My mother shrugs. “There weren’t as many men in Brooklyn back then.”
“Stop worrying so much, boy. If Keaton can’t deal with it, you deal with that later. You can deal with it. He’s entitled, but he’s good.”
“He’s got a girlfriend!” My mom makes a very Italian gesture with her hands.
“For now.”
My dad pats me on the back. “Don’t be such a pussy, will ya? If it comes down to it, you guys just need to kick each other in the balls and be done with it.” He goes over to another table, to check on the customers.
I smile at my mom, who’s shaking her head.
“You and Keaton. You’re like brothers with the—rivalità tra fratelli.”
“Sibling rivalry.”
“Yeah! Both different, both want to be more the same, but better. But you’re afraid to really act like brothers.”
“You think we should kick each other in the balls too?”
She holds her hands up in front of her chest. “I’m not saying this!”
“Trust me, I’d love to. Gotta get back to the office.”
“Friday night?”
“We’ve got a deadline.” I start to bus the dishes.
“Why you always gotta work so hard, huh? Leave it! Leave it!” When I was a kid, she was always yelling at me to bus the tables, now she yells at me to leave it.
“It’s in the blood. Why did you guys always work so hard?”
“Oh, vita mia. For you! For each other! You listen. I know how much you care about this girl because of how much you are thinking and planning and worrying—just like with your business idea. You were lucky nobody did your business idea before you did. But in New York City? A special girl gets done by another man like that!” She snaps her fingers.
“Oi! Get back in the kitchen, woman!” my dad yells out to her.
My mom flips him off, Italian-style. It’s all part of the show and the customers love it.
She grabs my face with one hand and squeezes. “Time for you to get your own pain in the ass to come home to.”
I kiss her on both cheeks, and she’s back in the kitchen.
Stepping out into the night, I look up and silently curse the sky for reminding me of Aimee’s dark blue eyes. Then, as always, I casually scan the streets and sidewalks for her, wondering where she is and why I’m not calling her.
17
Aimee
“Put your damn phone away.”
“They’re working on the website. I’m on call.”
“He’s not going to call you.”
“I can’t believe he hasn’t called me. He hasn’t even asked me about Nora.”
Roxy signals to the waitress to bring us two more margaritas and more chips for our artichoke dip. Every now and then, Roxy gets a hankering for TGI Fridays, and I am more than happy to oblige when she begs me to join her, because no one else in Brooklyn will. Sometimes a girl just wants a couple of margaritas and about seven appetizers. Tonight, a girl needs about seven margaritas and half of the menu.
“Did Nora like the free shit I got her?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I got Roxy to bring home free shit from the online store she works for. I did this after telling Nora, in confidence, that I had met Chase before meeting Keaton and that Chase had backed off when he saw that Keaton liked me. Because Nora didn’t give a rat’s bum about people’s feelings, but she did need a new wardrobe. “And she wore the shoes for her date tonight.”
“You think that’ll work out?”
“God, I hope so.” I had noticed Nora trying to flirt with a guy who works in the office across the hall from SnapLegal when we were all at the coffee shop downstairs, so I invited him to sit with us. I started asking them both what they were into, for fun, and kept asking until they finally mentioned the same thing. So tonight, Nora and the across-the-hall guy are going to some weird sexy circus party thing, with aerialists and energy clearing sessions in Bushwick. Kids today! I hope she gets the energy banged clear out of her, so she doesn’t give a shit about other people’s business anymore. She had every intention of telling Keaton what she’d heard in the break room, just because she was bored and wanted to stir up trouble. But I handled it. I managed that project and worked it like a pimp. And all I got from Chase was a very professional and courteous thank you.
“Ladies, these are from the gentlemen at table nineteen. With the wings platter.” Our waitress wearily places two more strawberry margaritas in front of us. “And here are your extra chips.”
Roxy and I cautiously look over at the buffalo wing gentlemen at table nineteen, and they are everything we expect them to be. I raise my glass and mouth “thank you” to them, but Roxy kicks my shin and ignores them.
“Ow!”
“Do not encourage them.”
“It’s rude not to thank people.” I reach for my phone.
“Do not take a picture and text it to Chase to let him know that other men are buying you drinks.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
I am totally going to. I hate that she knows me so well. I take a picture of the margaritas and text it to Chase’s personal phone.
ME: Just checking in! I’ll be here at TGI Friday’s if you need me. Some very friendly gentlemen just sent us over these drinks, but I want you to know that I am still very lucid and capable of advising your team remotely if necessary. Also fully able to fend for myself in case of zombie apocalypse, so no need to worry.
And—send!
I feel really good about that text. And super tipsy.
I pretend to be completely focused on whatever it is that Roxy is talking about for the next three minutes while I wait for Chase to respond to my adorable text, but he doesn’t. However, my hands are trembling when I pick up my work phone, to read the Slack message he has sent me on one of the group channels.
CHASE: @Aimee your presence is kindly requested here at the office, if you are available. Please come ASAP and be prepared to pull an all-nighter with the team. Thx.
“An all-nighter!” I squeal.
“Do not leave me with the buffalo wing guys.”
“Oh, honey, I would never. Hurry up and finish. I have to go pull an all-nighter. With the team. For work.”
“Don’t write him back yet.”
“I’m not.”
I totally am.
AIMEE: Please expect my presence shortly. Should I bring snacks?
Oh God, do I want to be his naughty little late-night snack.
CHASE: Yep.
By the time Roxy and I have finished wolfing down our drinks and appetizers, I am teetering on the edge of tipsy and about to stumble into drunkity drunkville.
Roxy walks me to the office building, helping me carry the takeout Philly cheesesteak egg rolls and loaded chicken nachos, and then she takes a cab home. I am so glad I don’t have to go to the party that I had agreed to go to with her tonight. I can’t imagine a better Friday night than working with Chase and the website team. I can’t believe I was so worked up about having to be around Chase for the past three weeks. All I needed was a little tequila, triple sec, agave syrup and pureed strawberries. Or a lot of it.
I walk in a totally straight line to the building entrance and eventually manage to open the door. I nod at the gentleman who is also waiting for the elevator. I am standing so straight and still that there is no way he can tell I just consumed three margaritas. When he holds the elevator door open and allows me to enter first, I curtsy and laugh, because I’m hilarious—not because I’m drunk.
“What floor?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you,” I say. Eventually, I remember which floor SnapLegal is on.
When I get off on the floor that I thought SnapLegal was on, I pretend to know where I’m going, until the elevator doors close again. Instead of waiting for the next elevator, I take the stairs. As soon as I’m in the stairwell, I hear the voice.
The voice that always sounds like sexy phone voice, even when he’s not on the phone.
&
nbsp; The voice that flooded my panties when he sang happy birthday while playing the keyboard with those perfect fingers.
The voice that—come to think of it—I have never actually heard on the phone pressed up to my ear unless we’re on a conference call.
But he’s talking to someone on the phone, one floor up. It echoes around the stairwell and around my belly.
“Naw, we got it covered,” he says. “I’ll be here all night; I was just letting you know what’s up. Go back to your future in-laws.” He laughs. “Well, I can’t help you there. Bye.”
He was probably talking to Greg Lee, and he was probably up on the roof deck.
I realize I’ve been tiptoeing up the steps like a creeper. When I hear his footsteps getting louder, I start stomping my heels. His footsteps slow down. We reach the landing at the same time.
He stops near the door to the hallway, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He smirks as he observes me, standing here with two big TGI Fridays bags. When I try to stand still, I wobble, just a little.
“Are you drunk?” he asks.
“Yep.”
I drop my satchel and the take-out bags, take three steps towards him, grab a fistful of his T-shirt and pull him to me.
When my lips touch his, I let out a sigh that fills the whole building.
I feel my entire body melting, my knees getting weak.
Chase maneuvers me against the door, pressing his pelvis against mine, his hands up in my hair.
Oh, those lips.
That facial hair.
That hard body.
His hands grip my waist as his tongue probes deeper into my mouth. We have an entire hungry breathless conversation with our lips and tongues, but he is saying so much more to me than he has said in weeks. I can taste the Irish whiskey and hunger and possessiveness. I am so deliciously and deliriously overwhelmed by this kiss that my arms just hang by my side. Now I know—I know that he’s missed this as much as I have. He has struggled with this as much as I have. Lowering his head to kiss my neck, he moans as his hands slide down to my ass and squeeze, hard.
“Oh God, Chase!” I don’t say it very loud, but my words echo.
While those three little words are still reverberating up and down around the stairwell, he pulls away from me.
He curses under his breath and rests his hands on his hips, staring at the floor, shaking his head.
We both wipe our mouths and straighten up.
I nearly stumble as I reach down for my satchel, but I manage to compose myself.
“I’m not going to apologize for that,” I say, tossing my hair over one shoulder.
“I’m not complaining.”
“Good. I’ll see you after I freshen up.”
His head falls back. He rubs his face vigorously. “Uh huh.”
When I turn on the light in the ladies’ room, it is so bright, my eyes immediately squeeze shut. I have to lean against the wall to steady myself. If this isn’t love, then I don’t think I can handle the real thing. I feel dizzy, in the best possible way.
Or…possibly in the worst way ever.
Roxy always places an elastic hair band around my wrist when we drink tequila, because every time she makes me drink it, I throw up, even though I truly believe that I couldn’t possibly ever throw up again. Every. Time.
I drop my satchel while tying my hair back and running for the toilet.
Absolutely everything that I had consumed tonight, with such passion and reckless abandon, is expelled from my body until I am praying for a swift death and vowing to do things differently from now on.
I am empty and humiliated and numb.
Yeah.
This feels like love.
18
Chase
That was by far the best thing that has ever happened to me in this building, no matter how much it hurt to stop.
A full minute after Aimee left the stairwell, I pick up the bags of takeout, and consider taking them downstairs to give them to the nearest homeless person I can find. But I bring them into the office and tell the gang that I ran into Aimee in the hall. The tech geeks are all so happy that she brought warm food. I’d told them to go out and have dinner earlier, but they just pounded energy drinks and scarfed down protein bars as usual.
There’s music playing and I’ve been making coffee for everyone, so it’s a pretty fun atmosphere when we work late to meet deadlines. I may demand excellence from my employees, but I insist that they enjoy their work. I just don’t want anyone to enjoy their work quite as much as Aimee and I just did, when we’re dealing with something as important as our website. Which is why I’m planning to keep my distance from Aimee tonight, while also keeping her away from idiots who buy her margaritas.
But when she walks in through the front door, it’s clear to me that I won’t have to worry about anything happening between us again this evening. She is walking very slowly and moving carefully, keeping her eyes on the ground. Whatever perfume she uses, she has applied twice as much as she usually does. When the guys thank her for the appetizers and ask if she wants any, she grimaces and backs away from the open takeout containers. I go to the break room to see if I can find her some ginger ale and a sleeve of saltine crackers.
She’s a trooper. She manages to answer everyone’s questions, keeping her head and body very still and barely opening her mouth to speak. She sends off more emails to our customer service team, to make sure they are ready for basic customer questions once the changes go live. All of this without complaining or mentioning anything about how she’s feeling.
I go to my office to work on some reports for the board, and the next time I come out to check on everyone, Aimee is curled up on a sofa asleep. I carefully place my leather jacket over her. Even now, she is so beautiful, I ache for her. Those long dark eyelashes flutter. I can see her eyeballs moving behind her closed eyelids and wonder if she’s dreaming of me.
At around 6 a.m., we’re ready to go live with the new web pages, and I tell them to wait until Aimee’s had a look at them first. I bend down by the sofa and softly say her name. She twitches before opening her eyes. As soon as she sees me, she hums and smiles. I want to kiss her so bad, but when she starts to reach out for me, I stand up straight and take a step back.
“We’re about to go live, you want to have a look first?”
“Oh yeah. Thanks.” When she realizes that my leather jacket is covering her, she looks so happy and I just want to kiss her again. She sits up slowly and arranges my jacket so it’s hanging from her shoulders, rubbing her lips together as she looks around. I open up the bottle of water that’s in my hand and give it to her. She smiles, gratefully, and I want to kiss her again. I always want to kiss her, and I’m starting to think that might not be such a big problem.
Once the new web pages are live, and we’re officially offering subscription services to our customers, I call in a big delivery breakfast order. I catch Julia watching Aimee and me when we’re chatting and eating, but she doesn’t make a big deal. I’m not worried about Julia. I’ll have to remember to ask Aimee about Nora, though, when we’re alone together. Whenever that will be.
Midway through breakfast, Aimee excuses herself to answer her cell phone. She goes into the break room for privacy. I hear her say “mom” and “dad” and I can tell from the tone of her voice that her mom and dad are stressed about something. When she hasn’t come out after five minutes, I poke my head into the break room and wait for her to acknowledge me. She looks so anxious, and I don’t like it.
She waves me in.
“Mom just call the police! It’s your property and he’s breaking the law … Daddy, will you tell her? ... Oh my God …Well then, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. You asked me for my opinion and that’s my opinion. Kick the fucker out onto the street where he belongs! ... I don’t care who his parents are—you were doing them a favor and now this guy is being a total asshole and costing you m
oney.”
I can’t for the life of me figure out what this call is about.
“Mom. Mom! I’m at work, okay. I will call you again in an hour and we will try to figure out what your options are, but I can’t promise you I’ll change my mind about calling the cops … I love you. Bye.” She hangs up and rubs her forehead. “Sorry. Is everything okay with the website?”
“Yeah. I’m checking on you. What’s going on?”
“Ugh. It’s so annoying. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Trust me. I do.”
“Okay, well my mom thought it would be fun to flip houses for extra income because she watches HGTV. And she has this friend who told her that her son is a carpenter who can help her do the renovations for a lot cheaper than what contractors were bidding. She said he’d finish the work a lot faster because it would be his only job. So my mom hired this guy, and it turns out he’s kind of a mess and kind of a dick. Not only has he been doing crap work that she’s going to have to hire someone to re-do, but he’s been living on the premises and he refuses to leave. He’s been convicted of two felonies before, and his parents swear he’s been trying to go straight and stay sober. They’re afraid that if my mom calls the cops or takes some kind of legal action that his life will be over. Meanwhile, each month that she can’t sell the place, she’s paying more on this mortgage. Money that she hadn’t budgeted for. Anyway, my mom and dad are both college professors and they’re just too nice, and they keep calling me for advice, but they don’t want to take legal action because they don’t want to upset the asshole’s family. I called him and he hung up on me. I left him voice messages and I’ve sent him strongly-worded text messages. None of it matters to the guy.”
My hands are balled up into fists. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 55