I freaking hope.
1
Keaton
* Matt and Bernie’s Christmas Party *
Five Years Later
Roxy fucking Carter.
Of course she got here before me. Probably hoped she could leave before I got here, like she did last year. Like she’s managed to do at least half the time at our friends’ parties over the past five years. She tried to convince me to do a time-share when Aimee was having her baby at the hospital—because they didn’t need both of us there at the same time. She tried to convince Chase and Aimee to have two separate birthday parties for Finn, every year, one for each godparent. Anytime our friends get together for brunch, she seats herself at the opposite end of the table from me and only talks to me when she’s hurling some sassy one-liner at me from a safe distance.
Like I’m some stalker who’s dying to get into her pants.
Get over yourself, blondie.
It was one kiss.
Five years ago.
It was one fucking awesome, hot, confusing kiss between two people who were caught up in the emotions of their best friends’ wedding.
Get over it.
I did.
I haven’t forgotten it, but I’m over it.
I’ve been busy working my ass off, making investments, making millions, traveling the world. Admittedly, there has been a lot more business than pleasure in my life lately, which makes the time pass quicker somehow. Admittedly, in those moments when I’m alone in a hotel room in Tokyo or Sydney or London and I can’t get to sleep, my mind goes to that moment out on the deck in Greenpoint. To the way her hands gripped the lapels of my suit jacket and the way her tits pressed against my chest and the way she nibbled hungrily on my lower lip and moaned so quietly.
But that’s just because it didn’t go anywhere, so it’s easier for my mind to fill in the blanks. I like the blanks. The blanks are what make it such a vivid memory. For me, anyway.
Clearly I rocked Foxy Roxy’s world and the only way she thinks she can keep her balance is by avoiding me so it doesn’t happen again.
It won’t happen again.
It was a one-time thing.
It was the wedding. It was the champagne. It was the speeches and the group hug. It was the strings of warm white lights and the summer night air. It was knowing that things were changing and that we might not be ready for what our friends were experiencing. Whether we wanted it or not.
And yeah, sure, it was her fucking hot body in that dainty little dress and the way her hair was all piled up on her head and that exposed neck and the way she kissed me back like it was the only thing that mattered to her. Like that kiss could make time stand still. And it did. For a minute.
But if she needs to believe I’m still the rich dick I was when she met me, then I’m happy to play that part for her. No matter how small a role she wants me to play in her life.
Your loss, sweetheart.
Tonight, all I care about is seeing my friends and their kids. It’s been way too long. Chase and Aimee spent Thanksgiving in Ann Arbor this year. Matt and Bernie were in Vermont. Vince and Nina were in Indiana. Their afternoons and weekends are usually spent shuttling their kids back and forth between activities. They all have kids the same age who go to the same preschool, so they see each other all the time. I’ve got my work friends, my buddies from school… It’s not like I don’t have anything to do. But it’s not the same. These are the people I want to be around, right here.
“Hey, man.” Matt McGovern’s voice startles me so much, I actually jump. “Who are you staring at?” He turns to look in the direction that I’ve apparently been staring in, following my gaze.
“No one,” I mutter. “That guy.”
“That guy standing right next to Roxy? Tommy?”
“Yeah. I like his sweater.”
He looks back at Tommy, who’s wearing a bright-green sweater with a fancy gay elf on it, and then over at Roxy, who’s wearing a surprisingly tasteful cashmere sweater dress that hugs every one of her obnoxious, gorgeous curves, and furrows his brow at me. This guy is so fucking handsome I’d want to punch him in the face if he weren’t such a good friend. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Lemme help you with those bags.” He takes one of the shopping bags from me.
I’ve got two big shopping bags filled with presents for the kids.
“Your assistant’s been busy, I see.”
“I’ll have you know I bought these all by myself. Online. With Aimee’s guidance.” Now that I have one hand free, I give him a half-bro-hug. “Good to see you, man. Happy holidays.”
“Welcome. Gang’s all here. We’ll put the presents over by the tree, okay?”
I follow him while surveying the room, in the way that I had meant to do before catching sight of Roxy fucking Carter. The gang is indeed all here, as are about thirty other people. There’s a big Christmas tree in the corner of the living room that’s really tastefully decorated from the middle of it up to the top and then covered with haphazard handmade decorations from about three feet down where the kids could reach the branches. When I see the hanging clay zombie with a Santa hat, I know that Finn McKay made it and smile to myself.
“The kids are all in the family room watching a movie. And destroying things, probably. What can I get you to drink? Bernie made mulled wine and eggnog, but we’ve got the usual full bar. Vince is making cocktails to order.”
“I’ll try the mulled wine.”
Matt raises his eyebrows and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. A subtle warning that would cost him an arm punch if his wife caught it.
“I’ll have whatever Vince wants to make me.”
“Good idea.”
I hear a little snort from the floor and finally notice the little Boston Terrier who’s curled up in a doggy bed, anxiously looking up at me, her tail wagging. “Hey, Daisy,” I say, my voice a little higher than I meant it to be. “Hey girl. I haven’t seen you in a while.” I bend down to pat her on her head. “She looks great! What is she now—twelve?”
“Almost thirteen,” Matt says, his voice cracking a little. “She is great. Slowing down a little, but she’s healthy. Lemme take your coat and grab you a drink.”
I hand him my coat and then continue petting Daisy for as long as she’ll let me. Being able to shower affection on a dog whenever I want to is one luxury that I do not have. A couple of years ago, after a string of bad first dates with the kind of women I had no business dating, I decided to get a dog.
That sounds weird.
I mean, I figured since Matt had basically met and married the love of his life because she had fallen in love-at-first-sight with Daisy, maybe I’d have better luck meeting the right kind of woman if I had the right kind of dog in my life.
So, I got a dog.
I got the wrong kind of dog in my life.
I got a cute dog.
I hit the jackpot with a beautiful little cream-colored Labradoodle rescue.
I drove out to Philadelphia to get him.
I named him Jackpot.
He has his own room in my townhouse.
He has the finest dog beds in every room of my townhouse.
He has the most highly recommended dog-walker in Brooklyn.
He goes to the best dog groomer, gets the best food and chew toys.
And he fucking hates me.
He is literally the worst wingman ever.
Anytime a beautiful woman comes up to us and asks if she can pet him, he barks at her, and I’m pretty sure he’s begging these women to rescue him from me, because he always tries to chase after them when they quickly walk away.
Anytime I take him to a dog park, he tries to go home with someone else.
It’s humiliating.
But I love him anyway.
I’m still determined to make him love me.
A little hate never stopped me from winning anyone over eventually.
And speaking of love and hate—the little boy I love is dragging the woman who is de
termined to hate me over to where I’m crouched on the floor by Daisy and the Christmas tree.
“Uncle Keat!” Finn yells out as soon as he sees me. He drops Roxy’s hand and runs over to tackle me, and I don’t think I could love this kid any more than I do right now as I’m hugging him and grinning up at Roxy, who has her fists on her hips. She’s frowning. I don’t blame her—I mean, clearly, our godson prefers me over her. That’s gotta hurt.
“How you doin’, buddy? Long time no see.”
Even though they are directly in my eyeline, I do not stare at Roxy’s knee-high black boots. I also do not stare at the shapely thighs in those sheer black tights that taunt me by peeking out between the over-the-knee socks and the hem of her dress.
“Roxy’s gonna show me which present is hers for me. Did you bring me a present?”
“Did I ever. I brought you three presents.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I stand up and smirk at Roxy.
“Show me!” He claps his hands together.
“Okay, but you have to wait until your parents say it’s okay to open them, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I pull three professionally wrapped gift boxes out from one of the shopping bags for him to inspect and shake. He looks so happy. And Roxy looks so worried.
This kid is definitely coming straight to me when he runs away from home one of these days.
“Hmmm,” he says. “I think I know what this one is.”
“I bet you don’t.”
He drops the box to the floor and turns to Roxy. “Where’s yours?”
That fucking Wham song, “Last Christmas” comes on, and I shudder. Tamara loved that song, and she’d play it over and over and over, from Thanksgiving to New Years. I don’t think about her all that much anymore, but she sends me e-cards every Christmas, and it haunts me for weeks afterwards. Especially since the cards never say anything other than Merry Christmas. It’s like she wants to make sure I don’t forget her, even though she has no intention of actually keeping in touch with me or seeing me ever again.
There was a time when I would have responded to her indifference by going out and dating as many models and socialites as I could handle.
But I guess you get to a point in your life where getting the girl isn’t as important to you as actually finding a girl you want to get to know and love.
Christ, that’s cheesy.
But like so many of the things I rarely say out loud—it’s true.
Fuck you, Wham.
Finn’s exclamation of “Yeaaahhh!” brings me back to the room and Roxy’s smug face. “I know what this is!” he shouts and jumps up and down.
“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t,” she says coyly.
“I know what it is, I know what it is, I know what it is!” he chants, even as he drops it to the ground and skips off out of the room.
Roxy and I are left here to put the presents back under the tree.
“I got it,” I say as she bends down next to me. Because God forbid she’d actually listen to me for once.
“You okay?” She sounds genuinely concerned, and I barely recognize her voice.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your face just clouded over all of a sudden.”
I shake my head. No need to give her a real answer. “You going somewhere later?”
“You mean like yet another holiday party? Yeah. Why?”
I shrug as we stand up. “Just wondering. You aren’t exactly dressed for a family and friends Christmas party.”
“Am I not?” Her fists are planted on her sexy fucking hips again. I can really only think of one time in all the years that I’ve known her when she hasn’t assumed that stance with me. But I can’t think about it right now. “And what exactly would be the appropriate attire for a single woman who’s attending a family and friends Christmas party, in your opinion?” she continues. Of course she does, because she can’t just drop it and not give me a hard time. “Would a bulky Rudolph sweater and corduroy pants be more to your liking?”
“Forget I said anything.”
“Oh, but how could I? Every single thing you say is so perfect and memorable.”
“Are you guys fighting again?” We both realize that Finn is back and he’s scrunching up his little face at us.
“No!” we both say, a little too quickly and a little too loud.
“We don’t fight,” she says. “We just don’t get along. It’s fine. It doesn’t affect you at all. We’re still your godparents. Let’s go see what the other kids are up to.” She takes his hand and leads him back to the family room, and I count to myself in my head—one, two, three—and she gives me a saucy little glance over her shoulder before disappearing.
There it is.
That tiny opening.
Try as she might, she just can’t hide that she cares, even a little bit.
A great-looking guy and the sweetest-looking lady approach me, blocking my view of the sassy loudmouth in the other room. Vince and Nina. Perfect couple number three in our circle of friends. Vince is holding out a martini glass with a candy cane hanging from the rim. He was once a bartender before becoming a minor real estate mogul, so he’s always the guy to mix cocktails at parties, and every time I’ve let him pick something for me, he’s come up with something that he knows I’ll hate but will drink anyway.
“Happy holidays, big guy,” he says, handing me the martini glass and slapping me on the back. “Long time no see.”
“Hey there, handsome,” Nina says, leaning in to kiss me.
“Hello, lovely.” I’m always careful not to be too friendly with Nina, because I have no doubt that Vince would break my hand if he thought I was touching his wife inappropriately.
Christ, what’s a guy gotta do to get a nice, pretty schoolteacher like this to fall for him? I look over at Vince. Be a great-looking former bad-boy with a dragon tattoo and a steady day job, I guess.
“What are you making me drink this time?” I stare down at the creamy light-pink liquid and sniff it. It is minty fresh.
“A Drunken Elf!” the asshole says, a little too eager to watch me take my first sip. “Rum and pink lemonade and candy cane. A man’s drink. Bottoms up!”
I take a sip. It’s actually pretty good, for a girly holiday drink that was mixed by an asshole. “It’s good. Thanks.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You hate it. You don’t have to drink it.”
“No, I’m drinking it.”
Nina rubs my arm. “So polite. Hey, are you dating anyone? If you are, you could…”
Vince shoots her a look.
“Oh, Schmidt!” She covers her mouth with both hands. So adorable. She teaches little kids, so she doesn’t swear for real. “I forgot they’re fully-booked. Never mind.”
“Who’s fully-booked?” I ask.
“Umm.” She widens her eyes at Vince. “It’s this…”
“It’s a couples-only resort. In Antigua.”
“What about it?” I ask.
“Chase hasn’t mentioned it yet?” Vince looks around for Chase.
“Mentioned what?”
“It just came up all of a sudden, like—”
“Like two days ago, not even,” Nina finishes his sentence, in that way that couples do.
And I can see from the look on Vince’s face that he’s about to rip off a bandage, in the way that only guy friends do. “We booked a week at a couples-only resort in Antigua. Around Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, nice. Just the two of you?”
“Just the six of us,” he says. “Chase and Aimee and Matt and Bernie too.”
That sinking feeling.
I’m eight years old and finding out that I’m the only kid who didn’t get invited to Jonah Kline’s birthday party.
Except I’m not the only one who wasn’t invited to this couples-only lovefest. I look across the room to where Roxy is standing—rather uncomfortably—talking to one of Matt’s friends. Lloyd, I think his
name is. I wonder if she knows about this appalling betrayal.
Vince pats me on the back. “It’s nothing personal, man. It was just one of those spur-of-the-moment things that suddenly turned into a couples retreat. If you were part of a couple, you’d be coming with us.”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s cool. I’m glad you guys are getting a vacation. I’ll probably be traveling for work anyway.”
“Well…as long as you aren’t alone on Valentine’s Day,” Nina says, rubbing my arm again. Feeling sorry for me.
When did I become the guy people feel sorry for?
Because, me? I feel sorry for Lloyd. Trying to chat up that troublemaker. She will either bite his head off or eat him alive. I think I better go save him.
“Talk to you guys later. Thanks again for the drink,” I say, lifting my glass to them and strolling over to Lloyd and Roxy. I nod to Chase, who’s saluting me from the family room. Judas.
I place the martini glass on a coaster. Fuck this drink.
“Heyyyy, Lloyd. Good to see you.” I take Lloyd’s hand just as he’s reaching out to touch Roxy’s arm, and I give it a firm shake.
“Oh hey, hi.” He blinks at me, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Keaton. We met here last year.”
“I remember, yeah. Hi.”
“Hey. Happy holidays.”
“Same to you.”
“And to you.” I wink at Roxy.
“And to you. Do you have something in your eye?”
“No, I was winking at you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a fun, awesome guy.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“You know Roxy? Keaton—Roxy? Roxy—Keaton?”
“We know each other fairly well,” I say.
“We’re friends of friends.”
“Right,” Lloyd says. “Course you are. I haven’t seen you around at Matt and Bernie’s get-togethers these past few years, though.”
“Good point, Lloyd.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Why is that, Roxy?”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 62