Mountain Manhattan_Mountain Man in the Big City

by Frankie Love

  “Your hands.”

  He offers them to me and I grip them for support as I push myself from the chair.

  I feel all wobbly but use him to find my balance. Once standing, I exhale, smiling up at him.

  “Thanks. That could have gone really sideways.”

  “No problem.” He looks me over quizzically. “You sure you want a drink with me? Women get dressed like this when they have plans.”

  I shake my head. “I told you, I don’t go out.”

  “Yet, here you are, dressed to go out.”

  I take Ford’s elbow and guide him to the hotel entrance. “No, I got kicked out.” We begin walking down the sidewalk to a nearby bar that I know he will love, while I explain Tallie, her friends, and the makeover.

  “That explains the black eye makeup,” he says, grinning. Somehow my hand has fallen into his. Neither of us pulls away.

  “Shit,” I say. “Did she raccoon me?”

  “You didn’t look in the mirror after they did you up?”

  “No,” I say laughing. “They can be kinda intense. But to them, doing me up like this is art. I wouldn’t dare question their creative ideas.”

  “You’re a good sister,” he says, opening the door to the pub.

  “Not according to Tallie. She thinks I’m lame and boring and kind of a boss. And not like, a cool boss. Like a bitchy boss.”

  We slide into a booth and I take off the fake fur. Ford rolls up his flannel shirt sleeves and I can’t help but look at his muscular forearms. A shiver runs up my spine at the memory of myself in the shower earlier tonight.

  “Eh, she’s sixteen,” he says. “Every sixteen-year-old thinks they know everything.”

  I look down at my hands, my lips twitching thinking about that. Most of the time that sentiment would be right, but I don’t think it really applies here.

  A waitress comes over while Ford is in the bathroom, and I order our drinks. When he returns, I finally get the nerve to say something.

  “I wanted to apologize for being so intense earlier today in the lobby with the Nerf guns. I kinda lost perspective.”

  Ford shrugs. “I don’t know. I mostly thought you were the one who needed to shoot some ammo.”

  The waitress brings my gin and tonic and his Manhattan.

  “What the hell is this?” he asks eyeing his glass warily.

  “A Manhattan.”

  He frowns. “There’s a cherry in this, Mia. You expect me to drink some fruity cocktail?”

  I reach over and fish the stem from his drink and drop the bright red cherry in my mouth. Expertly, I twist the stem with my tongue into a perfect knot. God, muscle memory is crazy. I remember spending an entire summer on the front steps of the hotel perfecting that trick. Mom hated it. Said I would give the guests the wrong idea. As a twelve-year-old, I had no idea what she meant. But by the way Ford looks at me know, I know exactly why she was worried.

  I hand the knot to Ford who can do nothing but laugh and raise his glass.

  “To sisters,” Ford says.

  I smile, taking a sip. “Why toast that?”

  “Because I owe yours a thank you. She got you to come out tonight. That’s something I couldn’t make happen.”

  “Did my saying no hurt your feelings?” I tease.

  “No, but it sure made my cock ache for the last week.”

  I laugh, covering my face. “Are you always so blunt?”

  “If I remember correctly,” he says, “when we went to gala you had no trouble speaking your mind. I thought being frank was kinda your thing.”

  I swallow. “Well, if we’re being honest,” I say, trying to phrase this as tactfully as possible. “I suppose my decision to resist you resulted in frustration on my end, as well.”

  “Are you saying you’re horny?”

  I nearly spit out my drink. Laughing I cover my mouth. “You are trouble, Ford Thatcher.”

  He looks me over. “The kind of trouble you like to get in?”

  I pull in a sharp breath, my core feeling all hot and tingly. “To be decided.”

  We stare at one another for several seconds, before I give in and have to take a drink. The sexual tension between us is thick enough to cut. And damn, right now I’d gladly give him the knife.

  “You know,” he says pointing to his drink. “This Manhattan is really fucking good.”

  I get a little jolt of pride at the comment. “Best cocktails in the city.”

  “So, do you wanna talk about why you got so mad at Matty for playing in the lobby?” he asks, changing the subject.

  “I just get a little intense sometimes.”

  “And why is that?”

  I tell him the whole thing. How Mom died of a sudden heart attack a year ago. How burying her was the end of my dreams and also the end of our family as we knew it. I explained how I left college in Rhode Island and moved back to the hotel and have been in mom-mode ever since.

  “Shit, Mia,” he says running a hand over his beard. “I knew you were an independent woman, but you really weren’t lying when you said you had a lot on your plate.”

  “Long-term, I get scared Tallie won’t get any scholarships—and she has to because we can’t afford it otherwise.”

  “And short-term?”

  I snort, shaking the ice in my tumbler. “Short-term, I have to get a new job and a new place to live.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I thought you realized. We live in a basement apartment of the hotel. My mom had this job before she died and we grew up here. After she died, Mr. Roller let me take over her job and keep the apartment.”

  “But he sold the place.”

  “Yeah. And when the buyers take over seven weeks from now, we’re screwed.” I lick my lips. “I’m happy for him. He has a daughter in Utah, and he should retire with family if he can. But when he told me what he had decided to do, he actually said that he thought this was going to be a good thing for me. Can you believe that?”

  Ford sits back in the booth, watching me, and it’s like he sees all of me when I talk. “Maybe I need more friends, more people to confide in,” I say. “Or maybe a therapist.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m telling you all my crap. Just, like, with no filter. Do you care about Mr. Roller’s daughter in Utah and whether or not Tallie will get a scholarship?”

  “Is it weird if I say that I do?”

  “It’s only weird if you say that you do if you don’t.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you trying to fuck with me?”

  “No.”

  “I like hearing about you,” he tells me, setting his drink down, and leaning his elbows on the table. “Your life. Your crap. It puts things in perspective, you know?” He shrugs. “I live a cocoon. A world of my own making. I like it that way, but it’s small, and I tend to forget about the rest of the world.”

  I rest my elbows on the table too, my chin in my hand, thinking about Ford in the Colorado Rockies. In a cabin he built himself. Trees everywhere and blue skies and clean air. I can practically taste the cool water running off the glacial mountains, can breathe in the fresh scent of the pine trees.

  Pretty fucking perfect.

  “It’s messy out here, in the real world,” I tell him. “I think you’ve probably got it all figured out.”

  At this, he snorts. “Maybe back home I’ve finally got it all under control, but here, in Manhattan? I’m a fucking work in progress.”

  “Literally or figuratively?”

  “Both. You know how you think your life is one big cluster?”

  I nod.

  “Well, mine is too. Only mine is being live-streamed.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You know my sculpture?”

  “Obviously. Aren’t you a week into the project?”

  He grimaces. “You done with your drink?”

  I nod, and he takes my hand.

  “You told me your shit,�
� he says. “Now let me show you mine.”

  12

  Ford

  Listening to Mia at the bar, reminded me that ever since I lost what mattered most to me in the world, I’ve been living under a rock.

  You can’t get hurt under a rock. You’re already being held down. But can you grow when you live under a rock? No. You need light, you need air to flourish.

  “So, what were you in school for?” I ask as we walk hand in hand to Central Park.

  It feels so good to have her hand in mine. I don’t think she has any idea how badly I’ve missed her. I dream about her at night, jack off to her in the shower each morning, I fucking fantasize about us in my cabin, fucking all day and night.

  And it’s not in a creepy way. It’s in an All-American male way. I’m fucking hot as hell for Mia and since she’s ignored me, I’m screwed with my project. She is a light in this city and without her, it’s dark as hell.

  “Hotel Management.” She looks up at me, those pine green eyes of hers taking me all the way home. “Not as interesting as a sculpture artist.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like that. But tell me, why hotel management?”

  She hesitates. “I grew up watching my mom work the Mid-Manhattan. I loved it. Seeing people from all over the world enter the hotel. And every one of them would ask my mom for suggestions. Where’s the best place to get pizza? What museum would you recommend? How far is it to the nearest subway?”

  I watch her talk. Mia’s voice is filled with sunshine when she gets on a roll and it’s like a different woman than the one I was talking to in the bar. There she was so fucking sad, broken down—but hearing her now, her passion is palpable.

  “But some guests would have more obscure requests and Mom still always had the perfect answer. She knew the best of everything NYC. Best playhouse. Best synagogue. Best vegan ice-cream. She memorized this city.

  On her days off, we would wake up and never know where we’d end up. She’d pull out a map of Manhattan—a real paper map, and she’d ask one us to close our eyes and point. And that’s where we’d head. Catching subways, walking every square block, looking up. Always, always looking up.”

  She stops talking, catching her breath and looking at me like she’s worried she’s said too much.

  We stop walking, already arrived at my job site and I squeeze her hand. I want her to finish. I want the end of the story.

  “So, you went to college?”

  She nods. “Yeah, I wanted to be like her,” she says under the lamplight. “I think that’s why I chose the major that I did. Not because it was my passion, but it was familiar. It was Mom. And I loved my mom so damn much I guess, in some ways, I wanted to be her.”

  “Well, you have her job now.”

  She sighs. “It’s not the same. Mom knew how to be a parent. She knew how to balance everything and make life work. She was able to do all that and still discover every new nook and cranny that popped up in this city. I don’t know how she did it because I can barely manage to get the laundry done, let alone discover new pop up shops. Until you asked me out last week, I can’t remember the last time I did anything fun. Anything new.”

  “Did you ever consider not stepping into her role after she died?” I ask, wanting to know this woman before me.

  “We don’t have extended family. My dad left after Matty was born. It was always us against the world.” She looks off into the distance and I see the memories washing over her. The same way they did for me when I saw Matty that first morning in the hotel. Took me back to a painful place. “I remember getting the phone call. That there had been an accident and immediately packing my bags and never looking back. I thought my life in Rhode Island was important until I learned in a split second what really mattered.”

  “Family.”

  She nods, exhaling. “I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to shut up around you.”

  “Don’t say that, Mia.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She has deep red lipstick on, and against her creamy skin and dark hair, she looks like a fairytale Princess, and damn it makes me want to be her prince. It’s a fucking revelation. I never get like this with women. But this is not just any woman. This is Mia. “I like learning about you,” I tell her honestly.

  “Do you have family?” she asks, looking up in my eyes.

  “Yeah, my parents live in town. Aunts, uncles, the whole thing.”

  “Are you close with your mom and dad?”

  “Close? Eh. Not exactly.” I shrug. “You’d love them, though. They own a bowling alley and know everyone.”

  Mia’s face brightens. “That’s interesting. Have they always run a bowling alley?”

  “Yeah, I grew up there, watching my dad polish balls and my mom pouring pitchers of beer.”

  “I like that,” she says. “Are there pull tabs and a disco ball?”

  I run a hand over my beard. “Sure are. But like I said, we’re not close.”

  “I see,” she says smiling. “You’re the moody artist who lives in the sticks and they’re the fun ones.”

  “Pretty much. Over time I just got less and less interested in that whole scene.”

  Mia smirks, elbowing me. “Oh yeah? The bowling league scene got a little too crazy for you?”

  I wrap my arms around her. “Something like that. I told you, I’m a simple man. I don’t do complicated.”

  Mia snorts, then presses her forehead to my chest. “Then I have no idea why you’re out with me. I’m like a Rubik’s cube, one big tangled mess of colors without directions. And you’re a die. Six sides, no variation.”

  “Some people can solve a Rubik’s cube in under a minute.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  I shrug, not wanting to make this about me. “If I am, it’s not helping me figure out this piece. Look.” I take Mia by the hand and unlock the side gate that leads us inside to the work-in-progress. In the evening, the cyclone fencing surrounding the site is covered with black tarps and all the machinery is locked in the portable building that has been set up alongside the project.

  She slips off her ridiculous heels and walks around, finger on her chin, looking everything over.

  “So, what exactly am I looking at?” she asks, turning to face me, her expression all tangled. “It looks like …”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you I was stuck.”

  “This isn’t stuck, Ford. This is screwed.”

  13

  Ford

  “I know,” I groan, though it’s a relief to share this with her, it’s been eating me up inside. “The mayor comes back in three days and he is going come out to see what’s been happening. Most days, since people are fucking watching, I take out a few sheets of metal and mess around with them, claiming they’re pieces to the project. Making flowers or simple archways. Anything to bide my time until I have a surge of creativity.”

  “But it’s all just for show?”

  I nod, clasping my hands behind my neck, looking at the blank space before us.

  “It’s never happened before, getting blocked like this.”

  She steps closer to me and pulls out her phone. She starts tapping on it, talking as she does, “I’m looking up ways to overcome a creative block.”

  “You always look to your phone for answers?”

  She scoffs. “Um, yeah, because I don’t tend to carry around books about solving creativity issues. Do you?”

  I shake my head, smiling. This woman gives it as well as she takes it.

  “So, what does your smartphone have to say?”

  “Hmmm, okay, it says to tap into your subconscious… carry a sketchbook… don’t be afraid to step away… put some fun in your studio…”

  I wrap my arms around her waist. “Fun in the studio, huh?”

  She bites her bottom lip and lowers her phone. “Yeah, I mean the internet said so, so basically…” She grins up at me, her eyes wild with innuendo.

  I pull her tighte
r against me, knowing she can feel how hard I already am. My cock is pressed against her belly and I love the way she licks her lips, excitement washing over her face.

  “It would be wrong to just disregard the internet,” I tell her. “I mean, I wouldn’t dare.”

  “How could we live with ourselves?” Her hands tug on my shirt collar, drawing my mouth to hers. The tension is palpable—she wants this, same as me.

  God, I got fucking lucky checking into the Mid-Manhattan Hotel. I can’t even imagine this place without Mia in my arms.

  The grassy area where the project is being built, is fully enclosed with fencing that keeps us hidden. It sets my inhibitions free and I kiss her deeply, picking her up off her bare feet, my mouth melting against hers. I kiss her, as her legs wrap around my waist, her tiny dress hitches up to her hips. I kiss her, carrying her to a plot of green grass and lie her down.

  “You taste like a pine tree,” I tell her, having dreamed of this moment since the morning she walked away.

  “It’s the gin,” she says, pulling me on top of her. I look down into her eyes, itching for her supple skin in my hands.

  “You’re delicious.” I run a hand up her bare leg, the hem of her barely-there dress riding up and my fingers running higher and higher. God, I want my fingers to sink into her pussy, to feel how wet she is, how needy her cunt gets.

  Hell, I’m feeling inspired for the first time all week.

  “I’ve always wanted to have sex in Central Park,” she pants, as I run my hand over her panties. They are nice and wet just like I expected. She moans as I grind against her delicious cunt, getting all worked up.

  “And you said you never get a chance to try new things.” I push her panties aside, my cock hardening as I think about her in her panties at night, dreaming about me the way I dream about her. Does she press her hand against herself and get off at the thought of me? The way I have moved my hand up and down my shaft dreaming of her creamy cunt riding my thick cock.

  The way she squirms in excitement now, makes me think I’ve been on her mind all damn week.

  My fingers brushing under her soaked panties and my cock pulses in desire. Her pussy is fucking hot, and when I press a finger inside of her, I know I’m right where I belong.

  She writhes under me, her eyes closed, settling down as my finger presses inside her tightness, moving deeper inside of her. I’m so damn tempted to finger fuck her into submission, but I want to get her off with my cock tonight. I want to make her scream my name, her tits bouncing as she rides me.