My back is to Bernadette, but when I hear her exhale loudly as her feet land on the floor, I know without a doubt that she has just tried to jump up on top of the dryer but her tight jeans limit her ability to move.
I walk over to her. She turns to face me, and before she says a word, I’ve lifted her up by her waist and set her down on top of the machine. I go back to the folding table before she can clear her throat and say thank you.
“So you’re on call twenty-four seven, huh?”
“Yeah. I mean, within reason. You probably think it’s silly to be at his beck and call, but a lot of people are relying on him to complete this series of paintings he’s working on, and if I can prevent him from having a meltdown, it’s no small feat.”
“I don’t think it’s silly. I think your job is important, and it’s adorable that you have a crush on your boss.”
I look over my shoulder at her. She wrinkles her nose at my use of the word “adorable.” Too bad she looks so adorable when she wrinkles her nose.
“Do not call me that.”
“Sorry. I think it’s sweet that you have a crush on your boss, Bernie.”
“Don’t call me Bernie.”
“Okay.” I place my last piece of laundry in my basket and turn to face her. She seems pensive.
“I have had a crush on him. Maybe it’s dumb. I guess I need to get over it.”
“I agree. How do you plan to do that?”
“I can’t say that I’ve formulated an actual plan yet. How do you plan to get over your ex-girlfriend?”
“I have some ideas.” My eyelids feel heavy. I might have bedroom eyes. Whatever my face is doing right now, it’s making Bernadette uncomfortable.
She wrinkles her brow. “What is with you? You’re behaving so…differently toward me all of a sudden.”
“Yes, I am. That was me trying to stay away from you.” I walk over to her. “This is me wanting to get closer to you.”
Her legs and knees are welded together. I see how her body tenses up. I place my hands, one on each of her knees, and then slowly move each of my hands up the sides of her thighs. She sucks in her breath. Her shoulders lower a little. When my hands reach her hips, I look straight at her. Our eyes are about the same level now. Her lashes flutter, and then her eyelids remain half-closed. She wets her lower lip with her tongue—barely perceptible, but I see it. I feel it. I wait for her body to give me another sign as I grip on to her hips a little tighter.
When she arches her back a tiny bit, raising her breasts, I feel her knees relax apart. I pull her toward me and step between her parted legs. Her hands are on either side of my face as mine reach for her waist. I wait for her to lower her lips to mine, but she doesn’t. She’s studying my face, her fingertips caressing my facial hair, probably deconstructing my features—light and shadow, straight lines and curves.
Fuck that.
I don’t want to be deconstructed by this woman.
I want to disappear into her face and curves and dark, wet places.
I lean in and kiss her. Quickly, decisively, startling her out of her little artist’s reverie. I squeeze her waist. My face is still so close to hers. She shifts around on her ass, lets out a sigh, and my mouth finds hers again. She’s with me now, not just responding but with hungry, little gasps and quiet moans as her soft lips and tongue move in response to mine but also with their own clear intentions. I like the way she kisses, with her whole body, like it’s the beginning of a really interesting conversation that I want to keep having. Something shifts, and she goes in deeper, grabbing my shirt to pull me closer. She’s groaning into my mouth and biting my bottom lip, and her tongue is a caged wild animal that’s been set free, and I don’t know if I want to tame it with my mouth or let it roam all over, but I have never had such a sensual fucking kiss in my life and I don’t ever want this to stop.
Then she jerks back like she’s been slapped awake.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is breathy and it’s not really a question, but I have answers for her.
“Behaving differently toward you.” My voice is deeper than it’s ever been, and I may be the king of controlling my emotions, but managing this raging hard-on just might kill me.
“You certainly are.”
“I think we should have an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?”
“The kind you’ve had with other guys.”
“Oh. That kind of arrangement.”
She slides back farther onto the top of the washing machine, squeezing her thighs back together and shutting me out.
“Either that, or we can both listen to each other get it on with other people through the vent.”
She bites her lower lip and stares at my mouth. “Did you hear me that afternoon when I…”
“When you were pleasuring yourself? Yes, I did. Thank you for that, by the way.”
She covers her face and groans.
“Oh—are you giving me a repeat performance?”
She punches my bicep. “No. And what makes you think I listen to you through the vent?”
“You obviously listen to me when I’m in the bedroom, or else you would have told me about this acoustic situation when I moved in.”
She grins. “First of all, I don’t listen to you so much as I happen to be able to hear you. And secondly, it’s very cute when you sing with Daisy. Thirdly…you aren’t half as smart as you think you are.”
“Maybe not. But you like me twice as much as you think you do.”
“Oh yeah? How much do you like me?”
“Exactly as much as I think I do. Despite everything, I think I’m attracted to you and I think you’re attracted to me, and I propose that you and I engage in casual relations with each other. For now and until it is no longer convenient or fun for either or both of us. This way I don’t have to be away from Daisy for too long, so she won’t pee on my aunt’s hardwood floors, and your walk of shame will only take five seconds. Everybody wins.”
“I don’t spend the night with guys I…do that with.”
“Even better. Daisy doesn’t like to share.”
“You mean she doesn’t like to share me.”
“Now let’s get one thing straight, Bernie.”
“Don’t call me Bernie.”
“This arrangement would be between you and me. Daisy is off the table.”
“Okay, but that whole conversation we just had earlier, about your girlfriend…”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend. We wouldn’t be able to have that kind of talk anymore. I don’t want to hear about her.”
“I’m the one who didn’t want to talk to you about her.”
“This isn’t about being right or wrong here, Esquire.”
“You’re right.”
She seems to be equal parts exasperated, flustered and turned-on. I do have that effect on women, but it looks good on her. There’s a lot of energy to be tapped into, and I am beyond ready to tap that.
Just when it feels like she’s about to lean in and let that energy loose again, the phone in her back pocket starts vibrating again.
We both lower our heads and exhale.
“Sorry, I have to…”
“Go ahead.” I step away from her.
She looks at her phone. “Shit, it’s his agent. That means he called his agent in a panic and now his agent is panicking.”
“Take it. It’s fine.”
It’s pretty clear that it’s not at all fine. She looks down and covers her mouth when she notices the astonishing bulge in my pants.
“Oh God. Sorry! So sorry!” she whispers as she runs out of the room and up the stairs.
I wait three minutes before taking my laundry back upstairs.
The no-strings concept is still quietly floating around in the air out there, somewhere between us, like a paper airplane. It may never land, could very well get crumpled up in her smooth, capable hands or burst into flames if she decides to light a match and toss a
few incendiary words at me. As much as I enjoy the back-and-forth, I’m not sure how much more of it I can take. One more kiss like that, and my life is ruined.
I’ve decided it’s probably best to treat my disillusioned body to an ice-cold shower and call it a night, when I hear a quiet knock at the front door. When I open it, no one is there, but I find a folded piece of paper taped to it. On the outer fold of the paper, she has scrawled the words: Didn’t want to slide this under the door in case Daisy gets to it before you do…
I unfold the note, impressed by the controlled but swirly handwriting and even more impressed by the words.
Dear grouchy neighbor: I’m considering your offer and need clarification before proceeding. Despite being an artist, I think you know that as a busy New Yorker, I am also practical and straightforward.
That said, I need to make sure you know that this could never turn into anything serious. I don’t care if you’re trying to get over your ex-girlfriend or hoping she’ll eventually want to get back together with you—just don’t project your messy feelings about her onto me.
Because, despite your resemblance to an underwear model, I won’t be falling for you. Ever.
Yours, with clear boundaries,
Bernadette
P.S. I’d like to be very clear that regardless of whether or not we do this, nothing will change my feelings for your dog (and we both know she loves me too).
10
Bernadette
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, all I want to do is get into bed. By myself. Because I should sleep on this and see how I feel tomorrow, when I’m fully sober. Truthfully, it’s not even the wine that’s been making me feel light-headed all night, it’s Matt. I just need to sleep. I’m not even going to stay up long enough to get my laundry once it has dried. I’m just going to get into my pajamas and call it a night. My friendly neighborhood pajamas. Because that is what I wear when I get in bed by myself with my glass of wine and my Netflix.
But before I get really comfortable, it seems wise to check my phone five times and then tiptoe to the front door, just in case there’s a note…
There’s a note!
On the floor by the door.
I’ve never been so happy that there’s a slight gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floors.
Dear nutty neighbor: As a lawyer, I must clarify that I never made an offer. It was a suggestion regarding the possibility of a nonpermanent, no-strings-attached arrangement between two consenting adults whose beds are separated by a wall.
As a man who shares your disdain for messy feelings, I applaud your confidence in your ability to not fall for me. Hold on to that. I’d also like to make it clear that I don’t care if you want to get over your crush on your boss or if you still hope he’ll realize you’re the woman of his dreams. That said, I definitely wasn’t thinking about my ex-girlfriend when I kissed you in the laundry room, and I’m quite sure you weren’t thinking about your boss.
As a dog daddy, I’m glad you’re so taken with my girl. But if you try to steal her, I will get all Liam Neeson up in your pretty face.
As a busy New Yorker, I think clear boundaries are hot. I have one hour free to blow your mind tonight. So turn off Netflix, put down that glass of wine, and let’s do this.
Yours for now,
Matt
Freaking know-it-all big-talking lawyer neighbors with their panty-vaporizing letter writing skills.
Thinks he knows exactly what I’m thinking and what I’m up to at all times. I haven’t turned on Netflix yet—so there! And he should know better than to promise an hour of mind-blowing sex to someone he hasn’t had sex with yet. What is he—a novice?
I put down my glass of wine so I can text to let him know that I’m coming over to discuss this matter further. I grab my keys, check myself in the mirror, and leave my apartment before changing my outfit or my mind.
Matt slowly opens his door and watches me shuffle over, barefoot. He backs up against the door, allowing me to step inside. When he shuts the door, he says, “Nice pajamas.”
“Nice note.”
“Right back atcha.”
“I’ve never done this with a neighbor before—for good reasons.”
“What reasons?”
Because I’ve never had a neighbor as hot as you before.
“Because it’s too close for comfort. But also convenient, yes. I get that.”
“Good. Any other concerns?”
“I just want to be clear about this…”
“Go on.”
“Whether I get it on with someone or not has nothing to do with Sebastian. Well, it does, but not in the way you think. It’s just that I spend every day talking to him about him and doing things for him, and I don’t have the bandwidth to be in another thing where I have to talk to a guy about his life and his feelings. And I don’t want to have to compromise or figure out his needs or any of that crap that you have to do when you’re dating someone.”
“That does sound like crap.”
“I just want a guy I can have orgasms with.”
“I’m the guy. You talk an awful lot for someone who says she doesn’t want to talk about stuff.”
“I just want to be clear.”
“We’re clear. Take your clothes off.”
“You first.”
We have a staring contest for a few seconds before lunging and reaching for each other’s clothes. I grab his shirt as he grabs my pajama top. Before he can remove mine, I pull his off over his head, and when I get a look at his bare chest and abs, I actually gasp and cover my mouth.
“Oh my God!”
“What?” He looks down at his stomach, probably expecting to see an alien baby emerging from it based on my reaction.
I place my hand flat on one of his pecs and push him back, laughing. “What is your problem?! Why do you have to look this good? You’re a freaking lawyer. Are you also a model?”
“No. I was.” His hands are slowly roaming my curves.
“I knew it.”
“In college. To pay for law school. Is this a problem for you?”
“I don’t know.” I allow him to pull my pajama top over my head. “Maybe. I’ve never had physical contact with this many abs at the same time before. Was there a sale at Abs R Us? Buy six get two bonus abs free?”
He stands still, holding my pajama top and staring down at my chest, but he isn’t laughing and he also probably isn’t wondering if I was Photoshopped.
“Do you always wear a pink and black lace bra under your pajamas?”
The truth is, I’ve never worn this before, and hot damn La Perla bra—you just paid for yourself! The way Matt McGovern is looking at me right now, I might just spend all my savings on lingerie. I feel like a goddess. A goddess in a really expensive bra and cotton Target pajama pants.
“No. I usually wear the white lace one, but it’s still wet.”
He grunts as his hand reaches behind my head to fist my hair, tugging my head back so he can kiss my neck. My knees nearly give out. I swear, I can hear my whole body chanting “Get it, Girl!” but when my eyes partially open, I see a sweet little black and white head tilting in the living room, staring.
“Daisy’s watching us,” I whisper.
“What?”
“She’s looking at us. I don’t want to do this in front of her.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake.”
He hands me my pajama top, picks me up, and carries me to the guest room, shutting the door behind us. I am determined not to think about how I’ve overheard Dolly and Marty have sex in this bed. I am determined not to think about anything for the next hour, except how easy it is for him to lift me up and how I would probably let him move me around in pretty much any way he wants to.
He places me down on the bed so my head can rest on a pillow. He raises my hips up, carefully pulls my pajama pants down in one swift motion, and stares at my matching pink and black bra and panties. There’s just so much to take in. M
y eyes don’t know what to focus on—the way he’s looking at me, the pecs, the abs, the sculpted biceps and veiny forearms, the colossal protrusion in his jeans… He continues staring at my body while he removes those jeans, and now there is only one thing I can pay attention to—the magnificent erection that’s straining to be released from his black boxer briefs.
My knees are bent and I’m squeezing my thighs together, writhing around alone on the bed, because there is so much agonizing tension in my clit and it’s just so slippery down there. He moves my legs apart and kneels between them. He’s stroking my hips as he seems to be carefully considering what he wants to do to me first.
I glance down at my bra and panties. “Be careful taking these off,” I say in a husky voice that I don’t even recognize as my own. “I know I said I don’t care about clothes, but these are special.”
“I’m gonna take these off so slowly you’ll be begging me to rip them from your body.”
I’m about to scoff, but he lowers himself to kiss my mouth before any more sass can escape from my lips. My hands go to his back and then travel all over, everywhere I can reach. I like that his muscles aren’t too bulky, and I’m surprised by how smooth his skin is and how good it feels to touch it. I try to concentrate on how his muscles move beneath my hands, but when he pulls one bra strap off my shoulder and kisses my neck and then just beneath my shoulder blade, I shudder. Since when is that spot beneath my shoulder blade an erogenous zone?
I make a guttural sound and drag my fingernails down his back, ever so lightly. His breath catches, and I feel his body clench up. I reach down inside the front of his boxer briefs and whisper, “oh fuck,” because my fingers barely touch as they clasp around below the head. The skin of his hard cock is so hot and tight. He groans and I lick my lips, but he pulls away from my grasp before he kisses me between my legs, over my panties, lifts the lacey elastic of them, and lets it snap back against my skin. He kisses me all the way up the center of my torso, grabbing my wrists and holding them up over my head.
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 30