Crush

by Wood, Mae

  “I warmed up to you after you started doing your job out there. Bonus crushed it,” she said.

  “I can’t be your regular guy,” I said. “I travel a ton for work.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Sugabe-ah, when it was clearly just fine with him if he—and Elsa—never saw me again.

  “Bonus needs a better name,” said Cheesy Pete.

  “Bonus has one. From college,” said Greg.

  I knew it was coming. Once I saw the jerseys and knew their shtick was nicknames, I knew this story was coming out.

  “The Saint,” said Greg. The table fell silent.

  A nickname itself is secondary. How you got a nickname—that was the good bit.

  “You going to explain, or do I get to do the honors?” he asked me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Be my guest,” I said with a shrug, downing the rest of my beer.

  “The Saint. Because, I quote, ‘I slay pussy like St. George slays dragons.’”

  Cheesy Pete snarfed, beer coming out of his mouth and nose. Laughter rang out. Heads turned toward us.

  “I was nineteen,” I said in my defense. “I don’t regret it.”

  I looked at Elsa to see how she was taking the p-word. That word was either very cool or very not cool. A naughty half-smile curled on Elsa’s lip. But Sugabe-ah was in luck, because my head was on Kenzie and what she would think about the Saint slaying pussy. While she’d have to admit pussy-slaying was legit, I wasn’t sure if she’d dig the nickname.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kenzie

  “What’s up with the banker guy?”

  We’d just sat down at a small table with our afternoon coffees. I looked at my cousin intently. This wasn’t like before and I didn’t know how to say that. Yeah, she’d bailed me out of more shenanigans than she probably should have over the past few years. She’d covered for me. She’d run interference with my parents that summer I spent in Argentina. She’d even lied for me a time or two. But this thing with Ryan, it wasn’t a mistake. I just needed to buy some time to figure it all out.

  “None of your business.”

  “Fine, but wonder what it’s going to take to buy my silence with the moms?”

  “It’s different. Listen—” I said, searching for the words to explain the mess in my head.

  She leaned forward and her eyebrows rose in concern. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh. Hell no. Not like that. I mean, maybe we’ll get around to spanking—”

  Drennan sat back in her chair and rolled her eyes. This Kenzie she could handle, and I’d hide there for a while.

  “But listen, don’t say anything to the moms.”

  “I won’t,” she said with a shrug, taking out her books and laptop. Whatever I had going on with Ryan wasn’t a huge blip on her radar.

  I got my things out on the table to start studying for my last few finals, but I couldn’t focus. I snapped the lid of my computer shut. “It’s just different, Dren,” I said. She looked at me in confusion. “I don’t know why or how I know or even how to explain it.”

  “Love at first sight?” she said with a silly smile. She expected me to deny it, to call her crazy. And I never like to do what is expected of me.

  “Something like that, maybe. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like being in The Little Mermaid and he and I were on the boat and the crab with a Jamaican accent was singing—”

  “Sebastian. The crab is Sebastian.”

  “Yeah, that whole thing. Except out behind the cellar.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  “I didn’t. I swear to God, Kenzie, I don’t want to know.”

  “Too bad. You’re missing out. It was good.”

  “Clearly. I’ve got an exam tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got exams too.”

  She shooed me with her fingers, motioning me to get to it and I did, cranking on my marketing case study. After about fifteen minutes, I gave up. Drennan was distracting me. She wasn’t being still. She kept rocking side to side in her seat.

  “Talked to him since yesterday?” she asked, closing the lid of her laptop.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? I’ve got his number from when you called me.” She pulled out her phone. “I just sent it to you. It’s Hotel Guy. Saved it like that in case I needed to call the cops.”

  “Nice. Good thing you didn’t need to do that. He’s Ryan Royer. And I already had his number.”

  Her laptop was back open and her fingers were flying. “Ryan Royer … Oh, he’s hot.”

  I opened my mouth to share something that would make her blush—real or not. I needed her not to talk about how hot Ryan was. I knew how hot Ryan was. Nuclear. As I created a story about something completely wild we’d done, I realized that I didn’t want to share. I wanted him—wanted that—for me alone. “Nope. For that, you don’t get anything. I’m not kissing and telling.”

  “Because I called him hot? You mean I could have shut you up years ago? I’m calling all of your boyfriends hot from now on.”

  “Go for it,” I said with a shrug because I knew there was a good chance there weren’t going to be any others after him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryan

  “How was von Eck?” Marlena asked, hovering over my desk Monday midmorning.

  “Good,” I said, schooling myself to keep my face calm. I’d rehearsed in the mirror last night and this morning. “Great family. It’s an amazing opportunity to work with them and help them grow. And I appreciate your trust in me too. How’s your father?” I thought it would be the perfect blend of responsive and then redirecting, and I just prayed it worked. And it did. Like a charm, in fact. I nodded and looked concerned and made the right sounds at the right time as she said words like fall and hip fracture and surgery.

  “Shelly Balfour called me this morning.”

  Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I looked at Marlena with real interest and tried to figure out where this conversation was going to go, but the ball was firmly in my conversational court.

  “She’s still good with the plan?” Marlena asked.

  “Yeah, that she is.

  “You’ll get it done. How’s the daughter?”

  Oh fuck. She knows. Marlena knows and I’m fucked.

  “Kenzie?” I asked, playing for time, wondering what I was supposed to say.

  “Yeah, she’s young, but Shelly and Theresa swear she’s up for it. She was quiet during the meetings and she seemed very reserved. Is she going to be able to sell? Or are we going to have to present for her and she’ll do a Miss America wave at the end?”

  “She’s great,” I said eagerly. Too eagerly. Gotta slow that down there, bud, I told myself. Professional. Not personal. Professional. “She’ll do great. She’s smart, and definitely not quiet. Wouldn’t have guessed she was still in college.” Which was the complete truth. “She knows the product. She gave me a tour after the call, and she really lives for the wine. She’s enthusiastic about the land.”

  “Like her mom and aunt, then.”

  “You know them well?”

  “Yes and no. This is the third time we’ve helped them with financing. Last time was building that tasting room. It was one of the first tasting rooms up there that had big outdoor spaces, and leads out into the land, and served food people actually wanted to eat. It got an architecture award and really set the standard on a lot of the current Napa vibe.”

  “The food was good.”

  “You have dinner there?”

  “No, but I had lunch the next day with Kenzie and we talked about her role on this.”

  “You missed out. It’s truly outstanding at dinner with the sun setting. You’ll have to go back. Take someone with you. Where did you have dinner?”

  I was blindsided by that simple question, because there was only one person I could ever see myself sitting next to on that patio, and I got caught up in the idea of dinner with
her. Marlena’s question lingered. My chest got tight and my palms started to itch as I felt the time expand. Should I lie? I was sure cold sweat was beading on my forehead. “Believe it or not, room service.”

  “Room service?” Marlena asked, screwing up her face.

  “Yeah, I needed to crank on some stuff.”

  “It’s your life, Ryan,” she scolded and raised her hands in surrender. “But I raised you better than that.”

  “I’ll do better next time.” The promise wasn’t really to Marlena, but to Kenzie, to myself.

  “How about doing better next week? You’re out for your mandatory leave, right?”

  One of the weird aspects of my job was the mandatory vacation. I wish I could say that it was for my mental health, but it wasn’t. It was to make sure I wasn’t cooking the books. Everyone above a certain level had to go offline for a full week. I could field phone calls, but I couldn’t do much else. “Yes. I get locked out on Friday at midnight.”

  “Great. Big plans this year?”

  “Just going to hang out at home.”

  “You’ve got to go do stuff.”

  “We live in the best city in the world and I travel enough for clients.”

  “Do me a favor and go somewhere—”

  “I like my place.”

  “Third and fourth quarter are going to be nuts this year. You know that. Go see your mom. Go camping. I’m not telling you to take a luxury vacation to Fiji, but I highly recommend it. I’ll send you the name of the resort I stayed at. Bring a woman. Live it up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, turning back to my computer.

  “Hey, Ryan,” she said. Her tone was softer than her normal brashness, so I turned around, curious as to what was up. “I didn’t tell you this, and as your boss, I’m not complaining, but you work too much, okay? There’s always going to be a next deal. Whatever you’re working on isn’t going to be the last deal you ever touch. It’s like you got the work hard, play hard memo, but only read the first half. I mean, do you even have a hobby?”

  “I fill in on rec league hockey when I get a chance?”

  “Next you’re going to tell me that you depend on some app for dates.”

  I quickly ran the numbers in my head and after Olivia, that was eight-six point five percent true. “Apps are great. This city wouldn’t be what it was without apps.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she said. “For the city or for you. Bottom line, just go somewhere. Do something beyond work. Come back ready to dig in.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  And I did think about it.

  There was no place I wanted to be that didn’t involve Kenzie. Was it that simple? Could she and I hang out? Her place or mine, or maybe Mendocino or some place north along the coast. But it couldn’t be that simple. No way. She had exams. Exams. Fuck. If she was twenty-five, I’d feel like less of a letch.

  I thought about texting her. I’d let the silence hang too long. Twenty-four hours or less—that rule of thumb worked well with returning business calls and dealing with women post-sex. I pulled out my phone and started typing a half dozen times, but I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t know where her head was.

  And yes, I got the great irony that I didn’t know where her head was because I hadn’t asked. Fuck. I was fucking this up so badly. I flipped to the only pictures I had of us. And what struck me about them was how damn right we looked together and how genuinely happy we both were. Dirty, but happy. They were the kind of pictures my mom would stick on her fridge—a snapshot of me with the big goofy smile that over the years had become something less honest, something less real.

  My phone rang and I took the call, glad for the distraction from the overwhelming thoughts of me and Kenzie.

  As I worked my way down my list of clients to send out-of-office, hand-off emails, I kept pushing the von Eck folks to the bottom. In reality, Kenzie should probably be on the same email as her mom and her aunt, but that felt really wrong to me. I wanted her in her own little area, not part of the deal. But in reality, the deal was the only tie I had to her. So, while I wrote Theresa and Shelly about my mandatory vacation, and cc’d Marlena and Alex, the junior analyst on the desk, I decided to send Kenzie a message just to herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kenzie

  Kenzie,

  I hope you’re well. Thanks for showing me around the estate. The team is putting together a timeline. I don’t know what your schedule is like, so you need to loop us in on that. We’re going to head down to LA because we think that market will respond well to the von Eck cachet, then over to New York, or vice versa, depending on how the schedule shakes out with everyone’s availability. Plan on those two trips with dinner after the meetings. If you want to have a hand in planning those dinners by picking restaurants or menus, let me know. Otherwise, we’ll take care of it.

  We’ll also need you for a couple of workdays to run through the meeting script, either at von Eck or in our offices. I’m looking forward to working with you. I’m on vacation next week and will be without computer and email access, per our security policy. Marlena and the rest of the team will be your primary contact while I’m out, but you have my cell and shouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  Thanks,

  Ryan

  I read through his email twice and stared at his signature block, wondering what the M in M. Ryan Royer was for—Marvin? Montgomery? Melvin?—and then I got hung up on this being the second—the second—time he said he was looking forward to working with me. It had to mean something. And thanking me for showing him around the estate? It wasn’t simply him being polite, right? I’d been staring at his contact card in my phone for three days, and every study break I’d take out my phone and moon over the pictures of the two of us looking dazed and deliriously happy in the hotel room. I was nuts about him, plain and simple.

  That made sense—there were a lot of reasons to be smitten with M. Ryan Royer. But what didn’t make sense was that while I hadn’t heard from him since our parking lot goodbye, I wasn’t worried that anything between us had changed since then. With other guys I dated, I knew I could be a little clingy, wanting attention and not being shy about begging for it.

  But with Ryan, I knew I had his attention. Even if I hadn’t heard from him in three days, for some reason I didn’t worry that I’d done something wrong or that he was going anywhere. It felt like a thing that was going to happen.

  Now, the bedrock certainty I felt in my gut was replaced with butterflies. His email was in my face, tempting me to call him at two o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon when I had my gnarly soil sciences paper due no later than six. I wanted to ask him what he was doing tonight and if he was thinking about doing me as soon as my paper was submitted. But his email had been so professional. He’d emailed me from his work account. He had my cell and he’d chosen not to use it.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did want out. Maybe it was just sex, and that squeeze on my knee under the table didn’t mean anything. If he was being professional, I could be professional too. I could prove it to the moms and everyone else. And, most of all, prove it to myself. I could be a grown-up. That I could do my part in helping us get the land, even if I had to suck it up and pretend to forget my night with him.

  Ryan,

  Good to hear from you. I’m well and I’m glad you liked the behind-the-scenes tour. It was my pleasure. Other than needing to study and take my last exams, my schedule is pretty open. After graduation, I’ll be at the estate full time. Next Thursday, and the following Monday to Wednesday are out, but otherwise, let me know. I haven’t been to the city in a while, so your office works for me.

  Thanks,

  Kenzie

  I hit send and was back to wondering—Marmaduke? Malcolm? My phone buzzed and lit up with a text.

  Ryan: So professional.

  Me: Thank you? I think?

  Ryan: Want to play it this way?

  Me: It’s for the best.
<
br />   Ryan: Probably.

  Me: No, it is. I need professional.

  Ryan: Okay.

  Me: But not all the way professional.

  Ryan:??

  Me: Let’s hang out. Do more stuff.

  Ryan: Stuff?

  Me: Sex.

  Ryan: To be clear, you want me as your side piece?

  Me: No. Just you. Not on the side.

  Ryan: Secret?

  Me: Yeah. Secret.

  Ryan: No.

  My phone rang and I got the stink eye from Sarah who was working on her own due-today final paper. I took the call.

  “Not good enough for you?” I asked Ryan, tucking my phone under my chin and wandering to my bedroom where I closed the door behind me.

  “Definitely not good enough. Listen, I thought about it and I’ve been nervous as shit at the office—”

  “That someone would find out.” I flopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

  “That my boss would find out and fire my ass.”

  “Are you at the office?”

  “Yeah, but I’m in a phone booth. We’ve got this stupid open-plan office, but there are these tiny rooms with doors for sensitive calls.”

  “That’s cool,” I said, imagining him in some bright red London-style phone booth, but guessing it was probably a beige cubicle.

  “It gets the job done.”

  “You definitely get the job done, Mr. M. Ryan Royer. Hey, what’s the M for?”

  “Michael. Hoping for something cooler?”

  “You know it. Marmaduke would be awesome.”

  “Yeah, no. My father was Michael. I only use Ryan. What’s with the McKenzie?”

  “I wish there was a cool story on it, but my parents liked it.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Saying that I wanted to be near him sounded like that desperate girl I was determined not to be, but it was the truth. I ached at the thought of being near him, to be sitting next to him in some over-air-conditioned office, looking at his eyes and feeling his hand on my knee again.