The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  “Matt?”

  “I am so fucking glad I found you.”

  When he steps inside, he comes into focus, and literally everything else fades away. I drop my paintbrush and palette and run to him, jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. He kisses my lips so sweetly, like he’s kissing a delicate wound that needs to heal.

  “Is Daisy here?”

  He laughs. “She’s with my aunt. I’m happy to see you too, you nut.” He finally looks at me in that way he looked at my painting the first time he was in my apartment. Like he recognizes me as something that he absolutely must have in his life. And for the first time, I feel like even though we’re so different, I was made for him.

  “Matt. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry for not telling you how I feel.”

  “I’m sorry I held back too. I told you I wasn’t going to hold back anymore, but then I thought you might not want me.”

  “Oh, I want you.” I kiss him all over his stupidly handsome face. “I love you,” I say. “I love you. I love you!”

  “Dammit, I wanted to be the one who said it first. I had a whole speech planned, and I forgot it as soon as I saw you. I love you. I love you.” He gives me one firm kiss on the mouth to punctuate my new favorite sentence. “I love you. I hated being in a different borough from you. I don’t even want one wall between us. I want to go to sleep in the same bed as you every night. You and Daisy. Move in with us. There’s plenty of room, and you can use the second bedroom as a studio until you can afford another space.”

  I don’t know… Maybe it is the paint fumes, but I almost pass out when I hear him say this. Oh, who am I kidding. It’s Matt McGovern who makes me light-headed. He lets me down, arms still wrapped around me, holding me tight.

  “I want to. I want that more than anything. Thank you for asking. But are you sure you want to live with me?”

  “Are you sure we haven’t already lived together up there on the fourth floor?”

  “Yeah, but I’m painting now. It’s different. It’s good, but I might be crazy.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  “No, but I mean really bananas, like staying up all night and being a total asshole when I’m in the middle of a project and an even bigger asshole when I can’t paint.”

  “Okay. Well, great news—if we decide we hate living together, you can just move out.”

  I laugh. “I guess it really is that simple, isn’t it?”

  He finally notices my painting on the easel. “Wait, what is this? This is beautiful.”

  “It’s not finished yet.”

  “Is it for me?”

  I can’t help but smile at that question. I may never stop smiling, in fact. “It’s for us.”

  “Does it have a title?”

  “It’s a secret. I’ll tell you after…”

  “After what?”

  “After we fuck in my bedroom,” I whisper, pulling him out of the barn.

  He pauses for a second. “Are your parents home?”

  “They’re probably working in the other studio, and anyway, you know it wouldn’t matter to them.”

  “You people are my kind of crazy.” He breaks into a run, and I take a mental picture because I want to paint this image of us sprinting to the bedroom to have sex. I want to paint everything, and it’s all because of him.

  I start pulling Matt’s shirt off before we’ve reached the door to my room. His skin is damp and taut and giving off so much heat. He releases my hair from its bun and rakes his fingers through the length of it. Every cell in my body is pulsating with the need to touch and be connected to this man in every possible way. When he shuts the door behind us, I unzip his jeans and reach for his beautiful hard cock like a hysterical starving woman unwrapping a Dove ice cream bar.

  But then, when he’s unhooking my overalls and they drop to the ground, I realize that we need to slow this down. This is about more than lust. This is about us coming together for real from now on.

  It’s going to happen. It’s happening now. I’m going to converge with him on every level, even if it’s the only time we ever do this. I’m going to say everything that needs to be said with my body and with words until there’s nothing but love and understanding and sweat between us.

  Matt gives me a look, and I know that he knows what we’re about to do here. He gives me that little cowboy nod of his and grins. He kisses my forehead. “Nothing ever happened with Vanessa after I met you. You know that, right?”

  I kiss his bare chest, right over his heart. “You know that nothing ever happened with Sebastian, right? I’ve never been in love with anyone before. It’s only you.”

  “I think everything that I thought was being in love before was really just a longing for this feeling I have for you.”

  He lifts me up and drops me onto the bed. As he pushes my T-shirt up my stomach, he kisses around my belly button and asks, “So you’re going to work for Anita? Is that a good thing?”

  I laugh. “It will be, I think. She promised not to make a pass at you. I think she actually went out with your friend a couple of times.”

  “That’s news to me,” he says, his mouth ever so slowly making its way up to my breasts. “You do know that I make a fuck-load of money, right? I mean, I’m not a millionaire, but if you have your savings and you don’t want to work for a while, you don’t have to.”

  I hold on to his head. I love the thoughts that live in that head of his, even when I have no idea what they are. “I love you for offering that, but I need to make money on my own. I think I’d get too anxious if I felt like I depended on you like that.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “Anita called to offer me a part-time job as soon as she heard that Sebastian’s moving out of town. It’s just organizational stuff that her regular assistant isn’t good at and cataloging collections. But I can make my own hours, which is perfect because I’ll be painting too.”

  “I’m glad.” A kiss to my ribcage, and then he hovers there over my cleavage, looking up at me. “I don’t have a talent, you know. I’m good at contracts and conference calls and explaining laws to people. But I want to be great at being here for you. So you can be a dreamer again and shine on your own.”

  “My anchor.”

  “Yes.”

  Lord, when this man finally talks, every word from his mouth takes my breath away. “Matt. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I will do everything I can for you. Every day. Top of my Will-Do list.”

  Mmmmmm is all he can say to that. His tongue swirls around my nipple, and I arch my back to offer myself up to him. It’s when he consumes me like this that I feel the frenzied need inside him, and it turns me on like nothing else ever has.

  “I want you to have all of me,” I whisper. “I’m going to give you everything, every dark neglected corner, all the parts that don’t work properly yet.”

  “I’m taking all of you,” he growls. “I’m going to find every place you try to hide in and stay with you there until you aren’t afraid of anything anymore.” He reaches down into my panties and groans when he finds the warm, wet place that’s aching for him.

  “I’m not going to try to change you. I don’t want you to force yourself to talk if you don’t want to.”

  “You already have changed me,” he says emphatically, pushing down his own underwear. “I’m not just the guy my parents raised anymore. I’m the guy who lives for you. I need to be inside you now.”

  “Get in there right now. God, I can’t wait to live with you so we can do this all the time.”

  “I’m going to wear you out, Bernadette Farmer.”

  “I’m going to crash through all the walls, Esquire.”

  He enters me slowly, and it’s only been a week and a half or so since this has happened, but I swear he has grown since the last time, and I gasp. I gasp because I not only see, but I feel a burst of colors. All the colors, as they fade to black and then explode like fireworks when he thrusts and makes that sou
nd that I love. The throat sound that means he can relax now because he’s where he needs to be.

  There are no boundaries.

  The only rule is we’re all in.

  “The painting I’m working on is called Love at First Sight,” I whisper breathlessly. “I fell in love with both of you as soon as I saw you and every time after.”

  “I knew it,” he says. “Fuck, I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.” He picks up the pace, and there’s nothing left to say with words now.

  We did it.

  We converge-sated.

  And now we’re going to come together for real.

  EPILOGUE – Matt

  *Three Years Later*

  I still haven’t gotten over how quiet it is in our little corner of Park Slope in the middle of the night.

  I walk down the hall to the master bedroom, light on my feet so I don’t wake anyone. Lately, I’ve really started to enjoy watching Bernadette Farmer while she sleeps. She has been a spectacular whirling dervish of productivity for months, always making and giving and doing, and when she’s finally unconscious I can just quietly marvel at this person she’s become. Falling in love with her was a relatively quick trip, but watching her grow and push her own boundaries and get out of her comfort zone has been a journey that’s seemingly without end. I never dreamed I’d be the kind of person who could inspire anything, but being the inspiration she needed to get to this place is one of the things I’m most proud of. Even when she feels like she’s a crazy mess, I’m quick to remind her that it’s a beautiful mess and I wouldn’t want her any other way. That’s when it’s time for me to get her between the sheets so I can remind her what good feels like.

  I rub Daisy’s belly as she stretches out at the foot of the bed, snoring.

  Bernie slowly opens her eyes and tries to raise her head off the pillow.

  “You get her back down?”

  “She just looked up at me, laughed, slapped my face with her tiny hand, and went right back to sleep.”

  “Hah. Sure she did. Get back in bed.”

  “You need to sleep.” I slide back under the covers, coming face-to-face with her in our little world where everything always makes sense.

  “I’m trying. I’m too excited. Aren’t you excited?” She wraps one leg around me, pulling me in even closer and pressing herself against me in a way that still makes me hard as a rock, every damn time.

  “Of course I’m excited, but I also feel like it’s going to be like every other day for us. All the days are special.”

  “You cornball.” She touches my face and stares into my eyes.

  “Yeah. Go the fuck to sleep.”

  I’ve been taking the night shift this month because Bernadette’s been so busy preparing for her solo show, which opened at Anita’s gallery earlier tonight. It was a great success. I expected nothing less. It’s her second solo show in two years. The first opened two years ago, in Hudson Valley. Sebastian Smith Presents: Bernadette Farmer was nothing short of a triumphant debut and got her on a Top 30 Under 30 Artists in New York list. Not that she cares about that sort of thing. The exhibition was called “Come Back to Bed.” The paintings and drawings were erotic (inspired by our sex life and relationship—you’re welcome), but she also brought in elements of the nature and landscape that she grew up with. It brought her a lot of sales and commissions and allowed her to quit her part-time job for Anita and paint full-time.

  Later today, we’ll drive up to the farm in Vermont, where her parents have been busy preparing for guests.

  Tomorrow we’ll finally get married, at the edge of the woods, with our friends and family, our dog, and our baby girl.

  Harriet Dolores Farmer McGovern was born five months ago. Our first, and probably not the last, co-creation of ours, she was a welcome surprise. As always, Bernadette initially flipped out and got mad at me when she found out things weren’t going to go as planned. I calmly reassured her that we would be fine, and then she put everything on hold so she could paint a mural in what is now the baby’s room. Once she was done with it, she was mentally prepared for anything the little alien monster could possibly throw at us. Bernadette is infinitely more maternal than she thought she would be, though I never had any doubts.

  I knew I wanted to marry this woman as soon as I saw her in that barn wearing overalls. Everything we said and did in her childhood bedroom after that just confirmed it for me. But I didn’t propose to her until she told me she was pregnant. She said yes immediately but didn’t want the stress of a wedding while she was pregnant. Once Harriet was born, she wanted to wait until after her gallery opening. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to make it official, so one more day isn’t going to kill me.

  The one thing I never knew I wanted is the thing that has owned my heart since the moment I knew she was a possibility.

  Like everything that springs forth from my bride, our daughter is breathtakingly beautiful, mysterious and recognizable all at once. She keeps me on my toes and doesn’t take any shit from me. She always has this look on her face when she’s staring at me, like: “Seriously? Are you for real?” Ever since she was born, whenever someone calls her “Harry,” she cries. Ever since she was born, people have practically begged us for their turn to babysit whenever the nanny has time off. Tommy and his new boyfriend look after her most often since they live the closest. Lloyd likes to hold her whenever I bring her to the office. Even my aunt crosses the bridge just so she can squeeze those fat cheeks. She’s brought out a side of my parents that I never thought I’d see—the emotionally expressive one. And Steve and Leslie Farmer are suddenly really good at answering their phones and responding to texts and emails when there are pictures of their grandchild attached.

  Everything blends together and works somehow, like the colors in Bernadette’s paintings.

  “I love you,” she says quietly as she drifts off to sleep. “I’m gonna marry you tomorrow.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “When I threaten you, Esquire, you’ll know it.”

  “I love you,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. “When I marry you, Bernadette, it’ll be forever.”

  (Bonus) EPILOGUE TWO

  FROM: DOLLY KEMP

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN (personal) ,

  Subject: Greetings from Park Slope!

  My darlings—do not be alarmed! I am only checking in with you, to let you know that all is well over here in the second-best borough of the great city of New York. LOL just kidding. Brooklyn really is growing on me. Obviously it is, or I would not have offered to cross the bridge to babysit, instead of going to the downtown gallery opening for a beloved artist and friend.

  Harriet continues to be an absolute dream. She is a sassy and determined little spitfire, but a dream, nonetheless. She knows who she is and what she wants, and she is my kind of girl indeed. Thank God she is finally asleep. We watched A Bug’s Life and Toy Story and each enjoyed a bowl of buttered macaroni for dinner, despite the variety of healthy dishes I ordered from down the street. I will leave those leftovers for you in the fridge. One of us may also have convinced the other of the benefits of eating donuts for dessert even though the other had managed to avoid sugary carbs for three entire months.

  I predict that when your daughter grows up, she will have a very successful career as either a hostage negotiator, dictator or social media influencer. No matter what, I shall always be her loyal follower. Just don’t tell her that she’s the boss of me because I do enjoy pretending to have more authority than a four-year-old.

  Your delightful friend Tommy came by to take Daisy for her evening walk. He said that he had stopped by the gallery earlier and that the party was “thumping.” He was wearing a very handsome pork pie hat and explained that he was wearing it “ironically,” because he lost a bet with his boyfriend. People never wear fashion accessories ironically on the Upper West Side. How f
un!

  My loves—I do not want to take up any more of your precious grown-up Date Night time. By now, Bernadette’s triumphant opening for her brilliant solo exhibit should be winding down and the two of you should be getting ready to get down with each other at your SoHo hotel suite. I simply felt moved to tell you how proud I am…of myself. For introducing the two of you to each other. You are my favorite couple.

  Myself, I am happily married to the world now, and I enjoy my dalliances with the Martys and the Paolos and the Channing that one time… Just kidding. He wishes!

  But you—Matt and Bernie—you are truly married to each other.

  I don’t know if it’s that mind-melding thing you sometimes do, or if it’s the way you combine and blend together. I can no longer tell if you are complementary or analogous colors. At first you were opposites but then you became neighbors, and now you have the vibrancy and harmony of both. I look at you together and I see the work of Picasso’s entire career, all at once. It is thrilling and reassuring and life-affirming.

  I love your love.

  We will see you here in the morning. Harriet might be a tad energetic when you return. I had to promise her we’ll have waffles with “lots and lots of maypee sorup” for breakfast, or she wouldn’t go to bed. She is just as stubborn as you were, Matt McGovern, Esq. Karma is a b-face.

  Good night, sweet lovers.