come in just as soon as you two beautiful young people respect the very important holiday tradition of kissing under the mistletoe.”
I look up at the mistletoe that’s hanging above the doorway. “Well, we aren’t standing under it anymore, so…” I shrug.
“Only because I interrupted you. Go on. Don’t leave an old lady hanging.”
Yer killin’ me, Dolores.
Keaton steps back inside and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. It’s just a stupid peck on the cheek, but feeling his lips on me again gives me the stomach butterflies. I hate the stomach butterflies. I hate how good he smells. This guy has probably never held a wrench or even a screwdriver in his life. He’s probably clean all the time. He probably doesn’t even sweat at the gym.
“Thanks,” I say. Which is dumb. It’s such a dumb thing to say, but I didn’t want to not say anything and appear tongue-tied just because he kissed me on the cheek. Only I can’t think of any other words besides “thanks.” Like I needed that or something. Like he just did me a favor.
“My pleasure,” he says, grinning, and he probably does think he just did me a favor.
Asshat.
I wave Aunt Dolly inside.
Keaton gives her a quick peck on the cheek too, just to show everyone that what he did to me was no big deal.
It wasn’t a big deal.
It wasn’t even a small deal.
It wasn’t anything.
“Have a good night, Dolores!” I sprint down the steps before she insists that the holiday tradition involves tongue.
Of course, there are no cabs around.
I text my work friend to let her know that I’m on my way to her party and walk in the direction of Fort Greene, just as I realize that it has started to snow. A tiny snowflake lands on my cheek, right where Keaton kissed me. I wipe it off because I can still feel it there. The kiss, not the snowflake.
“No luck finding a cab?”
I spin around to find Keaton a few steps behind me.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t qualify as sneaking up on you, but okay. Just let me call my driver.” He’s not wearing his coat, and I can see his minty-fresh breath.
“Where’s your coat?”
“At their place. I’m going back.”
“Well go back now. It’s cold.”
“Not until you get into a car.”
“I will find a cab eventually. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I’m calling my driver. Where are you headed?”
I sigh. “Fort Greene.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, taps it a couple of times, and says, “Hey, can you come pick up my friend to drop her off at Fort Greene? We’re on Seventh. By Barnes and Noble. Thank you.” He slides the phone back into his pocket. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
&nb
sp; I have to dig my nails into the palm of my balled-up hand and force myself to say: “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“You don’t have to wait with me.”
“Actually, I do. So my driver knows where to stop.”
“Does your driver have a name?” I ask accusingly.
Keaton takes a deep breath before answering. “His name is Manny. He is forty-seven years old. His birthday is June tenth. He is married with three children. His wife’s name is Juanita, his kids’ names are Jasmine, Samuel, and Lorenzo. They live in Queens. He’s a big Yankees fan. I’ve employed him for seven and a half years, and he doesn’t hate me at all.”
“How can you tell?”
“They named their youngest son Lorenzo Keaton Perez.”
I laugh. “They did not.”
“You can ask him yourself.”
“I plan to.”
“You going to see your family? Baltimore, right?”
“Yeah, Baltimore. I’m going for a few days, that’s all. You’re staying here?”
“Yeah. You going to Chase and Aimee’s for New Year’s?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Well, I may or may not see you there.”
He crosses his fingers and holds them up. “OMG! I hope I get to see you there!”
“Are you going anywhere else that night?”
“Why?”
“Are you going to their place early, or are you going to be there for midnight, or…”
“Why don’t you just tell me when you’re going and ask me to show up after you’ve left?”
“Because that would be rude.”
He shakes his head, raises his hand, and walks out to the street when a black BMW slows down. He opens the back door for me.
“Okay, thank you. I’ll see you around,” I say.
“Not if you can help it,” he says.
As soon as I’ve said hello to Manny, told him where I’m going, and fastened my seat belt, Keaton gets in beside me and shuts the car door. “Go ahead, Manny. I’ll ride back with you.”
I frown at him. “Really?”
“Aren’t you tired of this?”
“Tired of what?”
“This dynamic.”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 63
