The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  Roxy turns her attention to me. She’s clutching the sides of the dry erase board, and I can tell she’s just waiting to say, “Hah! Wrong!”

  Sorry, baby.

  “Roxy’s favorite singer is Bruce Springsteen.”

  Roxy’s face falls, and she looks down to check to make sure I couldn’t see what she had written. I couldn’t. I know she loves the Boss. I know she loves him because her dad loves him. It’s unexpected and it used to be one of my favorite things about her, until I suddenly developed about twenty favorite things. The thing about people who love Bruce Springsteen is they never shut up about it once someone gets them talking about him. She just never realized I was listening.

  She flips the dry erase board around, and the resort manager also appears shocked that I got it right.

  “One point for Keaton and Roxy!”

  Roxy keeps her eyes on me while she erases the words Bruce freakin’ Springsteen! from the board. I hold her gaze for as long as she can handle it.

  “Now. Gentlemen. For another easy point. Tell us her favorite alcoholic drink!”

  Literally everyone in the room knows that Bernie’s favorite beverage is red wine because she’s had a glass of it in her hand every night we’ve been here and she’s sipping from one right now.

  Chase is proud to declare that his wife now has the same favorite drink as him.

  I rub my chin with my fingers and pause to add a little dramatic flair, and then I say, “She probably wrote Blue Moon beer because that’s her favorite to drink when she’s just hanging out. But when she really wants to have fun, she needs something with tequila in it. Around the holidays she’s up for hot chocolate with literally any kind of alcohol in it, any time of day. The only red wine she’ll drink is Malbec. Champagne goes straight to her head and her heart, so she’ll only drink it at weddings. But she drinks a lot of it. Did I leave anything out, babe?”

  She shakes her head as she turns the board around. It says Blue Moon. Hesitantly apologetic ice blue eyes meet mine, but her little smile is giving me life.

  “Another point for Mr. Keaton and Ms. Roxy! And now…men…A hypothetical question… If your woman can marry a superhero, which one would she choose?”

  Matt predicts his wife would answer Harry Potter, even though he isn’t technically a superhero—but he is wrong. Bernie wants to marry Loki. “Loki’s not a superhero either,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  “Well, I’m going to marry him anyway.” She shrugs.

  “No point for Mr. Matt and Mrs. Bernadette. Oh, too bad! To you, Mr. McKay!”

  Chase narrows his eyes at his wife and says, “She wants to marry Loki too, even though he is not a superhero.”

  Aimee holds her board up in front of her face and says, “But I love him almost as much as I love you!”

  “A point for Mr. and Mrs. McKay, and two points for Mr. Loki! Mr. Keaton, what say you?”

  I shrug. “I’m going with Loki, even though he is definitely not a superhero.”

  Roxy holds her board up and says to Aimee and Bernie, “He’s mine. Loki is mine.”

  “Three points for Loki, and one more point for Keaton and Roxy. My goodness,” the manager says.

  Roxy gives me a little smirk as she erases Loki + Roxy = TLF from the board.

  Fuck you, Loki. Roxy is mine.

  “Next question! To the men… Which actress would your lady cast as herself in the romantic comedy movie of your relationship?”

  We all laugh because that is a stellar question, but Roxy doesn’t break eye contact with me while she writes down her answer. It’s almost as if she’s hoping I’ll get this one right.

  Matt stares at his wife while he slowly answers, “I would cast Zooey Deschanel or Emma Stone, but I think Bernie would cast…Lucille Ball.”

  Bernie’s face erupts in a smile as she flips her board around to reveal that she wrote Lucy!!!

  Chase correctly answers that Aimee would want Jennifer Garner to play herself, and I would definitely watch that movie.

  I’m not a mind reader, but I am an excellent poker player and a good dealmaker, so I can figure out how people’s minds work in certain situations. In this one, Roxy wants me to keep this winning streak going, so it’s not about who she’d really cast as herself—she’s trying to make this easy for me. And she likes to think we’re so different from each other. And that she’s a wise-cracking hooker with a heart of gold.

  “Julia Roberts,” I say.

  She looks relieved as she confirms that I am indeed a genius who understands her.

  “What do you know, folks! Another point for Keaton and Roxy’s team. Moving on! Final question for this group… What does your woman have an irrational fear of? A, spiders? B, being stuck in an elevator with your mother? C, intimacy? D, fill in the blank.”

  The music plays, and I watch Roxy put some thought into this one.

  “Mr. Matt McGovern! What does your lovely wife have an irrational fear of?”

  Matt scratches his chin while staring at his lovely wife. “Well, she used to have a fear of intimacy and a fear of flu shots, but now I think it’s safe to say she only has an irrational fear of flu shots.”

  Bernie flips her board around, and they get another point. “It’s only irrational until somebody dies,” she says, frowning and polishing off her glass of wine.

  Chase and Aimee have been laughing ever since the guy asked the question, because everyone who knows Aimee knows that she has an irrational fear of a zombie apocalypse.

  “It’s only irrational until somebody dies and then comes back to life and wants to eat your brain,” Aimee says.

  “It’s irrational because I would never let that happen,” Chase assures everyone.

  “Mr. Keaton. Share with us your guess for Roxy’s irrational fear.”

  Roxy tries to keep her expression as neutral as possible while I study her. Up until yesterday, I would not have hesitated to say she fears intimacy, and neither would she. But right now… “I think she has an irrational fear of subway grates.”

  Roxy’s jaw drops, and then her eyes well up with tears. “How did you know that?” she says, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  “I’ve noticed you always walk around them,” I tell her, like it’s no big deal. But it obviously is a big deal to her. And to Aimee and Bernie, who are both looking at me with wet eyes and pouty lips.

  I am seriously considering going back to acting like a self-centered asshole, because this is not the kind of female attention that I’m comfortable with.

  “One big how did he know that point for Team Keaton and Roxy! Now if the next group would come up please, and let’s have a round of applause for this one!” He plays an applause sound effect on his phone. This guy.

  When we walk over to take a seat on a sofa, Roxy says quietly, shaking her head. “I am so confused right now.”

  “About?”

  She turns to face me. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to fuck with me or if you…”

  “If I what?”

  “If you just know me.”

  “I am definitely not trying to fuck with you, Roxanne.” My hand reaches for her face, just as I feel Chase’s hand slap my back.

  “Well-played, guys. Good game.”

  Roxy and I laugh and take a step away from each other, and Chase’s hand slides up to the back of my neck, half strangling it.

  “We can’t all be a perfect couple,” I say.

  “I’m getting Aimee a drink—Rox, you want anything?”

  “I’m good. Thanks, Dad.”

  Chase pulls me aside, to the table with the refreshments and snacks. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

  “You must have me confused with someone who is not a gentleman.”

  “Not cool, dude.”

  “Ever occur to you that I might be the one who’s in trouble here?”

  Chase smiles as he pops a banana chip into his mouth and pats me on the back, reassuringly this time. “Ever occur to you that that’s wh
at I was worried about all along?”

  “Should we grab a drink at the bar?” Roxy nudges my shoulder as we reach the conjunction of paths to the cottages and the bar.

  I nod toward our friends. “I think they’re all going back to their cottages.”

  “That’s okay. I meant just us.”

  Just us.

  Those two little words are as delicate and meaningful as a soft kiss on the cheek from this woman.

  “Yeah. Let’s grab a drink.”

  “First Old Fashioned is on me.” She takes my hand, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see her examining the profile of my face as we veer off the path toward the bar. “Tell me about yourself, Keaton Bridges,” she says.

  Chase and Aimee may have won Game Night, but I am winning Roxy Carter’s heart.

  18

  Roxy

  Have you always been this handsome? I am thinking as I suck more of this inspired rum cocktail into my mouth through two little green straws while leaning across the little table toward him.

  “What’s your favorite color?” is what I ask him.

  “Ice blue,” he says, staring into my eyes.

  “Uh-huh. And is it brown when you’re staring into the eyes of a brown-eyed girl?”

  “My favorite color is now ice blue,” he states, very convincingly, as he takes a sip of his Old Fashioned.

  Apparently every other couple at this resort has already retired to their cottage, because Keaton and I are the only ones at the bar, so we have the deck to ourselves, we have the friendly bartender to ourselves, we have the twinkling hurricane candleholders to ourselves, we have the sound of the waves below and the dreamy steel drum music from the hidden speakers to ourselves, and we have this samar all to ourselves.

  I may not have been able to answer every question about Keaton Bridges in a room full of people, but I can ask him every question and I can give him this. This night. My time. My full attention. And my sudden inability to let go of his big, beautiful hand. God, it’s so dumb. A warm breeze carries his clean, masculine scent in my direction, and I inhale shamelessly.

  Why do I feel the urge to slather myself in cocoa butter and walk around naked in front of you until you drop to your knees?

  “What’s your favorite kung fu movie?”

  He lowers the tumbler and twirls it so the ice cubes clink against the glass. “It’s a three-way tie. I love Crouching Tiger for a lot of reasons, but there’s this little movie from Hong Kong called Ip Man that’s a biopic about the master who taught Bruce Lee, and also…” He grins. “I really fucking love The Karate Kid. It’s not exactly a kung fu movie, but it’s the first movie I saw with martial arts in it, and it’s what made me want to watch more.”

  “I love The Karate Kid too. I mean, not the sequel to The Karate Kid, but I also love that movie.”

  “I’m gonna make you watch all of my favorites with Finn and me.”

  I take another big sip of this delicious fruity island love potion before saying, “I think I would actually enjoy that.”

  “I am completely certain that you will.”

  “How do you know so much about me?” I marvel.

  “I told you,” he says, two lines appearing between his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “I’ve always thought of you as a friend. You’ve been a part of my inner circle for a long time. Whether you realized it or not.”

  My stupid nose is tingling again, for like the fifth time tonight.

  When did you become this person that I could actually love?

  “What were you like when you were a kid?”

  He looks down and laughs, kind of a sad little laugh.

  Why have I never noticed how long your eyelashes are?

  “I just remember being needy and lonely most of the time, until I was about eight. My dad was always working and traveling, and my mom—she’s a nice person, but she’s always been involved in fundraising for charities and museums, so she was busy. I mean, I had friends once I was in preschool, but before then I had Nanny Rey.”

  “Right.” I nod. Of course he had a nanny.

  “Her name was Reyna, but I guess I had trouble pronouncing it at first, or maybe I just didn’t want to. She was this beautiful Filipino woman. Probably in her thirties. So kind and sweet but tough with me when I was being a little shit. She was the one who took me to school and everywhere, and I worshipped her. When I was old enough, she told me she had a son who was older than me, back in the Philippines, who she had to give up for adoption when she was a teenager. I was so jealous of him because I knew she’d rather be with him than me. One day my mom told me that the adoption agency had contacted Reyna and put her son in touch with her and that she’d be moving back to the Philippines. I was nine and I didn’t really need a nanny at that point, but I thought my life was over.”

  Why do I feel the sudden urge to take you home and make you dinner? “She went back to her son?”

  “She left me. No wait—you’re right. She went back to her son. That’s what I learned in the five therapy sessions my mom made me go to after Reyna left. After that I had to learn to get better at making friends, so I did. I got awesome.”

  “You learned how to be charming.”

  “Oh, you noticed.”

  “Sometimes. Did she stay in touch with you? Reyna?”

  “She sent me letters at first, yeah. I sent her cards and a lot of pictures of myself. But you know, eventually the letters stopped coming. It’s fine. She was happy. I was happy for her. Eventually.”

  “What’s that Russian word? Uzbliuto?”

  “Razbliuto. I wouldn’t call it that, though. I still love her. I’m sure I’ll never see her again, but it wasn’t the kind of love you fall out of. It’s more of a saudade situation.”

  “Saudade,” I repeat.

  “Yeah. It’s one of those. A love that remains. A longing.” He leans forward to brush away the hair that’s blown across my face, and I lean my cheek against his hand.

  “Tell me about your parents,” I say. “You’re not allowed to say you don’t want to talk about them this time.”

  He drains his glass and signals to the waiter that we need another round. “Okay, but I need another drink. That all right?”

  “We can close the place down if you want to.”

  “I want to do a lot of things right now, Rox. But all of them involve you.”

  I polish off the last of my rum happy juice before I’m capable of saying, “I want to do a lot of things with you too. But I want to know more about you first.”

  He smiles and squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”

  “Oh God, don’t thank me.”

  “It means a lot to me. More than you know.”

  The bartender brings our drinks over himself. “Anything else for the lovers? They will be closing down the kitchen very soon.”

  “What do you want, lover?” Keaton asks me with a smile and a wink.

  Oh God, I want to sit on your lap and kiss you and never stop.

  I want to make up for so much lost time with you.

  I want you to know that I’m not really a dick, because now I know for a fact that you are not one.

  “I’m good” is all I say to him. “Thank you,” I say to the bartender.

  After he’s had a few sips of his second Old Fashioned, while still holding my hand across the table, Keaton exhales loudly and says, “My mom—Cynthia Harrington Bridges—as I mentioned, is a nice lady. She’s not exactly maternal, but she always means well, and she was just raised to be a good wife and daughter more than anything, I think. She likes to give me things. Gifts. That’s her way of showing me she cares. Always has been. My dad—William Bridges—is a self-made man. My mom comes from money, and my dad made his first million by the time he was twenty-two. He’s an investor. He really is like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. He buys companies in hostile takeovers and then breaks them down to sell for a profit. He’s not a bad guy. He’s even a pretty good person, I’d say. He’s just not a great father. I ne
ver resented him for it, I just used to want his approval so much, it was…exhausting.”

  “And you don’t anymore?”

  He shakes his head thoughtfully while twirling his glass again. “I’m not as rich as he is, but he would always tell me how much money he had made by the time he was thirty, like it was the measure by which he judged all men. So by the time I turned thirty and I realized that I had made as much money as he had by the time he was thirty, I realized it wasn’t that big of a deal. And I kinda felt bad for him. Because I have what he doesn’t have and probably never will. I have good friends. Great ones.”

  That’s when I finally lift my ass up from my chair and lean over the table to kiss him on the mouth.

  Not kissing this man is no longer an option.

  I kiss him until I’ve taken his breath away and then given it back to him.

  I sit back down and watch him rub his lips together, savoring the taste of me and my rum and pineapple-laced lip gloss.

  “Go on,” I say.

  His dimple makes a welcome appearance as he tries to speak again. “Umm… What was I saying?”

  “You have good friends. Great ones.”

  “I do. And I’d say that I’m a lot closer to Chase’s parents now. Have been for years, really.”

  “Graziella and Sean?” I say, smiling. Because no one can think about those two wonderful people without smiling. “I love them. I love their restaurant. I haven’t seen them since New Year’s Eve.” I’m hit with a pang of regret when I think about how hard I was trying to avoid him that night. I left before he showed up. What if I’d stayed? Would we have had a midnight kiss? Would we be a real couple by now?

  “We should have dinner at their restaurant together sometime,” he says. “It would blow their minds.”

  It would blow my mind too. I can’t quite picture being with Keaton in Brooklyn yet. But I’m willing to.

  The next question rushes out to greet him before I can stop it. “Do you want kids?”

  “Hell yeah,” he says without hesitating. “A brood. Or half a brood, I don’t know. How big is a brood? I want at least three.”