Break Free (Smart Girl Mafia Book 1)

by Amiee Smith

  “1.95,” she says.

  “Come on, Heidi. The kitchen and the master bathroom are guts.”

  The modern, but low-quality updates in the kitchen make it the worst room in the house, but I would change it no matter what.

  I join Michael in the backyard.

  “Says the man whose current kitchen is a work of art,” Michael says.

  “Says the man whose vacation home is four times the size of this,” I say.

  “I also paid six times the cost of this. If I were you, I’d buy it. Just not at 1.95.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  I sometimes forget Michael is a real estate developer and always searching for a deal. But he’s also the man who lost a bidding war with Lynn.

  “Hold firm at 1.85, but go in at 1.75. I bet the seller is eager to make a deal. I’m almost certain they have this on Airbnb.”

  “Do you really think Lynn overpaid for her place?”

  “No. She got a great price on her duplex. I was lowballing the seller because I knew he needed to get out fast. I wanted to tear it down, but the City wouldn’t approve it. Historic property.”

  “Wait. You never intended to buy it?”

  “Yes, I was planning to buy it… until two days before the offer deadline. Prior to it, Heidi told all the other buyers’ agents I was a developer and they couldn’t outbid me. Most dropped out. Everyone but Lynn. She wasn’t intimidated.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I find Heidi typing on her phone in the kitchen.

  “What do you think, Nick?”

  “Give it to me straight, Heidi. Is there any way they will take 1.75?”

  “If you give me authorization to go up to 1.85, I can have you in escrow by the end of business on Monday.”

  “I need to get it done today.”

  “Let me make a call.”

  Heidi steps into the living room, standing by windows almost exactly like the ones in my Mount Washington home.

  “I’m with my buyer now…. He’s eager... I’ve verified funds… Will your seller do 1.75 and we can get this done today? Yes, but the kitchen will need to be remodeled…. The comps show otherwise… It is doubtful. He wants a quick close… Excellent. I’ll write it up now. It will be in your inbox in twenty minutes. Thank you.”

  Heidi drops her phone into her large green purse.

  “Okay. The listing agent is confident we can get it done for 1.8. I’ll write up the offer and text you later today when I know more.”

  “Great. The house is vacant now, right?”

  “Yes,” Heidi says.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, Michael and I are sitting in his Tesla at a light in an area of Potrero Hill where there are lots of bars, shops, and restaurants. The downtown skyline looms just ahead. Wu-Tang Clan’s “Triumph” bumps on the speakers. The sun has brought the people out. The crowd meandering in the crosswalk is thick, but I could pick out my pint-sized needle from a haystack of hippies any day.

  Lynn is dressed in slim black running pants, the Asics sneakers I’ve come to associate with her and a light blue shirt that reads, “I write happy endings.” With a green drink in hand, her hair is still straight and pulled into a ponytail, and her large sunglasses cover her face. It’s like last Saturday when I ran into her in Pasadena. So much has changed in a week. But one thing has remained the same, I’m still so very drawn to this woman.

  Michael is too.

  “Lynn Scott!” he calls out of the window, waving through the sunroof.

  Lynn waves and points to the next block. After waiting through two more lights, we find her standing at the corner, stepping side to side. Michael pulls into a loading spot and I roll down my window to greet her.

  “Wow, you guys look like Rockefellers,” she says, smiling and approaching the car.

  “Don’t hate,” Michael calls from his side of the car.

  “No. No. Only complete admiration.”

  Lynn runs her hand over my arm resting on the windowsill. A small orange Coach purse dangles from one wrist and her black fitness tracker is on the wrist holding her cup.

  “What are you up to?” Michael asks.

  “I ran here. New territory for me. Now that I have this cool gadget with a GPS tracker, I’m a little more adventurous these days. Found a cup of green crack. Now, I’m going to head back to my ‘hood and maybe stop at REI in SoMa on the way. I’ll get home in time for the USC game. Which I’ll half watch, while I wait for my dude to text date details. I’ll do the girly get-ready-thing. And eat some lunch somewhere in there.”

  She’s rambling, and I love it.

  “You guys are going on a date tonight?” Michael asks.

  “Yes. I haven’t finalized our plans yet. I want to do some research,” I say.

  “Lynn, why don’t you call Lilly and we double date? I want to take her out before I go back to L.A., but she keeps putting me off. Maybe if we all go together she’ll feel more comfortable and see I’m a good guy,” Michael says.

  My sweet woman doesn’t try to hide her aversion, her smile fading into a frown.

  “I was looking forward to being dirty flirty with Nick... alone.”

  As she gets more comfortable with me, I’m learning she really has no filter.

  “You two have a whole lifetime to do that. Come on, help a brother out,” Michael says.

  Michael has been generous with his time, home, and resources this week. I’m compelled to aid his cause.

  “We’ll go,” I say.

  Lynn twists her mouth, giving me a look somewhere between pissed and pouty. I’ll spend our afterhours time making it up to her with my mouth.

  “Awesome. Call her,” Michael says.

  “I left my phone at home. I didn’t have anywhere to put it. The weather is too warm for a jacket. Which is why I’m stopping at REI. They have to sell something to hold my gear while I run, right?” she asks.

  “We’ll find something,” I say, smiling. “The fitness tracker’s GPS is only helpful when you have the app on your phone. Get in the car, Lynn. We’ll drive you back.”

  “No. No. This is my city. I can figure out how to get home,” she says.

  “Please. It will make me happy.”

  “It would make me happy to be alone with you tonight, but I’m going on a double date,” she mutters, tossing her cup in a nearby trash can.

  “Lynn, we’ll have plenty of time alone later tonight and all day tomorrow. Get in the car.”

  “Fine. I’ll let you white knight me in this electric horse this one time. Oooh, this back seat is heaven. Is this vegan leather?” Lynn rambles, sliding into the car.

  Michael puts REI into the GPS.

  “Call Lilly from my phone,” he says, pulling away from the curb.

  “Won’t that be weird? I’ll knock on the door after you drop me off. Though I cannot promise she’ll agree. We’ve never had a ‘let’s hang out’ relationship.”

  “She’ll say yes,” Michael says, confidently.

  I admire a dude that goes for it.

  Michael parks in the lot at REI and Lynn jumps out. Appearing at my open window, she runs her pink fingertips up and down my arm. The last time she touched me in this way was at the Mafia dinner party. She’s up to something.

  “I’ll just be a minute. Heck, it’ll probably take me forever. I’m going to want to look at and touch everything. I’m not far from home. Why don’t I text you guys later after I talk to Lilly?”

  “No, we’ll come in,” I say.

  “I’m finally fit enough to not feel weird going into an REI. I don’t want to walk around the store with two Rockefellers, however handsome they may be,” she says, looping and spiraling her fingertip from my shoulder to my elbow.

  If she didn’t have sunglasses on, I’d see mischief in her brown eyes. She’s still trying to get out of this double date. My pixie is every bit as Mafia as the other wolves in her pack.

  “Ah, love, am I cramping your style?�
�� I tease, pulling my arm away and opening the door to get out.

  “A little bit. But you could kiss me all over and make it better,” she says.

  We cross the parking lot and enter the store. Lynn is immediately captivated by a display of water bottles.

  “Damn, dude. She’ll keep you on your toes. You’re one lucky man,” Michael says.

  “I’m very aware,” I say, smiling.

  Thirty minutes later, we arrive at Lynn’s building with a waist pack designed for runners (I made sure her phone would fit inside). At check out, she lets me pay without a tug of war. She’s totally up to something.

  “Stay here. I don’t want her to feel any pressure,” she says before exiting the car.

  She walks up the steps and knocks on Lilly’s door. I watch Lynn wait, fidgeting with her ponytail. Lilly opens the door, wearing red shorts and a white MIT T-shirt. They begin to speak, both women peering in our direction before stepping inside.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Michael asks.

  “Hell, if I know. As her shirt suggests, Lynn loves happily-ever-afters. If you have a chance, she’ll do her best to make it work.”

  “I know. That’s why I asked her.”

  My new billionaire friend is way smarter than people (myself included) give him credit for. I don’t want to tell him Lynn is probably working out some scheme. I do know, the women of the Smart Girl Mafia have hearts of gold. Even if Lynn doesn’t want to double date, she’s going to do right by Michael.

  After listening to two Wu-Tang songs, Lynn emerges from Lilly’s apartment with a giddy smile and a skip in her step. She gets into the back seat of the car, sweetly rambling.

  “Okay. She’s interested. Though she had three very valid concerns. The first being that you met her by sending flowers and donuts to me. I explained we were friends in college, but I’m not sure if it alleviated her concern. Two, you gotta tone down the Rockefeller swagger and be a regular guy. Lastly, no double date. She wants to get to know you without any distractions… from me. I told her I’m super obsessed with Nick. Like, I want to kiss and touch him all the time. So, we’re not the best couple for a double date. At least, not right now. I also made it clear the PDA-thing is all me. Nick is well-mannered and reserved. If he was with any other woman, this wouldn’t be a problem. But he’s mine, so like, yeah, no double date.

  “Now I’m being a bit presumptuous, but Michael, this might be a love victory for you. Lilly is as intelligent as you are wealthy. Make her feel comfortable and you’ll win her over, but you can’t lead with your wealth. Tonight, you’ll have to live among the mortals and be a regular guy. A bit of recon: She loves to bowl and has her own ball and shoes. She’s into sweets, particularly chocolate. She was playing the Kendrick Lamar station on Pandora. And by the looks of all the chopsticks and soy sauce packets on her counter, she’s into Asian cuisine. I told her you’d reach out. Please do that sooner than later. We’re black women and our hair requires time. Oh, and Superstar, I’ll be waiting for your text or ‘one of those calls’ with date plans. Bye.”

  Lynn leans forward and kisses my cheek before fluttering out of the car. I shake my head and chuckle as I watch her dash up the stairs and into her flat, REI bag in hand.

  “What just happened?” Michael asks.

  “Lynn Mafia’d your double date, but set you up to win tonight,” I say.

  “So, what do I do?” he asks.

  “Make a reservation at Osha Thai for dinner. The food is quality, but it’s casual dining. Reserve a lane at Lucky Strike. You gotta be a regular guy and make all the calls yourself. Give her a small box of chocolate. Text her in an hour,” I advise.

  “Damn, dude. You even speak Lynn. You really are in love with her.”

  CHAPTER 37:

  LYNN SCOTT

  The doorbell sounds. I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway. In the background, Alexa is streaming KCRW. The evening temperature is still warm. Almost L.A. warm. I’m taking advantage of the rare weather by wearing a dress and soft curls in my hair.

  The vintage, cotton, Kelly green dress I brought back from L.A. magically shapes my body. In college, I spent a summer trying to will it to fit. This is truly my weight loss victory.

  The 1950s-swing skirt falls a hint below my knees. It is fitted at the bust and waist, and softens and slims the curve of my hips and thighs. The dress is sleeveless with a V-shaped neckline that dips low enough that my rose quartz crystal is visible. I’m wearing the black Tory Burch flats Raquel picked out. Underneath, a lacy, strappy black bra and matching thong. (Nope. All me. I took a trip this afternoon to Agent Provocateur in Union Square after the guys dropped me off.)

  In addition to my regular makeup routine, I did a smoky eye and a kissing-friendly soft pink lip color. Since I had all day to prepare, I made a last-minute appointment for a bare Brazilian bikini wax followed by a long bath. The certainty in Nick’s voice last night left no question that at least part of the Bed Ban ends today. I’m ready for whatever he has in mind. He was unusually vague in his text earlier. Just giving the time “7:00” and “evening casual.”

  I hurry down the stairs and open the door. My heart jumps.

  “Hey,” Nick says.

  He’s wearing dark jeans and a black dress shirt. His hair, while styled up, looks a little softer than usual. His suitcase rests next to his feet and two green, reusable Natural Foods bags hang from each arm. Goddess, he’s handsome. The urge to kiss him is overwhelming, but I resist. For some reason, I’m a little nervous.

  “Hey,” I say, turning to walk up the stairs.

  Nick carries his suitcase to my bedroom. He enters the kitchen as I’m retrieving stemless champagne glasses for the cabinet.

  “I chilled a sparkling wine from Napa. Should we wine-n-weed?”

  “Yes, definitely. You look beautiful,” he says.

  Nick presses a kiss on my temple, his breath erasing my nerves. He unpacks the Natural Food bags.

  “Thank you. What are we doing tonight?” I ask.

  “I thought we’d stay in and I’d cook for you. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yes. I love staying in with you,” I say, wiping water spots from our glasses.

  Nick stops unpacking the groceries. His eyes, poised and pointed. Serious.

  “I love being with you,” he says.

  “Are you going to I-love-you fuck me now?” I tease, hoping to ease some of the intensity in his stare.

  “Yes.”

  “No, Nick. That’s not what you’re supposed say.”

  “What am I supposed say, Lynn?”

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Horny Girl, sex is for later. After we do bong rips and hot box the bathroom and tell each other funny shit that happened during our day. Then I’ll razzle-dazzle you with my gourmet cooking while you sashay around in your dress, tempting me with your smutty humor and sexual innuendos. And when I’ve had enough, I will reveal to you I’ve found a loophole, lifting the Bed Ban. And romantically command you to take off your clothes, get the cuffs, and meet me in your cloud bed so I can make love to you so perfectly you forget how much you’re going to miss me while I’m in L.A. next week. Oh, and I love you. Forever and ever.’ There, Superstar. Easy-peasy. Would you like to try again?”

  CHAPTER 38:

  NICK WILLINGHAM

  “She’ll keep you on your toes. You’re one lucky man.” Michael’s words echo in my mind as I watch Lynn. Pink nails grip each side of her hips. That vixen-grin on her face is both playful and serious, but all love. There in her kitchen and under the observant gaze of her giant Unicorn on the wall, I see our future…

  We will spend the next six months working through the Book of Fuckery, while learning to be together IRL. During which, I’ll discover Lynn is a crazy writer who keeps weird hours and always has a notebook nearby to scribble a list or an idea.

  I’ll unsuccessfully study for my licensing exams on the weekends, because I always end up in bed with Lynn
or reading one of her books on one of our sofas. Lynn will put her foot down (both adorable and scary) and demand I hire a tutor. I’ll pass all six parts of the exam the first time and feel all parts accomplished. While knowing, deep down, I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for her.

  I’ll ask her to marry me again and again, usually right before or after she orgasms (which always happens faster than I expect). And she’ll only respond with a golden smile, bright and big enough to keep me loving the game.

  On Valentine’s Day, she’ll float in for dinner at my house with a male engagement ring she bought at a jewelry store in the Castro and a note written in purple ink: “YES, but I reserve the right to not have a big wedding OR let you impregnate me.” Of course, she’ll eventually agree to both.

  We’ll spend a month in couples therapy about her insane writing schedule. During which, I’ll put my foot down and demand evenings are for dinner and sex with me. We’ll agree on a “most days” schedule for both. And every day, I will get up and go to work grateful for the day she said “yes” to fucking in the back seat of my car during my best friend’s party because being her husband and dad to our kids (triplets, Jake, Ed & Bell— yeah, that’s a story) is truly my calling.

  I play the last card I have left.

  “Marry me.”

  She gives me a “Victory!” smile so vibrant, I believe in happily-ever-afters and unicorns and lucky pink crystals.

  “So, I’ll pack the bongs and you’ll open the wine?” she says.

  • • •

  It’s Sunday, late-morning. I’m sitting on Lynn’s sofa. City noise and sunshine pour in through the open windows. My hands are cuffed behind my back, my warm-ups at my ankles. Lynn is kneeling between my legs, wearing nothing but yoga pants. She alternates between pushing my dick between her tits and circling the tip with her tongue.