by Scott, S. L.
“I can walk you to your door.”
“No, this is fine.” If I invite him up, I’ll want him to come in, and then I’ll want more . . . Seems like the theme of my life. More. “Thank you again for tonight.”
With a tip of his chin, he follows it with, “I’ll call you soon.”
I take a few steps away from him, putting distance between us, and fighting myself to not offer him a drink. When I look back, his eyes are still set on me, which part of me I’m not sure, but they’re scanning upward when I catch him. I turn all the way around and laugh. “You keep that car waiting much longer and it’s going to be awfully expensive.”
Fidgeting with his baseball hat, he finally takes it between his large hands and spins it backward on his head appearing bashful and chuckling. “I think it’ll be okay, but thanks for looking out for my wallet.”
My head tilts to the left, and I smile. “For someone who was yawning, you don’t seem so tired now.”
“Second wind.” He comes closer. “I spoke too soon.”
“About?”
“Us. Tonight. You still up for a drink?”
I try not to jump at the offer to spend more time with him, but I suck at lying. “I am.”
His arm waves toward the car in a formal invitation. “I just so happen to have a car waiting.”
We settle back in and Ethan tells the driver to surprise us. The driver has kind eyes when he smiles. “You got it, sir.”
I didn’t expect a can of root beer and a hot dog from a stand down near the river. The street lamps shine enough light to feel safe, and there are other couples with the same plan in mind wandering around. We sit on a bench and look out at the water. “It’s a beautiful night,” I say. “Stars as far as I can see.”
“A rarity in the city.”
“This is nice.”
“This is nice.” His voice causes me to look his way.
I ask, “Are you dating anyone?”
“Wow, that came out of left field.” Balling up his trash, he shoots it toward the trashcan and makes it. He leans forward on his thighs and looks at the water before us.
“I’m sorry,” I quickly add. “Was that rude to ask?”
“No. Don’t be sorry. I know this is . . . weird, but I’m not seeing anyone or I wouldn’t have asked you out.” Turning to greet me with eyes that shine with an inner light, they contradict the night sky. “Can we just go with it?” This time I turn away, my lower lip finding the edges of my front teeth. When I don’t answer, he adds, “I promise you I’m not dating anyone right now.” He’s too tempting to keep my eyes away for long, but find a straight line across his face when I prefer a smile. “If someone asks you out though, and you want to go, you should.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because I have a lot of shit going on, and you’re too good to drag into it.”
“You said your personal life was complicated. And your business life?”
“My personal life is my business. That’s why I don’t want you mixed up in it.”
I exhale and sit back, watching as the moon casts reflections of dancing light across the choppy water. “Can I be honest with you, Ethan?”
“I always want you to feel free to speak your mind, Singer. I hope I can with you as well.”
“You can. I figure it’s better to be honest upfront than hurt someone down the road through misunderstanding.”
His eyes are fixed on me. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Sometimes the quiet that surrounds you makes me think you’re not having a good time.” He’s about to say something, but I place my hand on his leg to stop him. “And then your lighthearted, playful side puts me at ease.”
He rubs a hand across the light scruff of his jaw and says, “I’ve had a lot happen over the last year. Stuff that drags me down. When I’m around you, I feel more like my old self.”
“Is that why you asked me to hang out?”
The corners of his lips lift, and he confesses his own secret, “Selfishly, yes. You’re not tangled in my professional life. I like that. I’d like to have a friend who is separate from that world, someone who I can be me with and just have fun.”
He wears confidence like a second skin, but I see that’s for the world. He’s bashful for me, and it’s stinkin’ adorable. “Are you asking me to be friends with you, Ethan?”
“I thought that was understood from the pub.”
“No, that was you telling me we had to be friends because of your complicated circumstances. This is you asking me.”
“I’m asking because I like spending time with you, and we have a good time when we’re together.”
“Then I accept,” I say, holding my hand out.
He takes my hand and we shake on it, confidence returning to his eyes. “I don’t have to pretend with you, Singer. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“Why do you have to pretend at all?”
He stands, sighs, and then offers me a hand up. “We should go.”
I’m becoming familiar with his modus operandi. When I get too close to his heart, he shuts down. Although I hate that there are walls that divide us, I feel I don’t have a choice but to accept them. For now.
I respect him enough to enjoy the parts he shows me and wait for the rest. We’re not in a race to the finish, but a gradual getting to know you stage. I take his hand and stand up, not pushing him for more. Again, for now.
Inside the car, the tension is growing between us, and the ride is much quieter this time. I’m not sure I’m built to withstand the back and forth, and I debate if I should call the whole thing off. The friendship. The hanging out. Whatever else this is.
He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, but attraction doesn’t guarantee a love connection. He’s open and then closes just as fast. I sigh to myself while staring out the window. Honestly? I don’t enjoy not knowing where I stand when it comes to the people in my life, and with Ethan I’m adrift in a sea of darkness.
Then he reaches over and takes my hand . . . and there it is. That’s what keeps me here. He’s strong and has so much going on in his life, but the gesture is simple. Sweet.
Rationally, I know better.
But I’m struggling to tell my heart the truth—we may never be anything more than friends who hold hands. Am I okay with this? It’s something I’m really going to have to consider once I’m alone and can think clearly.
When we arrive at my building, he offers to walk me in despite my protests. I decline again, and punch the code into the security keypad.
“Hey, Singer?” he calls from the curb, hanging back after I insisted.
“Yes?”
Running his thumb over his bottom lip, his chin is tilted down, but his eyes are solely on me. “I like you the way you are.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling.
“Really. As for the pub back there, it doesn’t matter what you wear, you’ll always stand out in a crowd.”
“Is that a compliment, Mr. Everest?”
“Yes. Don’t ever try to be someone you’re not.”
“And what am I not?”
“Expected.”
The comment hits me right in the heart—the emotions from being so sweet start bubbling over. And just like that, I’m sucked back into his orbit. Heart be damned. Smiling, I give another wave and go inside without looking back this time. The door slams, and I lean against the wall and take a deep breath to calm the beats of my racing heart.
That man.
I’m weak to that man when I need to be strong.
Just friends.
A gentle reminder whispers across my mind.
8
Ethan Everest
I’m no expert on New York but I can tell by the graffiti on the buildings and the hookers at the corner this is not where someone like Singer should live.
What is she thinking? I don’t even like driving here, much less leaving her behind. Despite where she lives, she’s not
the kind of woman to play the damsel in distress, even if it’s for her own good. I may not know her well, but I’ve learned over the last year of watching her to know she doesn’t need saving.
Still. Her embarrassment over where she lives sucks. She’s doing the best she can, and works hard by the sound of it. Fuck whoever thinks less of her for that. I just wish she didn’t feel that way around me. I hope I don’t make her feel that way.
For my own peace of mind though, I’ll make an effort, and package it as a friendly gesture. I don’t want to come on too strong. Not with her. Ever since I saw her lost in her thoughts out on that fire escape, the pretty brunette with golden highlights has become a fascination of mine.
Her quirky style and sweet smile.
Beautiful green eyes that hold more innocence than naïveté.
People underestimate her. I see the way they overlook her for someone more obvious, someone more pretentious and needy.
She’s none of those things and revels in blending in, being able to sit back and watch, to observe life around her, to observe me. She thinks I don’t notice, that I never did. But I see. I see how she looks at me. I see how she cares.
I care about her, too, more than I should for a woman I barely know. I also never saw her coming. At that party last year, she was unexpected and entirely irresistible. I can’t believe I almost kissed her after hardly talking to her. She’s unassuming and shy, even more so when sitting between two women who were vying for anyone’s attention that night and zeroed in on me at different points.
I pretended Singer wasn’t there. It was easier to carry on casual conversation, but there was nothing casual about that night. A night of bad decisions led me to months of regrets. Now, almost a year after meeting Singer, my life has changed for the worst. What once was living the high life had flipped to being buried in legal drama, my life flipping on me like my friend did.
Why’d I ever go back inside? Why’d I leave her on that fire escape? Why’d I let her walk out without getting her number? I’d already made the effort to get her name. I hate that someone so easily distracted me. I didn’t want easy, but I was easily swayed away.
I want Singer’s complicated emotions mixed up with mine. I want to see that blue dress on the floor at the foot of my bed. I want to mess her hair from kisses that become entangled in my white sheets. I want to wake up with her red lipstick marring my pillow and marking me.
Singer flew away that night, and I let her. Foolishly.
I won’t make that mistake twice, but on the advisement of my legal team, I’ll keep it light, keep it friendly. I’ll keep her at a distance until this situation with Dariya is settled.
And then I won’t.
Then, I’ll go after her until she says yes to trying something real.
The car pulls into the underground garage and stops in front of the door. My driver, Aaron, turns around and asks, “Would you like me to go up with you?”
The seriousness of his tone reminds me of the reasons I need security. “No, I’ll be fine. Lars will be there.” As if a ghost, Lars appears and opens the door.
When I get out, he greets me, not with a smile.
“Good evening,” I say, moving inside the elevator, standing at the back.
He steps inside, standing in front of the door, and pushes the button to my floor. “Good evening, sir.”
His back is to me and I sink against the stainless steel paneled wall. “Anything I should know about?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” I run my hand over my face as exhaustion sets in. “What are we going to talk about when all this business is settled?”
He turns and looks over his shoulder with a small smile on his face. “Baseball?”
“Maybe we can catch a game together.”
“Only if you let me enjoy the perks of those box seats.”
“Maybe I’ll let you call me Ethan, too,” I joke. He refuses to call me by my name. He’s all business all the time, even when he laughs, like now.
Stepping aside, he says, “Good night, sir.”
“Good night.”
Walking down the black painted hall, I glance at the framed art that lines the walls. They’re not my photos, but other peoples’ work I admire and collect. Most of the art has no value but to the buyer who’s willing to pay for it. I paid more than the asking price because these pieces spoke to me—haunting, happy, sad, joy, ambition, depression. So many emotions are expressed in the photos.
The view of the city greets me through the wall of windows ahead. Lights from a skyline of buildings dot the nighttime scenery like little stars here on earth. I head to the bedroom and am welcomed by more windows. With the push of a button, the curtains begin to close, the lights dimming along my path.
The apartment is too big for me. I used to think I could grow into it. Now I realize it’s best to be alone. Everyone wants something from me. No one is genuine when they know you have money. It’s as if people feel entitled to a share of something whether they helped make it or not.
Like most nights, I lean my hands against the bathroom counter after my shower and stare into the eyes that have lost a lot of the life I used to love. Things were good before. I was happy, having the time of my life. That’s what my twenties should be about. Living large and being in charge.
I took my eyes off my goals, trusted people I shouldn’t have. I should have paid closer attention to the people I let in and the people influencing my ex-best friend, ex-business partner. So many exes tied up in him. It’s a quandary really. I miss Keith sometimes, yet at other times, I wish I’d never met him. Money has changed us all. Happiness now comes with a price, and I’m not sure if I’m willing to pay it anymore. Does that mean I’ll be eternally lonely and unhappy? Although this is not how I saw my life going, I’m not sure I have a say in the matter anymore.
When I reach my bedroom, I crawl under the covers and bring my phone to life. It doesn’t take long to find the photo I’m looking for. Blue dress, red dots. Ponytail high on her head. Tempting red lips. Singer. It’s taken all of my willpower not to kiss them, not to kiss her.
I scroll through the other photos I’ve taken of her. She only knows about the one I took at the park and the selfie we took together at the pub. The others I took when she was being magnificent and unaware. Call me a creeper, but I love a candid, especially of her. Her eyes hold a soul that sees the good in others. She sees the good in me.
While looking at a photo of her in jeans and a jersey from last week at the bar, I can see the difference in her figure. She’s thinner than last year. I enjoyed that she drank beer without counting calories. I appreciated that she had tits. Real ones. Full. A good handful. The shape of her waist and the way it flowed wider to her hips in that dress had every guy staring. She looked sexy. Yet she had no clue how many men watched her. She certainly didn’t need to lose weight.
She’s still just as stunning, but seeing where she lives makes me wonder if she’s lost weight by choice or because she couldn’t afford to feed herself. Fuck. I have enough to worry about. Now I’m worrying about Singer Davis and her eating habits. I sound like a fucking psycho. I hate that life is so fucking convoluted.
When did my life get so complicated?
Oh, that’s right. The day my share in the hottest social media site in the last ten years made me a billionaire at the age of twenty-six. What started as a fun way for my friends to connect in high school without our parents knowing, developed into an online community by college. I took this company to the next level. Nobody had interest in it until it was turning a profit. When it became monumentally life-changing, that’s when things went awry. Even today, I can admit the setup wasn’t obvious. I didn’t know friends were capable of screwing me over so cleverly. He’d been so . . . calculating. Our friendship had meant nothing. Thanks to Keith, I learned that loyalty and friendship came with a multi-million dollar price tag.
Greed being his sole motive, I was officially fucked over by my best f
riend. Our friendship sold to the press. Photos leaked. My name was splattered across headlines—TV, newspapers, trash rags, online—calling me incompetent. The ultimatum was either I step down as CEO and become a very silent partner or I let them buy me out. My own company. My idea. I created the site from the ground up. Ten years later, I was forced to walk away. I still own my shares, my role and buyout price still in negotiations with a team of lawyers representing each of us.
I left my company behind when I walked out that door. The life I knew in Houston was over. People picked sides and unfortunately, a lot chose to believe his lies. I have my family—my mom and dad—but that’s it. My mom stood strong for a while, but the pressure of the reporters became too much. When she asked if the rumors were true, I knew it was time to leave. I don’t blame her for being curious, but it was a shot to my heart that she even had to ask.
Houston society is like any other major city—full of social climbers and fakeness. To spare her any more embarrassment, I took off.
With a remote office in New York, I was used to the city. The apartment was here, and I wouldn’t have to see Keith. He stayed there. I came here to focus on my other investments. I’m not stupid. I built an empire once. I can build another, and I’m off to a damn impressive start. As a venture capitalist I have a hand in all kinds of great moneymakers instead of only one.
It’s good to stretch my muscles in new ways, to reinvent myself, to show I’m more than an overstated dating site, and find success again. This time I don’t have partners, but I do have advisors. Damn good ones, too.
Yeah, I don’t need others. I’m doing fine all on my own.
Friendships are now kept at bay. Until Singer. She makes me confess my secrets and inner thoughts. I overshare with her, yet I don’t know why. Is it because she actually listens?
The only foreseeable problem is that one day she’ll know the truth about me. I have a past the media loves to drudge up. She’ll see the leaked photos and articles that painted their own story, a fake one to fit their agenda, and to sell their content space. No matter how much I hate it, I can’t change it. Money can’t buy everything. I’ve learned that the hard way.
