Mountain Manhattan_Mountain Man in the Big City

by Frankie Love

  Turns out, I don’t work well with a timeline. It’s not something I really considered when I took the gig. Back home I do things in my own sweet time. I have a beer while I look at the piece, really considering what I want to convey before I weld a single piece of metal together.

  It’s just not the same with an audience.

  The Mayor is out of town for a few weeks and that helps a little bit, knowing he isn’t looking over my shoulder but I’m a goddamn mountain man. I can’t be crumbling under the pressure. I need to get my head in the motherfucking game.

  I decide to leave the park in the mid-afternoon. Maybe a walk or a nap will help give me direction. I’ve had half a dozen false starts in as many days. Something has to give.

  Winding my way through the dirty city streets, I find myself back at the Mid-Manhattan Hotel. Figuring what the hell, I head inside. For a moment I think maybe I can convince Mia to go out tonight—that would certainly help clear my head—but she’s not around. So instead, I head to the sitting room off the lobby, and I sink into one of the old leather armchairs, propping my foot up on the ottoman.

  I’m disappointed she’s not here. Truth is, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way her laughter lit up the room, the way she held those fucking chopsticks, the way she arched her back in my bed. Damn, I can’t remember wanting a woman like I want her.

  Even if she’s complicated. She sure would have been a fun way to pass the time here in NYC. The only time Central Park felt inspiring was when she was with me on that park bench. Every other time I go, it’s missing that spark.

  Before I know it, I’m out cold. Probably snoring like a bear, but when I get tagged in the chest with a plastic bullet, I sit up with a start.

  “What the hell?” I sit up, the foam dart in my hand. Looking around, I spot the culprit. It’s Matty, Mia’s brother, Nerf gun in hand and a sheepish grin on his face.

  “Am I busted?” he asks.

  I scowl. “I was having a good dream, you know that?”

  He grimaces. “Sorry,” he says, and then he starts walking away. But then he pauses and turns back to me. “My sister said you were an artist. And that you took Mia out once but never called her back.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m Ford, and uh, your sis has the facts wrong. I asked Mia out again, she turned me down.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Typical. Women, amiright?”

  I try not to laugh, his tone is somber, so I play along. “Oh yeah, you know a lot about women?”

  He shrugs. “I live with them.”

  “Fair point. I live alone.”

  “Lucky.” He flops down on the chair next to mine. “Since you live by yourself, do you get to pick out your own cereal? Mia won’t let me.”

  “Oh yeah, Lucky Charms, Captain Crunch—only the good stuff.” Matty’s eyes are glazed over with jealousy and I push away the painful memories this little boy stirs up inside of me. Instead, I try to keep things light with this kid, who has had one hell of a year. “And I don’t have to lower the lid on the toilet either,” I add with a grin.

  “Man, I need to get my own place.”

  I can’t help but smile at this little guy. “Eh, I don’t know. Having women around seems nice. They always remember the little things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I remember my mom would always make every holiday special,” I tell him. “Saint Patrick’s Day, she’d make my milk green. And for Valentine’s she’d make me heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast. That kinda thing.”

  Matty nods. “True. My mom would make me a treasure hunt for my birthday, every year. She’d make a map, with clues, and we’d go all around the city until I found where X marked the spot.”

  “See, guys never do that kinda thing.”

  “Yeah,” he says wistfully. “Mia does those things for me now.”

  “Lucky you have a big sister who looks out for you.”

  Matty groans. “Yeah, she always gets mad, though. That’s why you can’t tell her about the Nerf gun.”

  “My lips are sealed. Besides, what guy doesn’t love a good Nerf fight?”

  “Exactly, right?” He gives me a sidelong glance. “You know, if you’re up for it, I could go for round two?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nods, taking this seriously. “Yeah, but you can’t tell Mia.”

  I break out laughing. “You’re going down, you know that, right?”

  He laughs, reaching into his backpack and handing me a loaded gun. “Yeah, right, old man.” He raises his gun and shoots, but I turn, dodging the bullet, and roll on the ground, rising on my elbows and taking a low shot.

  He cracks up, and rolls over the back of the couch, headed my way. Army-crawling past him, I shoot back, and the pair of us are making the sitting room rain with foam bullets as we charge one another, leaping over furniture, and trying not to knock over chairs as we tag one another.

  We’re loud—acting like a pair of boys—and I realize I haven’t laughed like this in a long-ass time. I’m only thirty, but most the time I act like a grumpy old man. Which is why being with Mia is so refreshing. She’s eight years younger than me, but she’s been through hell and back — same as I have. But whereas I’ve pulled inward, she still manages to wear a smile, to greet the guests at this hotel warmly and open her heart to anyone who passes through the door.

  “I’m coming for you,” he shouts, jumping on the coffee table and leaping toward me, pegging me as he falls to the floor, rolling out of my line of sight.

  “You’re gonna pay for that.” I duck down, and aim up high, hoping to tag him—but instead, I tag Mia as she’s walking in, with finger-wagging anger directed at Matty.

  “It’s totally inappropriate, Mathias,” she hisses. “This is my place of work. Not to mention our home.”

  “Sorry,” he says, pulling himself up from the floor. He stands next to me and we sheepishly hide the guns behind our backs.

  “Ford?” She shakes her head at me. “What are you doing with Matty? He’s supposed to be doing his homework, not playing tag.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.” I shrug. “I was just napping and Matty came in and—”

  “It’s three-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, and you’re just napping?” She rolls her eyes. “Sounds super nice. But I’m actually at work. Like, doing my job.”

  Matty and I look at one another, knowing we’re busted. “I get it. My job—”

  She cuts me off again. “Actually, you don’t get it. You’re an artist. You set your own hours and come and go as you please.” She waves her hands around. “You can pose all day for photos and call it work.”

  “Gosh, Mia,” Matty says. “We were just—”

  She exhales loudly, shaking her head as if done with this conversation. “It’s fine. Whatever. Just go to the park if you’re going to play tag, okay?”

  Matty mumbles sorry again, then begins picking up the bullets strewn all over the room.

  I cock my head at her. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine.” She runs a hand through her hair, biting down on her bottom lip. “I should get back to work.”

  I watch her go, wondering why she’s so intent on staying away.

  10

  Mia

  There’s no reason for me to react so intensely. Like literally, none.

  Except that for the last year, it’s been my one and only mode of operation.

  Then for one night with Ford, I let down my guard, allowed myself to pretend my life was different. But then I woke up and remembered that the balls I’m juggling will drop if I’m not there ready to catch them.

  Maybe it makes me unlikable, a bitch, but right now, I don’t see how I can afford to be anything different.

  After work I take a shower, the warm water washing away some of the tension in my shoulders. I scrub away the day with a loofah and try to take deep breaths. It’s not a yoga class for stress relief, but right now it’s the best I can do for self-care.

  Though I
suppose I can think of one other thing for self-care. Suddenly, my mind is back on Ford and the way he looked today in his work clothes. So ruggedly handsome. He is a man who knows what to do with his hands and my body aches at the thought.

  I run a finger between my legs as I lift my foot to the edge of the tub. I close my eyes, my shoulders falling as I touch myself, remembering the way Ford touched me a week ago. He ran his hands all over my skin, touching every inch of me, licking my nipples, and biting my earlobes.

  I fell under his spell for one night and my body hums as I inch closer to that memory.

  My finger circles my swollen clit, my desire growing between my legs. I think about the way he spread my thighs, the way he ran his tongue up and down my pussy. He didn’t know the meaning of holding back. It’s like he wouldn’t have known how to restrain himself if he’d tried.

  He was all over me and his attention made me feel so utterly beautiful. He pressed his big cock inside of me and I forgot how to breathe. He filled me up so entirely, I gasped as he thrust deep inside.

  I moan out loud at the memory. Before him, I had only ever fantasized about being filled so completely. My old boyfriend wasn’t built like Ford; not in the slightest. Looking back at that old relationship, I can hardly even describe what we did as sex. It was fumbling and nerves.

  Ford was all man, control, and intention. He knew what he wanted and exactly how to get me where I dreamed of going.

  He ruined me for regular guys. His cock was long and thick, and it filled me up until I thought I might break—and that was when I came. Hard, so fucking hard.

  I move my fingers faster, pressing two inside of myself as my pussy becomes wet with the memories. Ford came inside of me; made me whimper as he thrust deeply, right where I wanted him to go.

  Then he flipped me over, on all fours, and held my hips as he rocked against me. My ass was in the air and he kissed my bare cheeks, rolling my body closer to his as he took me. My breasts kicked against one another, and he grabbed them, massaging my nipples with my body sinking deeper onto his cock.

  Oh, it felt so fucking good as he held me in place in his lap, thrusting deeper and deeper until I came with a crash.

  The way I am coming now. Oh, holy hell, it feels so fucking good. I’m right there, so damn close to orgasm.

  The water from the shower is getting cold. Shit. I must have been in here a long time, but I can’t stop. I want to come, need to come. Before I can, Matty is banging on the bathroom door, yelling at me.

  “Mia, the timer went off. What should I do?”

  I close my eyes, between the now cold water and Matty hollering, any momentum I had managed to gain is gone.

  Groaning, I turn off the water and shout back. “Turn it off. I’ll be out in a sec.” Of course, I didn’t get what I selfishly wanted. I blink back tears, hating that I resent Matty right now; feeling weak and wishing I were stronger.

  Wrapping a towel around me as I wipe away the steam from the bathroom mirror, my pussy throbbing and royally annoyed to be left without any sort of finale. I look in the mirror, trying to see myself, but I can’t.

  It’s as if the person in the mirror is a stranger, a woman I don’t even really want to know.

  Whoever I was, or was going to be, died when Mom died.

  I leave the bathroom, feeling like I let her down. Not just Mom, but the old Mia too.

  “You should go out,” Tahlia says, rinsing off our dinner dishes.

  I put the leftover baked potatoes in a gallon-sized plastic baggie and toss it in the fridge. Grabbing the sour cream container, I press on the lid, not really listening to my sister. It’s Friday and all I want to do I curl up on the couch and binge-watch something on Netflix. I never do that, but right now, after Mattie interrupted me in the bathroom while I was attempting to take care of myself, I figure fuck it. I’m going to do exactly what I want tonight.

  Then I remember how I need to get a job. Stat. And so I push away the dream of trashy TV and think about the applications I can submit and the listings on Craigslist I can scour.

  “Seriously,” she says. “Go do something. Jaimie and Karis will be here in like five minutes and no offense, but you are a buzzkill.”

  That gets my attention. “Buzzkill? Are you guys gonna be drinking?”

  Tahlia shuts off the water and dries her hands. “No, you know I’m straight edge. I mean, you are a bummer. And we just want to chill out and celebrate the fact we got through finals.”

  I lift a finger. “Not all the way. You still have your English final on Monday. You should be studying for that tonight.”

  “Mia, listen to yourself. We aren’t going to be studying, we’re working on our outfits for the end of year party.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Is what necessary?”

  “Special outfits for a party?”

  “Oh. My. God. Mia. You are the lamest person ever. You do realize that, right?”

  I cross my arms defensively. “Not true,” I say, raising a finger. “I do fun things. I went to that gala last week. And I’m so not lame that my photo even made the New York Times. So, boom!”

  “Um.” Tallie pulls in her lips, trying not to laugh. “First of all, you literally just ‘So boom’ed me. That, in and of itself, makes you lame. Secondly, it’s Friday night, you are twenty-two and instead of getting all cute and going out you are lecturing me. It’s getting old, Mia.”

  I press a finger to my temple. “Sorry for being so lame. But we can’t have it all, you know? I’m doing my best. I need to find us an apartment, Tallie. Do you know how impossible affordable living is in this city?”

  Tahlia steps toward me and places a hand on each of my shoulders. “I know, Mia. You are the best. But maybe, sometimes, you should just lighten up. You aren’t going to look at any open houses for apartments tonight. You’ve been working all day. Matty is going to be in his room working on that robotics kit his teacher gave him and my friends are coming over to chill. We love you, but tonight we don’t need you.”

  There is a knock on the door and Tallie moves to answer it. I blink back tears and pinch the bridge of my nose, not really knowing why I’m getting emotional.

  Except I do know why. I put my life on hold—or rather—I quit my life entirely, to be here for my brother and sister. The idea that sometimes they don’t need me makes me wonder about my choice.

  “Hey Mia,” Karis says, dropping a plate of chocolate chip cookies off on the kitchen counter. “How you doing, chica?”

  Jaimie is close behind her and he kisses my cheek after setting down several tote bags with fabric poking out. “You look sad.” He whips his head toward my sister. “Why is she sad, Tallie?”

  Tallie shrugs, pulling back the plastic wrap on the plate of cookies and shoving one in her mouth. With her mouth open, she answers, “She doesn’t have a life.” She swallows then adds. “I was just telling her she needed to go out on the town tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stay here.”

  “Nope.” Karis purses her lips together. “We are going to give you a makeover!”

  Jaimie, Karis, and Tallie squeal in unison and I know fighting them is a lost cause.

  They have been a trio since middle school and are NYC kids born and raised. Even though I grew up in Manhattan too, I missed out on the cool gene. Tallie is effortlessly cool and I am boring AF. I sometimes wonder how we are related.

  “She needs a push-up bra, for starters,” Karis says, pulling at the neck of my t-shirt and looking down. “I mean, Mia, a sports bra on Friday night? How old are you?”

  I tug my shift free and back away. “Fine, I’ll go get a real bra.”

  “And a thong,” Tallie calls out. “I don’t want any panty lines in this skirt.”

  “I don’t even have anywhere to go,” I say, rifling through my dresser drawers. I don’t have to go far, considering it’s in the living room and also functions as a television stand. “This work?” It’s a black satin
sheen bra and I’m granted approval.

  In the bathroom, I slip them on and then pull on a robe. Reentering the living room, I see they’ve ransacked my drawers and are slicing fabric. Tallie has pins between her lips and Jamie is sitting in front of the sewing machine in Tallie’s bedroom.

  “Your little black dress is going to be so hot when we’re through.”

  11

  Mia

  An hour later I get shoved out of my own apartment. In a faux fur coat, five-inch stilettos, and a black dress that was literally made for me, I wonder what the heck I should do now.

  “If you come back before two AM, we will be seriously disappointed,” Karis shouts as she closes the door on me.

  The door closes with a thud and I shake my head, wondering how the heck I ended up outside my own place. I can’t go back in without getting a lecture from three teenagers.

  I walk up to the lobby, wondering if there are any good movies playing. In the sitting room, I manage to lower myself into a club chair without wobbling over, which takes some maneuvering. These heels are absolutely ridiculous.

  I reach for my phone in my handbag but just as I begin to search movie times, a tall, dark and handsome man coughs, getting my attention.

  Ford.

  “You look fucking gorgeous, Mia.”

  I bite my bottom lip, setting my phone down, feeling unsettled at seeing him. He is in his signature flannel, his eyes flickering with desire as he looks me over.

  “Uh, thanks.” I smile, but something is gnawing at me. “Uh, could I buy you a drink?”

  He sits up straighter, looking around the empty sitting room. “Wait, are you—did you — I’m sorry, but, are you talking to me?”

  I tilt my head to the side, cringing. “Yes. You, Ford. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No.”

  Now it’s my turn to sit up straighter. “Oh. I’m sorry. I just…” I shake my head, cringing with embarrassment.

  “No, I mean, you aren’t buying me a drink. I still owe you for going to the gala with me.”

  I twist my lips. “Okay,” I say slowly. “But I need you to come over here.”

  He lifts an eyebrow but walks over to me. “What do you need?”