I slip the card inside my bra, wipe the stupid solitary tear that’s formed in the corner of my eye, and nod.
He gives my arm a little punch as he holds the door to the nightclub open for me. “You got this.”
I walk through that door and straight over to Keaton, who’s standing at the bar, surrounded by our best friends, and I take his face in my hands and kiss him on the mouth. I kiss him in front of our friends and the bartender and the band and the good people of The Coco Beach Resort. I’m done pretending that he’s not really my boyfriend.
By the time I’ve finally detached my lips from his, Keaton is the one who’s a little wobbly for a change, and our friends are all out on the dance floor. I take his hand and lead him out there to join them. The house band is some kind of fusion of Calypso, rock, and island beats. I don’t know what to call it, but it’s happy and it’s impossible not to move your body to it.
Unless you’re Matt McGovern. I have never seen Matt McGovern dance before—and I still haven’t. He’s basically just standing there looking hot and laughing while Bernie holds his hand and does some kind of salsa step around him. Chase and Aimee are their usual sexy cool selves—although they really can’t compete with Don and Debbie, who are practically doing the horizontal mambo and putting us all to shame.
When I’m still facing away from Keaton, I close my eyes, say a silent prayer to the gods of dance and new love, and hope that this man’s dick doesn’t shrivel up and crawl back up inside him when he sees me dance in the only way I’ve ever known how. But before I can let go of his hand and start swinging my arms vehemently, twisting and jumping while kicking the air, he spins me around and takes both of my hands, holding them up about chest height. He sways his hips a little and steps back and forth, and I just follow. I don’t know if this is salsa, mambo, samba, or some new thing that he’s making up just for me, but it feels right and I can do this. I can’t even tell if he’s leading or not. I just know that I’m willing to follow him and see where this goes.
21
Keaton
We had one perfect day together yesterday in Antigua.
A day of lying out on the veranda naked. A day of lounging in our private plunge pool naked. A day of bathing in our outdoor bathtub together naked.
We napped in each other’s arms on a hammock with a view of the beach—fully clothed.
We had one epic dinner in town with our friends—three real couples with amazing tans who were enjoying each other’s company and the final hours of warm salty air and a slow pace before returning to an icy, slushy hellscape where everyone is battered by relentless noise, rushing to get everywhere, and constantly aware of never having enough of anything when you get there.
Except us.
Roxy and I are in the bubble.
There’s a Norwegian word for this phase that we’re in: forelsket. That feeling of euphoria when you’re falling in love.
I went to a cocktail party once where they served chocolate-covered candied ginger as a snack. That’s what Roxy reminds me of now. Sweet and zingy with a hint of spice and fire. Satisfying and mouthwatering and absolutely fucking perfect.
We held hands the entire plane ride back. Her fingers spoke of love while her big sexy mouth expelled mostly sarcasm and sass. But with every snarky comment, there’s a twinkle in her ice blue eyes, like some fairy that got stuck beneath a frozen Siberian lake.
I’d love to say that we’re too happy to notice how fucking cold it is when we land in Newark, but it is really fucking cold.
Manny carries our luggage to the car, and I pick up Roxy. She doesn’t have her winter boots with her, and I think she’s much lighter now that she isn’t holding all that sexual tension and resistance to my awesomeness in her muscles.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you to the car.”
“Isn’t it at the curb? There’s no slush between here and there!”
“I’m just making sure you don’t try to run off.”
“Oh my God, put me down.”
“Okay. Your feet are funny-looking.” It’s not true at all, but there’s nothing about her that actually deserves a put-down.
She buries her face in my chest. “This is humiliating.”
“No one will think any less of you just because you have the world’s greatest boyfriend.”
She laughs and covers her face with her hand.
“Now, darlin’. You really shouldn’t be ashamed of having such a handsome, thoughtful, and hilarious boyfriend.”
“You’re killing me,” she mumbles.
“How? By being such an amazing boyfriend? I’m going to keep saying it until it isn’t weird for you that Keaton Bridges is your boyfriend. When do you think that will be?”
“Hmm. 2025 seems like a realistic goal.”
“Aw, baby that’s just foolish. By then you’ll be well on your way to accepting the fact that I’m your amazing husband and the father of your children.”
Manny holds the back door to my car open, and I place Roxy on the ground. She stares at me, mystified, shaking her head and pressing her lips together so tight, I know she’s struggling to stop herself from responding with a snarky comeback. She swallows it down and kisses me on the cheek. “That dimple might kill me first. How have you managed to put up with this guy every day for so many years, Manny?”
“Well, miss,” he says, “he pays me to.”
“That makes sense.”
We make out in the back seat all the way from New Jersey to Brooklyn. In between kisses, I ask her, “You want us to drop you off first?”
“No, I’ll come with you to pick up Jackpot. But then I need to go home.”
“You coming to my place tonight?”
Even as she’s kissing me all over my face, she says, “No way. I need a night to myself. I’m gonna lie on my back and snore it up, and besides, we should take a little break from each other. See how we feel now that we’re off the island.”
“Fuck that. I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she says without even thinking about it. “But I get to choose where we go.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Ute, that’s what we’ve been doing all along.”
Manny somehow manages to find a parking spot right in front of the dog hotel. I straighten myself up before stepping out of the car and try to sound casual when I ask Roxy, “You want to wait in the car?”
She smirks. “No. Why would you want me to wait in the car?”
I roll my eyes. “Can you do me a favor and wait in the car while I get him?”
“Because…?”
“Because I would like to give him the opportunity to get excited to see me.”
“Sure. I will give you that opportunity.”
“He does sometimes get happy to see me when I’ve been away for a few days.”
“I have no doubt.”
“This has been the longest period of time I’ve left him here, so it’s important for us to re-establish the bond before—”
“Before he gets excited about bonding with someone he actually likes?”
I shake my head. “You’re mean.”
She pinches my cheek. “I hope he realizes how lucky he is to have such an amazing dog daddy. Maybe you should keep telling him you’re his dog daddy until it doesn’t feel weird to him.”
That’s not a bad idea, actually.
When I buzz the front door, the daytime manager lady smiles at me sympathetically when she lets me in. “Mr. Bridges. Welcome back—what a nice tan you have.”
“Hi, thank you. Is he ready to go?”
“Oh yes, we have all of his things together, and he’ll be so happy to see you.” She pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll call back to have someone bring him out.”
“Great.”
I sign for everything and try to shake off the nerves when the lady isn’t looking. If I can win Foxy Roxy’s heart, then I can win the love of a labradoodle, for Christ’s sake. The door to
the back rooms opens, and I’m so excited to see the little fucker, it’s just stupid. “Hey, buddy! Hey, boy!”
He’s wagging his tail, so cute and happy and energetic and then…he sees me, and he stands still and whimpers. He turns to jump up and paw at the closed door he just came out of.
“Look who it is, Jackpot! Look who it is, you good boy!” the guy who’s holding on to his leash says. He tries to pull Jackpot toward me while reaching out to hand me my duffel bag with his belongings. Including the unwashed T-shirt of mine that I asked them to leave in his room so he’d remember how I smell. Well, that worked. Thanks, Internet.
“Jackpot!” I say, crouching down—because maybe if I’m more on his level, it’ll be easier for him to realize how much he missed me. “C’mere, buddy!”
He whines and licks his chops, looks up at the guy and the lady, who both signal with their heads for him to go over to me. And he does. He trots on over to me and stands in front of me, staring just to the right of me while he lets me pet him. It’s like when I was a kid and my mom was all, “Go give Aunt Bunny a hug!” and I’d trudge over and stand there to let my Great Aunt Bunny hug me while holding my breath so I didn’t choke on the overwhelming scent of gin and vermouth, Parliament Lights, and Chanel No. 5.
But I’m feeling like the king of the world again. This counts as bonding. “He looks great!” I say. “Let’s go home!”
My dog gives his friends one backward glance, sighs, and leads me to the door. He just wants to get this next part of his life over with, but I’ve got a trick up my sleeve, and I’m hoping it will score me some points with the asshole.
Sure enough, as soon as Roxy opens the car door, Jackpot is wagging his tail and jumping and barking a happy greeting. “Hey there, handsome! Get in here!” She pats her lap twice, and my dog springs up from the sidewalk right into her lap. I had no idea he could do that. Roxy gives him a thorough rubdown, and I’m not sure which one of them I’m more jealous of.
I shut the door and go around to the other side. I guess I’m happy for them. He’s giving my girlfriend’s face a tongue bath when I get in. I drop the duffel bag on the floor between my legs. “I guess we go to Roxy’s building now,” I tell Manny. “Drive slow, for Jackpot’s sake.”
“Oh, you have such nice breath,” she says to him. “Your fur smells so good too! Did they give him a bath?”
“Several.”
“I wanna know what kind of shampoo they used, because it smells so good!” she says to Jackpot in a tone of voice she would never use with me.
“Roxpot foreva, I guess,” I say under my breath.
Roxy hears me and pulls her head back, away from Jackpot’s adoring tongue, trying to get him to turn around on her lap and face me. “Hey. Jackpot,” she says authoritatively. “Sit here. Right here.” She pats the seat between us. He steps off her lap and sits up straight exactly where she was pointing. “Good boy,” she says, stroking him on the back of his neck. She motions for me to touch him.
We pet him, together, until we pull up in front of her building.
“You sure you don’t want to spend the night with us?”
“Not tonight,” she says as she leans across the dog to kiss me.
Manny parks and gets out to take her bags out of the trunk.
“Call me,” I say.
“When?”
“As soon as you realize how much you miss me.”
She scoffs at that. “I’ll see you in just over twenty-four hours.”
“And you’re going to miss me the whole time. I want you to know that I won’t judge you or think you’re needy just because you call me in the middle of the night, wanting to hear my sexy reassuring voice. I’ll be fine with that.”
“Okay, pal. See you tomorrow.” She gives Jackpot a kiss on the top of his head. I can tell he’s getting anxious. “I will see you very soon,” she says to him.
“Here,” I say, pulling my unwashed Wharton T-shirt out of the duffel bag. “You can take this. It smells like me.”
She laughs a lot harder than necessary because I’m only half joking. She does not take the T-shirt. “I’ll text you later,” she says, shaking her head.
“Yeah. You will.”
As soon as Manny opens the door, Jackpot tries to bolt, but I’m holding on to his collar.
“Stay, Jackpot. You stay here with Keaton.” She holds her finger up to him, and he barks out a complaint before sitting down again and staring up at her. “You need to be more forceful,” she says to me.
“I’m coming back to pick you up at eight,” I say to her—forcefully.
She giggles. “No. But that was good.” She lets Manny help her out and doesn’t say good-bye again or turn around.
And…Three. Two. One.
When she gets the front door unlocked, she looks over her shoulder and blows us a kiss before going inside.
Jackpot barks once.
“Yeah. She loves us. She’ll be back.”
22
Roxy
Well, this is just dumb.
It’s almost ten on a Thursday night and I’m not tired enough to sleep, but I don’t want to be awake if I have to spend one more hour alone without Keaton fucking Bridges.
How did I go from being a reasonably sane and emotionally stable human being to being the woman who can’t sleep in a bed unless Keaton is in it?
My skin hurts from going hours without being touched by him.
My lips don’t know what to do anymore if they aren’t kissing him.
My ears are straining to hear him say he’s my boyfriend again.
I should have done laundry this evening, but I didn’t want to wash his scent off my clothes. I should have just taken his stupid T-shirt. I should have just said he could come pick me up earlier. Now there’s a freaking blizzard that’s supposed to last a couple of hours, and I really need to sleep so I can be on my game when I go to work tomorrow.
I text Aimee to see if she’s up. She isn’t. Or if she is, she’s doing all the things she needs to do before school and work tomorrow.
I can’t believe Keaton hasn’t texted me tonight. A couple of hours after they dropped me off, he sent me a picture of Jackpot, who was lying down in a dog bed and glancing up at the camera like—what now, dude? Keaton’s caption was: SO EXCITED TO BE HOME!!!
I can’t call him.
I scroll through my recent calls and texts to find someone else to call or text, but there’s no one else I want to talk to or text more than The Man with No Socks, who has stealthily invaded my vagina and my heart.
I can’t call him.
I am definitely not calling him.
I type out a text: You up?
Ten seconds later, I have a FaceTime call coming in from Keaton Bridges.
I accept the video call, and I am so happy to see his stupid handsome face, it’s devastating.
“Are you in bed?” is the first thing he says.
“Yes, but I’m dressed and I’m not going to have FaceTime sex with you.”
“Ever?”
“Tonight.”
“Fair enough.”
“What are you doing?”
He stretches his arms out in front of himself. He’s at his computer and his hair is all mussed up, and I want to run my fingers through it and kiss his forehead. “I was just catching up on some work stuff. I should go to bed too, I’m beat. Hanging out with you for a week was exhausting.”
I puff out a laugh. “Right back at you.”
He grins. “How are you?”
“Awesome. Good. Okay. It was kind of weird coming home to an empty apartment. I was thinking about getting a pet, actually.”
“You want mine?”
“Kind of.”
“Because I can pretty much guarantee he wants you. Although I think he likes me more now because he can smell you on me.”
Good. Excellent! I’m going to lay all of your clothes out on your bed and roll around on them so you can smell like me all day every day and everyone w
ill know that you’re mine.
“That’s sweet. But we aren’t allowed to have dogs in this building, remember? I could get a cat, though.”
“Well, how’s that going to play out when you move in with Jackpot and me?”
I drop my phone facedown on the duvet so he can’t see me blushing and giggling like an idiot.
“I know you’re smiling right now,” I hear him say through the phone speaker. “You might as well let me see you.”
I pick up the phone again and sigh. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“I hate being alone in bed now.”
“Come over.”
“There’s a blizzard outside.”
“I’ll come over.”
“No, you shouldn’t leave Jackpot. Can we move dinner tomorrow up to lunch?”
“Fuck lunch. Let’s meet somewhere for breakfast.”
“The place I want to go to isn’t open for breakfast.”
“You would rather wait five extra hours to share a meal with me than eat at some other restaurant? We can do breakfast and lunch. And dinner. I’ll reschedule everything and meet you anywhere.”
“To be honest, I’m afraid I won’t want to go to the office if I see you in the morning.”
“Now that’s more like it, Ute. It’s on. Lunch tomorrow. Where are we going?”
“I will text you the location in the morning.”
“I don’t need to make a reservation?”
“I’ll do it. One o’clock?”
“One o’clock.”
“Wear socks.”
“I’m only sockless when I wear loafers and flip-flops, asshat.”
“Do you wear slippers at home?”
“Affirmative. I have two pairs of Brooks Brothers slippers—one for cold weather, one for warm—and I wear socks with neither of them.”
The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends Page 77