The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  There’s no cool way to lead into this, so I’m just gonna go for it. “I was just wondering about your friend’s relationship history.”

  She blinks and then rubs her lips together and smacks them. She’s trying so hard not to smile. “You mean, your girlfriend’s relationship history?”

  “Correct. Needless to say, your husband does not need to know that I’m asking about this.”

  “Needless to say, Roxy doesn’t need to know either.”

  “Agreed. Go on.”

  Aimee taps her chin with the tip of her index finger. “Well…I met her in college, you know? At Ann Arbor.”

  “I do.”

  “She already had a boyfriend when I met her. From high school. Tad.”

  “Tad?” Come on. Tad?

  “She really loved him. Like, a lot. In that first love kind of way. They were cute together. He was nice. I liked him.”

  I fight the urge to stab myself in the thigh with my fork. I don’t know why, but I really didn’t think she’d ever been in love before. “Uh-huh.”

  “They had been together in high school, and they were together for the first two years of college, and the plan was that he’d move to New York after we graduated too. But then he decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland, and he never came back.”

  “Oh.”

  “She was kind of devastated.”

  “Oh.”

  “And it changed her. She had about a six-month mourning period, and then she just sort of…became Foxy Roxy.”

  “Interesting. So, no serious boyfriends since then?”

  “Well, you know, she moved to Brooklyn before I did, and she had a pretty serious boyfriend for almost a year, I think. Jake. I never met him, but she seemed really happy with him. It was serious enough that he went with her to visit her parents at Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay.” I fight the urge to pick up this table and throw it across the room.

  “But then Jake went on tour—he was in a band. Drummer, I think.”

  “Of course.”

  “And they decided that it would be best if they weren’t exclusive while he was on tour, and then it just sort of, you know. Fizzled out.”

  “Okay. And since then?”

  “Nothing serious. That’s when she really embraced the whole work hard/play hard thing. Or she did, I mean. I don’t think she’s been playing very hard lately.”

  “Interesting. Why do you think that?”

  Her mouth becomes one straight line. “Um. I probably shouldn’t talk about this with you.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “I mean—with anyone. I shouldn’t be talking about this with anyone.”

  “And can you confirm that you have had at least one conversation with her regarding yours truly?”

  “I cannot and will not confirm nor deny it.”

  I fight the urge to jump up on the table and start rapping about what a badass motherfuckin’ baller my dick is. “Uh-huh. And what are your thoughts on the matter of a hypothetical potential relationship between myself and Miss Roxy Carter?”

  Aimee’s face erupts into a giant smile, and she bounces around in her chair and then finally manages to control her facial muscles. She clears her throat. “Well, first of all, both my husband and I will kill you if you fuck around with her.”

  “Define fucking around with her.”

  “Wooing her and having sex with her and then losing interest and never seeing her again. Leading her to believe that you have feelings for her and then bolting when she actually returns those feelings for you. Being a dick to her in any way even for a minute.”

  Who is this asshole that my best friends have me confused with? I gulp down the last of my coffee. “Define ‘I will kill you.’”

  “I will be so mad at you and not want to see or speak to you for a really long time. Like a month, probably.”

  “Got it.”

  She looks me straight in the eye. “You haven’t already…have you?”

  She can look all she wants. A gentleman never tells—especially when he doesn’t want to get castrated—and I’ve got my poker face on. “I’m sure she’d tell you if we had.” I examine her reaction. She may have a poker face herself, this one.

  “That’s true.” She shrugs. “Well, anyway.” She stands up and puts her sunglasses back on. “I’m gonna head back to the pool. I think Roxy’s sunning herself on the beach.”

  I nod. “Cool. I’m gonna go for a walk. I’ll see you guys later.”

  “Yeah.” She punches me on the bicep. “See you later.”

  I watch Aimee practically skip away, and I am about ninety percent sure that Roxy told her that we had sex last night and one hundred percent certain that I have Aimee’s approval to pursue her. I just need to keep it from Chase until it’s a real thing.

  I hang out at the pool with Matt and Bernie for about half an hour because Aimee and Chase have already disappeared back to their cottage. We talk about going sailing tomorrow, until it becomes crystal clear to me that Matt and Bernie have no intention of exerting any energy while they’re here except when they’re in bed.

  Good for them.

  They excuse themselves because it’s been like two hours since they last had sex with each other probably, so I decide to wander down to the beach to see what Roxy’s up to.

  I mentally prepare myself to find her sunning herself, tits-up in that leopard print bikini, but instead I find her still in that white dress, kneeling on the sand, not far from the high tide line. She has a look of determination on her face as she pounds the sand in front of her into submission.

  “You building a sandcastle?”

  “I got on Aimee’s FaceTime with Finn, and he asked me to build a sandcastle and send him pictures. I got the buckets and shovels from the front desk and borrowed a knife and spoon from the breakfast bar.” She sighs while continuing to pummel. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

  “You want some help?”

  She places a plastic bucket at my feet. “I need more water. Where’s everyone else?” she asks without looking up.

  “Fucking in their cottages.”

  “Already?”

  “I guess some people are into that sort of thing,” I say as I kick off my flip-flops and stroll down to the water’s edge. When I return with a full bucket, I tell her, “You need a water hole. Dig down until you find water so you have a supply. So you don’t have to keep going to the sea for it.”

  She passes me a plastic shovel. “Sounds good.”

  I remove my shirt, drop to my knees beside her, and start digging with the shovel, and then I just use my hands. It does not go unnoticed that she keeps glancing over at my hands.

  I survey the foundation she’s built. “What is this? A one-bedroom?”

  “It’s going to be a box.” She grins up at me. “You can help me with the head.”

  When I realize what she’s making, my head falls back, and I laugh so hard. A head in a box. “Finn will love it.”

  “I know. I can’t wait to watch Seven with him. How long do you think I should wait? Until he’s…?” She makes seven slashes in the sand and arches an eyebrow at me.

  “Hey. I will be the one introducing him to that bit of cinematic genius. When he’s ten.”

  “I called dibs.”

  “I call bullshit. I don’t believe you want to watch that with him. I say we both have a movie night with him. Together.”

  She gives me the side-eye. “Together? That doesn’t sound very cool to me.” Her voice is teasing but hesitant. “You aren’t still thinking about last night, are you?”

  “What about it? I'm definitely not thinking about the way you taste or the little noises you make when you're kissing me or the way you lose the ability to stand when I kiss you on your neck, right—" I put my hand on the back of her neck and rub that spot just below her ear with my thumb "—there."

  She closes her eyes and sways the tiniest bit.

  "And I have no intention
of trying to persuade you to let me kiss you right now, just once, just for show, or just for the hell of it because kissing's fun and good and we're both really good at kissing each other."

  She's staring at my mouth and her lips are moving, and I think she may be trying to say something but nothing's coming out.

  "What's that now?"

  She licks her lips. "Screw you, Bridges," she whispers as she leans in and lets me kiss her. Soft and slow and deliberate, the way you carefully smooth out wet sand after pounding it down until there are no more weak spots, adding layer upon layer, pushing and smoothing, and then it finally begins to take the shape of something you could see yourself living in.

  Or finding someone’s head inside of.

  I keep the kisses soft and slow and deliberate, even as her breath quickens and the little moans get louder, until she pulls away and stands up and says, "I'm going for a walk."

  I clear my throat. "To cool off?"

  "To let you cool off."

  “Are you coming back?”

  She raises her hand in the air, a vague gesture that could mean anything, but I know what it means.

  You’ll be back, Roxy Carter. You’ll be back. And I’ll be here, the king of my fucking castle waiting for you.

  Or with a really awesome head in a box.

  Whatever.

  Whatever you’re ready for today.

  14

  Roxy

  “You aren’t going to know this,” Matt states while staring at the slip of paper in his hand.

  “Rude!” Bernadette yells out. “Try me!”

  They’re both standing front and center in the lobby, and the timer is counting down from one minute.

  “Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher for the Mariners and the Diamondbacks. ‘The Big Unit.’”

  “Babe Ruth!”

  “Pass.”

  Bernadette balls up her fists. “Rude!”

  Matt returns that piece of paper to the basket and pulls another one from it. “That singer you and Tommy like that I can’t stand.”

  “Christina Aguilera!”

  “The other one.”

  “Katy Perry!”

  “Other one.”

  “Taylor Swift!”

  “Yes.” He drops that slip of paper and draws another one from the basket, glancing over at Don and Debbie, the oldest couple here. “He’s in old movies with his brothers, and he has bushy eyebrows and a mustache and glasses and a cigar.”

  “Groucho Marx!”

  Matt tosses the piece of paper aside and grabs another one. Don and Debbie look disappointed and surprised that Bernadette actually got that one, but they don’t realize she has the soul of an eighty-year-old.

  Matt almost laughs. “That model you think I look like, but I don’t.”

  “David Gandy!”

  “Time!” the resort manager calls out, as half the guests ask who David Gandy is and half of them insist that Matt is way better-looking. He kind of is.

  “We got three!” Bernadette claps.

  “Only two points, I’m afraid,” the manager says. “You lose one point when you take a pass. Good job, though!”

  Bernadette screws up her adorable face and grunts. “You should have kept going!” she says to her husband.

  “Name one other celebrity pitcher besides Babe Ruth, who by the way, was more of an outfielder than a pitcher.”

  She punches his bicep and grunts again because she can’t name anyone else. She still hates that he knows her so well, but it’s sweet. Must be tough, having such a gorgeous husband who loves and understands and supports you.

  “Up next are Mr. Chase and Mrs. Aimee McKay!” the manager calls out.

  Keaton and I give each other a look. Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Couple—why do we always have to go after them? He rests his hand on top of mine—a bold move, considering I’ve barely said ten words to him since he tricked me into kissing him this morning. When I got back from my walk, we finished the sand head-in-a-box in silence. We wordlessly agreed to make it a zombie head, which was an obvious choice, since Finn likes zombies and we wouldn’t want to have to explain to him whose head is in the box in the movie and ruin the surprise when he watches it.

  The six of us all had dinner together at a restaurant in town, which was wonderful, and while I didn’t say much directly to him, I’ve never been so aware of Keaton when we were in a group before. I keep thinking he needs to lighten up or loosen up, but he’s actually a nice, funny guy, and maybe I just needed to loosen up when I’m around him. I might even like him. Every minute it gets less and less mystifying and terrifying. Some strange island magic is transforming my animosity toward him into straight-up lust and something that feels like…fondness?

  I don’t move my hand away, but I don’t lace my fingers with his either.

  We watch as Aimee pulls a piece of paper from the basket and the countdown timer starts. She and Chase are standing a few feet apart, but they lean in toward each other, and it just says so much.

  “He’s the rock star who goes best with mashed potatoes!” Aimee yells out while doing a little hop.

  “Meat Loaf.”

  “Yes!” She drops the paper and grabs another one. “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” she raps.

  “Kim Kardashian.”

  “Woohoo!” Keaton applauds and gets my elbow in his ribs.

  “He’s that golfer,” Aimee says.

  “Tiger Woods.”

  “He sculpted David.”

  “Michelangelo.”

  “Oh God—that bald guy from the street racing movies you like that I can’t watch.”

  “Shit.” Chase stares at the floor because he can’t remember his name.

  “Oh! His last name is not gas, it’s…”

  “Vin Diesel!”

  “Yes!”

  “Time!”

  Chase and Aimee double-high-five each other, and the manager declares that they have tied the resort’s record for most points in one round.

  Keaton pulls me up from the sofa—I had forgotten that he was holding my hand. “You asking the questions this round?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Pick a good one, baby,” he says as I reach for a piece of paper in the basket.

  I’m pretty sure no one can tell that my stomach just did a little backflip when he called me baby. I stare down at the celebrity name. “He developed a theory of evolution.”

  “Darwin.”

  I drop that piece of paper like it’s hot and swipe another one. “The pop artist who did the Campbells soup things.”

  “Warhol.”

  Two-for-two. “That gay, witty author and playwright.”

  “David Sedaris.”

  “London. Nineteenth Century.”

  “Oscar Wilde.”

  “Yes!” I try to control my smile as I look at him while picking the next one. He winks at me while rubbing his hands together. “Ummm…” I lower my voice, cue up my best Texas drawl, and look at him like an intense stoner. “All right, all right, all right!”

  “Matthew McConaughey.”

  I pick another one. “Okay. He’s a martial artist guy.”

  “Bruce Lee.”

  “The other one.”

  “Chow Yun-fat.”

  “Who?”

  “Jet Li.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Sammo Hong…Donnie Yen.”

  “The only one I would know besides Bruce Lee.”

  “Jackie Chan!”

  “Yes!”

  “Time!”

  “Oh my God,” I say, shaking my fists at him like an angry old lady. “You’re supposed to think like me! That’s kind of the point of this.”

  “Calm down, baby,” he says, rubbing my back. “We won.”

  “We did?”

  “Well not yet, but we tied Chase and Aimee. That’s sort of like winning.”

  “Five points for Mr. Keaton and Miss Roxy!” the manager declares.

  “Oh my God!” I say, sm
iling at him like an idiot, and then I don’t kiss him, and it feels like the most unnatural thing in the world.

  I look over at Chase and Aimee. Aimee is beaming, and Chase’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Tied!” I say to them. “We’re tied.” I look over at Matt and Bernadette. “We beat you. No bigs. Just sayin’.”

  “I put Warhol in there, by the way,” says Bernadette. “So I kind of helped you. Just sayin’.”

  When Keaton and I sit back down on the sofa, we’re sitting closer to each other than we were before. He stretches and puts his arm around me. Don and Debbie are eyeing us because they’re up next.

  “So,” I whisper to Keaton. “You some kind of kung fu movie nerd?”

  “Big-time. I can’t wait to watch them with Finn.”

  “Yeah? Well, what if I want to watch them too?”

  He grins. “I will send you a list of my favorites.”

  I nudge his arm with my elbow.

  “And I will watch them with you and Finn anytime.”

  “I mean…” I lean in to whisper in his ear. “I never said we can’t be friends.”

  He turns to whisper in my ear. “I never thought we weren’t friends.”

  Don and Debbie end up kicking all of our asses, but really, they need the couples massages more than we do. They’ve been together forty-five years.

  When we’re about to head back to the cottages, Aimee and Bernadette tell the guys to go ahead, and then they drag me into the ladies’ room. They have this intense expression on their faces but like they’re trying to seem all easy-going. I feel cornered and trapped, and I have a feeling they’re either about to try to sell me Tupperware or vitamin supplements or they’re going to try to convince me to join a cult. “What is happening?”

  “You guys are so cute together it’s not even funny,” Aimee says.

  Ah. They’re going to try to sell me on joining their married-person cult.

  “You know, Matt and I were very different too when we first met,” Bernadette tells me, as if this is a shocking revelation.

  I give Aimee a look.

  “I didn’t tell her—she guessed and asked me, and I couldn’t lie to her!”