by Amy Brent
“You think so?” I asked, turning back to it.
“Yeah. And that view. That’s hard to beat.”
“I still can’t believe I can afford a view like this in Portland, but the price was right I guess.”
I heard a cork pop behind me and whipped my head around. Seemingly from out of nowhere, he had two champagne flutes between his fingers. He poured us each a glass as he walked toward me, kicking his shoes off before he did so.
“Where were you stashing those?” I asked as he handed me a glass.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he said with a wink.
“To new homes and new adventures. Sometimes it takes an injury to heal and move forward.”
“Wiser words have never been spoken,” he said.
We clinked our glasses and silently sipped our champagne.
“My gosh this is good,” I said. “And don’t tell me how much it cost. I might just stop drinking it.”
“My lips are sealed,” Ryan said.
“Something tells me you aren’t simply here to celebrate my move-in day.”
“I admit I wanted to check up on you. Why didn’t you tell me you and Adam had ended things?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it. I cried over it, and then I wanted to move forward. I don’t want to bring that world to work any longer. What’s done is done, and the only thing to do is press on.”
“But you know you can talk to me.”
“Of course I know that,” I said. “But I was tired of crying. And I knew if I talked, I would cry.”
“There’s nothing wrong with crying.”
“There is when you’re me.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because it makes me feel weak.”
“Crying doesn’t make you weak, Kylie.”
“It doesn’t make someone weak, but personally? It makes me feel weak. There’s a difference.”
“Fair enough.”
I turned my head up to him and furrowed my brow.
“What? Did you expect me to keep debating it with you?”
“I guess I did,” I said.
“That’s how you feel. I’m not the determiner of how you feel. I don’t get to dictate how something makes you feel.”
It was an odd concept, especially after being with someone who had enjoyed trying to determine how something should’ve made me feel.
“Do you have any furniture for your deck?” Ryan asked.
“I’m going to head out today and find some,” I said.
“I think a nice little set of wrought-iron furniture would look great out there. Some small cushions, a glass-top table.”
“I was thinking wicker furniture.”
“You want to sit on weeds?”
I looked up at him as I wrinkled my nose. “What?” I asked.
“I hate wicker. I don’t know why anyone would want to sit on weeds. The second you sit on it, the material sounds like it’s breaking. The furniture is literally breaking as you sit on it.”
I began to laugh as Ryan’s face morphed into some sort of mock disgust.
“Well not all of us are packed with seventy pounds of muscle,” I said.
“But what if you bring someone around who is packed with seventy pounds of muscle? Are you going to make them sit on your furniture made of weeds?”
“It’s not made of dandelions, Ryan. It’s wicker.”
“Which is another way to spell ‘worthless weeds.’”
I threw my head back in laughter, filling my apartment with a happiness I hadn’t experienced in weeks. Months even. Ryan’s chuckle sloped over my body and draped me in a warmth I couldn’t deny. Or maybe it was the champagne.
The champagne seemed like a good culprit.
Not the laugh of my ex’s father.
“Is there anything I can do, Kylie? Anything you need?”
My jovial laughter came to a halt as I brought my champagne to my lips. I drew in a deep breath, contemplating the seriousness of his tone. I knew if I asked, he would give it to me. Whatever I needed, he would make sure it happened. That was another foreign concept to me. I wasn’t sure what to ask for even if I did need something. What did I need? I needed to not hurt. Could he help me not hurt? I needed for Adam to get his shit and get out of my life. Would he take his son’s stuff with him and get it out of my sight?
I flickered my gaze up to him as I cleared my throat.
“No,” I said before I took a sip of my drink. “But thank you for being so supportive. And for refusing to take sides even though you’re my ex’s father. I appreciate that.”
“I have taken a side actually. I don’t ever take a man’s side when he’s mistreating a woman, not even if that man is my son.”
I looked into his eyes as his body turned toward mine.
I moved with his body, facing him instead of the view. I gazed into his eyes, watching the entire city of Portland reflect back at me in his oceanic gaze. My heart fluttered in my chest as I held my champagne flute at my side, forgetting about the tingling carbonation that tickled my nose. My gaze danced within Ryan’s as he took a step forward, blanketing me in a heat I’d become all too comforted by.
“Kylie.”
“Yeah?” I asked breathlessly.
“I’ve tried to fight it.”
My eyes fell to his lips as his free hand came up to cup my cheek.
“I need you to know that I tried.”
His thumb stroked across my cheek, sending a blazing fire roaring in my gut.
“Stop trying,” I said in a whisper.
And before I could blink, his hand guided me to his lips.
His arm hooked underneath mine, falling to my waist and pulling me into him. I stood on my tiptoes, pressing my lips against his as his chest swelled against mine. His lips tasted of champagne and lewd desires and his tongue felt like maturity and responsibility. His tongue slid against my lips, asking for entrance rather than taking what was in his arms. I slipped my arms around his neck, pulling myself even closer to him as I stood on the very tips of my toes. He wrapped his strong arms around me, his every waking muscle pulsing as our tongues collided.
He groaned into me and pressed me into the glass doors.
I breathed him in, took in the scent of his cologne as his hand ran down my leg. He gripped my thigh, hiking it up and smoothing his hand over my skin. His touch was electric. His mouth ignited a fire in my gut I couldn't ignore. Weeks of tension that I’d ignored between us exploded against my face and shot fireworks off in my mind. I slid my tongue along his. I rolled my hips into his. He pulled back his lips and pressed his forehead against mine, panting in time with the rapid beating of my heart.
“What the actual fuck is going on?”
Ryan’s entire body tensed as Adam’s voice barreled in from the open doorway.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Kylie? Dad?”
Of course he came now. The one moment when his untimely mannerism would’ve been a welcomed notion, he barged in exactly on time, on the exact day at the exact time I told him I would be settling into my apartment.
I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to leave me alone and leave us alone so I could explore the cannon that had exploded in my gut and left me breathless. But Ryan pulled his hands away from my body. The only thing I could think was how much I wanted them to come back.
How much I wanted him to come back.
Part II
Ryan
I stepped away from Kylie, trying to figure out how to dissolve the tension of the situation. It was clear Kylie was uncomfortable, and as my eyes lifted to look out at the surprisingly great view she had from her apartment, I caught my son’s reflection in the window. He stood in the entryway of the home, his feet concealed by the box of what I assumed was his stuff sitting on the floor. His fists were clenched and his nostrils flared, and slowly, his shoulders started to roll back.
Posturing.
Had I taught my son nothing? A man didn’t posture when he was
upset. A man didn’t make his body grow when he was distraught—especially when the distressful nature was caused by the likes of a woman. A man kept his voice calm, his confident demeanor intact, and still treated the woman with respect. No matter how she came at him and no matter what she did, the man always needed to keep the upper hand emotionally. A man had to keep a cool head and never give a woman any reason to fear for her safety.
It was as if none of the values I’d raised my son with had stuck.
“Adam, I can explain,” Kylie said.
She took a step forward before I jutted out my arm. I stopped her in her tracks, and she whipped her gaze up to mine, surprise flooding her features. This wasn’t an issue she was going to take on headfirst. Adam was upset, and rightfully so. Despite how he had treated Kylie throughout the past few weeks and despite what he had just walked in on, Adam did have a reason to be upset.
But she wasn’t going to field his anger any longer.
Not with me around.
“No, thanks. I’ve seen all I need. Where’s the rest of my shit?” Adam asked.
“You watch that language,” I said as I turned around.
“Why? Because I’m in the presence of my ex-girlfriend sucking face with my father?” he asked.
“No. Because men don’t address women with the kind of tone you currently don.”
“That’s all of it,” Kylie said. “That box at your feet. You picked up the rest throughout this past week.”
“You can take your things and leave,” I said.
“With no due respect whatsoever, stay out of this…Dad.”
His tone was icy, and Kylie’s eye twitch at the sound of it. Adam bent down and picked up the box before eyeing her coldly. I wanted to step in front of her, to shield her from the anger my son was hellbent on tossing her way. But she seemed to be holding her own just fine. Adam turned his eyes to me one last time, shook his head, then muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Nothing, Father.”
Adam made his way down the hallway, stomping like a petulant toddler.
The tension from the room left with him, and Kylie let out a breath I hadn’t known she’d been holding. I looked down at her and watched her shoulders settle into their rightful place. She glanced up at me with a forlorn stare, and I wanted to take her back into my arms and kiss it away. I wanted to resume where we had been and paint her body with my lips until the only memory she had was of my name.
Then I’d make her forget that too.
“I’m sorry, Kylie. I have no idea what kind of man my son has turned into,” I said.
“You don’t need to apologize. I was just caught up in the rush of things.”
I furrowed my brow as she took a step away from me.
“I’ve just been incredibly emotional lately, so right now it’s easy for me to get wrapped up in moments that fly by my head.”
“I wasn’t apologizing for the kiss.”
Her head whipped over to me as she stood by her couch. It really did look good in her apartment. I had known it would the second I saw it. Getting the furniture passed her purview had been difficult, but I’d finally gotten some of my coworkers on board with my idea. I had purchased all the furniture for her once I’d caught wind from Adam about their breakup. He’d called the day after, sounding downtrodden and alone. That had meant Kylie was in even worse shape. And since all my top-shop employees had been congratulating her on her impending move and trying to usher her into the company family, it had been easy to pawn off the new furniture I’d bought for her as coworker gifts.
Yep. All the furniture suited her new space perfectly.
I wanted to mark all of it with us.
“Well, I am,” Kylie said. “On a professional level, it was a massive line overstepped. And on a personal level, it’s still a massive line overstepped. I’m sorry.”
“Apology not accepted,” I said.
“Well, I’m still giving it.”
“And that’s fine.”
“Please accept it.”
“I won’t.”
“Ryan.”
How I wished my name tumbled off her lips for a different reason.
“Apology accepted,” I said.
But deep down, I’d never accept it. What had happened between the two of us hadn’t been a mistake. And I knew she was only making excuses. Kylie was overwhelmed, and rightfully so. Within the span of five weeks, she had taken on a corporate position, agreed to move in with her longtime boyfriend, broken up with said boyfriend, and now lived in a new place she was unfamiliar with. Her emotions were probably flying throughout her body at a million miles a second, and as I took the time to study her, I saw how nervous she really was.
She was curling her bare toes into the carpet like she did at work sometimes, fiddling with the bed of that nail she tried to conceal, chewing on the inside of her lip.
Kylie was worked up beyond recognition, and I wanted to be the one to relax her.
I knew she felt what I felt. Throughout the past couple weeks, something had grown between us that I hadn’t been able to shake. It had been easier to do when she had been dating my son, but that encounter on my couch at my home had opened my eyes to the wealth of maturity Kylie had behind her beautiful stare. Sure, she was gorgeous. She had light-brown hair that spilled between her shoulder blades whenever it was down, hazel eyes with specks of gold that shone whenever the sun hit her just right from behind in her office, long legs that tapered into thick hips. There was a dip in her waist that called to my hands every damn time I set my eyes on her. She had voluptuous breasts she kept tastefully hidden from view during work and rosy-red cheeks that fit perfectly in the divot of my chest.
But there was more to Kylie than that.
That day on my couch while sharing that bottle of champagne with her, I had found out how mature she really was for her age. How intelligent and intuitive she was. Her words and wisdom were well beyond her years, and the more I spoke with her, the more intelligent I found her to be. She was incomparable when it came to her professional work. She could run calculations in her head on the spot that stunned even the brightest of my investors. She worked well with the team I had assembled for my corporate lifestyle. Doug was especially fond of her for her talents and organizational skills, though I was keeping an eye on that—especially with his penchant for younger women.
Kylie was more than a pretty face. She was a powerhouse of a woman to be reckoned with.
“What?”
Her voice pulled me from my trance, and my eyes trained on hers.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m sure you have a lot of settling in to do. I’ll leave you to it.”
“I do. A friend of mine is coming back over later. She’s going to help me unpack throughout the weekend before I come back into work on Monday.”
I was glad the pronoun Kylie used was “she.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it. But if you need anything—anything at all—you know how to get in touch with me.”
“That I do,” she said.
Against everything inside myself, I put one foot in front of the other and left her behind. I left her in that apartment alone with her thoughts and the events that had just transpired. But one thing was for certain. One thing would not happen so long as I was around to moderate the situation.
Adam would not come at her like that in private.
Ever.
Kylie
“I think this patio furniture is perfect for out here, especially since this railing is wrought iron as well.”
Alyssa sipped her glass of wine as I thought back to my conversation with Ryan. He had been on my mind all weekend. That kiss had been on my mind every second of the unpacking Alyssa and I had done. My apartment was unpacked and decorated, and still the feeling of his warmth against my lips lingered.
But the pain in Adam’s eyes before he had turned to stone was etched into my memory forever.
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“Okay,” Alyssa said. “What’s up?”
“I’m just tired,” I said.
“No, you’re not tired. You might be worn out, but you’re certainly not tired. I know you when you’re tired. So, are we having a pizza conversation, a Chinese conversation, or a more wine conversation?”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I asked.
“When there’s boy drama, we talk over pizza. When there’s work drama, we talk over Chinese. But when there’s salaciously good drama, we talk over more wine.”
“No, we don’t.”
“New traditions for new places,” she said as she leaned back in her chair. “So, which is it going to be tonight?”
I snickered and shook my head as I crossed my leg over my knee.
“It’s a ‘more wine conversation’ then.”
“Please do not tell me you and Adam have gotten up to something. Please tell me you’re about to indulge in the hot-ass rebound you had in your apartment last night,” Alyssa said.
“What? No,” I said. “But something did happen the first day I moved in, and I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Wait. It happened four days ago and I’m just now hearing about it?”
“It’s pretty substantial,” I said.
“Should I fill up our glasses first?”
“Yes, I really think you should.”
Alyssa squealed and scurried inside to get the bottle of wine we had opened. And I had to admit, Ryan was right. The wrought-iron furniture didn’t only fit the balcony, but the cushions, which came along with it, provided a comfortable seating area. And the glass-top table would be easy to clean while withstanding the wear and tear of Portland’s weather.
“All right,” Alyssa said as she filled up my glass. “Spill for momma.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said.
“Oh, stalling. That’s always good. Can I try to guess it?”
“Sure,” I said with a giggle. “You just try.”
“Did you kiss the cute front desk attendant downstairs?”
“I knew you’d take stock of him,” I said with a grin. “But no.”
