by Connor, Anne
Shit!
I’ve been caught staring at these guys. What is it with me and getting caught looking at rich dudes?
But this is nothing like when Drew caught me staring at him. I’m not interested in these three guys.
Wait. I’m not interested in Drew, either.
By now it’s dead silence in the stairwell and I feel like a complete dope.
Someone up there? One of the voices makes its way up to me.
I glance over the banister to them, each of their faces peering up at me. One looks impatient. Two look amused. I can tell that as soon as they realize it’s a lady who was spying on them, their attitude has changed.
Like I’m not a threat. It doesn’t matter if I hear their plan to make the building into something it’s not.
“Oh. Hi. Hey.”
I peek over the railing at them and wave, my keys jingling in my hand again. I squeeze them to stop them from making so much noise.
“Hello, Miss,” one of them says, waving to me.
“Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I was just trying to get my keys.”
“Do you need help finding them?” another one of the guys calls up to me.
“No, I’m fine.” I walk backwards away from the railing until my back is against the wall of the hallway outside my apartment and their faces have disappeared.
“Sorry for interrupting you! Have a good evening!” I call out, jamming my key into the lock on my door and slamming it shut behind me.
Those guys have some nerve, trying to make me feel like an intruder in my own home.
Maybe I’m being overly judgemental again. What were they doing wrong, anyway? They were just standing around the building. I was the one eavesdropping. Maybe they’re even friends of Drew’s.
They certainly dress like it.
I drop my purse down on the kitchen table and make my way into the kitchen to pour a big glass of wine for myself.
I might need a bigger glass to be able to wipe out all thoughts of Drew Anderson.
“You are absolutely more than welcome to come over, but I don’t know how much fun I’ll be.”
This is not my idea of a Sunday afternoon - especially not right before starting my new job. There’s a drip coming from the pipes under my kitchen sink, and I’m not getting through to the owner of the building. I called a few times this morning and afternoon, and repeated attempts to get him or the super have been unsuccessful.
Between this and not being able to get my mind off Drew, I’m a little bit of a mess.
I’m not a diva. I could probably go out and get the tools I need to fix the problem. I’m handy. I know my way around a wrench. But I think it best not to meddle with the issue, and just call the professional to take care of it.
But for some reason, the super isn’t answering his phone.
I cradle my phone between my ear and shoulder as I search my linen closet for a bucket to catch the dripping water beneath the sink.
“Okay, good.” Jess responds. “Because I’m outside your building. I’ll be up in a minute. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I respond with a huff as the phone nearly falls from my shoulder and into a pile of dirty towels in my hallway.
“Okay, but you sound like you’re out of breath or something.”
“Just come up, will you?”
Jess doesn’t have a key to my place, but she might as well. She’s over constantly, except on the weekends if she has a guy over at her place.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have hooked up with Drew on Friday, whatever that means.
What would it mean, anyway? A kiss? Me sprawled out beneath him on a stupid mahogany desk in his office? A quickie in the bathroom?
I hear a knock at the door, and even though I know it’s Jess, I hope it’s someone to take a look at my sink.
“Who is it?” I call, peeking through the peep-hole, unlatching the chain and unlocking the deadbolt.
“It’s the handyman. I’m here to make you feel all better.”
There’s Jess, dressed in short shorts and a black tank top.
“Oh, really? Where are your tools, then, Mr. Handyman?”
She skips past me and collapses onto the couch.
“It’s Ms. Handyman. Handyman isn’t a gendered term. Just because it has the word man in it.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, rolling my eyes and going back into the kitchen.
“What’s the problem, anyway? I thought you said the building was in good shape.”
“It is. And the owner is very nice. It’s just this little issue with the sink. And I don’t want to let it go too long and have it become a big problem. You know. Nip it in the bud while it’s still manageable.”
I get down on my hands and knees to slide the bucket into place under the sink to catch the drip. I go to turn on the faucet to wash my hands, and then realize, of course, I shouldn’t be doing that.
“Have you ever tried relaxing, Molly?” Jess puts her feet up on the coffee table as I go into the bathroom to wash up.
“Oh, what a good idea. I guess I never thought of it like that.”
“I’m just saying. It’s not a big deal. It’ll get fixed when it gets fixed. Worrying about it isn’t going to get anyone here to take care of it faster.”
“You’re right.” I open the freezer and start to grab a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, but quickly put it back.
“So, how was the rest of your night on Friday? Get everything done that you needed to yesterday?”
“Yeah. I did, actually. I did a little bit of reading on the Andersons, and then I did some reading on the folks at the paper, and then -”
“Did some reading on the Andersons, huh? You mean you obsessively searched for every picture of Drew you could find, right?”
“No. It’s not like that.” I look away to hide the smile I can’t help from growing on my face.
“It’s exactly like that. You should have seen how red your face got when he hit on you at the club. And now you regret not hooking up with him, right?”
“I’m not going to just hook up with some guy, okay?”
“Maybe I should remind you that he is not some guy. He’s Drew Anderson, and he liked you.”
“I guess the problem is that I kind of liked him, too. I mean, it’s not possible to like someone you just met, but he was certainly hot.”
I’m being demure for no reason. I should be able to tell my best friend about this stuff. But I can’t tell her I think this guy was panty-meltingly hot.
“Why isn’t it possible to like someone you just met? I heard that when he and Clarissa first met, they liked each other right away.”
“Oh, you mean the woman who cheated on him and broke his heart? I’m sorry if I’m not using that relationship as the barometer for true love.”
“I don’t think she broke his heart. He’s a player. I don’t doubt that he loved her, but he can get another girl like that.” She snaps her fingers in front of her face.
“She’s definitely not having any trouble getting another guy, that’s for sure.”
“I know. She’s already back with her ex. It’s sort of funny, in a way. Too bad Drew doesn’t have any exes he can hook back up with. I heard that he burned all those bridges. All the girlfriends he had, and all the one night stands. Lit a match, tossed it behind his shoulder, and never looked back.”
I want to tell Jess that I saw Clarissa out and about with yet another guy, but I don’t want to add to the rumor mill. There’s already enough gossip out there about them. No need to add more.
“Yeah. That’s how he seemed.”
“So what would have been the problem with you hooking up with him? As long as you knew what to expect. One night, and then poof! It’s like he never existed. You wouldn’t have enough time to get hurt.”
I think about those green eyes of his, the smooth, tanned skin, his strong arms. Maybe Jess is right. Maybe I should have gone for it when I had the chance.
“You know, we should prob
ably go back to that bar. And this time, we should dress you up a little bit more. Put you in something sexier.”
“I’m okay. I think I’ll just focus on work for a while.”
“You’ve got to get back out there some time, Molly.”
She’s right. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed a guy or had sex, or even gone out on a date. I guess I really allowed myself to get screwed up by my ex.
Jess hops up from the couch and goes to the kitchen.
“I’m hungry. You got any food around here?”
“I think there’s some ice cream in the freezer.”
“Hm. I think I want some street meat. I’m going to go to the corner to get a kebob. You want?”
“Yeah. I’ll have a falafel.”
“Extra hot sauce, extra white sauce?”
“Please.”
Jess leaves the apartment excitedly and lets the door swing shut behind her. I feel like a bomb has just been dropped on me.
It isn’t her fault for reminding me that I need to get back out there. In fact, it’s always in the back of my mind. Even more now, after meeting Drew.
It would be pretty easy to run into him again. After all, the address of his office is listed right on his website, and from the way he commanded the room on Friday night, I’m sure that if we went back to the bar, he would be there. It might take a few tries, but we would be sure to run into him again.
Yeah, maybe I could just show up at his office. That wouldn’t raise any red flags.
Maybe Jess is right and I should just go out and have a one night stand. Drew would have been perfect for that, right? It seemed like all he wanted was a one night stand, too, something to take his mind off all the crap going on in his life.
Go back to his old ways. Love ‘em, leave ‘em. Hit and run.
I think about his arms embracing me, his lips brushing lightly against mine. That mouth was so kissable. Those eyes so deep. I even wonder what is going on below the belt. With all the women he’s been with, I can’t imagine he would be at all lacking in that department, either.
Or maybe it really was just about the money for all those girls. And the power. Money is power, at least in this city, isn’t it? And power can be extremely attractive. Sexy. It can draw you in.
But he’s an asshole. He’s arrogant. He was too self-assured when we met on Friday. Even if he’s self-made, things come too easy for men like him. Whatever turmoil he’s been through in his life, and whatever family issues he had growing up, maybe it’s made him a little bit messed up.
But it’s not like I have to be the woman who sees all of that, sees through him to the real man inside the suit. I’m not going to change him.
Even if I shouldn’t judge him, it’s not like I have to jump into bed with him.
But it’s not like I would let that happen. Not with Drew. He’s too hot, too charming, too charismatic for me not to get my feelings hurt.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts of Drew Anderson with a few rapid, urgent knocks at the door.
I peek through the peephole and open the door again for Jess.
“That was fast,” I say, taking my foil-wrapped sandwich from her.
“Um, you didn’t tell me there was a Drew Anderson look-alike who works in your building.”
“What? Who?”
“There’s an incredibly hot guy who looks just like Drew dressed in an old work shirt and jeans.”
“No, that’s not right. The guy you saw must be a tenant. The only people who work in the building are older guys. The super and the owner. They’re both old. You’d never confuse either of them for Drew Anderson.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter who he is, he looks just like Drew. You have to go out there and talk to him.”
“I’ve had enough snooping and spying for one weekend.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
We dig into our sandwiches and I wonder why the super still hasn’t gotten back to me.
12. Drew
This isn’t so bad. I could actually get used to this. No Eric following me around asking me a million questions. No calls constantly blowing up my work phone.
Not bad at all.
I plop down on the pull-out sofa against the far wall of the main living area. It’s a studio apartment and it reminds me of the attic at Mom’s house. I turn on the TV, put my phone on silent, and put my feet up on the coffee table.
Not bad.
Maybe Eric’s right. I should go out and get laid. My mind wanders, and I keep going back to the girl I met on Friday night.
She was just so cute and sexy, all at the same time. She wasn’t trying so hard, like all the other girls at the bar, all the other girls I’ve been with. She seemed to be the complete opposite of Clarissa, which is exactly what I need.
A palette cleanser. Something that would remind me not every girl is a cheater. That there are still a few honest women left in this city.
My cock struggles against the inside of my jeans, begging to be set free.
It’s too bad I’ll probably never see her again. I’ve squandered my opportunity, and I kick myself for not insisting she give me her number. And if she refused, I’d just ask to see her phone and put my number in it myself. I’d done it dozens of times and it has an 80% success rate. Eric did the math once.
She’d have called me. She wouldn’t have been able to help herself.
I guess that’s just the way shit goes sometimes.
I get up and look around the place. Even though the apartment is technically in the basement, on the other side of the door leading outside there’s a little patio and a staircase leading up to the sidewalk, and a large window next to the back door to let in some natural light. It could almost pass for a first-floor apartment, even though the view outside the window is of people’s feet. I look out and come face-to-face with a roly-poly English Bulldog and a pair of men’s basketball sneakers.
The kitchen is modest but upgraded. A nice stove and refrigerator, but the fridge and cabinets aren’t stocked with anything besides a few cans of soup and old packets of soy sauce.
The bathroom’s nice too. New, white tile and stainless steel fixtures. I can see that Rich has good taste. Reminds me of the bathroom I designed for my and Eric’s office space.
I go back into the living room. I could do this for a couple of weeks. It would be great. Perfect, even. Just far enough away from everything to clear my mind, and close enough that I can get back in the action at a moment’s notice.
A phone rings, and I search for the landline. That definitely isn’t the sound of my cell phone, and I can’t believe there’s an actual landline in this place. People in Brooklyn still use landlines? At least the guy probably has one of the old 718 area codes.
I find the phone and put the receiver to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey! Oh, wow, okay, I’m so glad I got you,” a young woman speaks sweetly into the phone. “There’s a little bit of an issue in my apartment. Can you come take a look at it?”
The voice on the other end of the phone sounds a bit familiar, but I can’t place where it’s from. It’s a kind voice, with just a hint of nervousness. She sounds like a typical 20-something girl, but with just the slightest Brooklyn accent, something you don’t hear very often anymore.
“Of course. I’d be very happy to help you out today, ma’am. Apartment number?”
I chuckle to myself. I’m really embracing this super thing, aren’t I?
“4-A.”
“Very good. I’ll be up in about 20 minutes.”
“Thank you! I really appreciate it.”
I’m not sure why I tell her I’ll be there in 20 minutes. It’ll only take me a minute or two to find Rich’s maintenance supplies and climb the stairs to the fourth floor. Maybe I want to sweat her out. Make her wait a little.
Overall, the building is in very good shape. It certainly looks better than my mom’s house, and I can see that Rich takes pride in his
building. I’m sure the issue in this girl’s apartment won’t take more than twenty minutes to deal with.
I get to the fourth floor and take my time getting to apartment 4-A. I knock on the door and hear two women’s voices behind it, chattering and giggling.
“Who is it?” the woman’s voice from the phone calls out.
“It’s the temporary super. You called me.”
“Oh, um, just a second!”
“You need to put some clothes on before you let me in?”
I imagine two girls in their bras and panties behind the door, having a pillow fight.
The door swings open.
“Drew?”
How does she know my name? Maybe she keeps up on the gossip blogs or real estate and finance news. It isn’t too hard to imagine that this gorgeous young woman standing in front of me would be up on the latest news about a guy like myself.
But then I take a closer look at her, and between the way she said my name with so much familiarity and her deep brown eyes, I realize it’s the woman from the club.
I stand there, stunned.
I mean, really. If she’s going to be hanging out at one of my usual watering holes, I’d be sure to run into her again. But here? I came out here to get away from everything.
But I’m not complaining.
“At a loss for words? That’s not like you,” she says, pulling the door open all the way and stepping aside.
“Hi...Molly, right?”
She looks so different now, and even better than I remember. She traded in her little suit and heels for a more casual outfit, perfect for staying in on a Sunday afternoon - short shorts and a low-cut tank top. Her tits look perfect, something I couldn’t tell the other night, and her shorts really hug her ass. A messy bun high on her head completes the look, and her cute, heart-shaped face is framed with a few wisps of chestnut brown hair.
It’s not like me to let a woman render me speechless, but the sheer coincidence of the whole thing shakes my body.
“Yes, it’s Molly. And I don’t like the way you ma’amed me on the phone before.”
“Well, now that I’m working for you, that’s what you are. As a tenant in my building, you’re the boss.”
