“I like her fine.” Jimmy shifts on the couch and shoots a look at Cliff.
“Does she have tits like Annalise?”
Boston’s voice is rough. “Don’t talk shit about Lise.”
“What?” Cliff is innocent. “She’s hot. Besides, you guys split.”
“That doesn’t mean you disrespect her, though.” Boston’s voice is even.
“No disrespect, man. I like Lise. She’s all right. You know that.” Cliff puts up his hands. “I’ll never forget how she fixed that thing on my car one time. Remember at the bar? She didn’t even mind getting her fancy skirt all messed up. She saved my ass.”
“Lise does that,” Boston’s voice is still a warning. “Don’t forget it. She’s a special girl.”
“But you gotta admit she’s got the nicest rack in town,” Cliff pushes, and Boston punches his shoulder. It seems good-natured, although sort of rough and a little bit scary, and also a little bit boring. I mean, Jesus, I like Annalise too, well enough, but how long do we all need to spend thinking about her stupid tits? Please.
I sit down and smile, trying to arch my back just a little, so the guys can see that my tits are also pretty sweet. I know they’re probably comparing me to Annalise and it sort of freaks me out, so I drink my beer fast, and then another one, and soon I’m feeling silly and confident. The guys give me a lot of attention, and it might be because I’m the only woman here in their group, but it feels good. Soon I see that it’s more than being the only female rep—I sense interest. Cliff lets his eyes linger on me longer than necessary; he leans in a bit closer than he should, and I can read his attraction. The other guys let their eyes touch me sometimes, not in a gross way, but it clearly shows more than a passing interest.
It’s that thing I said a while ago—when I’m feeling confident, I know I’m gorgeous, and that knowledge feeds my confidence, and soon it’s a positive feedback loop that spins me around and around and launches me into the stratosphere. By the end of the evening I feel like a goddess, really, and my cheeks hurts from smiling so much, and I am sure that stars are leaking from my eyes.
And when Cliff wants to exchange numbers and follow me on Instagram, I smile and type my info into his phone, shooting only a tiny look at Boston’s face to see what he thinks of this. He’s frowning. This makes me happy.
At the end of the evening, Boston walks me out to the street, his arm proprietary around my shoulders, and he kisses me—a soft, warm kiss on the lips, and we melt together for a few minutes before he flags down a cab. “Sweet dreams, Abby,” he says, his eyes almost certainly promising me something, and I want to ask what it is, but the doubt in me makes me hold back.
The evening was weird—and not just because of my transformation into the rare and wondrous Super Abby. Was it anything special? We spent more time talking about Annalise than me, not that I’m egotistical or anything, but still… it would have been nice to be the feature film. Was he trying to show me his world, to see if I fit in, because he secretly cares for me so deeply that he can’t even say it?
Or was he showing me that even if we end up fucking, at the core of it I’m a bud, one of the guys, and I better not expect anything meaningful or long-term?
***
That weekend, I catch myself saying this to Liesl: “Actually, want to stay in and cook before the movie, instead of going to Greasy Joe’s? Their burgers have over seven hundred milligrams of sodium, which is not good for blood pressure. And twenty-five grams of saturated fat. If we use organic beef we’ll still make tasty burgers, but it will be the healthy fats, you know?”
Liesl looks at me. “What the hell just came out of your mouth, Abby?”
I shrug and my face gets hot. “Just, you know,” I mumble, picking at a lint on my sleeve. “It’s a good idea for us to start paying attention to that stuff. I mean, you look bombshell. But there’s a thing called skinny fat, Liesl, did you know that? A person can have—”
“I’ve heard of it.” She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s just that for a second, I wasn’t sure if that was my friend Abby talking, or perhaps her sexy partner Boston.”
“Whatever!” I stand up and pour a glass of water for myself. “I just decided that I need to take care of myself a little better. And Boston has a lot of good information about fitness and eating right.”
Working with him, I’ve started picking up some really cool tidbits and information about fitness. And I admit, eating better has given me a huge burst of energy. I feel like my thinking is clearer, and my writing is more refined.
But Liesl is still giving me that look. “Uh huh.”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with that?” I challenge, putting one hand on my hip.
She puts up her hands. “God, no. I think it’s great, Rachael Ray. Sure, we can cook here. Do we need to go shopping for this organic fare first?”
I shake my head. “I actually have organic beef defrosting in the fridge. And we’ll use lettuce wraps instead of bread. It will be great.”
“Oh, holy Jesus.” Liesl scowls. “Are we not drinking any more, either?”
I smile. “Of course we’re still drinking, Liesl. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Liesl’s voice is uncertain. “Did anything change between you guys?”
“No!” I say, nearly dropping the packet of meat I’ve retrieved. “No, God, no, why would it mean that?”
“I just wondered.”
“So maybe he influenced me, is that a bad thing? You know, my pants are getting loose again. It feels really good. I feel really good. And I mean, I’m helping him, too.”
“How?” Liesl’s voice is neutral. At another time, she might have made a joke about how I could help him, like “it won’t suck itself,” but I think she can tell that I’m being more serious right now. That’s why she’s a BFF.
“So sometimes I, um, help him proofread stuff on his website. To make it more grammatically correct and sound, uh, more, how do I put this? Smarter.”
“You told him he needs to sound smarter?” Her voice holds concern.
“Well, not in those exact words,” I defend myself. “I just said that on his website he has some typos and grammar mistakes, and I could help him reword it all to make it more professional. I told him I think he can pull in more clients with a more sophisticated landing page and rewritten copy. And I think it’s working. I totally rewrote all of his text and added some new things, and just this week his shoot requests doubled.” I hear the pride in my voice, but I’m not sure whether it’s pride for my part at helping, or pride in him for getting double the clients.
“Does he know you think he’s not Einstein?” Liesl sounds curious. “Because most guys would take offense at that.”
I shrug, an uneasy feeling rising up in me. “We get along fine. Besides, he really actually is smart.” My voice is fierce. “Okay? So maybe he doesn’t have a college degree, Liesl. But he’s brilliant in his own way. He knows so much about photography and modeling. He’s genius at getting people to move just the right way to coax magic into view, you know? He has good ideas about words, even. More than one time I wrote down something he said because it just sounded so… nice. For a book, maybe. He just needs a little help softening up his rough edges. So don’t you say anything about him being dumb.”
“I’m not the one who ever said it, Abby.”
“Well, I didn’t either. So don’t put that on me.” I don’t know why I’m so combative right now. There’s a feeling in me that I can’t describe; I’m restless, angry, frustrated. I don’t know what it all means.
Liesl goes to the fridge and takes out the lettuce. “Abby, please don’t yell at me, okay? I just asked you a question because in the beginning? You did say something one time like that.” She rips off large handfuls of leaves and tosses them into a colander. “Do you want me to rinse this or do we need to bother?”
“I’m sorry. Liesl, I’m sorry.” I hug her, and her stiff shoulders relax. “I guess I just, you know, I’m getti
ng to know him better now, and I just don’t want people to get the wrong impression about him.” I pause. “It looks clean. I never wash lettuce. Do you?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t ever eat lettuce.”
I giggle, then I start to cry, and once the tears come, I start sobbing, and then I’m really bawling, shaking into her shirt, and she puts down the lettuce and grabs me. “Oh, God, Abby, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“No!” I wail. “I really like him. A lot. More than I should. He’s all I think about, and I don’t know what to do. I just don’t even know what to do at all.”
It feels good to say it in a way, like ripping off a scab that’s been itching for weeks, driving me insane. “I like him so much. There. I said it. I like him.”
She holds me tight and fierce. “Can you talk to him about it?”
I shake my head. “No, I really can’t. It would be weird and awkward. We flirt when we’re alone, but when other people are there, like Erik or Annalise, he doesn’t do it. And when I leave, it’s like he forgets about me. It’s horrible. I love spending time with him and I’m addicted to him, and he never even asks what I do when I’m not right there. I hate it!”
“Can you give me an example?” Liesl is so rational.
I wipe my eyes. “The other night he invited me out to a bar and he spent the whole time talking about how wonderful Annalise was. He didn’t say anything about me.”
Liesl frowns. “What, the entire night? For real?”
“Well, okay, no. It was only for a few minutes, but I guess I’ve spent a lot of hours analyzing it since then. So at the bar, his friend said something vulgar and he defended Annalise and basically masturbated to her memory right in front of me. And it would have been nice of him to say something like, Oh, hey, Annalise is okay and all, but Abby here is so much better and more fucktastically amazing. But he didn’t say that.”
Liesl is laughing again, before she frowns. “Oh, God, you’re doing it again, the making me laugh and feel sorry for you at the same time.” She sighs. “Did he do anything at all romantic?”
“Well, he kissed me.” I smile, thinking of it. “But then he put me in a cab and never said a word about it later.” I shake my head. “It’s so weird with him! I just don’t know what to think.”
“How much longer until your project is done?”
I shake my head again. “A few more weeks, probably. We’re getting close.”
She hesitates. “Do you sense anything from him, like that he’s into you, too? I mean, really into you, apart from the kisses and the flirtation now and then. Because people can sort of… tell, right?”
“The thing is, I can’t tell.” I hear my voice quiver. “I think, I know for sure that if I said yes, we’d have sex. And it would be fantastic.”
“So he wants you!” Her voice is hopeful, pleased.
“Yes. But, I mean, what if he wants to fuck me in private, but thinks I’m not cool enough or hot enough to really date me, like a girlfriend? What if that’s what he feels? Because that would kill me, it would just slay me!” I’m sobbing anew.
“Oh, Abby.” Liesl sounds helpless. “I don’t think feelings turn on and off based on who else is around. I mean, right?” But her voice falters, trails off. Because we both know that sometimes they do.
I sniffle. “We sometimes really bond and I feel like we have this connection. And then it just snaps and is gone, in an instant. He’s hot and cold. I don’t get it.”
I think back to Erik, his stable affection. It never blew me away, but he was consistent. Once Erik expressed interest, he kept it flowing, even and steady. Calls, smiles. Flowers. Dinner. Backrubs. Questions about my day. All the big things, and more important, the little things, to let me know he was there. And no question about it, Erik was always proud to have me at his side, whether it was at dinner, at his parents’, at a conference, with friends.
Boston is so different. I don’t know how to figure him out.
But if I can’t figure him out, at least I can figure out ideas on how to make our project together even more successful.
***
“So, Boston,” I say carefully the next Monday. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Do you?” His voice is smooth. “Please, tell me more.”
“Not that kind.” I flush. “Don’t freak out—just listen, okay? So Erik.” My voice wavers a little, then I continue. “So Erik has a friend, Maxwell Arlington, who likes to invest in small businesses and throw around his venture capital. Erik mentioned this thing we’re doing, and Maxwell said he’d be interested in meeting us and maybe helping finance the next project. You know how we were talking big and joking around about shooting on location in Japan and Iceland and getting some amazing scenery for the backdrop for the next book? Well, he might be interested in funding it. For real.”
“Shit, you serious?” Boston puts down his camera and comes closer to me.
“No. I mean, yes, serious. I’ve met Maxwell before and he’s a little bit of a pompous ass, but he’s great at knowing where to put his money. A serious investor. This could be cool for us if we really do want to work on a second book like this together.”
We’ve only talked about it briefly, but to me, it’s already sort of cemented into place in my mind in the future. I can’t fathom not working with Boston. It makes me feel vital, alive—and even though we haven’t finished this first project yet, I’m so sure it’s going to be successful that I’m eager to plan the next one. Even if we never do more than the occasional kiss, being around him keeps me so amped up, excited, aroused… not just sexually, but for life. Maybe that sounds dumb, but it’s true. I’ve never felt more alive than I have these past few months with him.
“I want to do a second book with you.” Boston’s looking right at me, his face serious, and I flush.
“Me too. Definitely.”
“Okay. So we’ll do it.” He smiles, and then touches my face. “It will be fucking amazing.”
I melt. “It will. Okay. Great.” The tension between us is so taut I’m going to die.
“So what do we need to do?”
“He’s having a party at his house this weekend, some fancy thing. Erik will bring us, if we want to go. Then we just talk with Maxwell. See what he thinks.”
“Sounds easy enough.” Boston narrows his eyes. “What is that look?”
“Look?” I smile. “No look. It’s only like I said, Maxwell can be a little bit… pretentious. Snobby, sort of. I mean, we’ll have to be—sort of—impressive.”
“And you think I can’t do that?” He frowns.
“No! Boston, no. I don’t mean that. I just mean that we’ll need to discuss strategy before we meet with him, okay? What do we want to focus on, what points do we want to brag about. I think we need to talk about how well my last books sold, and the great reviews you get for your photos, and how many people want you to shoot their covers. Really sell ourselves, you know?”
“Okay. I get that.” His face relaxes, although there’s some kind of tension near his eyes, I think.
“So I’ll text you all the details, okay?” I smile. “This is a great opportunity for us.”
***
Maxwell’s mansion is something out of a James Bond movie, complete with slinky women in gowns and so many black tuxes that I’m in sensory overload. I feel more glamorous than usual in a gold sheath and tall strappy heels, and Liesl did something with my hair and makeup that turned me into an otherworldly creature. Boston is amazing in his tux and I catch my breath at his handsome form and face.
The music is live, of course, and the band plays a lot of jazzy sultry numbers that are perfect to sway to on the dance floor, and when Boston asks me to dance, my whole body feels electrified. The touch of his hand on my waist makes me burn, and his fingers holding mine are warm and strong.
I like having his face this close to mine, exploring his eyes and the planes of his cheeks at my leisure. “You ready to wow our benefactor?” he say
s with a slight twist of sarcasm.
I smile. “Hope so. If I don’t forget my name or the titles of my books, I’ll be golden.” I don’t mean to, but I step on his foot, wince, and then step on the other one. “Sorry. Sorry! I guess I’m nervous. I just want to shine, you know?”
“You shine no matter what.” His voice is fierce, even though quiet. “And don’t you forget it, Abby.”
“Boston?” I meet his gaze.
He smiles. “All that guy needs to do is talk to you for one minute and he’ll be blown away.”
I’m touched and I feel something inside me melt and flutter. “Boston. That’s sweet.”
“It’s not sweet. It’s fucking true.”
Surprised, I meet his eyes, and flush at the emotion there. “Really?”
His thumb brushes my lip. “Abby—”
We’re interrupted by Erik. “Abby, Parker. Maxwell is here and would love to talk with you. Are you ready?”
“Uh, yeah.” Boston clears his throat and lets go of my hand.
“Absolutely.” I try to inject pep into my voice.
“Great. Follow me, okay?”
Erik puts his hand on my shoulder and guides us across the floor to a table with flowers in a crystal vase and introduces us. Well, for me it’s a reintroduction, but I shake hands again anyway, making sure to give a strong grip and make direct eye contact.
As we shake, a businessman comes up and interrupts, handing Maxwell a business card. “Maxwell. Pleasure to meet you earlier. I look forward to discussing the startup details.”
Maxwell smiles, and when the man walks away, he announces, “That’s Simon Chooch. Going to start a business importing stuffed animals and toys from China for the girls age five-to-seven market. I think it will be a huge hit, even bigger than Shopkins.”
We nod politely, and someone says “cool.” I have no idea what Shopkins are, but apparently I need to Google it later.
“So what do you think about China?” Maxwell smiles at us. “Erik and I were talking about their economic policies.” Maxwell raises his eyebrows and looks at Boston, bypassing me with his gaze. He knows I majored in economics, so I’m not sure why he is directing the question to Boston. Also, why the hell does it matter what we think about China?
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