by J. Saman
And suddenly, my stomach coils and clenches in a way I’ve never known, while my heart takes on a new rhythm.
My smile cannot be helped. Neither can his.
And damn does he look good. There really is no question that Kyle Grant is a fine piece of man. As I walk over to the crosswalk and wait patiently for the light to change, I study him. He looks different than I remember, and I can’t exactly place why. Paler, maybe? I don’t know.
His perfectly styled, sandy dark-blond hair is short on the sides and slightly longer on top, which is normally not my thing, but I like it on him. Hazel green eyes sparkle as they catch the remnants of the sun before it sets behind the tall buildings. He reaches up casually, stroking his strong, clean-shaven jaw that boasts an irresistible dimple in his chin.
Kyle saunters over to the opposite side of the crosswalk to meet me, and as he moves, my eyes inadvertently draw to his tall, strong physique. His is the body of a man who hits the gym hard. He’s wearing a dark-blue Henley and matching dark jeans and old-school Adidas sneakers. When my eyes scroll back up to find his, he’s smirking at me, shaking his head like he finds me amusing for blatantly checking him out.
“Kyle Smile,” I say as I finally reach him. He immediately enfolds me in his arms, and for a few seconds, I allow myself to fully melt into him. He smells like clean laundry, expensive body wash and fresh spring air. I’m going to be real honest with you, I was afraid shit would get awkward with us. You know, after spending so much time talking and texting each other, but never actually seeing one another.
But they’re not.
“Heya, cupcake.” Kyle pulls back, dropping a chaste kiss on my cheek. “You’re looking good.” His eyes scan my outfit before he tugs on one of my braided pigtails. “Are you trying to reenact a high school fantasy for me?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. What is with guys and the stupid schoolgirl stuff? I’m wearing a skirt and rocking pigtails. That’s it. I’m not even donning the white blouse or knee socks. “I guess I shouldn’t show you my leather bustier and thigh-highs.”
Kyle smiles big, displaying those perfect pearly whites. “I didn’t graduate to leather and thigh-highs until college.” He nudges me with his arm. “How was the trip in?”
I shrug a shoulder, looping my arm through his elbow. “Uneventful. Boring. The usual. What’s up with you?”
Kyle looks out into the park that we’re now walking perpendicular to. “Just working a lot.” His eyes turn back to find mine. “But I’m glad you’re here. This is an unexpected bright spot.”
“Ditto. What’s the plan, and what I’m really asking is if we’re going out for a drink?”
Kyle laughs, throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me to cross at 8th Avenue heading toward West 58th Street. “If it’s a drink you want, a drink you shall have. Would you like a nice view to go with it?”
“Always, although you’re not bad in terms of views.”
Kyle looks over at me, seeming a bit surprised. “Back atcha, babe.” His eyes dance around my face, a soft smile bouncing on his full lips. It makes me . . . squirmy. I kind of wish Kyle wasn’t so attractive. It would be easier if I could look at him the way I look at Ryan.
When I met Ryan, I was twenty or so and still in college. Ryan was just starting to date Super Bitch Francesca and I was dating my then-boyfriend, Mike. Ryan is much older than I am, and at the time, I never even thought twice about him.
Sure, I guess Ryan is considered hot, but I don’t see him that way. He’s like a brother to me. But Kyle is different somehow. The first time I saw him at Kate and Ryan’s wedding, I thought to myself, wow. That was really the first word that flitted through my brain before I even spoke to him.
But once I realized his pedigree, I just flipped a switch into friend zone. For one, he lives here in New York. For two, he’s Ryan’s brother, and considering I no longer play the love and romance game, I knew he was off limits. It’s never a good idea to screw your boss slash good friend’s brother and then never speak to him again. It’s simply not done.
So, I meant what I said when I told him that he was going to be my new BFF.
There was just something in his eyes that drew me in, and made me want to stay. I can’t explain it further than that. We’re going on about ten months of solid friendship now. A friendship I value. And though I don’t think for a hot second that Kyle harbors any feelings for me other than that, when he says certain things to me or throws me a certain look—like he just did—a very frozen part of me thaws just a little.
“This is us,” Kyle states and I realize that we’ve almost walked back toward my hotel. “This is one of my favorite bars in the city. It may be a bit on the trendy side, but the views are awesome, the seats are comfortable, and the drinks are great.”
I bump Kyle with my hip, smiling up at him. “You sold me on views and drinks. Lead on.”
The moment we step foot in the main part of the lounge, I smile. Kyle takes my hand and leads me out the folding French doors into the outdoor bar and seating area. “Nice huh?” he asks as we stand by the railing, staring out at Central Park.
“Definitely.”
The sun has almost fully set, and the lights of the city are glowing against the muted sky. Kyle tugs me down into one of the navy-blue love seats and tosses his arm over my shoulder.
As if on cue, the waitress comes over, placing a small dish of spiced nuts in front of us. I order myself a mojito, and Kyle orders a vodka on the rocks. I can’t help but throw him a look for that one.
“What?” he asks through a laugh.
“Are you trying to pickle yourself with that? Straight vodka? No olives or twist of lemon or splash of some kind of mixer?”
“I got it with ice.”
“You’re right. You did.” I laugh, shaking my head slightly. “My apologies. Now that we’re settling in for some drinking fun, tell me a story.”
“A story?” he pushes out, a touch bewildered.
“Yeah, Kyle Smile. I want to know what’s going on in your life. You’re not only my friend, you’re my boss’s younger brother and my best friend’s brother-in-law. Wow,” I muse, “that’s sort of a mouthful and a headache all rolled up into one.”
“It is,” he agrees, kissing the side of my head. “A story? Shit. I suck at being put on the spot like this.”
“I doubt that. You’re a very good lawyer. Something tells me that you thrive at being put on the spot. So, cut the shit and just talk already.”
“You’re fucking bossy.”
I nod my head, taking a sip of my newly delivered drink through the straw. But really, I’m hoping he’ll open up to me. Whatever made Ryan ask me to be here with him is eating at me.
“Okay. A story.” Then he laughs, sipping on his own drink. “Fuck if I know one.”
“You really suck at this whole friendship talking thing,” I tell him, and he pokes me in the rib. “Okay, fine. Tell me about that last girl you were with. You never said much about her. I only know about the other women you’ve frequented over the last ten months.”
Ryan said he was lonely and I don’t exactly buy that. At least he’s never given off that impression to me. But maybe I’m wrong?
“The women I’ve frequented?” He scrunches up his nose, which is an adorable look on him. “You make them sound like a bar or a restaurant.”
I can only shrug at that.
“You want to know about Margaret?” he asks with an incredulous note to his voice, his eyebrows at his hairline.
“Well, not really about her, per se. I’m just curious if you’re dating anyone new.”
He chuckles lightly, leaning in to kiss my forehead this time. That’s probably the third or fourth kiss he’s planted on me so far. They’re friendly enough, but yet, they’re not.
“Nah, I’m not really all that interested right now. It never seems to work out with the women I date. In case you missed it, I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He winks at me.
�
��Are you lonely?” I don’t know why I just asked him that point-blank. Probably because I don’t handle curiosity all that well.
His eyes meet mine. “No. I’m not lonely.” A small lopsided grin twitches the corner of his lips as his hand brushes my forehead. “I’m certainly not lonely right now.”
God, the heat in his eyes could melt diamonds. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone, and then he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I just don’t make enough time for the women I date. And frankly, it’s mostly because I don’t find them all that interesting. They bore me. I’d rather be working than with them.”
“So, you don’t make time for the women you date,” I parrot. “But you make time for me.” I realize a second too late that I just said that out loud. That wasn’t my intention. It was more of an observation, and I regret everything those words imply. Everything. Because it’s all true. He does make time for me, and I do the same for him.
“Yeah,” he says, intently staring into my eyes, but his tone and expression are stoic. “Does that bother you?”
I realize this epiphany doesn’t bother me. Not the way I know it should. If I’m honest, I like it. Fuck it, I downright love it. But it could never lead to anything healthy or productive other than a friendship with interest and flirtation.
“No,” I say instead of any of that. And I don’t elaborate or qualify that no either. I just let the sweet spring air that’s filling my head and senses with things it shouldn’t absorb it.
But it also means that Ryan was lying to me. I figured he was, but I don’t like that revelation. I don’t think he was doing it to be a dick. I think he was doing it to protect his brother, but from what?
“Were you ever in love?”
He laughs, shaking his head like I’m too much. And maybe I am. This topic of conversation certainly isn’t our usual. Certainly never something I’ve ever asked anyone before. But suddenly, I really want to know the answer.
“You want to know if I was ever in love?”
I nod, and he rolls his eyes at me.
“Yeah, I was in love once, cupcake. My high school girlfriend, Abby Scofield.”
“How did you meet?” I ask, settling in a little deeper into his side.
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve known her since we were kids.”
“What’s she like?”
Another shrug. “We were in high school.”
I just look at him expectantly.
“Okay, she has red hair,” he smiles, but it’s hesitant, maybe a bit sheepish actually, “and green eyes. She’s very pretty. Sort of badass. She’s a famous author now. Writes young adult superhero books or something.”
I angle my head so that our eyes meet. “An author is sort of awesome. Is it weird that I have way more respect for you now that I know you dated the world-famous author, Abby Scofield? She sounds super cool and super hot, and I may in fact be just a touch jealous.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” he says dryly as we shift on the couch, getting more comfortable in each other’s arms.
Is it weird that we’re sort of snuggling right now? I’m not going to think too deeply on that, mostly because it’s a little chilly out here now that the sun is setting and well, Kyle is big and warm, and comfortable. And he smells really good.
“So, you like pretty badass redheads,” I jest, but it doesn’t come out in a joking way at all. It comes out . . . needy.
He shifts, turning so that his face is now hovering above mine. Those gorgeous marbleized eyes of swirling green and brown find sanctuary in mine. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
The way he says that makes my girly parts tingle. I’ve never felt this sort of intensity from Kyle, and that’s probably because I never see him in the flesh. I swallow. Hard. His eyes flare as my tongue comes out to moisten my overly dry lips, and then he looks up, our eyes locking once again.
I blink, and he sighs.
Moment over.
“You ready to get going and grab some dinner?”
I think I’m ready for just about anything he has in mind for us.
6
Kyle
* * *
“Tell me about your last boyfriend?” I ask, tossing my arm back over her shoulder and pulling her into my side a bit. It’s only to keep her warm. At least, that’s what I tell myself. She’s been quiet since we left the bar. Introspective and chewing on her lip like something is bothering her.
We make our way east on 58th Street to an Asian Fusion place I like. It’s about a ten-minute walk, but I’m not in a rush and Claire doesn’t seem to be either. Things got a little intense for a moment back in the bar. She asked if I was lonely. About the women I date. I told her about Abby. Hinted at my overwhelming attraction for her.
Then I nearly kissed her. Wanted to kiss her.
And I don’t want to want to kiss Claire.
She’s my friend. Probably one of my closest friends. Yes, I think she’s gorgeous. And I think she’s smart and incredible and funny and quirky in the best sort of way. But she only wants to be my friend.
Nothing good could ever come out of me kissing her.
I need to cut the sudden awkward tension I feel building between us.
So, I play the game she started, throwing a version of her question right back at her.
Claire’s eyes widen as she looks up at me, clearly not expecting that one. “My last boyfriend?”
“Yeah. I only know about the men you’ve frequented in the last ten months. Tell me about your last boyfriend,” I say with a big shit-eating grin. “You’ve mentioned a couple of boyfriends in college before. What happened?”
She begins to laugh, elbowing me in the side, but then it turns loud and rancorous. I don’t think that bitterness is directed at me. It might be more of a general statement.
“Kyle, babycakes, I had two boyfriends in college. One fucked me over and one I’m actually still very good friends with.”
“Who is he?” I don’t even know which one I’m asking about. That stupid question was meant to distract me from thinking about kissing Claire, and now all I can think about is her with other men—which I hate. I’m jealous of these assholes, and she’s not even with them anymore.
“My last college boyfriend? We were together for a couple of years.”
“Why did it end?”
She tenses, looking away, out into the busy street. “Turns out, I couldn’t give him what he wanted.” Before I can comment on that, she turns back to me with a grin that doesn’t meet her eyes. “He’s a really good guy, though, and we still talk with some frequency. The other boyfriend was a total asshole.”
“Go on, cupcake” I say with a wink, using the ridiculous pet name I’ve given her. “What happened with the asshole?”
She blows out a hot breath as I open the door to the restaurant for her. She doesn’t like talking about herself. Ever. It’s like pulling teeth every time I ask her something personal. But right now, I don’t care. And I don’t care if that makes me a dick, either. I need to hear this for some unknown masochistic reason that I can’t decipher.
Fuck it, sometimes a man just needs to know.
Claire does sleep around. I know this. I don’t know how often she explores that with the same man. Mostly because I don’t ask and she doesn’t offer. But oddly enough, as much as I dislike it from a very caveman standpoint, the idea of those men doesn’t bother me. They’re nameless and faceless, not only to me, but to her. She has zero emotional investment in them.
But a past boyfriend feels different.
I have to wonder at what exactly it was that he wanted that she couldn’t give him. And why. But I feel like if I push her on that one, she’ll shut down on me, and right now, I really want to know about the guy that hurt her.
I give her a minute to let my request ruminate as the hostess seats us at a small L-shaped booth in the back. This place is all New York chic with dark mood lighting, wide-plank oak hardwoods, flickering tea lights on the tabl
e, and a deep-red lacquer bar. The wall of glass and alcohol behind the bar is also illuminated with the same deep red-color. It’s meant to look erotic. Now that I think on it, I guess it does.
After we’re handed our menus and given a moment to peruse them, I immediately lay mine flat on top of the place setting, steeple my fingers and stare at her expectantly.
She groans, rolling her eyes and tossing her white cloth napkin at me. “Fine. I’ll tell you.” She leans back in the blood-red cushion, crossing her arms over her chest, which is meant to appear pissed off and evasive, when in reality, it looks protective. “Alexander Tate and I dated my freshman year in college.”
She says his name like it’s cat piss on her tongue. I know the feeling.
“Go on. What happened to Alexander?”
“Jesus Merry Christmas, Kyle. Do we really have to play this game? If you’re so goddamn curious about the douchetard, ask Ryan for the 411.”
I smile, simply because I can’t stop it. “You don’t like to talk about yourself much.” She rolls her eyes at me again. “So, you can dish it, but you can’t take it.”
“Fuck off,” she says, but she’s smiling, so I know she doesn’t mean it.
“First of all, I don’t think anyone calls 411 anymore. Especially with Google and Siri and every other search engine on the planet since the advent of the smart phone.” She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Second of all, how the hell does Ryan fit into this?”
We’re interrupted by the waiter, and Claire orders a glass of red wine and I order a beer and a plate of roast duck spring rolls because damn, those sound amazing.
After we’re left alone again, I lean back in my seat and watch her.
She sighs again, throwing one of the fried crispy things the waiter brought over at me. “I was dating Alexander the-not-so-great while I was at Penn. He was a good boyfriend the entire time I dated him. Very loving and attentive and all that shit that girls look for in the guy they’re regularly screwing. The only problem was that while he was professing his undying love and devotion, he was also making amateur porn videos with several other women on campus.”
