The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  “You’re really beautiful. I think. Do you think you’re beautiful? I can’t tell.” His eyes are mostly shut as he attempts to lift his head up.

  “Um. Sure.”

  “C’mere.”

  “Okay.” I stay where I am, at the foot of the bed.

  “Are you moving toward me?”

  I’m not. “Uh-huh. Very slowly.”

  “Don’t mess with me,” he says, his voice getting less dreamy, more stern. “Get in bed with me.”

  “I have things to do.”

  “You have to get in bed with me.”

  “Okay. Five minutes.”

  “Five-teen minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. You’re nice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “I know your secret… I like being with you…”

  I hold my breath. This kindness and openness is alarming.

  He looks over at me. “Did I say that out loud just now?”

  “Nope. You’re asleep.”

  “I’m not.”

  I sigh and shift around. “I like being with you too.”

  He nuzzles his face against my belly and wraps his arm around my waist.

  My throat is starting to constrict. My heart is racing, and not in the good way. He is being so sweet, it’s stupid that it makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but it does.

  I shouldn’t read anything into this. For all I know, he’s so loopy right now he doesn’t realize that it’s me here with him and not his ex-girlfriend. There is still a really good chance that he’ll go back to her, the second she shows any interest.

  Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.

  “Hey, Matt? Have you been in touch with Vanessa?”

  He’ll never remember that I asked.

  He furrows his brow. “No. Don’t say her name.” He covers my mouth with his fingers. “I don’t like you saying her name.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. No mixing feelings, remember?”

  “Okay. You need to stay on your back so you can raise your foot up.”

  “Mmmm no.” He nuzzles me. “What do you smell like?”

  “What?”

  “You always smell good. Vanilla. Lavender. Not like a candle. Like it’s coming off your skin.” His face is now pressed against my neck. He inhales loudly and then exhales with a resounding “aaaahhhhhh!” His arms are wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me into him. “What’s the other thing?”

  “What other thing?”

  “The smell?”

  “Amber and coconut.”

  “Whaaaaaaat?” He buries his face in my chest. “Soooo goooood.” His voice is still deep and masculine, but he’s being so boyish right now, it actually hurts my heart. “Nobody else smells like you.”

  “I made it myself. When I was at my parents’ place. My mom makes perfume oils and candles.”

  He groans. I can feel his erection against my thigh, but I’m pretty sure he’d try to hump a body pillow right now, and I am not about to let this go any further. His fingers gently caress my nipple, over my top. All I’m thinking about is that I don’t know if he meant “No, I haven’t been in touch with Vanessa” or “No, don’t say her name.” But I guess I don’t really care. Because Matt McGovern is caressing my nipple over my top. My eyes close and my head drops back just as his hand falls away and his head hits the pillow.

  I watch him sleep, studying and memorizing his face. I would die of embarrassment if he ever saw the work in my current sketchbook. He’d be so creeped out. It’s all quite abstract, as much of my work is. Most people wouldn’t recognize him or me. But I know it’s us.

  It feels like I’m moving into some new phase of my artistic development, and that excites me. I’ve always looked through Sebastian’s extensive art book collection during my breaks, and lately I’ve been browsing the erotic works of Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, and Toulouse-Lautrec. Even if he goes back to his girlfriend tomorrow, the impact that Matt McGovern has had on my life in this relatively short period of time has been huge.

  All because of what he does to me in bed.

  Okay, that might not be the whole truth.

  Obviously, he brought Daisy into my life too. And whatever it is that he does to me in bed, it started long before we got here. But we’re here, and I’m grateful.

  I lean down to kiss him on his forehead. He doesn’t move at all. He’s out like a light, expressionless as always, but I see so much more than a handsome face when I look at him now. Despite how cozy it is in bed with him, this is outside my comfort zone. I am determined to stay here as long as possible, while trying not to get lost.

  14

  Matt

  It’s dark when I wake up, but the hallway light is on.

  I smell vanilla and lavender and something, so I reach around for Bernadette.

  “You here?” I whisper.

  No response.

  “Anyone? Daisy?”

  I can hear Daisy snoring in her doggy bed on the floor by the foot of my bed.

  “Text me if you need anything,” I remember her saying.

  I have no idea what time it was when she left, but it’s eleven thirty now, and I feel like I’m waking up after a year-long nap. My ankle’s fine. There’s a dull ache, nothing I can’t handle. I’m thirsty and awake…and exceptionally horny. I’m feeling that dull ache all over. I switch on the bedside lamp. There’s a big bottle of water on the table, right next to the book I’ve been reading. Shit, I would have hidden that if I’d known she was coming over. It’s dumb to want to hide that I’m reading her favorite book, but I have a feeling it would make her uncomfortable.

  She has written on the top Post-it note of the stack I keep on the table.

  Don’t get up unless you use your crutches! Promise me. I just walked Daisy, she’s been fed, and I’ll be back in the morning to take her to daycare on my way to work. Get some rest.

  P.S. I bought prune juice (in kitchen) in case the Percocet makes you constipated. xx

  Well, that’s sexy.

  She’s thoughtful, though.

  I have vague memories of saying things that I never would have said to her if I weren’t under the influence of a controlled substance. Perhaps I’m still under the influence, because I don’t regret it. I just wish I could remember exactly what I said and how she responded.

  There’s a lot that I wish I could say to her right now, things I wouldn’t say or write to her.

  I sit up and look around.

  I remove the pencil that I was using to hold my place in the book and start writing down what I’m feeling, in a secret place.

  I may never be able to say these things out loud to her, but I want to get them out while I’m feeling them.

  Thank you.

  You’re so fucking hot.

  You’re good in bed.

  You’re good out of bed.

  I think about you all the time.

  I like thinking about you.

  I’m glad I met you.

  I don’t know if it would have been better if we’d met years earlier, or months later, but I’m glad I know you now.

  I want to know more about you.

  I want you to know more about me.

  I want a lot when it comes to you, Bernadette. It surprises me. You surprise me.

  I wish you were here in bed with me now.

  And on and on, I write until my thumb starts to cramp up, and even when I’m done I’m not ready to face the rest of the night alone without her.

  She needs her space, I know that. I don’t want her to come over and take care of me again. I just have to know that she’s there. I reach for my laptop, which is on the floor by the bed. I double-click on iMessages and re-read our past conversations while eating a cookie. We’ve got chemistry, there’s no doubt about that. I wipe the cookie dust from my fingers and get ready to make contact.

  Me: You awake?

 
BF: Did you sleep?

  Me: Yes. I feel great.

  BF: Do you need anything?

  Me: Yes. Are you on your bed?

  BF: Yes.

  Me: Good. Stay there.

  Me: Are you naked?

  BF: No.

  Me: Unacceptable. Take off your clothes.

  BF: Bossy.

  Me: Just getting started. Do it, or I’ll come over and take them off for you.

  BF: Stay right where you are, mister.

  BF: Okay. I’m naked. Happy now?

  Me: Are you thinking about me?

  BF:

  Me: I want you to touch yourself. Be loud so I can hear you.

  BF:

  Me: Don’t be shy. Don’t hold back. Don’t think about anything but me touching you. It’s all I can think about.

  Me: I want you to gently circle your breast with the fingers of one hand. Reach down to stroke your clit with the other. Imagine me doing this to you. Then picture me cupping your breasts as I kiss those perky nipples. I kiss them hard and hungry because I’ve been craving them and then soft and slow because I’m getting exactly what I need and I like it. I like the way you taste, and I like the way you smell. I like the way you sound when you’re licking and sucking, and I love the way you sound when I make you come. Now imagine me kissing a trail down between your legs, still cupping your tits, and I lightly blow on your clit before I French kiss your sweet lower lips until you scream and swear like a marine.

  She doesn’t write back, and I take that as a good sign.

  That should get her in the mood, if she wasn’t already in it.

  I turn my head toward the vent.

  I can’t hear anything. She’s taking her time, and that’s good.

  A few seconds later, I hear a draw slam shut and that little jackhammer’s getting to work.

  Well now, Miss Bernadette.

  Whatever floats her boat.

  The moaning and groaning begins in no time.

  I push the laptop away.

  Daisy creeps out of the room.

  “Ahhh! Matt!” my neighbor calls out. “Oh God, Matt! Oh yes! Fuck! Yes! Ohhhhh!”

  Yup. That’s what it sounds like when she’s on the way to a climax, and I am right there with her. I can picture her writhing around, her toes pointing as her head jerks up off the pillow, her angry O-face. It’s all happening so much faster than when we’re together, but it’s fine with me.

  Now she sounds like she’s actually in pain, but I know that’s not what it is, and I disappear into myself for a little while.

  I’m going to have to have new sheets delivered tomorrow because I don’t think I’ll be getting down to the basement to wash these any time soon and I’m sure as hell not going to let Bernadette clean them for me. The evidence of my enjoyment of her is all over.

  I’ll definitely be buying my aunt some fresh new bed sheets when I leave here.

  Meanwhile, I wish I could hear the sighs and watch Bernadette’s chest heave as she catches her breath.

  My laptop dings with a notification.

  BF: twyuieopyrwiub1ajkfsdluiqowar;eup;uzjklgfdapoireuwhstdfgj

  BF: Just kidding. I’m done.

  BF: Hope you enjoyed the show.

  BF: Sorry it was such a quick one. There will be no repeat performances tonight, as the star is about to fall asleep with a smile on her face.

  Me: Wham bam thank you ma’am.

  Me: Good night. And thank you. Not just for that but for helping out earlier.

  BF: I’ll see you in the morning when I walk Daisy.

  BF: Here if you need me. Good night.

  Me: Good night.

  I guess that no matter what I say or what I don’t say, what I mean is this: I don’t need anyone, Bernadette, but I’m here if you want me too.

  15

  Matt

  FROM: DOLLY KEMP

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN (personal)

  Ciao from Roma! My spy tells me you have taken a lover. This is excellent news, and needless to say, I do approve.

  Hope you enjoyed the dinner party. Wink (I know you disapprove of emojis).

  Have fun. If you do anything stupid, like hurt her, you will feel my wrath and the tip of my pointy shoe from across the Atlantic. So be smart and watch your ass.

  I wish I could travel Europe forever, believe me, but Marty is beginning to miss his home in Miami. We haven’t bought a return flight yet. In fact—as you may know—we will be meeting up with your parents when they visit this fair continent. Thank you for checking in again, but please feel free to stay in my apartment until I let you know that you must leave it.

  And no, I will not accept any rent from you. Save it for a down payment or some treats for Daisy.

  xx Your favorite aunt (who’s infinitely cooler than your mom)

  P.S. I am aware that our dear neighbor has certain arrangements with certain men, and I’m sure she has convinced you that it’s all she wants with you. She is a very capable, independent woman, but she is not like the towering ice queens you usually go for. She will either bend or break. Don’t let her break.

  P.P.S. FYI, I care very much about your feelings too, and no, I have not been in communication with her about you. Also, in case it wasn’t clear—when I said she could bend or break, I wasn’t talking about sex positions… I may be a little bit drunk right now.

  Two weeks have passed since I sprained my ankle, and I’ve been walking without crutches for a week. It’s healing nicely, and I just have a bit of a limp. For a few days, Bernadette insisted that I use the wooden cane that she bought in Chinatown. I did. But only around the neighborhood and only because she did a ridiculous little Charlie Chaplin walk when she presented it to me. Also, because I would do pretty much anything for her at this point, although she has no idea.

  It was really starting to feel like we live together, especially since she kept coming over for Daisy. But then once I was able to take Daisy for walks, she suddenly got really busy again. It could be work, or she could be pulling away from me. I’ve been busy catching up with work too, so it’s not like I’m going to confront her about it. Regardless of what my aunt wrote, I’m not sure which of us is more likely to break.

  I take a long way home from doggy daycare Wednesday evening because it’s really nice out after a week of shitty weather. Daisy and I are getting back into the swing of things. She looks back at me and snorts. I know what she’s thinking: “You’re just trying to avoid seeing Bernadette because you want to tell her something that you think she doesn’t want to hear. I know Chihuahuas with bigger balls than you.”

  Women.

  Can’t live with ’em, can’t live next door to them.

  “Actually, I made plans to meet up with the guys tonight,” I tell her. “I’m just making sure you get everything out of your system now. So there.”

  When we get to the foyer, Daisy gets really excited, and I realize it’s because she sees Bernadette. Bernadette is sitting on the floor in front of the mailboxes, inhaling a candle. She’s wearing sweats, her hair is up in a ponytail, and there’s an open package between her splayed legs. She looks like she’s stoned.

  “Hello.”

  “I got a care package,” she says, grinning. Her eyes are droopy and her voice is low. “Hello, crazy Daisy!”

  “From your parents?”

  She reaches into the box and holds up a piece of soap. “Smell this. My mom made it.”

  It does smell good. It smells like Bernadette. “Did she make this stuff?”

  “Yes. Everything’s from the farm.” She shows me a couple of jars of jam and pickled things, tiny bouquets of dried herbs, and little watercolor paintings on thick paper. She hugs the paintings to her chest. “I love my mom and dad.”

  “Are you okay? Can I help you up?”

  She nods her head and puts everything back in the box and then manages to stand up on her own. “Carry the box up for m
e,” she orders.

  I pick up the box. “Seriously. What’s wrong with you?”

  She sighs. “Nothing! I don’t get sick. Sebastian sent me home in a cab because I was having chills and body ache things. I took a Theraflu, and I’m gonna sleep all night and be fine tomorrow. I just need to sleep. Should I take Daisy for a walk?” She wanders in a zigzag, vaguely in the direction of the stairs.

  “What? I just walked her home, and no you can’t leave this building. Get up to your apartment.”

  “Bossy.”

  “Go up the stairs. Now.”

  She opens her mouth to yell at me and then has a coughing fit. It makes her mad, and her expression tells me she blames me for the fact that she’s coughing. I feel bad for her, but it’s really cute. I stay right behind her so she doesn’t fall backwards. I notice that she wobbles as she reaches for the handrail.

  “Are you sure all you took was Theraflu? Because you smell like red wine.”

  “You smell like red wine.”

  “You should not have come downstairs in this state.”

  “What state? Vermont? The Theraflu hasn’t kicked in yet. I’m fine. Look!”

  She runs up to the landing, but when she gets there, she grabs on to the wall. “Whoa.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. How much wine did you drink?”

  “Not wine.” She holds up an index finger to lecture me. “Medicine. Old family recipe. You heat up a cup of red wine with honey and cinnamon and lemon. All better.”