My eyes flick up to meet hers. Every now and then she uses the f-word to make sure I’m paying attention. It works.
“Uh-huh.” My knee is bouncing again.
“I’m not saying that what you’re beginning to feel for Nina isn’t real. I’m not trying to discourage you from being attracted to a good woman you very much deserve. I’m saying that this is a delicate period for both of you. And if you want it to turn into a real, lasting, healthy relationship, then it’s better for both of you to deal with your own issues. Separately. Now, before they get tangled up in hers. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh.” My stomach sinks. I guess part of me actually thought Dr. Glass would encourage me to start dating a nice girl, as long as I keep coming to these sessions. And maybe another part of me knew she’d tell me to hold off. “Yeah, I hear you. I get it.”
“It’s just a matter of having patience and trusting that things will work out with her if they’re meant to.”
Fuck patience.
Fuck therapy.
This is bullshit.
“Yeah. I know. You’re right.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
I shouldn’t have come here.
11
Nina
I take three deep breaths before opening the door, but it’s not nearly enough oxygen to sustain me. Seeing Vince standing there in a gorgeous shirt and suit jacket, carrying a big leather backpack and a gallon of paint, is just too much for my brain and body to process. This means he is going to be removing his shirt and jacket while he paints, and I will have to hide in the bedroom, sitting on my hands, biting my lower lip, and counting to infinity in French. He grins and tells me that he brought an old T-shirt and jeans this time. I am both disappointed and relieved.
When he passes by me through the doorway, I try not to inhale his cologne too loudly. He smells like a chic conference room in the Italian Riviera, and I want him to ravage me on the table and then go for a stroll with him on the beach.
He also seems both disappointed and relieved to see that I’m wearing baggy jeans and an oversize T-shirt. But he keeps looking down at my bare feet while he sets out the drop cloth that he brought, along with the paint tray and roller.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’ve got a water bottle in my bag, thanks.”
I can’t get a read on him at all so far, and I need to stop trying to. He’s here to paint a wall, and that’s it. I have already removed everything from that wall so he can get to work and then leave.
His phone vibrates in his beautiful pants. He pulls it out, and when he sees the caller ID, he tells me that he has to take the call. I tell him I’ll be in the bedroom, go in, and shut the door to give him privacy and to give myself a chance to remember that I am more than just a body that’s having a hormone surge. I am also a brain that can’t stop thinking about him. But I have to try.
I went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden the afternoon after seeing him, which is usually the place that I go to when I want to clear my head. And I almost did. Except when I found myself in the Desert Pavilion, surrounded by phallic cacti emerging from the ground. And all I could think about was his amazing, beautiful, erect penis. I went jogging with Marnie early yesterday morning, and even though I never admitted it, we both knew that I was just hoping to catch a glimpse of Vince around the neighborhood. Maybe with a client, at a property. I didn’t. I managed to refrain from looking him up online, but all I could think about was how much I wanted to. All through the barbecue at Marnie’s place, I wondered what Vince was up to. Patching up someone else’s hole? Patching things up with Sadie the nanny? I don’t want to be like this.
I want to be able to remember him for all the wonderful things he said and did. I don’t want to agonize over when I’m going to see him again or whether or not he’s seeing anyone else or if he still wants to get back with Sadie. I want to have my memory of this one hot one-night stand and a few lovely kisses, and just let it be that.
I have the Lake George trip to look forward to, and I might even take a few other little trips. There’s a whole world out there! There are probably tons of guys I could be as attracted to as I am to Vince. At least two. Or one, maybe. Or maybe it would be better to not be so attracted to someone. I can’t just go from being engaged to Russell to being obsessed with Vince. I’m sure Vince is dying to get back out there and boink a bunch of hot chicks. I mean, why wouldn’t he? I just can’t be one of them.
By the time I hear him call my name from the living room, I have gotten my heart rate down to a respectable level and I’m ready to say good-bye.
When I see him standing there, barefoot in his old jeans and faded black T-shirt, I look down at what I’m wearing and realize that we somehow both chose to wear the same kind of unsexy outfit for this awkward little engagement. Although I doubt very much that he’d call what he’s wearing an outfit or that he spent any time at all trying to decide what to wear like I did.
“It’s not dry yet, but it’s a pretty good match, I think.”
He’s right. There’s no sign of damage. This one wall looks so fresh and clean, but it still blends seamlessly into the walls next to it.
“It looks so good, Vince. Thank you.”
He takes a drink from his water bottle and then puts the bottle down on the floor by his bag. He’s watching me so intently, with a look of amusement on his face. I take a step back when he takes a step forward.
“You probably have to be somewhere…”
“Eventually.” He takes another step toward me, and I am backed up against my armchair. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine, good, great. How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been thinking. About you. A lot.”
I reach behind myself to hold on to the chair for support. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He takes another step toward me. “I know it seems like a bad idea. But I think we should keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Rebounding with each other or whatever you want to call it. I mean, if we’re gonna rebound, why shouldn’t it be with each other?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be rebounding at all.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t call it that.”
“Whatever this is, or was, Vince, I don’t regret any of it. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
He stands still, arms still crossed, like he’s patiently discussing a deal he wants to close with an amateur negotiator.
“It’s…it’s like in first-grade art class,” I stammer. “All the kids are geniuses with color and expression, and if you let them keep working on a painting for too long, more often than not they’ll keep adding paint until they’ve just made a big colorful mess on paper. But if you take the painting away from them at the right time…they’re all Monets and Picassos.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’ve painted a beautiful picture. Maybe it’s time to put away the canvas and be proud of what we’ve done.”
“Yeah? I say…maybe you should see what happens after you’ve made a big colorful mess of things. It might be more beautiful than anything you’ve ever known.”
Every word from his mouth pierces my heart and makes me want to back away just as much as it makes me want to jump on him.
He takes another step closer and runs his fingers through my hair, dipping his forehead to rest against mine. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what we’d be like together.”
“Of course I have.” I exhale and let the fingers of one hand twist around his as my mouth is drawn up to his like a magnet.
“Don’t you want to know for sure?”
I can’t answer that. I already know how it will end if we keep going. I want it to end like this. With hot memories and sweet kisses.
“Just give me the summer,” he says, pressing his lips against mine. “Huh? You got other plans for a hot summer fling lined up?”
I laugh. “Well, I’ll have to check my fling calendar, but I think I’m free.”
He kisses my forehead. “Me too.” He kisses my cheek. “Let’s do this.” He kisses my other cheek. “You can go back to playing it safe with boring men in September.”
“You are…very convincing, Vince Devlin.”
“You’re impossible to walk away from, Nina Parks.” He kisses my neck, and I am done for.
“Just one more time,” I whisper. “Let’s just do this one more time.”
“Sure. Whatever you want.” He pulls off my top and drags his fingertips along the lace edges of my bra. “Where are you from, anyway?”
“Bloomington, Indiana.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You’re a Hoosier?”
“Yep.”
“Hey,” he says, kissing my neck. “Hoosier daddy?”
It takes me a minute to realize he just made a joke, because the way he’s making me feel right now is so not funny.
Before I know it, he has lifted me up and carried me, over his shoulder, to my bed. When I feel his warm skin against mine, I know that he is right. It could be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.
What’s the last thing you’d expect or want to see when you’ve just had shower sex with a hot guy you’ve only just recently met and walked out of your bedroom to get you both glasses of water from the kitchen?
My parents?
Yeah.
Same here.
Guess who I find opening the front door to my apartment. My mom pokes her head in, and I can see my dad peering around behind her. I immediately regret giving them a spare key the first time I went back home to visit them.
My hair is wet, and I’m wearing a tank top and shorts and probably a look of shame and confusion and total disbelief.
“Oh, you are here! I told Dad ‘she’s probably just in the shower.’ Didn’t I say that? We’ve been calling and texting and buzzing.”
“Hi.” I glance back toward my bathroom. The door is closed, so Vince most likely can’t hear that I have more guests all of a sudden. I’m not sure what to do in this situation. “What are you doing here?”
They both come in and hug me.
“Well, we did a little switching up of our flights to Miami so we could come see you, sweetheart.”
“Surprise,” my dad says, knowing full well this wasn’t a good idea. But we’re happy to see each other anyway. He shuts the door and puts the carry-on bags down in the living room, away from the front door. In case someone breaks in—so the burglars can’t reach their luggage right away. Because this is New York.
“Wow, that’s a bold move, you guys.” Apparently all the Parks are busting out of their shells this summer.
“You look good, Nina.” My mom eyes me like she can see something different is going on. “Did we come at a bad time?”
In answer to her question, my bathroom door opens, and Vince walks out with a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. I am so glad I gave him my biggest towel, because—yeesh, it could have been really awkward otherwise.
My mother, being a residential Realtor, has probably accidentally walked in on more than one just-showered male in her day. That this is the first time she’s done it in her daughter’s home doesn’t seem to faze her.
When Vince stops in his tracks and looks back and forth between me and my parents, it is my mother who utters the first words. “Ohhh myyy,” she says in a throaty voice that is usually reserved for my father and Antonio Banderas. “Or did we come at a very good time?”
“Mom!”
Vince smiles and holds on to the towel. “Oh hello.” If he’s appalled or nervous, he isn’t showing it at all. All he’s really showing is his astonishing bare torso and tattoos.
“Hello,” my dad says, suddenly growing a couple of inches taller.
“Um. This is Vince. He also lives in Brooklyn. These are my parents, who are stopping by on their way from Indiana to Florida. Vince came to fix a hole. In the wall. He came to patch up and paint my drywall.”
“Oh. Are you a handyman?” My mom’s eyelashes flutter.
“I used to be, a while ago. I was just doing this as a favor to Nina.”
“Oh, how nice of you. What a good neighbor.”
“It’s very nice to meet you both. I’ll just go get dressed and then come back out and shake your hands.”
“Wonderful.”
“Sounds about right,” says my father, his voice as deep as Darth Vader’s all of a sudden.
“My, um. My clothes are right here, so…” Vince walks past my mom to pick up his professional clothes, which are laid out neatly on the sofa behind her. “Be right back,” he says, looking at me.
I’m so sorry! I mouth to him.
He goes into the bedroom and shuts the door.
“Have a seat,” I tell my parents. “How much time do you have? Should we grab lunch?”
“Well…he seems very nice.”
“He really is.”
“Have you known this fellow long?” My parents take a seat on the sofa, and I remain standing.
“Not really.” I feel like I need to just rip off the bandage. They surprised me, so why not surprise them? “Vince and I had sex today.”
“Jesus H.” My dad scrubs his face with both hands.
“And then we took a shower. And had sex again—and it didn’t kill me! There, I said it. We’re all grown-ups here. Look! I’m alive. I’m happy.”
My mother’s mouth is gaping open. “You had sex in the shower?”
“Linda.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe. What if you slipped?”
“It’s a small shower stall. There’s no way we could have slipped and hit our heads. Can I get you guys something to drink? Water, coffee, lemonade?”
“Please tell me you didn’t meet him on an app.”
“I didn’t, Mom. We met the old-fashioned way. In a neighborhood liquor store.”
“What? Nina!”
“It’s fine, Daddy. He’s kind of a friend of a friend. Sort of. He’s a commercial real estate broker in the area, and we just…hit it off.”
“You certainly did,” my mother says before exploding in a fit of giggles that I can’t help but join her in.
My father is not quite so amused, but he is a thousand times cooler about this than I’d ever expect him to be.
When Vince walks out in his commercial real estate broker apparel, my mother instantly stops giggling and her hand goes to her lungs, as if she’s having as hard a time breathing when she sees him in it as I did. “Oh, what a lovely shirt.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s one of my favorites.”
“It just complements his eyes so nicely, don’t you think, Nina?”
Down, Mom. I remember what Marnie had said about why she wouldn’t bring Vince home to meet her mother, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.
“Vince Devlin,” he says, shaking my father’s hand and looking him straight in the eyes.
“Arthur Parks. Nice to meet you.” My dad studies him.
“Linda Parks. Hello.” My mother studies him in an entirely different manner.
“Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Such a nice, firm handshake,” my mother giggles.
“Devlin, eh? You a fan of Yeats?”
“I don’t know.” He looks at me. “Am I?”
“Dad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “My dad is a professor in the English Department of Indiana University, and William Butler Yeats is his favorite poet.”
“Ah, well. If he’s the guy who wrote There once was a man from Nantucket, then yes, I am a big fan. And I also keep all my cash in a bucket.”
“Hah! He was actually a bucket drummer when he was in high school.”
After a two second beat, wherein my father’s face is blank, it suddenly erupts in a smile. And then a laugh. And I am just a little bit in love with this guy right now, because very few
people can make my father laugh. It’s pretty much Bob Newhart, David Letterman, and Vince Devlin. “You’re very quick-witted. That’s impressive.”
“Nina tells us you’re in commercial real estate. This is such a big market. It must be very exciting work.”
“It is, yes. It’s a family business, actually. I grew up around it.”
“Oh, how wonderful. You know, I don’t know if Nina told you, but I’m a residential Realtor. In Bloomington.”
“So you also have a need for closure and lots to be grateful for.” He winks at my mother and then smiles at my dad so he’s included in the flirtation. And I think it may be one of the high points of my mother’s life.
She giggles so hard. “Oh, Arthur! Another word-player!”
“We’re a dying breed,” my dad says.
Vince picks up his leather backpack, which he had already packed up with his stuff before we showered. “It was a real pleasure meeting both of you. I hope to see you again sometime, but I have a meeting to get to.”
“Oh, I hope we can see you again too,” my mother says. More to me than to him.
“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” my dad says as I start to walk Vince toward the door, and I brace myself.
“What’s that?”
“How do you get your hair like that? All stand-y uppy? I’ve tried using gel and mousse, but it just gets crispy or flops back down.”
Oh, Daddy. His hair’s like that because your precious daughter’s been running her fingers through it for hours. “You’ve used mousse in your hair?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Your mother suggested it.”
“It’s mostly just the way it’s cut. Any longer it’ll flop; any shorter it’s spiky.”
“So no product?”
“Well, I don’t want to give away any trade secrets or anything, but you gotta keep messing it up while it’s drying.”
“Messing it up, eh?”
“Yessir. Just have fun with it. There is a putty thing that’s good if you use just a little of it. I can give Nina the name of it.”
“Please do.”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends: a collection Page 9
