Friday Afternoon

by Sylvia Ryan

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

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  Playing the Game by M.Q. Barber

  Chapter 1

  Three flights separated Alice’s apartment from the ground floor, but she didn’t notice a single step Friday morning. She raced the daylight, as if getting to work sooner would make it end sooner, too. Warp time to deposit her at the dinner with friends she’d anticipated for days. With Henry at the helm, dinner couldn’t be less than divine.

  She emerged from the stairwell with a growing grin for the man crossing the lobby with sketchbook in hand. A suit and tie, sans coat, though it wasn’t eight yet and he didn’t have an office to go to. Did he not own jeans?

  “Morning, Henry.”

  “And a good morning to you, Alice. What a beautiful vision for the end of my walk.”

  She shook her head. He could charm a thief out of robbing him and call it common courtesy. “Out people-watching?”

  “Yes, the sunrise first–the sky offered up lovely hues this morning–and then the early morning joggers. Exercise for them, and an exercise in the movement of light and shadow for me. Now it’s time to see if Jay has slept through his alarm. Are you off to work, my dear?”

  “Got it in one. What gave me away, the basic black pantsuit or the overloaded satchel?” She twirled, knowing he wouldn’t take her flirtation as an invitation. Henry had whatever he had with Jay. The safest sexy guys I know.

  “Simply the time of day and knowledge of your schedule,” Henry demurred, his gaze flicking over her form. “Though you do look quite striking in basic black. Have you any plans for the evening?”

  He managed to look innocent asking. As if he hadn’t left a note on her door a week ago asking for the pleasure of her company.

  She lowered her voice to a faux-secretive whisper. “Yeah, with my crazy neighbors. Can you believe this guy? He not only remembers the first anniversary of my move-in date, but he offers to cook dinner to celebrate.”

  “He sounds like quite the catch.” He waggled his eyebrows. “The sort of gentleman who might also remember you often neglect to eat breakfast.”

  He held out a brown paper bag with a folded-over top.

  “You got me breakfast?” She took the bag and peered inside. Apple fritter. Her mouth watered. “My favorite. Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

  “Oh? And if I declared my undying devotion?” He clasped his sketchpad against his chest. “Here in the lobby, at this very moment? I suppose I could get down on one knee.”

  She snorted and adopted an airy tone. “Don’t be absurd. I insist you don’t wrinkle your trousers for me, good sir. Why, it’s entirely undignified.” She broke off a piece of fritter and took a bite. Yum. “Besides, I dumped the last guy who tried that romance crap on me.”

  “I suppose that would make declaring my love inadvisable.” He released a heavy, mocking sigh. “The fritter, however, is acceptable?”

  “Delicious.” She reached for another bite. “And real. Love’s fake. The convenient excuse people give for making stupid decisions. I have a strict no-love policy.”

  “Ah. Is that why Jay and I haven’t seen beaus knocking at your door in months?”

  “It’s not like I have a no-sex policy. I just keep things short. Simple. Well defined.” She popped the fritter piece in her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “A couple of months, max. After that, you have to worry about moving in together. Awkward proposals about moving across the country to stay together. Pretty soon, you’ve been married for years and forgotten how to be your own person.”

  She wasn’t going to end up in that situation and call it love. The word was a four-letter excuse, a chemical reaction tricking the brain into thinking it wanted something it didn’t. The way Mom thought she wanted to watch Dad pop pills and forget they’d ever been a happy family. The way her college boyfriend had thought she’d finish her degree at a different school once he graduated.

  “Not me,” she said. “I avoid love altogether. Thanks for the pastry, though. That, I’m happy to accept.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Alice. Have a lovely day. We’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Seven sharp. I’ll be there.” She darted outside, waving over her shoulder.

  Henry was a nice guy. A good friend. Definitely fuckable. So was his roommate. Boyfriend. Whatever Jay was. She sighed.

  That chest. Mmm. Thank God for finding this apartment.

  * * * *

  Her old place had screamed slum in a shithole neighborhood waiting on urban revival. The charming atmosphere had kept her tense every night from subway stop to front door. She’d split the rent with three near strangers and squirreled money away.

  Leases lurched from August to August in a college town like Boston, and moving day meant a mad scramble for scarce resources. Her roommate’s quasi boyfriend coughed up his van with conditions. Fuck if she’d pay the blowjob fee for failing to get the van back on time and undamaged.

  The hungry parking meter, though, sucked down quarter after quarter. The faster she got everything upstairs, the less money she’d spend. A few cars puttered past at school-zone speeds, and even fewer pedestrians meandered by on Saturday strolls.

  A guy on a bike turned the corner down the block. He rode slow, lazy maybe, or cooling down after a workout.

  She pulled open the van, its innards packed to the roof, and hoisted a box in both arms.

  “Soonest started, soonest finished,” she muttered, hustling toward her new home from the closest parking spot she’d found, about three buildings down.

  The grinding whirr of backpedaling heralded the cyclist on the far side of the parked cars lining the street. She looked away, passed four more cars and glanced left. The cyclist had kept pace as she approached her door.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  “Looks the other way around to me.” He hopped off the bike, hefted it over one arm and joined her on the sidewalk. “Moving in?”

  She wasn’t above ogling bike boy’s tight shorts and the sweat-wicking shirt hugging his biceps. Telling a strange man where she lived and inviting him up, however, contradicted common sense no matter how much his body reminded her she hadn’t gotten laid in months.

  She yanked open the outer door and resettled the box as it rocked in her arms. Stepping into the mailbox vestibule, she fumbled for the keychain dangling from her belt loop.

  “Here, let me.”

  Alice stepped back against the bank of mailboxes, about to go off on this arrogant ass who thought he’d follow her in and charm his way into feeling her up. Until he produced his own key and unlocked the inner door.

  “We can prop that open, you know, so moving won’t be such a hassle.”

  She envied his athletic grace as he balanced the bike over one shoulder and held the door.

  “Thanks. That’s, umm, I’ll do that.”

  He nodded. She stared.

  “Ladies first.”

  Oops. He’d been waiting on her.

  “I mean, I can hold the door all day. I don’t have any plans, and my muscles are totally up to it. I don’t want you to doubt that, but eventually somebody’s gonna need to open their mailbox.”

  “Sorry, I was…yeah. How about I go in now?” She hurried past, catching a whiff of clean male sweat. How far had he ridden this morning?

  The stairs beckoned, back and to the right.

  The door clicked closed, and footsteps on the stairs echoed her own. They followed her down the hallway toward her studi
o, where she’d left the door cracked. She pinned bike boy with an over-the-shoulder stare.

  “I’m giving off stalker vibe, right? Sorry. I’m across the hall. Jay. I’d offer to shake hands, but, well, bike.” He jostled the bike on his right shoulder. “And you’ve got–” He gestured at her with the other hand. “Whatever’s in the box, so…”

  “Alice,” she said. “Ignore me, I’m paranoid. But I should get going. I have to finish moving before the van’s owner decides I owe him an overage charge.” She repressed a shudder. No way in hell was she paying the on-your-knees fees. “Nice meeting you, though.”

  “Of course.” He grinned and winked. “It’s always nice meeting me. People tell me that all the time.”

  He slipped past her toward the door on the other side of the hall and disappeared inside.

  She used the box to push the door open wide. Cute guy, but full of himself. She wasn’t looking right now anyway. No harm in looking, though, right?

  She set the box in the center of the tiny space. One down, two dozen to go. Plus the furniture, though hers consisted of a futon, a battered trunk, and a floor lamp.

  Leaving the door open, she tromped downstairs, pacing herself so she wouldn’t run out of steam. At least moving out hadn’t required navigating stairs. A search of the lobby floor turned up a cracked brick to prop the inner door.

  Her stomach growled as she scooped another box from the van and made for the door. She bobbled the box against her left arm, stretching out her right hand. She hadn’t found the handle yet when the door opened.

  “Okay there, Alice? I thought we were gonna prop this puppy open.” Jay, bikeless, still wore riding clothes.

  Wait, we? He wanted to help? Either he was hard up or she looked like the most pathetic, desperate girl in town. Even friends demanded bribes to tote boxes. This guy had known her all of five minutes.

  “Yeah, I haven’t grabbed anything for this door yet. But you don’t–I mean, I’m fine. I’ve got everything handled.”

  “Okay. Sure.” He nodded. “You should get out of the sun. That fair skin’s already pinking up.”

  She slid past him, her leg brushing his, her shoulder grazing his chest. They’d be neighbors for the next year at the least. Would this Jay be a nice guy or a creep? She crossed her fingers and hoped for the former.

  “Thanks for holding the door.”

  He shrugged. “I was on my way out.”

  “Oh! Okay.” God, she’d assumed he was offering to help. Fuck it. He hadn’t seemed offended, and worrying would be a waste of time. “See you around.”

  “Yep, I’m sure you will. I’m hard to miss.”

  She shook her head, trying not to encourage his egotistical comedy antics, and climbed the stairs once more. The place mimicked a free gym with all the stair-mastering she could handle and then some.

  She set the second box beside the first, two brown cubes in a bare white room. The August heat made the room stuffy. She unsnapped the latches on the windows and raised the lower panes. The view showcased the alley where a handful of residents paid exorbitant fees for unmetered parking, but the breeze satisfied.

  A knock came from behind her, three firm raps, and an unfamiliar male voice followed.

  “Alice?”

  A man stood in her doorway. Mid-thirties, maybe a little older, neatly trimmed light brown hair, smartly dressed in dark gray slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. Oddly out-of-place sandals.

  “Can I help you?”

  “My apologies. You must, of course, be Alice, quite as Jay described you. I’m Henry. I share the apartment across the hall with Jay. I thought I might introduce myself and invite you over for a snack. Lunch, if you’d prefer. Moving is draining work. I try to avoid it myself.”

  “What, moving or work?” Wonder if this Henry knows he’s living with a serial flirt.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Touche. Both, in fact. But you won’t tempt me into a doorway discussion, neighbor. I insist we get acquainted properly over a meal.”

  He was without a doubt the most formal man she’d ever met. He wasn’t even crossing the line of the door. Weird, but sweet. Timid? Courteous? Fuck. She didn’t want a bad start with her neighbors.

  “I’d love to, but I’m in the middle of the whole moving thing, and I need to get it done first. I have to return the van today.”

  “Oh? I don’t see how that’s a problem. Have you run into Jay? He was supposed to–”

  “Stand aside, coming through!” Jay’s voice rang through the hallway at full volume.

  Henry stepped back.

  “Really, Jay?” Henry wore a small smile as he shook his head.

  Jay came through the door with two boxes piled in his arms and set them beside the others.

  “You’re not wearing a shirt,” she blurted, too busy ogling his chest to censor herself.

  He was well muscled, for sure. Firm. Lean and very, very firm. Willpower alone kept her eyes, but not her thoughts, above his waist.

  “Yes, Jay, by all means, explain how you lost your shirt between here and the curb. I’m dying to know, and I’d wager our new neighbor is as well.”

  Henry returned to the doorway, standing with ridiculously perfect posture. Would asking if he’d taken ballet be rude?

  Jay flashed her a smile. “Wadded up as a doorstop.” He turned toward Henry. “We had one stop for two doors, so–you know how much I love math. Back in a minute with more. Shouldn’t you be putting lunch on the table? I’m absolutely killing this move. Forty-five minutes, an hour, tops.”

  He disappeared before Alice wrapped her head around the idea.

  She scurried to the door and popped her head out. No dice.

  “Wait, he’s–I should–I can move my stuff myself.”

  “Of course you can.”

  Wow. She gripped the doorframe as Henry spoke inches from her ear. His smooth voice made her want to drink it in.

  “You appear quite fit. But you’ll remove a source of ridiculous male pride if you don’t allow Jay to complete the lion’s share of the task. Did you pack the vehicle yourself?”

  She laughed, stepping back to put space between them.

  “If you knew my old roommates, you wouldn’t have to ask. I woke up at eight to load the van, and at that hour, on a Saturday? They have three states: asleep, hungover or still drunk. Today I had two sleepers and one angry hangover victim telling me to can the noise.”

  “Not one lifted a finger?”

  She shook her head. After two years with her roommates, she’d probably interacted with them less than she had with her new neighbors in the first twenty minutes.

  “Well, then, you see? You’ve already accomplished more than half of the work. Jay will simply do the rest.”

  “He doesn’t even know me. I should–”

  “Nonsense.” Henry gestured her into the hall. “You’ve worked all morning. You ought to sit down and have a drink. Water? Lemonade? Iced tea?”

  She glanced toward the staircase and then in the other direction, past his welcoming arm. She didn’t know this guy, not either of these guys, and she was going to saunter into their apartment like some horror-movie idiot opening the basement door?

  “I can bring the food to you, if you prefer. I would hate for our new neighbor to feel herself a fly walking into my parlor.”

  “Why, are you a spider?” She winced at the unintentional flirtation in her tone.

  “I wouldn’t think so, no, but then wouldn’t I tell you the same thing if I were?” He raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched.

  “You’ve got the charming part down well enough.”

  It was nearly lunchtime. She didn’t want to carry boxes all afternoon. Was it too damsel-in-distress to give the job to a cute neighbor? It wasn’t as if she’d coerced him. She hadn’t been in distress or pretended to be. Jay was thoughtful, or something.

  She narrowed her eyes at Henry. “I guess I’ll have to trust this isn’t a trap and you guys don’t kill undesirable
neighbors on their first day in the building.”

  “Oh, no, not the first day. We prefer to let them settle in first. Today, you’re perfectly safe. Though whoever called you undesirable was quite mistaken.” He frowned and waved a hand. “I apologize for how such a statement could be misconstrued. It appears Jay’s habits are rubbing off on me.”

  Considering her ex-roommates’ habits, neighbors with a predilection for charm held incomparable appeal. Especially if they were single.

  “He does seem to be a flirt,” she agreed.

  “When he wants to be,” Henry said. “But now we’ve been standing in the doorway entirely too long, and I haven’t–”

  “Seriously?” Jay’s voice boomed from the stairs. “I’m back with two more boxes–told you I was killing it–and you haven’t gotten Alice a drink? You’re slipping, Henry. She might die of thirst.”

  Alice stepped into the hall, following Henry out of Jay’s way. “I’m not dying of thirst. But if you’re determined to show off your macho skills, I’ll go have that lemonade. I’ve never played Southern belle before. I think I need a veranda and a fan.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” Henry’s arm moved as though he intended to sweep it against her back and carry her along with him, but stopped short.

  She itched with the desire to lean back and find out how his touch felt.

  “Jay, when you’ve finished, join us for lunch on the roof deck.”

  “Aye-aye, Cap’n.” Jay winked at Alice, lowering his voice to a faux-whisper as he approached her door. “Consider it payment for moving the boxes. Keep Henry company while he waxes melodic about lettuce or something. Please. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  She glanced at Henry’s expression, a sort of resigned fondness, as though Jay had said something expected. Hiding her smile, she matched Jay’s tone. “What an astonishing coincidence. He said the same thing about you when he asked me to please find enough boxes to occupy you all afternoon.”