The Vow (Manhattan Nights Book 1)

by Natalie Wrye

  BRETT

  There’s not enough shit to do in this apartment to distract me. I stare at the kitchen counter. Definitely not enough shit.

  I’ve flicked through every TV channel twice. I call the pizza place. I even turn on the radio to sappy music—some early, sentimental John Mayer shit, and in an attempt to drown out my thoughts, I’ve turned the volume up, beating my head up with background sounds to kill the noise in my brain. The insufferable fucking noise that’s been playing in my mind for seven years. Different variations, of course. But always the same song.

  This time? The song is telling me to go into the back of my apartment, storm into that bathroom—grab her. To hold little miss grown Elsie Carpenter in my hands and kiss her. To take her dripping wet body out of the bathtub and press every soaking inch into me. Water-filled bathtub be damned.

  I’d run my hands through the damp curls at the nape of her neck and twist the strands around my fingers. I’d tug my teeth at her bottom lip and taste her, and when I was done with my fill of her mouth, I’d taste more. More than she could ever imagine. The more that makes my cock stir in my pants, hardening to unbelievable lengths.

  I sit here on the couch and suddenly my hand’s inside of my jeans, stroking my stiff shaft. Thinking about all the places I can’t touch.

  On Elsie. Inside Elsie. The petite blonde who was always poison to whatever few brain cells I possessed. The star of my personal Hell. An excruciatingly beautiful death.

  Forbidden in so many ways.

  The skin that I had touched, tasted, licked over seven years ago was still the same. Still soft-looking and seemingly smooth. The apology that pressed on my lips when I saw her sweet, rounded face in my tattoo shop was almost painful to keep in, and the tango my tongue did was just another reminder that I didn’t deserve her.

  I never did. And I never would.

  Crossing a line with my sister’s best friend was a boundary that I couldn’t afford to step over. Not then. And especially not now.

  Fuck. I know my younger sister Kayla would kill me if she ever found out, and even if she didn’t have the knife-wielding skills to pull it off, there would always be that other problem between Elsie and me…

  Namely, the fact that she hates my fucking guts. And has every right to.

  I was a prick to her. A verifiable dick. Enough of a dick to chase off someone as innocent and forgiving as the quick-witted blonde currently naked in my bathtub—a thought that makes the fist wrapped around my cock (along with everything inside of me) squeeze almost to the point of pain.

  I try to relax but my eyes and disobedient dick both start pointing towards the ceiling as I imagine Elsie as she is now. Still fiery. Naked. And just several doors down, wrapped in nothing but bubbles, her small hands washing at her skin, stroking suds across her full breasts, her pink-painted toes and even pinker nipples stretching to attention.

  I slide my palm against my thick cock, forgetting the shop, tonight’s cancelled sex appointment. Fuck, even my own name. I forget everything that isn’t the slowly-soaking Elsie in my bathtub, driving me slowly insane.

  Until my doorbell rings. And the fantasy is ripped right out of my hands.

  With a groan, I stand, shoving my hard dick back into my pants. I open the door, ready to accept the pizza when a set of hazel-green eyes meet mine across the threshold. The eyebrows above them are bold and dark beneath a curtain of black hair.

  My jaw almost drops. Sophie.

  What the fuck is she doing here?

  I step into the hallway, watching as her carefully plucked eyebrow goes sky-high.

  She crosses her thin arms. “Am I interrupting?” Her eyes are dead blank. A hint of a question hides behind their hazel depths, and despite the semi-amused look decorating her tanned face, I know there is no soul behind them. There hasn’t been for a while.

  Sophie Santellini was an enigma when I met her—a mystery wrapped in long legs. A Manhattan model with a bored look and a love of blowjobs, she was the perfect drinking partner at the uppercrust East Side party where we’d met. A wild child. A satisfying fuck.

  But she made for an even more unsatisfying fuck-buddy. Our fate was in the cards, destined to “un-fulfill.”

  We were two untied people, desperate to stay untethered. Our “barely-buddies with benefits” agreement was purely unspoken, and on the few times, Sophie had tried to broach the subject, I’d dodged it just as easily as she dodged calories, distancing myself before the waif-thin woman could turn our shallow relationship into something more.

  And I got the distant feeling that tonight was a last ditch effort to make good on her whims. I’d already texted her tonight in the shop and cancelled our “appointment” after Elsie arrived. And to make matters worse… I’d never given her my address in the first place.

  A flame builds behind my eyes and stays there as I stare at her.

  “What are you doing here, Soph?”

  She shrugs. “Just wanted to visit. Since you cancelled our date.” The word makes me cringe, “I didn’t get a chance to show you my new outfit.” She looks down at a black trench on her thin frame. “You like?”

  I don’t move. “It looks fine.”

  She unties a belt at her waist and the fabric falls open. Black lace greets me as the flaps swing to the side, revealing a silky lingerie set—a black bra and panty combo—built to break down the strongest of men. I glance down at the thin fabric, feeling… nothing at all.

  I gaze now at Sophie, knowing whatever we had is over. The problem? She doesn’t.

  She looks at me, her green eyes narrowing seductively. She reaches for me, sliding her hands up my shoulders, and I grab them. Immediately. Dropping them back to her sides as I swallow hard, a knot forming in my throat. I try to clear it.

  “Actually, Soph,” I tell her, locking her with my stare. “You were right about interrupting. I’m kinda…” I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder, back into the apartment. “Busy right now. And you would know that…” My eyes minimize into slits. “If you had bothered not to show up here unannounced.” I shove my hands into my pants pockets. “I was just leaving.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You were?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Tat session. Actually…” I hold her eye. “I’m probably going to have a lot of early tat sessions in the near future, so it might be better if… we don’t see each other for a while. Keep things separate.”

  I let the statement linger, hoping it will sink in. Sophie stops me before I can close the door, and she sticks her hand out, stopping the heavy wood from swinging.

  “You’re leaving me?” Her dark brows arch towards the ceiling.

  “‘Define ‘leaving.’”

  She scoffs out loud. “An hour ago, I was telling you how I wanted to taste your cum. Now you’re what? Running out the door?”

  I stand my ground. “Not really. More like ‘walking.’ ‘Strolling’, actually. I’m hazy on the exact wording, but you get it.”

  “I get it, alright,” her voice rises scarily close to a shout. “I understand that you think you’re dumping me, Brett James Jackson.”

  Again…how the fuck does she know this information? I never gave her my middle name… and I refuse to ask. I don’t care anymore. I haven’t in a while.

  “If you’re going to break up with me, just do it to my face,” Sophie snaps.

  A cough works its way up my throat. “Break up with you?”

  “Yes!” Sophie crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up towards her face. Another tactic that I won’t even give attention. I step closer.

  “You sure have a weird definition of ‘breaking up’ then,” I say, facing her. “If memory serves me correctly, Soph… we were never together.”

  “You used me,” she accuses, her hands clutching at her non-existent hips.

  I glare back. “We used each other.”

  “You baited me. Made me want you.” She clicks her tongue, her green eyes flashing at me. “And n
ow you’re dropping me like a bad habit.”

  “Again, we used each other. Not a hard concept to grasp, Soph.”

  “You treated this relationship like a cold you didn’t want to catch.” Her tone turns to a screech. “Like a disease!”

  “Do I need to pull out a dictionary? Because ‘relationship,’ ‘together’—these are words you seem to be short of understanding.”

  Sophie stays unfazed. “You can’t take anything serious! Not even yourself. You keep running from love.” She shakes her head, inky black strands of hair flying across her face. “And I’m just waiting for the day that it catches you.”

  A familiar feeling churns in my stomach. But I brush it off, wiping my frustrated face with one hand. I groan out loud.

  “Jesus, Soph… trust me. This? Us?” I motion. “Whatever the hell this ‘arrangement’ is between us needs to end… and honestly this will probably be the best thing that ever happened to you.” I match her, glare for glare. “I’m not boyfriend material.”

  “You think?” she spits at me, buckling up the belt to her long coat. She cuts me a scathing look. “Can’t believe I fell for such a dick.”

  I blow out a breath, shaking my head, realizing how much I’m over it. I tighten my grip on the door. “It’s not my dick that’s the problem, Soph. It’s everything else. Have a good night.”

  She turns on her heel. “Fuck you, Brett.”

  I shrug as she retreats. “Not anymore.” I close the door as she storms off, the sounds of her heels clicking down the hallway. I turn to find a second set of footsteps storming towards me, these ones less expensive than the last. Elsie walks in my direction, blonde hair wet, her sneakers thudding against the hardwood. She grabs her bag I hadn’t seen until now, pulling.

  “Pizza man looks awfully pissed, doesn’t he?”

  My throat closes. “You have no fucking idea.”

  She looks up at me and her brown eyes are blazing—a liquid cocoa color that makes me want to pull her into my arms. But I don’t; I’m too curious to speak, let alone move.

  Because the woman in front of me now… is not the girl I once knew—too innocent for words, and the anger in her face, the stubborn set of her jaw only pulls me into her even more—a thought that scares the living shit out of me. Even now. When her stare shows me she hates me most.

  She takes off towards the door and I have nothing to say. Marilyn was fucking right. Even Soph.

  I am a dick.

  I watch as Elsie turns. “Look, why don’t you do us both a big favor, Brett? Why don’t I just go…and leave you to your ‘pizza’? Have at it.” She opens my front door, throwing it aside. “You were right, you know. About the ‘boyfriend material.’ Honestly? I don’t know what material you’re made out of… but I know it’s too fucking cheap for me.”

  She slams the door shut behind her, and every fiber of my being wants to follow. To go after her. To apologize… for God knows what. But I don’t. A lifetime of fighting my instincts sticks my feet to the floor, and like the dick I’m accused of being, I ignore my gut, listening to my muddled head. Instead I wander to the kitchen counter, grabbing my phone, and after a few agonizing seconds, I start dialing.

  This won’t be the last time I see Elsie Carpenter; I’m fucking sure of it. And when we do meet again, I’m going to make every fucking second count.

  Chapter 4

  ELSIE

  “I didn’t have to see the girl to know there was one, Kayla. I’m not an idiot.”

  I crouch towards the brown box in front of me, pulling out glasses. The A/C’s on full blast, making me shiver. Though the temp is nearly ninety degrees outside, the inside of my new apartment is like a freezer, and after unpacking fifteen boxes of everything I own, I feel like a slab of meat, just waiting for the fire.

  A part of me still feels like that fire might be Brett.

  But I try to keep my mind off him, busying my hands so that my thoughts don’t wander over to the worst man on earth. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I grab for the plates next, stacking them so hard the porcelain shakes. I slap another down.

  I listen to Kayla sigh on the other end of the line, her normally tiny voice gruff. I can hear the roll of her eyes from a thousand miles away. She exhales. “Maybe it wasn’t a date. Maybe it was the pizza guy…”

  “Right.” I nod. “Because all the pizza guys I know deliver dick-tasting along with the pepperoni special.” My throat goes dry. “She mentioned tasting his cum, Kayla. I don’t know much more clear it could get.”

  Kayla takes a deep breath, blowing it out over the phone. “Leave it to Brett to have strange women stopping by at all hours.” She scoffs. “He hasn’t changed. One time he had a girl climb down the tree next to his window to avoid getting busted by my parents. He said it was her idea, but who knows? He probably chucked her into the damn thing to make room for the next one. I don’t know how he does it…”

  A sharp pain shoves into my chest as I swipe for another box. “Yeah, neither do I. And I don’t want to know. I just know that I had to get out of there as soon as possible. And I’m glad I did. My new roommate called as soon as I was checking into a hotel, said her flight was postponed and she could pass me the key.” I place another plate on the shelf. “It’s nice.” I look around the apartment. “In a small, cold… shoebox sort of way.” I shrug.

  “Oh God,” Kayla sucks at her teeth. “The tale of Manhattan’s mini-apartments are true then? You’re not hanging from the shower curtain yet, are you?”

  I hug my phone to my face. “Not that there is one… but no. A ‘thin thread’ wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination, though. My new roomie has nothing in this apartment. Not even toilet paper.” I shake my head, letting go of a long breath. “You’d think that no one lived here, if it wasn’t for the cigarette butts stashed in every corner.” I slide another glass into a cabinet, my skin still pricking from the cold. “But really…it’s not all that bad.”

  “What isn’t? Moving to New York? Or prepping for tomorrow’s audition?”

  I pick at my fingernails. “Both. At the same time. All of it. ‘Roomie’ won’t even answer my texts anymore. Who knows? Maybe I just inherited my own apartment.”

  “Congratulations. You now own a cooler with furniture.” Kayla grows silent over the line, her lips still smacking as she inhales a bag of chips. “You know… you can always stay at Brett’s.” She pauses. “Outside of the random ring of prostitutes approaching his door, how is my brother? Is he behaving?”

  “Of course.” The smile I try to force on my face shakes. “I mean, I’m sure wherever he is, or whoever he’s in, he’s being extremely well-behaved.” I inhale deeply. Kayla chuckles, a sound smoky and low, and I try not to hold my breath, telling myself to suck in air. In and out. I change the subject.

  “At least he paid for the food. He ordered pizza before I left. And I caught the actual pizza delivery on the elevator and took it home.” I grin. “I inhaled the entire pie last night.”

  “Ah, the good old days. Greasy pizza and desperation. No better diet out there.”

  “Not as far as I can remember.” I smile. “Remember the coffee-doughnut diet of finals week twenty-fourteen?”

  “Remember?” my best friend scoffs over the phone. “My thighs are still trying to forget.” She sucks her teeth. “Speaking of thighs, what have you been doing, Elsie Carpenter? I saw your IG post yesterday. Have I been in Europe that long? You look fucking amazing.”

  My grin widens. Only my best friend, currently in Paris for the internship of her dreams, would think to talk to me about my thighs. In the midst of a possibly prominent publicity promotion. Caught in the throes of a sexy summer romance.

  I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “I’ve been working out. Picked up running again,” I say, my fingers inching farther into an overhead cabinet. “Clears my head.” Which is the last thing that’s happening now. I sigh, looking outside, my gaze twisting to the tiny living room window. At last, r
ain’s begun to fall. Dark storm clouds have been hovering all day, and it isn’t even noon yet.

  I must admit… I hate the rain. Always have.

  Sunshine has always suited me better, and in Kansas City summers, we had plenty of it, warm southern heat waves that soothed the heart and tanned the skin. The heat in New York is entirely different. Or maybe it was just the atmosphere.

  I hadn’t been to Manhattan since I was sixteen, seven long years ago. The last time hadn’t even been on my dime; I’d been a guest, a “tag-alonger” with Kayla’s family, and inside a city I’d once seen as magical I made the worst mistake a stupid virgin could ever make… Being alone with my best friend’s smoking hot brother.

  Fate had aligned to force us together that one New York night, and here I was, testing her again, hoping that she wouldn’t make the same fatal error for me twice. It was a wish, a dangerous one at that. Until Brett drove me away like he did last night.

  I’d be dumb to try my luck twice. Brett Jackson was now in my past. And would stay there.

  I circle through the living room, kneeling at the box by the front door when suddenly a knock sounds behind it. I glance out the peephole before opening it.

  A mover, sweat and rain-soaked, peers at me from under a gray and beige hat. He lifts his hat at me, looking at me with even grayer eyes. His smile is more grimace than anything.

  “Um, ma’am, where would you like these last boxes?”

  I raise my finger farther into the cramped apartment. “Over there is fine.”

  The brown skinned mover drops my last boxes in the middle of the floor, his tanned muscles bulging at his shirt. I slip a hand into my pocket and before I can think too much about it, slapping a wad of cash into his hand, shaking his large palm briefly before letting it go, my small smile meeting his. I nod at him.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem.” He grins. “I’d say it was worth it. But then I’d be lying.” He glances out the open front door. “Your landlord has got to fix the elevator.”