Forked

by Melanie Harlow

  “Oh my God!” I leaned back against the tile wall. “It feels so good—you’re just so good—you’re spoiling me.”

  “I’m just trying to convince you never to leave my shower. And my strategy involves an orgasm.” Nick dropped soft kisses onto my inner thighs and the soft, wet warmth at my center before taking the swollen little bud in his mouth. Sucking softly at first, and then harder, making my toes point, and my fingers curl beneath my palms

  “You’re doing…a good job…Fuck…Yes!” My head dropped back as the orgasm bloomed at my center and unfurled in rippling waves throughout my body. As my breathing slowed, Nick’s hands slid to my waist and he kissed one knee. “Was that a yes, you’ll be my shower prisoner?”

  “Oh my God.” Sighing, I ran my hands through his hair. My fingers were totally pruning up. “It’s tempting, but I’d miss your cooking.”

  He nodded. “I’d miss food too. OK, how about if you just stayed in my apartment all the time?” Helping me to my feet, he turned off the water before opening the door and reaching for a stack of huge, fluffy white towels on the sink.

  I pretended to consider it as he handed me the first towel and reached for a second. “I don’t think so. I have to go to a wedding in two weeks. Mia would probably be angry if I skipped it in favor of sex.”

  “Hmmm. That is a problem.” He dried himself off, stepped from the shower, and slung the towel low around his hips. Gah, that was hot—why was that so hot? Was it the way the towel hugged his ass? The way I could see the top of the V lines in front? The naked chest and arms? Whatever it was, I almost wavered in my resolve not to consider giving him another chance.

  Almost.

  “Sorry, babe. You asked for two days, I’m giving you two days.” Stepping onto the rug, I dried my arms and legs before wrapping the towel around my midsection. “I said no talking about the past, and no talking about the future, and I meant it.”

  “You said no sex, too.” Nick gave me a meaningful look in the mirror.

  I struggled to think up an answer that would absolve me of breaking my own rule. “I know, but… sex is different.”

  “Different how?”

  I bit my lip. How could I explain that somehow having sex was safer than talking? That offering myself emotionally would be far riskier than offering myself physically? That this whole arrangement was becoming problematic, because the more fun we had together, the more tempted I was to forgive him and try again? But I couldn’t tell if he was just playing me with all the sweet gestures and stay-with-me stuff. The last time I trusted him, he’d crushed me.

  When I spoke, my tone was harsher than I intended. “It just is. I’m sure you’re used to getting exactly what you want from people these days, but I can’t offer you anything more than this. Take it or leave it.”

  I went to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my arm. “Hey. Don’t get mad. I’ll take it, OK?” Then the asshole lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I’ll take it.”

  We dressed in silence. I chose one of my sundresses, gray cotton eyelet with a full skirt and camisole straps, while Nick put on jeans and a red t- shirt. While he frosted the cake downstairs, I blew out my hair and put it up into a ponytail since I wanted to take my convertible. I went light on the makeup and repacked everything I’d taken out of my suitcase. Sinking down on the bed to buckle my red sandals, I looked around, wondering if it was the last time I’d ever see this bedroom. It seemed likely, unless I reconsidered my position, which I wasn’t prepared to do. Running my hand over the spread, I wondered who the next girl would be to sleep in this bed. The thought hit me like a jab to the gut.

  I felt nauseated for a minute, until I reminded myself that in less than an hour I’d be walking through the front door of my dream house—I didn’t need to get sad about not being in this room again. Soon I’d have more rooms than I’d know what to do with, and they’d all need my time and attention. There would be no sitting around moping about Nick, his bedroom, or his bedmates.

  The house, the house, the house.

  I’d think about that. I’d be happy about that.

  Bounding down the steps, I resolved to be in a better mood. I crossed the room, set my suitcase by the door, and smiled at Nick, who was just putting the white-frosted cake into a small cooler. “That looks good.”

  “Thanks. Hope it travels OK.” He snapped the lid in place and looked at me. “You look pretty.”

  “Thank you. Ready to go?”

  “Yes. Let me throw a couple things in a bag, and we’re off.”

  While he was upstairs, I put away the Scrabble game, rinsed the breakfast dishes and utensils he’d used frosting the cake, and put them all in the dishwasher. I was just turning it on when he came down, a small duffel bag over one shoulder.

  He took the cooler from the island, tucking it under one arm. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do, since you cooked breakfast for me.”

  He switched off all the lights and dug his keys from his pocket. “That was my pleasure, as is seeing you in my kitchen. I love how domestic you are now. Shall we go?”

  I nodded, walking briskly, picking up my suitcase and vowing not to look back at Nick’s apartment before the door slammed behind me.

  “Hey, this is fun, going on a little trip like this,” Nick said, following me down the hall. “It’s like we’re married or something.”

  I shot him a murderous look over one shoulder, wishing he didn’t look so hot in those aviator sunglasses.

  “Can I carry your suitcase for you, honey?”

  “No. I’ve got it, thanks.” Eyes ahead, I strode toward the elevators.

  An older woman got on the elevator at the tenth floor and smiled at us. “What a beautiful couple you are.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said at the exact same time I said, “We’re not a couple.”

  We glared at each other, and the woman remained silent the rest of the way down.

  #

  “I thought it might be fun to take my car,” I suggested as we entered the parking garage.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s a convertible. Don’t you think that would be fun?”

  He looked at me. “My truck wouldn’t be fun?”

  “Your what?” I squawked. “I mean…what do

  you drive now, another truck?” I tried not to sound snotty about it. Lots of trucks were perfectly nice.

  “You know. My pickup. Still got plenty of good years left.”

  I stumbled slightly. “You still have that same truck?”

  “Not good enough for you?” He was testing me. “You always hated it, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t hate it—I just…” I sighed heavily. “It’s fine. The truck will be fine.”

  “Good.”

  I followed him up a row of cars and looked around for the big honking heap he called a truck, but I didn’t see it. I was about to ask where it was when

  Nick went over to a car that was covered with a giant beige cloth.

  “What is this?” There was no way his old pickup truck was under that cover.

  Nick put down his bag, setting the cooler alongside it. Then he began pulling the cover off, revealing a shiny red vintage car with a soft top.

  I gasped. “That’s your car?”

  Nick laughed. “It’s not the one I drive every day, but I thought it would be fun to take it to Noni’s. You like it?”

  “Yes!” I ran one hand along its curvy side, admiring the whitewall tires. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”

  Nick opened the trunk. “A 1954 Mercury Monterey.”

  “It’s a convertible too?” I swept my fingers along the cloth top.

  “Yep.” He put the beige cover in the trunk and reached for my suitcase. “Is it nice enough for you?”

  I handed it over and smacked his shoulder. “You told me you still had your truck!”

  He grinned, adding his bag to the trunk before closing it
. “And you believed me.”

  “Well, my God, you adored that stupid thing.

  Did you actually get rid of it?”

  “Sadly, yes.” Nick came around and opened the passenger door for me before opening the driver’s side and setting the cooler on the floor in the back seat. I slid in across the fabric-and-leather front seat, marveling at how roomy it was, how big the steering wheel, how shiny the dash.

  I felt like a kid riding the ferris wheel for the first time—my insides were jumping with excitement. Nick got in and started the engine, then unhooked the lever connecting the top to the windshield on his side. “I’ve got this one,” I told him, unlatching the lever on my side.

  Nick put the top down, which folded behind the back seat much like it did on my VW, and got out to fasten the cover over it. A few minutes later, we were on our way.

  It was hard to keep a smile off my face as we pulled out into the July morning sunshine. I tipped my head back and listened to the staticky sound of AM radio and the loud thrum of the engine as we drove toward Indian Village, delighted with all the stares we got from people on the street or in other cars. Some waved at us, some just smiled, but it was easy to see that the sight of a beautifully restored classic car cruising down Jefferson made people happy.

  I was happy too.

  About fifteen minutes later we turned onto Iroquois, and nerves mingled with my exhilaration. I twisted my hands together, glancing at Nick. Would he think I was nuts? What if he reacted just like I thought my parents would? What if he told me there was no way in hell a girl like me should buy such a big old thing that needed so much work? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him here.

  Immediately I was annoyed with myself—why did I care so much what he thought?

  “Is it that one?” he asked as we neared it. “The one with the sign?”

  “Yes.” My agent’s black Audi was parked on the street. “You can pull in the driveway. No one lives here.”

  Nick pulled into the drive, and we got out. Linda, my agent, glided over to us. She was tall and thin with dark skin and wide-set brown eyes, and always dressed in impeccable suits with matching heels. “Coco.” She offered her hand. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, Linda. This is my friend, Nick Lupo.” She took his hand too, tilting her head thoughtfully.

  “Are you the Burger Bar Nick Lupo?”

  He nodded.

  “I love that place!” She shook his hand enthusiastically. “This is so exciting.” Her eyes traveled from Nick to me and back again. “And how do you know Coco?”

  Nick and I exchanged glances. “From college,” I said. “We met at Michigan State. Shall we go in?”

  Linda unlocked the box on the side door but insisted we go in through the front. “I’ll meet you there. It’s a much more impressive entrance.” I was glad, since the side door led into the kitchen, which was probably the area in the worst shape.

  “What year was this built?” Nick asked as we approached the front door. He tipped his head back to take in the peeling gray-blue paint on the shingles, the flaking white trim. I hoped he’d see the possibilities and not just the disrepair.

  “Nineteen-oh-two, I think? Linda mentioned that Albert Kahn might have designed it. And look— it’s on a double lot. It has a nice, deep yard too. It was on the Home and Garden Tour a few years back.” I chirped away, nervous on many levels.

  But when Linda pulled the front door open, Nick took my hand and squeezed it briefly before going in. “It’s beautiful. I’m excited to see the inside.”

  It sounds insane, but walking through the house with Nick at my side, I was reminded of the time I took a pregnancy test in college. We discovered that the condom broke one night, and two weeks later, my period was late. After I peed on the stick and brought it out, Nick and I stared at the stupid thing for the longest minute of our life, his hand gently rubbing my back. I remember how I kept glancing over at him to try to figure out what he was thinking. He said no matter what the outcome was, we’d be fine, but I wanted to know how he felt. Was he scared? Was he mad at himself? Was he thinking that we’d ruined our lives? Just like then, his expression today gave nothing away, and he moved through the rooms with a maddeningly calm demeanor.

  (The test was negative, although Nick eventually admitted he was nervous as hell but didn’t want me to know it. When I asked if he thought we’d come close to ruining our lives, he gave me a strange look and said, “Of course not.” However, I noticed he bought a different brand of condoms after that.)

  But underneath my anxiety, that feeling that I got the first time I walked through the house was back. In fact, it was even stronger. I could actually see myself here…hanging new wallpaper in the dining room, painting the master bedroom walls, ripping out linoleum in the kitchen.

  And I saw Nick too.

  Tearing off the old kitchen cabinets, laying new tile for the backsplash, advising me on the layout of my sink, fridge, and stove. But I imagined him not only in the kitchen—I saw him laying new bricks in the patio out back, carrying heavy furniture up the stairs, cracking open a beer and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the top of his wrist.

  Catching me behind the waist on the staircase.

  Setting me on the counter in the butler’s pantry.

  Crawling up my body, my hands threading through his hair, in a king-size bed in the master bedroom, moonlight streaming through the windows.

  I saw it so vividly it was as if the wind was knocked out of me, and I paused in the doorway to the bedroom, unable to move.

  “You OK, Coco?” Nick put a hand on my shoulder.

  “What? I’m fine.”

  “Oh, well, you’re sort of frozen there, and I’d like to see the master bedroom.”

  “Right. Sorry.” I stepped aside so he could enter the room, flustered and hot in the face.

  And in the pants.

  When we’d gone into every room, peeked in the dank basement and admired the deep, wide backyard with its overgrown grapevines and a huge weeping willow, I thanked Linda and told her I’d be in touch.

  “All right, sounds good, honey. Like I said, I heard from another agent that his clients—she’s a bigwig at GM, just transferred, been living in corporate housing with four kids—are planning to make an offer this week, so just let me know.”

  “OK. I will.” We got into the Mercury, and I looked up at the house, a dose of reality sinking in. This week? Was I nuts? That meant I had to ask my parents for money within a day or so…was I up for that, considering I’d be dealing with Angelina too?

  And why was Nick so quiet?

  “You think I’m crazy,” I said as he turned on the engine.

  “Not at all. It’s a beautiful house.”

  “Then what? You’re too quiet.”

  He looked at the house. “I’m just…taking it all in, that’s all. I’m thinking.”

  “Could you think out loud, please? I need some advice. Mia thinks it’s ludicrous.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not her decision.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to make a huge mistake. I’m trying to be responsible…ish.”

  “Why do you want such a big place? Are you planning on having a family?”

  The question took me by surprise, and annoyed me a little. What did that have to do with anything? “I don’t know. No, not right now. Can’t a single woman buy her own big house?”

  “Sure she can. I was just curious. Because I’m positive you could find a historical fixer-upper that’s not so demanding of your bank account or your time.”

  I sighed, toying with my ponytail. “What else do I have to do with my time? I mean, I’m busy with work, but I need something outside of that, you know? And I have my friends, but even that’s changing.”

  Nick looked at me. “How so?”

  “Mia’s getting married, and she and Lucas have a new house. I bet they have kids soon too.”

  “That doesn’t mean she won’t be your friend, Coco.”


  “I know that, but she’ll be busy with her grown up life. And Erin quit her teaching job to open a dance studio like she always wanted to. She’ll be busy fixing up the space and launching a business—that’s her grown up life.” I threw my hands up. “And I’ve got nothing grown up! I live with my parents, for fuck’s sake!”

  He patted my leg. “That’s temporary.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way.”

  “You know what? You are grown up. Because the Coco I used to know would have already asked her parents for the money. Honestly, that’s what shocks me the most about all this.”

  I was half-pissed, half-flattered at the half- compliment. Sighing, I looked away from the house. “Let’s go. This is stupid. I can’t afford that house. I can’t even afford the down payment.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “About thirty grand.”

  Nick whistled. “That’s a good chunk of change.”

  “Tell me about it. That’s why I needed you to do Angelina’s party so badly. I think I’ll get at least ten grand out of it, and then I was thinking I could ask my parents for the rest.” I took a deep breath and blew it out. “But I think they’ll be a harder sell than you were.”

  Nick smiled as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “I didn’t give you enough trouble, did I?”

  I eyed him sideways. “Making me spend the weekend with you isn’t trouble?”

  “Is it troubling you?”

  “No. Not at all.” I shifted my gaze to his lap, and he laughed.

  “You’re such a bad liar, Coco. Some things never change.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “Fine! You want the truth? Yes, it’s troubling me,” I admitted. “It’s troubling me because I’m having fun with you and it makes me think about things I shouldn’t.”

  Nick braked at a stop sign and looked at me. “What kind of things?”

  I stared straight ahead. Shut up shut up shut up.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s not what this weekend is for.”

  We sat in silence a moment. “I’ll give you the money, Coco.”