Disorderly Conduct

by Tessa Bailey

  Bad sign. For sure.

  Guess I’ll be finding a new Laundromat.

  Charlie

  Sometimes things seem like great idea, until you watch them unfold from a coffee-shop window across the street. Like, a restaurant being evacuated, hundreds of people spilling out onto the street. The kind of illegal things I’ll be arresting people for someday. Like instigating a plan to have one friend distract a restaurant kitchen staff, while the other friend pulls the fire alarm. Those kinds of things.

  I stop caring about ethics, though, when I see Ever follow some fuck wad in a tie out onto the sidewalk. The coffee I’m sipping turns to battery acid in my stomach, and I can’t feel the chair underneath my ass. She doesn’t look nervous or anything, which was my main concern. She’s easily one of the driest customers outside the restaurant, thank God. If my actions got her sick, I’d have to enter the monastery and take a vow of silence as punishment. But all in all? She seems pretty amused by the whole circus.

  My lips curve in pure appreciation of Ever and her sense of humor, but my smile plummets when I see her date. Really? That guy? He’s one snifter of brandy away from an old-fashioned gentleman’s club. His back is so straight, he must have swallowed a flag pole. I could go all day. I hate his guts. He’s my sworn enemy on sight.

  Not that I’m complaining or anything, but Patrick Bateman seems more miffed over his shirt being ruined than he is over Ever being exposed to possible structure fire. If I was on a date with Ever and the fire alarm went off, I would carry her out of the place and administer CPR, whether she wanted it or not. Instead, Bateman is waving around a white cloth napkin and ranting at the spooked wait staff, while Ever slowly eases away, like she’s thinking of ditching him. That’s my girl.

  Damn, she looks incredible tonight. Her hair is down and loose, she’s wearing a mint-green sundress with some kind of pattern on it. Sandals with heels. Most of the time I’ve spent with her, she’s been barefoot. Which would normally turn me on, but is only serving to jam a cleaver into my jugular right now.

  Ever waits until her date’s back is turned, then ducks behind a potted plant. Honest to God, I want to do a cartwheel right there in the coffee shop and buy everyone a round of espresso. While I won’t go as far as to say my rash date crashing was justified—I’m not completely delusional . . . yet—I appear to have saved Ever from wasting her night on someone who didn’t deserve her company.

  Now if I can make it better, I’ve done my job.

  I dip to the edge of the window and dial Ever’s cell. When she sees who’s calling, a hand comes up to cradle her throat, her mouth popping open.

  Oh no. Oh, cutie. She misses me, too.

  I almost sink down to the floor when she answers, because it’s too much. Seeing her miss me and hearing her voice at the same time. She’s never let me see anything like that on purpose, but I caught it. I caught her.

  “Charlie?”

  It takes me a moment to answer. “Hey, cutie. What are you up to tonight?” I hate myself in that moment for lying to her, but it’s too late to turn back. “You working?”

  “No . . .” She frowns, glancing up and down the street. “No, I’m just, um . . .”

  She doesn’t want me to know she was on a date. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. “Want to meet up? I was just heading out for a walk.”

  Her sigh slides into my ear. “Meet where?”

  “The law-enforcement memorial on East Tenth?” I don’t know why I suggest this specific spot. Maybe I’m still in panic mode over finding out she was on a date and the memorial tends to ground me. Maybe I just need to show her an important part of me. Something that will help her understand why I can’t commit all the way. Why I can’t be the guy taking her out to eat tapas and giving her CPR when an alarm goes off. “I, uh . . . figure it’s a good midway point between us. Meet me there in half an hour?”

  Please. Please, say yes. After seeing her, having her so near, I’m not sure I can survive another night without getting closer. “See you in a while.”

  When she hangs up, I expect a sense of victory, but I only feel anxious. Like I’m standing on shaky ground.

  Ever

  I’m sitting at the memorial when Charlie rounds the corner in the distance. I speed walked here in an attempt to dry off. At least I didn’t get as soaked as my date, who frankly needed a good dousing after yelling at that group of innocent waiters, as if they had anything to do with the alarm going off and ruining his Gucci loafers. Honestly. Men like him are reserved for the date horror section of Cosmo.

  Seeing Charlie in the flesh takes me back to the daydream I had in the restaurant, right before the alarm sounded. How hot it made me.

  Did my memories set off the fire alarm?

  A laugh bubbles up at the silly thought. Actually, all my bad vibes fade the closer Charlie comes, my muscles relaxing, head clearing. Even though he looks a little irritable himself.

  “I thought I would beat you here.” He looks around the small park in the center of which sits the marble statues and benches. “I didn’t mean for you to sit here alone in the dark. It’s dangerous.”

  I unzip my purse and present my pepper spray. “I had company.”

  He growls at me, sitting down beside me on the bench, our thighs flush. “Hey, cutie.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “You look gorgeous.” Our shoulders brush. “New dress?”

  Charlie would make a great boyfriend. Acknowledging that . . . sucks. For the first time, I let myself think of Charlie in ten years. Older, wiser. Wanting a place to call home. And I think he’ll change his mind over time about relationships. I can’t shake the impression that he’s built for one, somewhere deep down. After all, he cried when the old couple in Titanic were about to bite it. He’s just not ready for a commitment now. And not with me.

  A spiky, slimy realization creeps under my armor. What if I’m just not the kind of girl you bring home? What if Charlie . . . knows it? Am I destined to be a mistress, no matter what?

  “I borrowed it from Nina.” I try to shake away the ugly thought, but it hits its mark. I could be the girl Charlie meets . . . on his way to meeting the one. He likes me, we’re compatible in bed, but what if something about me is holding him back from taking the step I know he’s meant for? Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s hedging because of me, not himself. “Um . . .” I rise from the bench, feeling seasick and blindsided. “I-I saw the name Burns on here. Are you related?”

  “Yeah.” He’s scrutinizing my face as he follows me over to the statue, a little frown playing on his features. “My great-grandfather was killed in the line of duty the year this was erected. To honor the fallen.” He stoops and rubs a hand over a long list of names. “They add to it every time there’s a police casualty.”

  Looking down at the top of Charlie’s head, his hand poised on the marble, voice hushed with reverence, he looks like part of the memorial. Future touching past. I’m finally seeing what’s important to him, instead of imagining it. He’s showing me. Hot pressure pushes behind my eyes and I blink it back. “You’re going to have a dangerous job.”

  Charlie stands. “The danger comes with the territory, yeah.” He appears to be searching for words in the darkness. “But the job . . . it’s never-ending. You are the badge and if you do your job right, it can’t be taken from you. It’s permanent.” A hand lifts and runs through his hair. “Shit, I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

  “It does.” Although, I think if I knew more about Charlie, a clearer picture would be presenting itself right now. My throat aches with the possibility that I’ll never get that clarity. The possibility that I want it, can’t have it, is almost too much. “The job is you. You are the job. There’s no one to let down but yourself.”

  His gaze cuts to mine, but it’s clouded. “Yes. Once I get to the level where I’m expected to be, yes. It’s just me after that.”

  I nod.

  The breeze ruffles the trees around us,
making his voice carry. “For every hundred cops you see on the street, there is one who works harder than all of them combined. They don’t punch a clock, because they don’t have one. The clock doesn’t exist for them—only the safety of the city.” His expression is a touch chagrined, but mostly it’s pride on his face. “I know I sound like Dudley Do-Right over here, but my father pinned a badge on me the day I was born. I’ve got four generations of pressure on my shoulders. To be that one unseen officer who calls the shots for the hundred.”

  “It’s not just the pressure, though.” I clear the cobwebs from my throat. “You want it for yourself, too.”

  “Yeah.” Appreciation shines in his eyes as he looks at me, but it seems to crumble when he dips his head. “Yeah, most of the time.” He’s silent a moment. “It’s a responsibility. I’ve seen how big an impact men like my father have. How a single call or hunch can prevent a disaster. Disasters for people like you, Ever. If I didn’t know that kind of responsibility existed out there, waiting for me, maybe I wouldn’t feel so obligated to give it everything. But I know. It’s in my veins to be the one who . . .”

  “Answers the call.” It sounds like a catchy slogan, but it’s the only accurate answer. Charlie is damn near stealing my breath away, so big and unyielding, backlit by the sacrifices of his ancestors. It’s such a huge moment, such a gripping image, I can’t swallow or move for fear of messing it up. “I’ll feel safe, knowing you’re there. Not punching the clock. I’ll think of you and feel safe.”

  His voice is hoarse when he responds. “You’re talking like you won’t see me anymore.”

  Right here, in this moment, it feels like I won’t. Or at least I’ll never experience this much raw honesty from him again. Why is he giving it to me in the first place?

  “I understand now that what we had wasn’t enough for you.” His words are stilted. “What I was giving you . . . an hour here and there . . . wasn’t worthy. Of you.” He shakes his head. “But it’s only going to get more demanding. Sometimes I only saw my father once a week growing up. I watched him sink into the job and never come back out. It’s wrong to commit to anything . . . or anyone else. And give them half-measure. That’s when they leave.”

  Leave? I want to question him, but I don’t know if there’s a point. He’s telling me we can’t be more than friends, as if I didn’t already know. If I question him or ask for an explanation, I’ll come across pathetic. “I don’t need an explanation, Charlie.”

  He comes toward me, his blue eyes pleading. “There’s no place for anything real, no matter how bad I want it, Ever.”

  My words are cut off by his mouth. We don’t kiss. Our lips simply lock together and stay that way, the earth tipping sideways under my feet, pulse dancing. “You should demand explanations from me. From . . . everyone who gets to spend time in your company. You earn them just by being you.” His lips slide between mine, a touch to the left, and the world tilts again. “I’m telling you that as someone lucky enough to be your friend. You deserve explanations whenever you want them.”

  I barely manage to keep my knees from buckling. “This doesn’t feel very friendly.”

  “I’m keeping my tongue in my mouth.” He gives a pained laugh, our foreheads bumping together. “That has to count for something.”

  “It does.”

  I don’t know why, but he looks conflicted when he pulls back. “Let me walk you to get a cab, huh?” He holds out a hand and I take it, letting him walk me out of the park, up toward the avenue. It’s the first time we’ve held hands . . . and I know it should be the last.

  The deeper I fall into friendship with Charlie, the deeper I sink into the point of no return.

  Chapter 13

  Ever

  Exercise is not my friend. It’s probably my least favorite pastime, right below going to the DMV, but just above pedicures. I have extremely ticklish feet. Since I taste test every calorie-packed morsel I create for Hot Damn, however, I’ve been thrust into a world of spin classes and treadmills, at least three days a week. My biggest qualm with working out—apart from the way it makes you feel like dying—is the monotony. I’ve found a way to combat my routine from going stale by purchasing a pass from some online deal site. I paid a one-time fee, and I can do classes of my choosing all over the city. Happy wallet, happy Ever. Except for the actual exercise part.

  I’m in particular need of exertion today, however, so I’m not cursing the instructor to hell. He’s teaching us the choreography to a Bruno Mars video—yes, it’s a real class—and I’m actually keeping up, instead of pretending to need water breaks.

  This need to burn energy is all Charlie’s fault.

  I haven’t seen him in a couple days, although he has been texting me steadily, when I least expect it. Friendly texts. But there wasn’t anything friendly about the way he’d looked at me as I drove off in the cab the other night. He’d been almost . . . torn. That whole meeting at the memorial felt like a dream now. We’d dropped pretense for a couple seconds, Charlie giving me a deeper explanation for not wanting a relationship, even though I’d never asked. Never would have asked. But saying the words out loud had been proof we’d both thought of the impossible possibility of being together, right?

  As I side-lunge into a booty shake, I replay the text-alogue we had this morning.

  What are you eating for breakfast?

  This is how you open a conversation?

  You’ve ruined me for other people’s food. I’m living vicariously.

  I definitely hadn’t felt a deluge of pleasure over that. Definitely not. I also hadn’t lied about what I was eating. Okay, I had. I’d been going to town on a bowl of Lucky Charms, but in the interest of living vicariously, I’d said, Belgian waffles with berries and cream.

  Cruel girl. You going to make this torture up to me?

  Nope.

  Come on. I’m off today. Meet me for lunch.

  Groaning into my Lucky Charms, I could just see him, all blue eyed and cajoling. If he’d been there in person, turning him down would have been impossible, so thank God for modern technology.

  Sorry, Charlie. Can’t today. I have plans.

  Lies. When did I become a liar? I really didn’t want to become one, so after I’d sent the text passing on lunch with Charlie, I’d signed on to DateMate with a head full of determination. Of course, not a single one of my matches gave off sparks, probably because I was still spooked over the Aviator Squad and Laundromat Landon. I toyed with the idea of messaging Reve S. Guy—weird-ass name, but a great sense of humor—and seeing if we could bump up our date, but I worried that might appear desperate. So I sent him a knock-knock joke instead. Just to prove to myself I’m trying to connect.

  And I can admit to myself that I’m getting anxious. Anxious for a place to put these feelings Charlie stirred up inside me. Which makes lunches with him a bad idea. I don’t like the unsettled feeling I get every time we part ways. Like I’m dying to see him again, even though I know I would feel . . . abandoned afterward.

  There, I said it. Charlie makes me feel abandoned. And that shit really isn’t going to fly with me. When we’d both wanted nothing to do with relationships, that sense of loss when he blew out of my apartment had been scary. Now, it was like a ghost that follows me around room to room, haunting me. I need to exorcise it.

  Plans? Charlie had texted back.

  As in, what are they?

  I haven’t answered. Which is the right decision. Mostly because we don’t have another catering job until Wednesday night, and I don’t really have any plans. If I relayed that to Charlie, he would persuade me into lunch. Just a friendly little lunch with a man whose smiling face comes to me in dreams, whose voice whispers in my ear even when he’s not around. The guy who’d stood stock still on the sidewalk and watched my cab disappear out of sight in the darkness.

  Right. Maybe there was another workout class across town I could take after this. Anything to keep me away from my cell phone and answering that single-wo
rded text that wouldn’t stop popping wheelies in my mind.

  By the time class ends, I know the dance moves to “Uptown Funk” and my head is somewhat clear of Charlie-related thoughts. I’m going to round out the afternoon by showering, throwing on fresh clothes and checking out the farmer’s market in Union Square. Maybe it will inspire a new recipe or two, and I can try them out for Nina tonight. We’ve been spending more time together now that she is boyfriend-free, and I’m really enjoying the company. Silence lately only reminds me of my mother. How often had she been without a shoulder to lean on, thinking it was exactly what she wanted, but not really believing it?

  After showering, drying my hair and throwing on a red sundress, I call my mother and leave her a voicemail. I don’t ask her to call me back, because she rarely returns phone calls, instead letting her know I’ll be stopping by for a visit this week. After business hours, of course. As I walk out of my building, empty tote bag in hand, I rethink the message I left, hoping I sounded upbeat enough. If I’d betrayed one hint of sympathy over her confession last time we were together, she probably wouldn’t be as open this time around. And I’m really hoping she is.

  I turn in the direction of Union Square—

  Charlie is walking toward me, coming from the direction of the train.

  “Hey, cutie.”

  The most annoying part of his showing up unannounced? I’m not annoyed at all. I’m relieved. And my second reaction is all-out joy. Just a giant, glowing burst of it. Don’t show it. Don’t let him know. “Charlie. Hey.”

  “I know you have plans.” He holds up both hands, palms out, except there is a bag dangling from his right thumb. “I’m not intruding. I was just hoping to catch you, before you went out.”

  His crispy aftershave hits me and my tummy takes a dive. And the rest of him keeps it plummeting. Worn-in jeans, boots, a faded navy T-shirt that makes his eyes a blinding blue. Honest to God, he looks better every time I see him. I’m starting to think I’m the victim of a conspiracy. “Well, you caught me.”