At my apartment, we’re not fevered and frenzied. We don’t strip in a mad rush, and I don’t bend her over the couch. I put on music, bring her to my bed, and undress her slowly, then lay her out before me. After I take off my clothes, she pulls me to her, whispering, “Get in my system. Because that’s where you are.”
She’s not saying she’s falling for me. But I know this woman—she won’t jump first. I have to.
I’m falling for her. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in both my jobs, it’s that words matter greatly. I run the backs of my fingers across her cheek. “Do you know something, my naughty little minx?”
“What is it?”
“I’m crazy for you.”
Her smile is magnetic. “That’s what I meant to say too. I’m pretty crazy for you.”
“I don’t know what this means for tomorrow, but right now, I don’t want to figure out anything except what it feels like to make love to you. I already know what it’s like to fuck you, but I want to know what this is like too.”
“So do I.”
As she pulls me close, brings me inside her, I have the answer.
It’s everything.
It’s everything I thought I could avoid.
It’s everything I desperately want.
We move as one, our bodies curled together, our skin hot. Her breathing intensifies, and she arches against me, her back bowing spectacularly. I have no words. My throat is arid; my chest is a furnace. When her hands tangle in my hair and she shudders, I’m positive this is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
She’s the most beautiful.
Her whimpers and murmurs turn into cries as she tumbles over the edge, and I’m right there with her.
After, as we lay spent and sated, I’m sure I’ve never been this happy, and I’m just as certain we’re going to have to figure out incredibly soon what we’re doing next.
Like in the morning, when we leave to grab a quick breakfast before my softball practice and see a familiar face outside my building.
42
Jason
“Fancy meeting you here.”
It’s Nick.
He’s with his daughter, and he’s leveling a curious and completely knowing stare my way.
Truly stops in her tracks, flinching, then recovers to smile at the tiny redhead by Nick’s side. “Hey, you!”
“Truly! We’re going to the dog rescue after softball!”
Truly offers up a hand to high-five Skye, sliding perfectly into kid mode. “And you’re going to get Jason the dog today?”
“I hope so. Look at him. Daddy, show Jason to Truly. I mean, please. Please show Jason the dog to Truly.”
Nick grabs his phone and slides his thumb across the screen, sharing a picture of a Chihuahua min-pin mix. “Pretty adorable, right? In spite of the name.”
“Completely adorable. Also, that’s an awesome name,” I second. My voice barely sounds like my own because Nick’s eyes return to me and he’s staring like he has something to say. He turns to his daughter, fishing in his pocket for something then handing her earbuds. “Hey, sweetie. I want you to listen to that new song you like so much. Can you do that right now?”
“Yes! Double yes!” She pops the earbuds in and starts bopping.
Nick looks to me then to Truly, then shakes his head knowingly. “How’s the friend zone working out for you guys?”
Truly shrugs sheepishly. “Not real well, it seems.”
Nick laughs. “Let me give you guys a piece of unsolicited advice. You need to deal with this head-on. I know you didn’t ask. But I’ve been there, done that, on both counts. Falling for a friend and falling for my best friend’s sister. And hey, look at the result.” He ruffles his daughter’s hair as she dances. “And don’t forget my son either. He and Harper popped into the bakery around the corner.”
“I don’t think we’re going to start popping out babies,” Truly jumps in, quickly squashing that notion. “Or popping into bakeries around the corner with them, for that matter.”
“That’s not the point. The point is, if I run into you here on the way to softball practice—and incidentally, we weren’t even stopping at your building—what happens when Malone does the same?”
The image he paints is unappealing. I don’t want to blindside my friend like that.
“Just tell the guy. Also, for the record, everyone has known for the longest time that the two of you have this ridiculous chemistry.”
I blink. “Everyone?”
He rolls his eyes. “Every single one. As in, all of your friends, as in everyone you’ve ever encountered, as in all of New York. In fact, I’d be willing to bet Malone won’t be the least bit surprised.”
“Seriously?” Truly asks.
“Seriously. You guys give off that whole we hate each other, yet we can’t stop flirting vibe, and you’ve given that off since the dawn of time.”
A new voice cuts in. “It is kind of wafting off you.” That’s Harper, who’s arrived with Carson out of thin air, it seems, a bakery bag in her hand. I swear the woman can apparate. “Like, it’s so strong you could bottle it, sell it, and make some serious jack.”
Truly jerks her gaze toward Harper. “How did you do that? Just figure out exactly what we were talking about?”
Harper taps her temple. “Women’s intuition.”
“The force runs strong in this one,” Nick says.
Harper gestures wildly to us, the bag flapping around. “Plus, hello. Look at the two of you. I mean, really. It doesn’t actually take any intuition. We’ve had a pool betting on when it would happen.” She leans in to whisper to her husband. “I won. Pay up, sweetie pie. Pay up.”
Nick scoffs but pretends to hand over some money to his wife, who then mimes pocketing it.
“He bet you two would become a couple a year ago,” Harper continues. “I said you were both too stubborn, so I predicted, hmm, right around now as the starting point. But does this mean you’ve finally, officially put us all out of the misery of watching you behave like, well, cats who chase each other into corners but then snuggle up at night?”
“I like cats. Can we get a cat too? I want to name our cat Calvin and Hobbes,” Carson chimes in. “And Malone can give him his shots.”
“We will definitely consider a kitty cat. But can he be Calvin and Hobbes McDoodle? Because that’s a fun name,” Harper says.
“That’s a super-fun name,” Carson says.
“Speaking of Malone,” Harper says, shooting Truly and me one of those purposeful looks that women shoot from their eyes like laser beams. “You know what to do, and like I said the other week, he probably suspects it anyway. He’s kind of smart like that, especially when it comes to, ahem, cat behavior.”
I heave a sigh. “He is. And message received. You guys are probably right.”
“Of course we’re right,” Nick says. “But listen, are you coming to softball practice? Because we’re on our way to the park. My woman and my kids are going to watch me hit home runs because I’m awesome like that.”
“And humble too,” Harper adds, squeezing his arm.
“Yes, I’ll be there shortly,” I say.
They take off, daughter holding her father’s hand, son holding mom’s, while they stroll up the streets of New York on a summer day.
I turn to Truly, the Saturday morning crowds scurrying by. “He’s right.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t we try to talk to your brother later today? I know we haven’t entirely sorted out what this is, but I also think we both know it’s not stopping, and we ought to be honest with him.”
“Because of that whole ‘crazy for you’ thing?”
I smile. “Yes, because of that little part. I’ll invite him to lunch. And we’ll go together.”
But later that morning after we parted, a message from Truly arrives, asking me to meet her first.
43
Truly
My fingers tremble as I slide open the e-
mail. Nerves thrum through me as I take a deep breath.
Dear Ms. Goodman,
Thank you so much for the thoughtful and well-researched presentation. It’s clear you devoted a lot of time and insight to your proposal. I wholeheartedly believe your new pub concept will be a tremendous success.
That said, my partners aren’t ready to move forward yet, but we’ll be in touch down the road. Thank you again, and we wish you success in all your endeavors.
All the best,
Darren
Later, I manage to send myself a note. A memo, if you will, concerning how I want to learn from this disappointment.
Dear Truly “Don’t Let This Get You Down” Goodman,
This is the e-mail I will save. This is what I want to remember. How it feels to try something different.
Because today goes like this:
After I cry pathetic rainfalls of tears that I collect in buckets of misery, I consider calling my brother. Then Charlotte.
They’ve always been my people. They’re the ones I’d turn to.
But it’s a Sunday morning, and Charlotte is with her kids and hubby. My brother is likely busy with Sloane.
I wipe my tears, wash my face, and draw a deep breath.
I review the facts.
So what if I wanted to do a Parisian-themed place more than an English one? So what if he doesn’t want either the English pub or the Paris-type bar? So what? So fucking what?
He’s not the key to my happiness.
I will do what I’ve always done. Solve the problem. Turn down another avenue.
But maybe I don’t have to do it alone. Maybe, just maybe, there’s someone who understands me who I can turn to now.
Yes, I think there is. Time to do things differently.
Xoxo
Truly
44
Jason
After softball practice, Malone tells me he’ll meet up with me in thirty minutes, after he runs a quick errand with Sloane. His fiancée waves goodbye and says she’ll see me again soon.
I leave Central Park and head to the diner, prepping along the way, as I do. Walking and thinking, running and thinking, practicing what to say. It’s like a best man’s speech. You put your best foot forward. Be self-deprecating, but also don’t take yourself too seriously. Be honest, but also fun.
I can do this. I can talk to my friend and sort out my feelings for his sister.
I’ll just say something like, I’m crazy for your sister. I’ll treat her well. We’ll make it work. That’s really all there is to it. With my plan ready, I check my phone to make sure there aren’t any last-minute issues with tonight’s wedding.
And nope, all is well.
Perhaps this is the winding down, the beginning of the exit plan.
I’ll finish out this wedding, serve as the groomsman for one of Josh’s skateboarding clients in a couple of weeks, then do one last job that came in a couple of days ago. With that, I should have almost everything I need for Abby. Then, I can devote all my energy to growing the Modern Gentleman.
I spot a message on my phone from Walker that he’ll be at the wedding tonight. That’s a surprise.
Walker: The DJ is sick, so I got the sub call. That’s why I say you should never eat sushi the night before a gig. Bad fish. It’s always the fish.
Jason: “Fish” is a suitable answer for whenever someone asks what went wrong.
Walker: True that. When I see you tonight, should I act like I don’t know you? :)
Jason: Just act like someone who refuses to play Coldplay, and we’ll be all good.
Walker: Check. If you hear their music, consider it a sign of the impending apocalypse.
Jason: Duly noted.
After I send that, a text from Josh pops onto on my screen.
Josh: Hitting the gym this afternoon. Want to meet up? Even though I know it’ll be hard for you to keep up with me. Consider this my charitable act. Walker would be so proud of me.
Jason: Wow. How utterly noble of you. And just for that, I will kick your ass on whatever machine you’re riding.
Josh: Sorry for the slow reply . . . I was swept up in a fit of laughter from your last note.
Jason: Did you forget? Division 1 here.
Josh: Did you forget? Competitive bastard here, like you’ve never seen before.
Jason: See you in a couple of hours, asshole.
Josh: See ya, dickhead.
God, I love my friends. They’re such great assholes, and I fucking adore them for it.
I’m about to close my phone when a new e-mail icon pops up. It’s from Ryder. With a burst of hope—maybe it’s good news about more appearances—I click it open.
Hey. Just want to let you know I don’t actually need you this week. In fact, I’m not sure I’m going to need you on Mondays anymore going forward. Lots of things in play here. I can’t share much info right now. We’ll talk soon.
I reach for the street sign, grabbing hold of the pole.
I can’t walk straight.
I can’t process this shit sandwich of news.
He won’t need me anymore? He won’t need me at all?
Forget running in place. This isn’t even back to square one. This is take-all-the-steps-in-the-infernal-world-back-to-the-swamp-you-came-from news. Do not collect two hundred dollars, do not pass go. Sit in the godforsaken corner like a bad boy.
This is the most important gig I’ve had, and losing it tastes like eating bacon. Like greasy, undercooked pig fat. Disappointment rages inside me, ripping through my body like a virus, infecting my brain, my heart, and every part of me.
As I cross the street, I swallow past the acid in my throat. Is this Valerie’s doing? Did she rat me out?
That can’t be. Yet she is a powerful, strategic woman.
Or is this something else? The inevitability of failure? Perhaps I was never going to get the gig anyway. Maybe it was always going to go to someone else, to Marcus, somebody who sounds just like me who followed my damn advice.
My jaw clenches, and I want to write back and say, WHY???????
But I’m not going to beg. That’s exactly what I advise the men who listen to me to never do—never beg for a thing.
The only acceptable begging is to the gods of baseball, football, hockey, or whatever your respective sport is. Only then may you beg for a victory.
Otherwise, I say never beg a woman. Never beg an employer. And always bow out gracefully.
I reply to Ryder.
I appreciate the heads-up. It has been an absolute pleasure working with you. I hope our paths cross again. All the best, Jason
I send it even as anger lashes at me. While I walk the rest of the way to the diner, I try to pinpoint what went wrong.
When I pass a dry cleaner that also cobbles shoes, tailors dresses, and sells craft soda—but adorns its window now with a going out of business sign—the answer becomes clear. I’m doing too many things. I’m juggling too many plates. I’m ignoring my own tips—I always advise my readers to pace themselves, to pursue balance, to make sure they aren’t spread too thin.
Like me.
I’m distracted, and it’s affecting all my work. It affected me last night when I let that “manners” comment slip in front of Valerie. Troy even noticed that I wasn’t at the top of my game, and that’s a problem. I have another wedding to do tonight, then a handful more, as well as some speeches to write.
I need to finish out the commitment I made to my sister, so when Truly sends me her note, I’m pretty sure what I need to do when I see her too.
As hard as it may be, and as much as it’ll hurt.
I brace myself for the pain. But no pain, no gain. Grit your teeth and suck it up like a man.
45
Jason
She’s waiting for me inside a booth, her eyes the darkest shade of midnight blue I’ve ever seen, but there’s a softness in them too. That vulnerability she shares with me.
I can’t let it draw me in. Can’t let it distra
ct me more than it already has.
“Hey,” she says, and the sweetness in her tone nearly does me in. I don’t want sweetness right now. Don’t deserve it, can’t give it, and haven’t a clue what to do with it. I’m a snake, coiled tight, ready to strike at the next thing that shakes my world.
I don’t kiss her hello. I’ll cave if I touch her. I’ll haul her in for a searing kiss to blot out the misery churning in my gut.
“Hi.” It comes out tight, clipped.
The second I sit, she blurts out, “The investment deal fell through.”
I blink in surprise. “It did? Why?”
She takes a fueling breath. “The partners weren’t in love with my concept, I guess. I can’t figure out why. His e-mail was so . . . bland. It was a thanks, but no thanks. And I thought I’d done a great job with the pitch.” She takes a long breath, then holds up her palms, giving a what can you do smile. “That’s how it goes. It happens. Right?”
I blow out a long sigh of frustration, and I’m pretty sure good manners dictate that I ask her how she’s feeling about it, what she wants to do next, but misery loves company, so I serve up my side dish. “I’m in the same boat. My guest spot is gone. Ryder doesn’t need me anymore.”
Her expression transforms in a heartbeat. The sadness vanishes. She’s Fierce Truly now, her eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”
Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2) Page 19
