#1 Crush

by T Gephart

  “You ladies done with your sushi?” Ryan pulled up to the curb in a blackened SUV, similar to what he’d been driving in L.A. “There was an all-you-can-eat place down the road for ten ninety-nine. I know where my money would have been.”

  “Ryan.” I hugged him through the driver’s side window. “It’s so good to see you.” The last time a little foggy given my inebriated state.

  “New York, we could have been awesome together.” He wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

  “You two want to continue your love fest on the street or should we get into the car?” Eric rested his hand around my waist.

  “You’re such a killjoy, Larsson.” Ryan pouted as we climbed into the car, both of us into the back. “So, where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  “The hotel.”

  Eric and I both answered at the same time.

  “Awesome, guys. I’ll just drive until you guys decide then?” Ryan tapped the steering wheel as he pulled into traffic. “Anytime you want to decide is cool by me.”

  “I need to go to my apartment, get some stuff done.” Like my job, which I had neglected the last few days. “Maybe I can meet you later?”

  “That wasn’t the plan.” Eric leveled me with a stare. “I have stuff I need to do too.”

  I assumed the stuff he needed do was sitting beside him in the backseat of the car.

  “I’ll be quick, promise.” Especially knowing what was waiting for me at the finish line. “Quicker if you go back to your hotel and wait for me there. Be naked when I get there.”

  “New York, I’m still in the car you know.” Ryan groaned from the front. “Let her do her shit, Larsson, you can spend some quality time with me. I’ll hold your hand until she gets back.”

  “Asshole.” Eric laughed, reaching across and popping Ryan in the shoulder. “Just drive to Brooklyn.”

  Eric leaned across and took my hand in his, his thumb gently circling my knuckles as we traveled through the busy city traffic. He might not have been ecstatic that we were going have to wait to finish what we’d started in the ladies room at So, but he wasn’t going to fight me either.

  Responsible Tia did exist. And as much as I wanted to make sweet, sweet love with Eric, if I wanted to keep my job—and for my bullshit of being unemployed not to turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy—then I needed to work. I couldn’t do it with him around for obvious reasons, so it was a necessary evil I was going to have to endure.

  “So, Tia, your friend Lila . . .” Ryan broke the silence. “She single?”

  I didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling.

  Lila was stunning. Long blonde hair, with amazing long legs—she could have been a dancer. The ballet kind, not the one that requires a pole. But she was also incredibly smart, a gifted writer and driven to succeed. It was no wonder Ryan noticed.

  “What did you do?” I warned, ready to start pulling out his silk tresses one by one.

  “Nothing, I took her home just like I said I would,” he called over his shoulder. “We made small talk on the way, she seemed pretty sober actually.”

  “Yeah, that’s Lila. It takes a lot to get her drunk, even then she’s like buzzed for a bit and then drinks herself sober. It’s her thing.”

  My thing was apparently trying to keep up with her, which always ended up with me trying to find Jesus at the bottom of a toilet.

  “Wow, sounds like my dream girl right there.” Ryan sighed wistfully. “Of course, originally that was you,” he quickly added. “But you had to go and break my heart. Lucky I bounce back quickly.”

  “Like you had a chance,” Eric laughed. “Tia has better taste than that.” His eyes connected with mine. Maybe being employed was overrated? When he looked at me like that, it was so hard to not lose IQ points.

  “She’s with you isn’t she?” Ryan scoffed. “Her taste isn’t great.”

  Another pop in the shoulder came his way courtesy of Eric.

  “Lila’s kind of serious,” I volunteered. It felt a little weird talking about her, but I felt Ryan should know what he was dealing with. “Not that she isn’t fun, because she is awesome, but she isn’t interested in playing around.”

  In relationships we were completely different. She had boyfriends who doted on her who she kept for long stretches. Me, not so much. I always got bored too easily. She didn’t sleep around with guys she didn’t know, me—well we all know how I am.

  “I’m just going to ask her on a date, New York.” He shook his head. “I see why you chose him over me, you’re both so fucking serious.”

  “And he’s going to be respectful, aren’t you, Ryan?” Eric added a word of warning.

  “I’m always respectful.”

  We arrived at my apartment building and I climbed out of the car before I could change my mind. Work then play. I would be quick. All the things I was telling myself as Eric gave me a slow lingering kiss against the car door.

  “Don’t forget our deal.” His hands cradled my face, his thumbs resting at my jaw. “My hotel room. Pack a bag. You might be there a while.” His parting words.

  Great, now I was never going to be able to focus. So, as I waved Eric and Ryan goodbye and took the elevator to my floor, I tried to shake off the crazy I’d been living for the last few days.

  And because I was an idiot, I almost tossed my poor neglected laptop off my desk the moment it powered up, scaring myself stupid. Because staring back at me were the same eyes I’d just said goodbye to thanks to my Eric Larsson wallpaper. Mental note. Change that ASAP to something benign and harmless. A beach view. Puppies. Anything else.

  My fingers moved across the keyboard, the even strokes comforting in a way like they had always been. It was reassuring to know I was good at something, that my sometimes silly views and anecdotes resonated with people. In some ways, what Eric and I did was the same, even if it was different. We entertained, our audience laughed with us, they cried and sometimes they hated us too. So while I didn’t share the same job description on my W2, we shared the same sentiment.

  It was a good feeling, knowing we had stuff in common.

  Ugh. I needed to stop doing that. Having things in common wasn’t important. Five to seven days, that was what was important.

  And because it was times like these when I needed the wise words of my BFF, and because we hadn’t spoken in a while, I dialed the number of the one person who I knew got me.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  “You done doing dirty things to number one crush?” Lila laughed into the phone, not a hint of animosity or jealousy or malice. “I’d like it noted that I gave you plenty of private time. No calls and/or unannounced visits.”

  “You’re a true friend.” Not everyone would have been so understanding or so accepting of my crazy. “But no, I’m not done.”

  “T, you know I love you, right? And I’ve always supported you?” The concern in her voice told me exactly where this was going. “But promise me you know what you are doing with this guy. I mean, really know.”

  Surprise, surprise.

  I guess I should be glad she was looking out for me, knowing if places were reversed I’d be doing the exact same thing for her. I’d threatened to rip Ryan’s hair out for fuck’s sake and then given him a warning about Lila not being that kind of girl.

  “I know, trust me, I know.” My head nodded even though no one could see it. “He’s leaving in a week.” A huge breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding rushed out past my lips. “All good things come to an end.”

  “You convincing me or yourself?” Lila chuckled on the phone, not sounding convinced.

  “Both of us.” I laughed. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. In a month this is going to be a remember when story, a year—a fond memory.” I couldn’t help but sigh. “I know he’s not mine to keep.”

  “Have you talked about it? Like what will happen later?”

  “And send him running in the opposite direction sooner rather than later? Yeah
, don’t think so.”

  Eric and I had fallen into whatever the hell we were doing. There was no definition, no parameters and sure as hell no, where is this going? talk. It felt like if that happened an invisible line would be crossed, shattering the fantasy snow globe I was currently in. I wanted to dance in the snow a little longer.

  Just a little more.

  “Be careful, Tia. Do not fall in love with him.”

  “Lila, I love lots of things about him. His face, his hair, his body—which incidentally is insane, and of course the sex. I love that he makes me laugh and when he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only woman in the world. But I’m not in love with him, I won’t let him into my heart.”

  The last part was the saddest to say. I wasn’t sure why, maybe it’s because if we’d met under different circumstances and he wasn’t who he was, he’d be exactly the kind of guy I’d date.

  “Well then, enjoy the ride.”

  Indeed I intended to.

  So with my work done and my call ended, I did what any rational person would do in my current position.

  Packed a bag.

  Because I was probably going to be a while.

  This was not going to be a hardship.

  It was when I slipped into the cab—my oil-burning Buick left behind for all the previously listed reasons—that it occurred to me I had no idea where Eric was staying. It hadn’t come up in our previous discussions. Important business such as sex got the top billing.

  “Where are we heading?” the cab driver asked, his meter running as we sat out in front of my apartment building in the dark.

  I was still wearing the backless dress I’d worn to dinner, changing into something else a time-consuming option not seriously considered.

  “Give me just a minute.” I pulled out my phone and started typing, sending a quick text message asking him where he was staying.

  The Roosevelt- 45th Street :) Feeling nostalgic? See you soon x

  Oh har-har-ha! Of course, out of all the five-star swanky hotels in the whole of Manhattan, he’d pick The Roosevelt. A not so subtle nod to my hotel—which I never actually stayed in—from L.A. He was too fucking charming.

  I leaned across to the glass and gave the driver the address. “The Roosevelt on 45th street in Manhattan.” A nod all I got in response as he pulled away from the curb and headed into the city.

  Are you naked? You should be naked.

  I typed back trying not to get too excited over the x, aka kiss, left at the end of his message.

  It was probably just habit, a reflex. I had once sent an email signed Love Tia xxx one late night where love or kisses had no business being. He was my seventy-year-old English professor. He wore tweed jackets with elbow patches and loafers—rarely was he amused. The other messages I sent to clarify I didn’t love him or send kisses were just as bad. Never made that mistake again.

  Wearing only a towel. I’ll let you decide if that’s naked enough for you.

  No kiss this time. Interesting. And no, it wasn’t naked enough.

  Not even close, but I’ll take care of it when I get there. Unwrapping is the number one skill listed on my resume. You’re in good hands x

  Fine, so maybe the kiss was intentional. A test. Because clearly I was a masochist and liked to torment myself.

  I like your hands. And everything else.

  Dear Lord in heaven and all the saints. I felt a rush of heat flood my body as I hugged the phone to my chest like an idiot.

  The x was still MIA from his message, but I would deal with its significance—both in the first instance when it appeared, and then it missing in the second—later. I didn’t send a response.

  Instead, I relaxed against the probably questionable cloth seats of a NYC cab and waited until we pulled up to the hotel.

  It was late—past midnight—with the hotel lobby mostly deserted.

  “Can I help you ma’am?” The concierge welcomed me with a smile.

  “Just visiting a friend.” I tried to not advertise I had an overnight pack slung over my shoulder. “I’ll just have to call him and find out what room he’s in.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to help you find your friend.” He smiled tightly. “We just need a name, and a check-in date would be helpful.”

  Wait a minute.

  Did he think I was—?

  “Hey, I’m not a hooker.” My hands flew to my hips, my overnight bag swinging wildly behind me as I stood there glaring. “Not everyone who walks into a hotel late at night, in a nice dress, looking for a friend, is selling their body.”

  “Ma’am, I wasn’t implying—”

  “Yeah, sure you weren’t.” My eyes narrowed. Asshat.

  “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.” His face flushed as I continued to eyeball him, not willing to let him off the hook. “There has been a terrible misunderstanding. I was not and would never imply such a thing. Now, please allow me to find your friend.” The inflection on the word friend, no longer there.

  “His name is Eric—” I stopped.

  He wouldn’t use his actual name to check in would he? No, he wouldn’t. Crap. Why didn’t I ask him who the reservation was under? A room number? Now I definitely looked like a fucking hooker.

  “Just a minute.” I held up my finger as I sifted in my purse for my phone. Sure, I could call Eric tell him I was down in the lobby and ask him to either authorize this jackass to send me up or give me the room number. But that would totally ruin my surprise of knocking on his door and pretending to be housekeeping like a bad porno. Because that was hilarious and I’d never had the opportunity, and something told me Eric would appreciate it. The dirty sex after, I would appreciate.

  “Ryan York. I’m here to see Ryan York,” I responded, my earlier reconnaissance had been fruitful learning Ryan’s last name. I’d also learned he was a Scorpio and his Facebook profile was private, but for now the name was enough.

  “Ahh, yes. Mr. York has two of our bedroom suites.” He looked at me and smiled. “I’ll get someone to escort you.” He waved over a bellboy, who scurried over unbelievably fast.

  “Bill, can you please show this charming lady to Mr. York’s suites, please.” No further details given as he nodded to me and to Bill. Maybe he was telepathically transmitting the room number, or maybe it was common knowledge which rooms Ryan and Eric were occupying.

  “Have a nice evening.” He nodded again as Bill offered to take my bag.

  “I’ve got it.” I kept the bag slung over my shoulder. “It’s not heavy.” My heels echoed off the highly polished floor as he lead me through the ornate lobby to the elevators.

  “Are you here for Ryan or Eric?” A slight smile edged at Bill’s lips as he pressed the button for the floor.

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  Not this again.

  “I’m not a hooker.”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t think you were.” He had the decency to look mortified. “I just meant which of them are you seeing tonight? It seems they always have pretty girls going up to their room. You are really pretty.” He gave me a slightly more enthusiastic smile.

  And now I wished he’d just thought I’d been a hooker.

  Okay, so we had never had the are we going to sleep with anyone else talk. We agreed not to sleep with each other’s friends, which I assumed—probably rather stupidly—that non-friends were included as well. At least until it ended. Fuck, I was naïve.

  “Eric.” I fastened my metaphorical mask as I ignored the part about all the other pretty girls. “I’m here to see Eric.” The doors opening at his name.

  It was like magic, just a whisper of those magical letters and bam—everything opened.

  Doors.

  Legs.

  Stop it.

  “Just there.” Bill pointed to the door in front of us. “Would you like me to knock for you?”

  “No.” I shook my head, scrounging in my purse for some cash. “Thanks.” A scrunched up fiver the best I could do.

  “No problem.
” He accepted the crumpled bill and placed it in his pocket. “Have a nice night.”

  Yeah. All I had to do was tuck that tiny bit of information away. Easy. Not. Gah.

  My fist rattled on the wooden door, my “housekeeping,” not as cheery as I would have liked.

  The door swung open, the aforementioned towel still slung low around his waist, a sexy smile on his lips.

  “New York.” His eyes did a slow head to toe as if seeing me for the first time tonight. “It seems your resume is quite impressive.”

  “Yes, Mr. Larsson.” I played along, my eyelashes batting like a southern belle debutante. “I’m here to clean your room.”

  I hip-swayed right past him, dropping my overnight bag and purse to the floor.

  “It’s not my room that’s dirty.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me in close.

  “Mr. Larsson.” His name rushed out in a breath. “I’d be happy to clean anything that is dirty.” My fingers tiptoed along the top of his towel.

  He laughed as the towel I’d loosened dropped to the floor.

  “Oops, look how clumsy I am.” My hand flew to my mouth in mock horror. “Allow me to pick it up.” I turned, bending at the waist as I picked up the damp towel, my ass remaining in the air.

  “Don’t move.” He came up behind me, his hands resting on my ass. “I want you to stay right there.” His fingers traveled down my legs, moving to the hem of my dress. “I want you.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “And I’ve been waiting all night.”

  For me, or anyone else? My brain asked what my mouth wouldn’t.

  I didn’t move, my hands gripping the towel tighter as I closed my eyes. Five to seven days, enjoy it for God’s sake. Don’t turn needy now.

  “Tia.” His fingers stopped just as they reached the edge of my underwear. “What’s wrong?”

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  FUCK.

  That’s what I should be doing. Instead I’m bent over, Eric Larsson right behind me with his hands up my dress and I’m acting like a fruitcake. God, I was mad. Absolutely pissed beyond measure that my body was listening to my brain. A brain, I might add, that had no business getting involved in any of it.