by S. L. Scott
Unabashed, her eyes check me out from head to toe. Backing away, closer to her door, she says, “Maybe I am drunk. Goodnight, Charlie.”
That’s odd. I’ve never caught her eyeing me so blatantly. “Goodnight.”
As she swings the door open wider than necessary, I hear her mumble, “Very skillful indeed.”
She’s going to be the death of me if I’m not careful, but her mumbling and how exposed we were with each other tonight makes me think she’s in just as deep.
Finally.
Chapter 22
Admiring the neighborhood and brownstones, I smile while walking to Charlie’s apartment after work. I like coming over here. We don’t spend much time here, because we both prefer my large comfy couch, but today he called and said he was making me dinner.
When I open the door into his renovated building, I almost trample an older lady. “Oops, I’m sorry. Please excuse me.”
“No worries, dear.”
I start up the stairs, opting to skip the small elevator, but stop when she asks, “You’re Charlie’s girl, right?”
Huh? Interesting question. Turning around, I say, “I’m not sure. We’re friends, though.”
She gives me a warm smile. “Your name is the same as his, right? Charlie?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I reply, smiling for so many reasons, the main one being that Charlie has talked about me. “Please forgive me. I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Charlie’s neighbor, Mrs. Lackey, but you can call me Veronica.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Veronica.”
“You, too. I’ve tried to get a few juicy details regarding you out of Charlie, but the boy doesn’t kiss and tell.” She scoffs, snapping her fingers like she’s out of luck.
That’s funny, so I laugh. “Maybe that’s because we don’t kiss, so there’s nothing to tell.”
“No kissing?” She sighs. “I miss kissing. My Johnny was a great kisser.”
“Kissing is very romantic. Was Johnny your—”
“My husband of fifty-three years. He left me too soon, but I know he watches over me now.”
“He sounds wonderful,” I say, moving closer to the wall so I’m out of the way of the door.
“Why don’t you and Charlie kiss?”
She’s not shy, that’s for sure. “We’re friends, not dating.”
Her expression is surprised, which means Charlie didn’t explain all the details regarding our relationship to her. I’m curious how he explained “us” to her. I have a feeling he’ll get out of delving into this matter, so I decide to invite her to join us. Plus, I like her moxie.
“You know, I’m heading upstairs to dinner with him. I’d really like if you joined us. I know Charlie would enjoy that, too.”
She waves me off. “No, no. You two lovebirds need your time alone. I don’t want to impose. I’m going out for my evening walk before that August heat wave hits us.”
“It’s no imposition at all. If you change your mind, you know where he lives.”
“Thank you. Go off now and have fun, and kiss that hunk of yours. It doesn’t have to be all about the sex these days. Sometimes pleasure can be found in the simplest ways. Good-bye now.”
“Oh, we don’t hav—” The door swings closed before I can clarify that Charlie and I are just friends, friends without benefits. Well, at least none of those types of benefits.
I head upstairs, knock on his door, and wait. He never keeps me waiting long, and the door swings open. I walk past him and say, “I just had the most interesting conversation with Veronica from next door.”
He takes my purse from me and sets it down on the bar as I pull off my work jacket. “Who’s Veronica?”
I look at him astounded. Veronica knew about our sex life. Well, kind of, so I assumed they were close enough for him to know her first name. “Veronica. Mrs. Lackey?”
“Mrs. Lackey’s name is Veronica? That’s all kinds of sexy.”
I tilt my head, annoyed. “I’m gonna pretend you did not just say that. Anyway, how is Veronica sexier than Charlie?”
He laughs and sets a glass of iced tea in front of me. “No name is sexier than Charlie. Just saying.”
Now that cracks me up. “I sort of set you up for that one.”
“In more ways than one.”
“What are you cooking me tonight?” I ask, being nosy and heading into the kitchen. “It smells amazing.”
“I roasted a chicken.”
“Really? You know how to do that?”
He looks at me funny. “I know some cooking basics. Do you cook or stick primarily to baking?”
“I don’t burn toast and I know how to make scrambled eggs, but I’m a baker.”
He hip bumps me out from in front of the oven. “We’d make a killer cooking team. I can cook and you can make dessert. We could eat and get fat and live—”
“Happily ever after?”
“Yeah,” he says, a smile overtaking his features. “Or something like that.”
I stretch across the counter for my glass of tea. When I turn back, I catch his eyes on my midsection, but he quickly looks away. He’s so busted! Cool air hits my exposed stomach as my shirt rises up. I pull it quickly back down and drink my tea, pretending like I didn’t just catch him eyeing my bare skin.
Trying to act casual, I watch as Charlie bends down, taking the roasting pan out of the oven. The muscles in his arms tense and define from the heavy weight of the dish. He bends over, and his own T-shirt slides up as his jeans hang down just enough to reveal the top of his black boxer briefs and lower back dimples.
I shouldn’t, but I do. My eyes linger, following the lines of the muscles on his sides that lead to his abdomen. A couple of drops of tea land on my chest, and I startle.
“Missed your mouth.”
Flustered, I look up and see him pointing to my chest. Embarrassed, I become defensive to stop the nonsensical emotion. “Yes, I guess I did. My mind is on other things tonight.”
So confident and cocky . . . and sexy, he asks, “Like me?”
“You’re not going to get me to blush tonight.” I snap at him, my words clipped. I’m well aware that I was the one busted this time.
Charlie walks close, so close, and drops his arms forward on either side of me. He’s trapped me between them, and although I shouldn’t want this with a friend, I do with him. I want it more than I should. I love being this close to him, but instead of giving in, I hold my own, standing my ground—shoulders back, straight face in place. His head moves even closer to mine, but he keeps our bodies apart on purpose.
“I bet I can.”
I stare into his blue eyes. My heart is pounding in my chest as his breath hits my face. I like that I can smell a trace of mint. It makes me think he freshened up just for me. I often find myself reacting to him in ways that I wouldn’t to others. Maybe it’s because I like these games we play, the ones that involve our heads and our hearts.
“I dare you.”
His lips are on mine as soon as the words leave my mouth.
I want to kiss him back. I want to lose myself in him and this kiss and the moment, but my heart is still pounding, and the fear of losing him as my friend wins out. I tilt my head down, leaning forward and resting my forehead on his shoulder for a moment, feeling the heat between us overwhelming me, and take a deep breath. Hoping to clear my head of these thoughts of more with him, I duck under his arm and scurry into the living room.
I don’t stop until I’m on the balcony in the warm air of the evening. Is a cool breeze too much to ask for? I need to douse this fire burning inside me. A cool breeze should help me wrangle these crazy ideas that are shouting inside my head to be heard. Ideas that maybe, just maybe, I should risk our friendship and date him, or at least kiss him some more. But it’s August, so I’m out of luck.
Bending forward over the railing, I close my eyes and take another deep breath.
“I can’t back down from a dare,” he says from b
ehind me.
“You cheated.” I don’t look at him. I’m teetering on that line, and seeing him, seeing his handsome face will weaken my stance. I’ll ruin everything by jumping him, and that won’t be good for either of us. Couch snuggles, Saturday afternoon cupcakes, beer, and movies I watch just because he wants to—all of it will be gone if I don’t control myself.
“How so?” he asks, joining me, a safe distance separating us. His back is to the railing as he watches me, waiting for me to say something that will argue the fact that he made me blush.
If I were being honest with myself, he lit a blaze, not just a blush, but that’s too much reality for me to admit.
“That was a cheap shot.” I shift onto my right foot and try to hold steady, though I’m unnerved.
“It wasn’t a shot. It was a chance I took.”
“I don’t like being used to prove a point.”
“Who said I was using you or proving a point?” He inches closer, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps are distracting as he advertises them so flagrantly in front of me.
“You weren’t?” I ask. I already know the answer. “You took advantage of the fact that I haven’t been kissed in a long time. It’s been forever, which is too long. I think it’s been since you, if you must know. So throwing temptation like that in front of me is cheating, not to mention that you knew exactly how to get the reaction you wanted.” I huff defiantly.
“I kissed you because—” The sound of a knock on the door interrupts us. “I’ll be right back.”
I find relief in the distance between us, but I’m disappointed I don’t know what he was going to say. I’m so screwed up when it comes to him. I’ve had so many new feelings, maybe old feelings—the ones that I tamped down months ago. Like Charlie, I can’t ignore them any longer.
He makes me feel emotions I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m hoping that means I’m ready to date. I’ve had no interest in that since Jim and I broke up. I can tell I’m ready to touch and be touched—kiss and be kissed. I liked that kiss. I liked it a lot. I wasn’t aware I was touching my fingertips to my lips until I drop my hand down.
I steel myself for the potential of more, hoping this isn’t a mistake. When he comes back, I’m going to kiss him. Two can play this game, and I intend to score. I laugh at my slip. I mean win. Yes, I intend to win, not score. And if I happen to get to kiss him again in the process, then I’ll take one for the home team. I’m ready for action . . . to prove a point, of course.
I see Mrs. Lackey walk into the living room and smile so sweet as she looks at the two us. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by—”
“No, not at all. Would you like something to drink?” Charlie asks her as I walk inside from the balcony.
“If you have sherry, that would be nice,” she replies, and looks down for a moment, as if she’s being naughty.
He chuckles. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any sherry, but I do have white wine.”
“Join me for a chat on the couch and we’ll all have a glass of wine together, then.” She’s kind of bossy, but I like her.
I sit down beside her on the couch as Charlie gets the not-so-subtle hint and retreats to the kitchen. She turns toward me and states rather bluntly, “You like him a lot. Are you in love?”
My eyes go wide. “I think you’ve assumed the wrong thing about us.”
“No, I haven’t. You, dear, aren’t allowing yourself to see the truth.”
“What are we talking about, ladies?” Charlie hands us both a glass of wine with a smile.
Veronica looks right at him and says, “We were talking about how much Charlie likes you.”
I gasp in surprise. “I . . .” I stutter, shaking my head. “No, we weren’t. We were talking about—”
He’s looking at me all smug, loving the fact that I’ve been put on the spot, and then winks just to add to the fun before turning back to her. “Mrs. Lackey, I think you’re a troublemaker. I’m going to need to keep my eye on you.”
She laughs, patting my leg. “I think Charlie here is more your type. Keep your eyes on her lovely face and all will end how it should.” She smiles, but I see her matchmaker sneaky side slipping out, and that makes me giggle. She’s full of grand ideas when she asks, “I want to dance. Will you dance with me, Charlie?”
He offers her a hand, helping her up and pulling her to him with a flourish and a spin. “It would be my pleasure.” Going to his music system, he flips through a few stations until he finds what he’s looking for.
Charlie melts my heart when I hear Sinatra waft from the speakers. He strolls back to Veronica, and like a gentleman, takes her by the hand. They sync their steps and sway to the romantic music.
She’s beaming as she smiles up at him. I can’t hear what she says, but when the second song comes on, she claims she’s tired and insists I take her place.
He smiles and nods to encourage me to get up, and I do. I do because he’s that persuasive when he has that look of . . . of . . . like? No, it’s more than that. That look isn’t like, it’s so much more. I know because it’s how I’m looking at him right now, and all of my earlier resolve to prove him wrong, to win, is gone. If losing is dancing with someone or even kissing someone who cares for you like I undoubtedly care for him then call me a loser.
I take Veronica’s place and slide my hand into his as he places his other hand on my hip. I hold his shoulder with my left hand and step closer, wanting to be as close as I can without offending Veronica by being too overt.
He’s warm to the touch, and being this close, dancing with him is nothing less than intoxicating. Closing my eyes, I lean my cheek against his shoulder.
My hands are released as his arms wrap me in strength, protection . . . love?
In this moment, this moment right now, I wonder why I’ve been fighting this when it feels so good to be with him. I’ve been resisting his charms and handsome face, beautiful smile, and happy eyes since I first laid eyes on him on the subway last March. Why did I keep myself from the happiness he so freely gives me?
That’s when I realize everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve become to each other has led us to here and now.
He won’t hurt me.
He’s not Jim.
Chapter 23
“When I hold her, my heart comes to life, sparking into fireworks that are bigger than the two of us. Our souls bond together, sending us straight into the stratosphere. The world holds endless possibilities, the universe is our playground. Our hearts remain captivated by the other as we take this journey together,” he whispers into my ear.
My knees start to buckle from the feel of his breath along my neck. Goosebumps cover me, undermining any willpower I have while listening to his seductive words.
“I wrote that today,” he says, his fingers splayed on my lower back, rubbing with gentle pressure.
“Charlie?” I run my hand over his heart.
A timer buzzes, startling us, and we stop dancing. He looks me in the eyes and says, “Hold that thought.”
He walks into the kitchen, and I get my wine, taking a sip and hoping to grab hold of the moment we just had once more when he returns. My courage to tell him how I’m feeling is seeping away with each ticking second. Standing next to the couch where Veronica sits, I take a deep breath.
“It’s time, dear,” she says, encouraging me.
“Time?”
“Don’t waste any more time. You don’t know how long you’ve got.”
“I know you’re right,” I reply, “but I think I may need just a little more.” She purses her lips in reproach, so I start to justify myself, hating that she’s disappointed in me. “I don’t want to just throw all my emotions on him. He’s busy with his book. I don’t want to burden him right now, but I promise I’ll tell him soon.”
I think she sees right through me, but doesn’t call me out. Patting my leg, she says, “Just don’t take too long. Other women won’t.”
Doing a
double take, I eye her as that thought settles itself in my head. Other women won’t? Other women won’t waste time? Other women will tell him how they feel? Other women will try to take him if I don’t tell him first and take him off the market? Other women will try to take him away from me. I place my hand over hers and whisper, “I’ll tell him this weekend. We always spend Saturday afternoon together. I’ll tell him then.”
“That’s my girl.” She smiles with full faith in me, and that makes me smile, too.
When he returns, he announces, “Dinner is served.” Our eyes meet, and he’s well aware that the moment has passed. He sighs then looks to Mrs. Lackey. “Hope you’re hungry.”
She stands, giving me a reaffirming smile. “I am.”
Chapter 24
The bell chimes above the door, and the standard friendly greeting is called out. “Welcome to The Bagelry.” I make my way up to the counter. Tony looks up from loading the fresh baked goods into the display case and smiles. “Morning, Charlie. How’s it going?”
“I’m good.” I point to one of the bagels. “Onion today. How’s business?” I look around and every table is full. “Booming, by the looks of it.”
He laughs as he drops the bagel into a brown bag. “No complaints. Coffee?”
“Yeah the usual, straight up.”
He turns around and pours the brew into a to-go cup. With his back to me, he asks, “Writing?”
“Some. Not as much as I should. My mind has been a bit a preoccupied.”
“Tell me about her, or is this the same one you mentioned before?”
“One and the same.”
He sets the cup in front of me and leans on the counter, lowering his voice. “Bring her in sometime. I’d like to meet the girl that’s occupying all that headspace of yours.”
I slide the money across the counter, telling him to keep the change, but add, “It’s complicated—”
“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. Listen, Charlie, life is complicated, but women, they’re more than complicated.” He should’ve been a bartender with all of this advice. It’s good advice, though, so I continue to listen. “One of the most important things I’ve learned in life is that complicated isn’t always bad. Sometimes complicated is just complex.”
