This Is Wild

by Natasha Madison

  “It can be looked at,” George says to him, and I walk into the kitchen and look around.

  “The cabinets are custom made to the exact fridge and stove.” I look at George. “Which means that it limits my client and his choices.”

  “I can talk to the owners about this,” he says, knowing I have him on that one. We walk down the narrow hallway and find one of the bathrooms. We walk into the master bedroom, and we have closets on both sides and then to the right is the bedroom and to the left is the master bathroom. The bedroom is a good size with two windows bringing in more light, the high ceiling so it doesn’t feel as small. The bathroom is all marble and comes with a claw tub and double vanity sinks.

  We walk into the master bedroom and I look around and see it’s just the two of us. “What do you think?”

  “I want it,” he says to me quietly, almost in a whisper. I nod, and I knew the minute that I saw the pictures that this place was for him. It was bright, airy, and centrally located. I can picture him sitting in this room or even downstairs in the kitchen.

  “Let’s see the other bedroom and the loft area,” I tell him, and it just seals the deal. The second bedroom is across the hallway from his, and then when we take the six steps to the loft part of the apartment, it’s a huge theater room complete with the chairs. “This can be a bedroom,” I mention of the little office in the back of the room. I close the door and then turn to Viktor. “It’s three million.”

  “That’s fine,” he says, and I just smile at him. “I have the cash.”

  “That is even better,” I say and then open the door. “Let’s dance.”

  I walk out of the room and down the five stairs and see George there on his phone. “So what is the verdict?”

  “It’s good,” I start to say. “Just a couple of things really.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Like?”

  “The appliances need to stay since it’s custom, and if he needs to get another one, he is going to have to redo the kitchen.”

  “I got the approval. They will include the appliances,” he says, and I smile.

  “Okay, so here is our offer. Two million eight cash offer. Escrow for fourteen days after that we leave.”

  “It’s going on the market for three million two,” he says to me, and I look over at Viktor.

  “Just because it’s going on the market for that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. And if you do, how long will that take?” I play my cards. “The last time an apartment in this building was up for sale, it took six months. This hasn’t even listed, and you already have an offer.” I look at Viktor. “I guess we can continue looking and see what happens.” I walk over to George with my hand outstretched. “Thanks for letting me see it.” I tilt my head. “I owe you one.”

  “You are killing me, Zoe,” he says. “Let me bring them the offer and see what they say. But I know that they weren’t looking to go that low.”

  “I’ll go as far as three million but not a penny more.” Then I pull out the facts. “There are thirty-one houses in this area going from two million to three million.”

  “Let me go make a call,” he says, going to the steps and the upstairs loft. I look at Viktor who just shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “You just bamboozled him, and he had no chance in hell,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

  “I didn’t bamboozle him. I gave him an offer,” I tell him. “And in the end, I saved you two hundred and fifty thousand,” I tell him, and I hear steps coming back.

  “Okay. Three million final and they can be out in two weeks,” George says, and I smile, looking at Viktor who just looks at me.

  “Congrats, Viktor.” I look over at him with a huge smile on my face. “Welcome home.” I look over at George and tell him to send over the contracts, and when I walk out of the place, I am beaming with happiness for him.

  “I’m starving,” he says, looking at me.

  “Want to grab lunch?” I say, looking at my watch. “Late lunch, early dinner.”

  “Sure,” he says. His phone beeps, and he starts typing. I point out the restaurant at the corner, and we are seated right away when we walk in.

  “Your server, Josh, will be here shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I say to her while I grab the menu she holds out for me. “I’m starving,” I say to him while I look down at the menu.

  “Did you have breakfast or lunch?” he asks me while he reads his own menu.

  “No,” I answer. “I started putting a bagel in the toaster, but then my phone started ringing and one thing led to another.” I look up. “That bagel is now cold and toasted.” The waiter comes over to take our drink order and tells us the special of the day.

  “I have a question to ask, and I don’t want to offend you,” I say, and he just looks up at me. His blue eyes not showing anything. “Would you be offended if I got a glass of wine?”

  “I thought you gave up wine,” he starts, and then I shrug. “But the answer is no,” he says. “I am not an alcoholic. I’m a drug addict.” My heart stays in my throat when he says that, but I try not to show any reaction. “It’s not anything that’s a secret. The joys of hitting rock bottom while in the middle of a hockey game on national television.” I watch him, his eyes going back down to the menu. “Have the glass of wine if you want, Zoe.”

  I look down at my own menu now, his words replaying in my head over and over again. The waiter comes over and puts down our two glasses of water with two straws. “Did you guys decide what to order?” he asks us, and I look at Viktor, who just looks at me.

  “I’m going to start with the mini meatballs, then I’m going to have the arugula”—I hand him the menu—“with a side of french fries.” I smile at him, then look at Viktor, who orders some wings to start and then a meat lover’s pie. Josh smiles and walks away.

  “Why didn’t you order wine?” Viktor asks, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip.

  “Because it’s rude if I do, and I don’t need it to eat,” I tell him. I’m not sure what the right or wrong answer is.

  “It’s not rude—”

  I hold up my hand. “I don’t know what you’re going through or what you went through. I mean, I know when I was younger, Matthew went through something, but I was too young to know.” I look down at my hand and then up. “If at any time I offend you or even—”

  He cuts me off now. “Zoe.”

  “Seriously.” I tilt my head and push my hair behind my ears. “It’s a huge deal.”

  “What is?” he asks. When he shrugs off his jacket, I see that his arms are bigger than yesterday.

  “Hitting rock bottom and admitting you have a problem,” I tell him honestly, and before I make a fool out of myself, Josh comes back and places our plates in front of us.

  “Thank you,” he says while he grabs a chicken wing and takes a bite.

  “For what?” I say, biting into a mini meatball. “This is so good.” I put one on my fork and hold it out for him. “You have to try this. It’s like you died and went to Italy.” He looks at my fork and then looks at me. “I don’t have cooties.” He leans in and grabs the meatball in his mouth and starts chewing. “Isn’t it good?”

  “It is, but I don’t think it tastes like they do in Italy.” He laughs, grabbing a napkin to wipe the sauce from his wings on. “Have you ever been?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “We were supposed to go during graduation year, but Zara and I got kicked off of the trip.”

  “Should I ask why?” he asks me, trying not to laugh.

  “You can, but it’s dumb,” I tell him. “I mean, how were we supposed to know that if you cut a little hole in football pants, they can split right down the middle.” He throws his head back. “Zara was dating the quarterback, and she thought he was cheating, so we just cut a small hole in his pants to give him a breeze.” His laughter gets even louder, and I roll my eyes. “It’s not that funny. Anyway, he got sacked or tackled, whatever they call
it, and when he got up, he bent down to grab the ball, and his whole pants split open.” He holds his stomach now. “Again, why wasn’t he wearing boxers?” I grab another meatball. “And well, apparently, the jock strap is sewn into his pants, so we got the whole ball shot.” I close my eyes, trying to forget it. “Needless to say, we didn’t make the trip.”

  “You two together is almost scary,” he says, and I don’t try to tell him it’s all Zara.

  “Technically it was all Zara’s idea.” Smiling at him. “Do you have any siblings?” I ask him, taking a bite of the salad.

  “I have a sister, Natalia, who is two years younger than me. She’s a model,” he says, and I look at him with my eyes wide. He grabs his phone and finds her picture. “There she is.”

  “She is gorgeous,” I tell him honestly. “You guys look alike.”

  “Are you saying I’m gorgeous?” he jokes. When I raise my eyebrows, he says, “She is way better looking than me.”

  “Are you as annoying as Matthew?” I ask him, leaning back in my chair. I have to stop eating or I’ll be full by the time the pizza comes.

  The rest of the meal goes off flawlessly without us touching on his past or his addiction. When the bill comes, we fight over it, but agree that I will get it next time. When we finally walk out of the restaurant, it’s packed.

  “Are you going home?” he asks me once we walk out of the restaurant, and I stand in the middle of the walkway.

  “Yes. I have two contracts to look over,” I tell him. “What about you?”

  “I’m going to hit up a meeting,” he says, his voice lower than it should be. His eyes avoid mine, and I smile, knowing it wasn’t easy for him to tell me that.

  I walk to the corner of the sidewalk and hold up my hand for a cab. “I’ll text you when I get the final contract for you to sign.” A cab stops, and I start to walk away.

  “Thank you, Zoe,” he says, and I look back at him. “For everything.”

  “No worries, Viktor,” I tell him, and he smirks. I turn around before I question anything else. I get in the cab, and I don’t look over at him. I know he’s standing there, I can feel it, but I’m not going to go down this road. I can’t, end of story, no matter how much my heart is telling me to just try it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Viktor

  “Did you get the schedule?” Evan asks me, sitting next to me three weeks after I bought my house. We just got off the ice at practice, and I’m huffing and puffing.

  “I did,” I tell him, thinking back to the email I got that morning. It was right after I got an email from Zoe telling me she is going to have my keys ready for me at five. I haven’t seen her since the day I bought the house.

  “You excited?” he asks me, unwrapping the tape from his socks.

  “I am. It just sucks that I’m leaving the same day my furniture gets here.” Ever since I signed the contract, it’s been an endless amount of time and energy trying to get my shit out of storage and delivered to me. If I’m not on the ice, I’m organizing the moving truck or doing something else for the apartment. I should have sold it all and just bought new stuff here.

  “Let us know if you need help,” he says and walks away. His family and this organization have accepted me with open arms, and my life is slowly coming together. The nights are still the roughest, but now that hockey has started back, it fills my time during the day, and the nights have been slower than usual. I attend up to five meetings a week, and so far, I’ve only needed my sponsor that one day. I know that it isn’t going to be this easy as time goes by, but I’ll take it one day at a fucking time.

  I get up, get changed, and walk into the weight room where I spend two hours lifting weights and switching it up with cardio. When I finally walk out of the arena, it’s quarter to five, and I make my way over to my new house. My phone vibrates as soon as the cab pulls up to the apartment.

  Zoe: Just buzz when you get here.

  I walk to the gray door and press the number five, which is already changed to V. P. She buzzes me in right away, and I nod at the woman walking out of the elevator with her dog. I press five and make my way to my new apartment. I haven’t been back here since the open house three weeks ago. I knock on the door, and then hear Zoe yell, “Coming!”

  She unlocks the door and then throws back the door, and yells, “Welcome home!” as she throws her arms out to her sides. I’m in shock when I look behind her and see that the apartment is empty, but the balloons at the end of the room tied together spell out:

  W-E-L-C-O-M-E H-O-M-E

  “What is all this?” I say, looking around once I walk in and see baskets on the counter that separate the kitchen from the living and dining room.

  “Well,” she says, and I watch her as she closes the door. She’s wearing tight dark blue jeans with holes in the front and a long-sleeved white sweater. It’s a normal outfit, and I shouldn’t even be looking at her in that way, but I can’t help it. Plus, she is barefoot, her gray strappy heels tossed beside the front door. I don’t let my mind linger on the bubble gum pink she has painted on her nails. “I knew this place would be empty, and I knew your stuff was coming on Monday, so I added some decorations.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.” As I look around, there must be a hundred balloons just hanging there with the ribbons.

  I walk to the counter and look at the baskets. There is a fruit basket and then one with champagne in it. “And just because I’m an awesome person,” she says, stopping beside me and grabbing the bottle. “The very best non-alcoholic champagne money can buy,” she says, and I swear her face is like a kid on Christmas morning. She pops the bottle and then pours it into two crystal glasses that are also in the basket. She puts down the bottle and hands me one of the glasses and then she hands me the key that is on a key chain. “Congratulations,” she says. I grab the key and place it in my pocket next to my chip.

  I hold up my glass. “Thank you to the best real estate agent I know.” I click her glass, and she takes a sip.

  “Not too bad for twenty bucks,” she says. “And I’m the only real estate agent you know. I mean, in New York.”

  “This is true,” I tell her and then hear the buzzer and look at her surprised.

  Her eyes twinkle bright. “I may have one more surprise up my sleeve,” she says, and I walk to the door and press the buzzer to let the person in. I open the door and wait for the elevator door to ping, and then I spot the guy coming down with food. “Delivery from Daluggi,” the man says and hands me the two pizza boxes with three bags on top.

  I shut the door and look at her as she takes paper plates out of a bag along with plastic utensils. “You thought of everything,” I tell her and place the pizza on the counter.

  “Well, not really. I didn’t go out of the box with the order,” she tells me, opening the boxes. “I ordered you exactly what you had when you got the house. Almost like you’ve come full circle.”

  She smiles, and I don’t know what to think or to say or to do. There are so many things I want to do like lean over and kiss her lips or touch her face. The endless possibilities run through my mind along with all the reasons not to.

  She must notice the change in my demeanor, and her face falls. “I’m so sorry,” she starts to say and closes the box. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were free.” She grabs her jacket from the counter. “I’ll just leave the food here for you.” She picks up her purse, and I watch her walk over to her shoes. She doesn’t even put them on; she just grabs them in her hand, and she’s turning the handle of the door. She is moving so fast I can barely get the words out.

  “Where are you going?” I ask her when the words finally come to my throat. “I was just …” I shake my head. I can’t tell her what I was thinking or what I wanted to do. “This is just very nice and thoughtful of you.” I watch her as she stands there. “Thank you for doing all this, Zoe.” She smiles and then looks down. “Please stay and help me eat this food.”

  “Only if you’re s
ure,” she says, and when I nod my head, she puts her shoes, jacket, and purse in a pile next to the door. “This was a stupid surprise,” she says, almost sounding defeated.

  “It was a perfect way to come home,” I tell her and grab the boxes and open them. “You got me chicken wings. And today is my cheat meal day,” I lie to her. As soon as the season starts, I go on a lean diet, and chicken wings is not on that list. I’ll just do extra time on the treadmill tomorrow.

  “I got you what you ordered that day,” she tells me. “I feel like a dork.”

  “Don’t.” I shake my head and look around. “I don’t have any chairs.”

  “We can have a picnic,” she says, picking up the food and looking at me. “Grab the rest.” She motions to the two pizza boxes and then sits on the floor under the skylight. I follow her lead and sit in the middle of the room. She grabs a slice of pizza and eats it. “What time is your stuff going to be here on Monday?”

  “Probably after I leave,” I tell her. “We got the travel schedule for the year today, and we leave on Monday at noon.”

  “Shit,” she says between bites. “If you want, I can come over and open the door for them.”

  “Would you really?” I ask her. “I don’t want to impose on you.” I take a bite of pizza and look around. No frilly blankets, no table, paper plates on the floor in the middle of my condo, and I’m okay. Content. Happy even. “But if you would”—I smirk—“I would owe you one.”

  She groans and throws her head back. “Why does that phrase always sounds so greasy?” Her eyes roll, making me laugh. “I’m paying off my I-owe-you to George tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Afternoon?” I ask her. “Isn’t that strange?” I look down at the chicken wings, making sure I don’t look at her just in case she can see how much this news bothers me. You can’t have her, I remind myself.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I have my kickboxing class at eleven, and then we are meeting at twelve thirty.” She looks down and then looks back up, and she has a twinkle in her eye.