by Alex Rosa
“Noah, what’s your dad do?”
He steps out of the elevator, turns to his right, walking up to a door I never would have noticed. Its dark charcoal color blends in with the walls of the quiet hallway, and Noah surprises me by pulling out a ring of keys.
“He’s a cop.”
“You’re a cop.” I sputter, bemused.
He stops his movements, and turns to face me. “Yeah, I am.”
I shrug. “That’s interesting.”
The keys in his hand jingle nervously. “Is it?”
I wonder if this is an off-limits topic.
“Yeah, it is. Did you always want to be a cop?”
Noah stiffens for the second time this evening. “Yes.”
I don’t know what compels me to spring forward to be at his side, but I do it anyway. “What’s wrong?”
“I just hope I’m a good cop. I had a rough beginning. It’s hard to explain. He’s a tough man to please.”
I want to touch him now. I want to drag my fingertips over the stubble on his jaw, but I don’t, no matter how much the droop in his eyes beckons me to.
Peering up into his eyes, the contact is like a fishing line, reeling him back to me. “I’m sure you’re an amazing cop. Care to explain it to me sometime? Not today, just some day. If you want.”
I clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep them from moving while I watch his slow smile appear.
He nods, and then jingles the keys between us. The sound echoes off the empty hallway walls. I live on the third floor, but this building has thirty.
“What are those?” I ask. This time I allow my hands to participate as I flick at the keys dangling mere inches away from his broad chest.
“Keys.”
I can’t help my reflexive exhale at hearing Noah’s familiar playful tone. “I know that. Are you a stalker or something? How do you have keys to my building?”
He chuckles, and my insides melt again. “So, remember how we just clarified my profession? Well, being a cop has its perks, and it all has to do with who you know. I just happen to be gifted with the keys to the city.”
His double eyebrow raise isn’t fooling me. I fold my arms over my chest, and raise my own instigative brow.
“Okay-Okay,” he chuckles. “I might have a firefighter friend who helped me out. Regardless, do you have any idea how awesome your view is in this part of the city?”
“I think I should be freaked out by your stalker tendencies. Key to my building? Really, Noah?”
He shakes his head, dismissing the comment with a smirk as he turns back to the door. “I think you’ll thank me in a moment.”
I watch him frantically unlock the metal monstrosity of a door. It flies open, and let’s in a harsh, icy, gust of wind.
I squint through the bits of snow that blow inside, but I’m too drawn to the glittering lights. My feet shuffle forward of their own accord. The snowflakes hit my face, melting instantly against my flushed skin, reminding me that I’m in a constant hormonal blunder when near Noah. I smile at the thought until my boots crunch onto a hard layer of snow.
I’m mesmerized and refreshed all at once. I inhale a deep, liberating breath. The frigid air burns wonderfully down my throat, and I can’t get over this view.
I’m high above the city. Well, enough for me to get an incredible birds eye view. I’m on top of a monster among the mass of urban jungle, and the sparkling lights are enchanting. Maybe this city is more like a fairy tale than I thought. A cement and steel one, but still.
My limbs no longer want to listen, and without looking I reach out into the darkness behind me for Noah, wanting to bring him close.
I grasp at nothing but air. I force myself to turn away from the skyline to find him.
He’s standing to my left, and already staring at me. Why isn’t he enjoying the view too? I want to tell him to stare with me, but the fog of his breathing catches my attention, giving his shallow breaths away. How long has he been staring at me?
My hand is still reaching out for him, and I don’t know whether to thank the lustful-poltergeist who’s taken control over my body, or to banish it.
Like my fingertips wield some sense of magic, he takes two steps toward my outstretched hand, allowing me to grab a clump of his jacket. I pull him further.
He’s playing along. It’s adorable, really, and he knows it as I watch the goofy grin widen in unison with his appreciatively glittering eyes that match the skyline behind him.
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip, trying to hide my smile, knowing that my favorite game all night has been battling his cozy, yet intense gaze with a look of my own.
He’s such a handsomely peculiar man. However, everything about him oozes charm that warms me from the inside out, like drinking hot buttered rum on a snow day. It’s that look that grabs ahold of me, like his touch that I’ve been fighting like a case of the flu.
“I know you’re against first-date kisses and all, but you’re making it pretty damn difficult, Jules.”
There’s no hiding my loud gasp, and I watch Noah’s tongue lick over his lips.
With his jacket still within my tight grip, I can’t fight it any longer. I don’t want to.
I yank him down toward me, crashing my lips to his.
He’s warmer than I imagined, and softer, too. Noah’s lips mold over mine with ease, as if he was prepared to make the same move at any moment.
His arms come around my waist, pulling me flush against him, causing the thermostat in my body to spike, regardless of the winter around us.
Noah’s lips command mine with each lapping stroke until he finally coaxes my mouth open and darts his tongue into my mouth. I moan at his taste, tangling my tongue around his.
His hands tighten on my waist, his thumbs sliding over the waistband of my pants, skimming over bare skin. He tastes of the coffee we had after ice-skating, and feels like the sunshine that I hate to admit I miss.
He pulls away, breaking our contact and out of breathe. “I can see why you don’t like to kiss on the first date now.”
I’m grinning like a loon and his mock-seriousness is all the more appealing.
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s obviously dangerous.”
This time we both join in laughter, and when the sounds meet, I have to admit it has me starting to like this city.
Noah does his best to restrain his boyish glee as we exit the elevator. I rub at my swollen lips as we walk toward my front door, and I worry our laughter is going to wake up the neighbors. The sound of a door slamming makes me think so.
We stop in front of #3C, my apartment. I let go of his hand, and swivel around, knowing that if I wasn’t a hormonal mess pre-Noah-kiss, I’m surely a dripping-wet, chaotic blunder of hormones now.
My heart is conflicted though, going back and forth between flutter, and coming to a halt, which means my insides are battling lust and guilt all at once. I can’t place where it's coming from. My ex is four thousand miles away, and Troy is, well, fuck Troy. None of that matters.
“I had a really nice night, Noah. Now, are you going to call me?” I ask repeating my question from earlier this evening.
Noah hasn’t been able to say much since being on the roof of my building, and sure enough his hands reach for my face, pulling me into another kiss.
I gasp at the abrupt contact, but quickly acclimate. Noah teasingly dips his tongue into my mouth as if to get one final taste before finally pulling away.
I feel drunk as I look up and grin at him,
“Of course. I’d also like to take you out again, sooner rather than later.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not in the mood to argue with that.”
He’s still so close, and I’m tempted to ask him if he’d like to come inside for a drink, but I’ve already crossed all the lines that I had hope of drawing, and asking that will only lead to more.
“And you say you aren�
�t ready for New York?”
I wrinkle my nose at him hinting at my attitude.
He leans in again and kisses me. It’s supposed to be brief, but this time I don’t let him get away so easily. I allow myself a few more lapping strokes as Noah’s hand slides up my neck, and into my hair.
He pulls away suddenly, leaning his forehead against mine, and his eyes close as if in prayer.
“Jules?”
I lick over my wet lips. “Yeah?”
“Remember how I told you I had manners?”
“Um, yeah?” I lean into his hand, still cradling my face.
“Well, I’d like to keep them in good standing, and if I stay here and kiss you some more, I won’t be able to control myself.”
I nod, and realize I should be embarrassed. Noah is showing more restraint than me.
“I’ll call you,” he breathes out again as confirmation, and pulls away completely. A noticeable gulp of his Adams-apple happens as his eyes linger on my face, and then drag over my body.
“Okay,” I whisper into the quiet hallway. “Bye, Noah.”
The corner of his mouth rises, and my lower half recoils in that way I can’t define, like the thing between my legs is wetting itself over its secret.
“Bye, Jules.”
And just like that, he leaves.
I stand out in the hallway a moment, just staring at the place he once occupied, so incredibly thankful that finally an amazing thing happened to me in this city. I’ve been doing nothing but fighting people and working. This feels nice. This even feels normal.
“You lucky bitch” echoes into the hallway a mere twenty feet away from me at the end of the hall.
My eyes go wide as I swing my stare to lock onto a hazel glare I know better than I thought, except the outer rim of her gold irises look bloodshot, and the pixie-cut blond hugs a pint of Ben & Jerry’s close.
I wipe at my swollen lips, embarrassed. How long has she been standing there?
“Excuse me?”
She takes a spoonful of her ice cream, and swallows it with more grace than I’d ever be able to manage. Even now I’m in awe with what looks like her to be a sobbing mess. She’s still stunning. Her worn tank top with the lettering FIDM stretch across her breasts, and with her low hanging pajama bottoms, she still manages to look immaculate. How is that humanly possible?
She rubs at her eyes and streaks mascara across her cheek. Okay, I take that back. She’s not so immaculate now.
“Sorry. I’m just, like—” she exclaims a loud huff of frustration. “—You’ve been here, what? Five minutes. You just moved in, right? From outta town?” I nod, wondering if she’s been taking notice of me as much as I have of her and if I’m that obvious. “Well, how the hell did you manage to snag a guy like that?”
“It was a fluke, trust me.”
She lets out a shockingly high-pitched laugh. I cringe at the sound, but can’t help my smile.
I eye her tight grip on the ice cream again, and put together the pieces of the scene. I take a timid step toward her. “Are you, um, okay?”
She puts down her ice cream on what I can assume is a small end table near her door. “No, actually I’m not. I didn’t mean to catch you with that guy, but I’m kind of going through a crisis right now, and he seems … nice.”
I nod through the word nice wondering if there is a hidden meaning to it.
“My name’s Julia.”
Her naturally pink lips perk up as she wipes at her other eye, and runs a perfectly manicured hand through her short hair. “I’m Megan.” She releases a sniffle, and we stand in silence, her hazel eyes round and helpless.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know her, but haven’t I wanted to?
My mind takes a moment to shift gears from panty-wetting mess to compassionate neighbor.
“Um, do you want to talk about it?”
Megan’s eyes brighten with excitement. I pull my keys out and go to unlock my door.
“You mean it?” she asks from her doorway.
“Yeah, sure. Why not? I could use a friend, and it seems like you could too.”
Before I realize it she’s already moving past me, and into my apartment, throwing herself onto my couch.
Okay, then …
“My boyfriend just dumped me. You wouldn’t happen to have any wine, would you?”
I peer at the time as I step inside my small apartment, realizing how confused I am. It’s nearly midnight, but I can’t help but feel like me and Megan will get along just fine.
From kissing charming cops on rooftops to befriending a dumpee who has the natural finesse to make the stink-eye look fashionable.
How did I get here again?
I stretch my arms as I enter the office, and wave a lazy hand at Claire as I walk by her desk. I don’t remember what time I fell asleep. It’s been hard to acclimate since my late Saturday night.
My eyes felt as if they closed the moment my alarm went off this morning, even if I did have a day to recoup from the weekend.
To think, I thought my life was only going to be a series of unfortunate events. The past two days have me turned upside down. I don’t know if I would call it luck, or just a chance of circumstance. My lips still feel swollen from Noah’s kisses Saturday night, and my cheeks are sore from laughing so much with Megan through the morning.
Oh, Megan. She ended up being quite talkative. Okay, maybe it was the four glasses of wine she guzzled. Regardless, the girl had a lot to say, and lots of funny things to tell about her most recent ex. Megan explained how she’s a health columnist for Cosmopolitan magazine, and how her biggest mistake was deciding to date the Fitness Guru writer for an equally popular men’s magazine. My favorite quote of the night might have been, “I think he loved his protein shakes more than me, but let me tell you, it did nothing for him between the sheets.” The corners of my mouth still want to perk up at the memory of her bashing him so eloquently. She’s a writer, I suppose. She made it an easy meal when feasting on his insecurities that wiggled their way into their relationship … and then later led to his infidelity. Her instant tears contradicted her robotic words of reassurance when she said that it was all for the best that she left him even though ultimately she didn’t have a real choice, which only had us delving into a second bottle of wine, this time me joining in with her.
She left stumbling across the hall in the early hours of the morning, and agreed on a sober lunch this week. I still have not recovered from missing a whole night of sleep this Monday morning.
However, at least life is looking up.
Two abrupt rings in rapid secession interrupt my thoughts, and although I’m not hungover, the sounds pierce my eardrums with a painful intensity that I don’t expect.
I franticly reach out to press the red speaker button.
“Yes?” I wince.
“Mr. Dillinger would like to request a meeting with you today.” Claire’s sweet, disembodied voice echoes from the phone into my office.
My back stiffens immediately. Troy. What could he want?
I peer to my right into a small mirror I had placed on my wall, and although my heart is beating annoyingly fast, I’m not at my best, and with Troy, I feel like I should always bring my “A” game.
Sleep deprived and metaphorically hungover feels the exact opposite. Not to mention our last sexually charged interaction. Did he really ask me out, or had I made that up? I still feel confused over why he would do that. No matter how wonderfully overwhelming Troy was Friday night, I wonder if with him there comes an ulterior motive. Plus, his arrogant assumptions still have me fuming. I press my thighs together at the thought, angry that the libidinous thing between my legs seems to be forming her own rebellion at the memory as a tremor makes its way through my body.
No, stop this right now. Stupid, stupid body.
If anything, I need a few more days away from Mr. Dillinger. I don’t think I can take his feral look right
now. We work together for Christ’s sake.
“Claire, can we reschedule this for another day?” I ask rubbing at my lips, trying to focus on the memory of Noah instead, seeing as that’s far more appropriate.
“Umm,” she hums, and I know that for her, saying no to him must seem like an impossible feat. I’m tempted to tell her it’s actually quite easy as long as you have an escape. “Actually, he’s booked up most of the week.”
Why does that fact anger me so? Could he possibly be booked up meeting all the potential clients he should be sharing?
I grunt.
“Julia … ?” Claire asks, filling the silence.
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. What time did he want to meet?”
“Um. Now.”
“Now?”
Even Claire has the decency to pause at the abrupt request by my counterpart.
I peer around my scattered desk for some sense of direction to no avail, but speak anyway, “Claire, forget it. Tell him I’ll be right in.”
I don’t wait for a response, and press the red button again, hanging up.
What does he want to talk about? Should I bring anything? I should have asked Claire.
My shoulders tense. I look back into the mirror more as reassurance than vanity. I don’t need to fear Troy Dillinger. He’s not my boss. He’s my equal. Meeting with him should not bother me.
My eye twitches in the reflection, as if to flicker a sense of doubt I should be acknowledging. My subconscious is apparently well aware that it is not for professional reasons I’m anxious.
At this point I think I’m ready to crawl back into bed. Maybe even start today all over.
Reflexively, I grab for my purse and start applying a new coat of makeup. I feel stupid for it, but I also can’t argue that this is still the best plan of action.
I’m aware that’s really no plan at all, but it’s all I got.
I knock on Troy’s door.
“Come in.”
That tone. I like it, and I hate it. It’s actually how I feel about everything when it comes to him.
