Sexton Brothers Box Set

by Lauren Runow

  She places her hands on my forearms. “No worries. I can go back to his place. You two enjoy the apartment to yourselves. Just no hanky-panky in my bedroom.”

  I give her a captain’s salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As she puts her overcoat on, she fluffs her hair and asks, “What do you two do together? I mean, is it sex all the time? I’d imagine having a twenty-two-year-old lover during your sexual prime is the equivalent to dying and going to heaven.”

  I laugh in agreement. “Well, there’s definitely lots of stamina on both our ends. But, no, it’s not all sex, all the time. We just kinda explore the city. Picnic at Bethesda Fountain, stroll around Belvedere Castle, or coffee at Washington Square Park. We’ve walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and we like to go to the library when he has homework and I have papers to grade. There are a few bars and clubs he likes to check out after-hours. He’s a jazz fan, so we’ve seen a few shows. You know, things like that.”

  A small smile lights her face as she stares off in the distance. “That sounds really nice, Harper. Tanner is a good match for you.”

  I agree.

  After April leaves, I finish making sure the apartment is ready for my night in with Tanner. When the bell rings, I buzz him up and wait for him to get up to our floor. The elevator door opens, and I get that whooshing feeling I do whenever I see him after a day apart.

  He’s wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans, a brown leather jacket over his broad shoulders. I don’t have shoes on, so I have to lean up on my tiptoes to greet him.

  “Look at you, all cozy,” he says, referring to my yoga pants and T-shirt.

  His hands are wrapped around two brown paper bags. I suspiciously eye them.

  “I thought we were ordering in?”

  “Change of plans. I’m cooking dinner for my girl.” He winks as he walks inside and puts the bags on the counter. “April here?”

  “Change of plans. Just us.” I flutter my lashes. “No-go in the bedroom though. House rules.”

  He gives me a look like it’s a silly thing for me to have said. “That’s not a problem.”

  Out of the bags, he produces two cans of crushed tomatoes, red pepper, zucchini, garlic, a brick of Parmesan, and fresh fettuccini. When he pulls out the bottle of red, I grab two glasses and an opener.

  “This is one of the best bottles of wine you’ll ever have.”

  I read the label—Chimney Rock Ganymede, Cabernet Sauvignon 2010.

  With my eyebrows up in shock, I glance at Tanner. “A wine connoisseur? Tanner Sexton, you are constantly full of surprises.”

  He pours me a glass. “When you grow up less than an hour outside Napa, you have the most amazing bottles being poured every day in your house. My dad is a huge wine buff, so I paid attention. He taught me how to appreciate wine and know the difference between a good bottle and a great bottle. This right here … it doesn’t get any better.”

  He pours some into two glasses and then smirks at me like he just got an idea. “Want to know the best way to aerate your wine if you don’t have an aerator?”

  I laugh out loud. “I don’t even know what aerating is.”

  “Some people twirl it around, but if you have the right glasses, like these”—he holds up the glass—“you can do this.”

  With wine in the glass, he tips it over to its side, rolling the glass back and forth across the counter. The wine comes directly to the edge but doesn’t spill over.

  “That’s fancy,” I tease.

  He picks it up and hands me the glass. “A cool bar trick, I guess. You seem surprised.”

  We cheers, and then I take a sip.

  Wow, that’s smooth.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “Learning new things about you is my most favorite pastime.”

  Whatever it was that had him confused about me has faded, and his expression is back to relaxed. “I’d like to take you there sometime.”

  “Where, Napa?” I ask as I pull out a pot for him to boil water.

  “Home. To meet my family.”

  I almost drop the pot. “Home?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m going to be moving back soon. I can’t bide my time in New York anymore. I’m needed there. I have a job to do.”

  I place the pot in the sink and turn on the faucet. I’ve known all this time that Tanner is moving back. He told me the night I first met him. It’s just … the last few weeks have been a whirlwind. I’ve enjoyed my days and nights with him, so much so that I began to pretend he wasn’t going anywhere. Perhaps hoping he’d change his mind.

  “Hey,” he whispers softly. He steps behind me and turns the water off. He pushes my hair out of the way, so he can rest his chin on my shoulder, and then he wraps his arms around me. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re not ending.”

  Easy for him to say. He’s never had a bicoastal relationship. Neither have I. I had a live-in relationship that I couldn’t even keep. How he plans on us staying together is beyond me.

  “When are you leaving exactly?”

  “I don’t know yet. Semester ends soon. I was hoping to stay through the end of the year.”

  That’s really soon. My entire body deflates.

  He spins me around and places his hands on the sides of my face. “I’m not ready to say good-bye to you. I’ll figure something out, okay? Just don’t worry your pretty little head tonight. This evening, I want to cook for you, maybe give you a foot massage, play some strip poker …”

  He waggles his brows. I hit him in his chest. The hardness of it makes my knuckles sting. He kisses my hand and then shoos me out of the way of the sink.

  He sees the Alexa on the counter and tells it to play Ed Sheeran. He tosses me a bell pepper. I start chopping while he looks through cabinets for a saucepan. As he adds garlic and oil, I’m singing along to the song, and he chimes in, opening the can.

  At one point, Tanner approaches me from behind while I’m cutting the zucchini. He sings into my ear, swaying me back and forth until I drop the knife and turn to face him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and we finish off the song until he slaps my ass and turns to stir the sauce.

  “You play cards often?” I ask as we’re sitting down, twirling our pasta and drinking our wine.

  “You’re thinking about strip poker. Okay, fine. If you want, I’ll play, but I’m warning you that I’m gonna lose on purpose. You’re welcome.” He smiles as he slurps a noodle.

  “I was just seeing if you were a gambler. I’m trying to find your vice. The one thing you’re addicted to that’s bad for you.”

  “You,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’m wildly addicted to you, and it’s going to kill me.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What’s your vice?”

  You.

  “I don’t have any. I’m pretty damn perfect, thank you very much.”

  “Agreed.” He puts his fork down and looks around the apartment. He seems to be taking it in as his eyes roam over the gray damask wallpaper and ivory couch. April has a crystal chandelier over the espresso table. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I give him my full attention.

  “Why do you live on April’s futon? Are you hard up for cash?”

  It’s an honest question. I won’t lie and say the insinuation doesn’t sting a little. I suppose it does seem odd that a thirty-year-old woman is sleeping in her best friend’s home office. Must make me look like I don’t have my shit together.

  “The apartment that Aaron and I lived in was mine. When I caught him cheating, I asked him to leave. He refused to move out, so I packed my bags. I’m in the process of selling it. It seems like it’s the only way to get him out. I’m in contract.”

  “Why doesn’t he want to move out?”

  I take a swig of my wine. “Aaron still wants me back. He calls at least once a week and apologizes profusely. He has been since the day I caught him cheating.”

  Tanner uncomfortably shifts in his seat. “Why didn’t you t
ell me?”

  “What’s to tell? He wants me back. I don’t want to be with someone who thinks sleeping with another woman is okay. I like my men fully committed.”

  “I like my women fully committed.”

  I raise my glass in salute. “Then, we’re in agreement. We’re monogamous.”

  Tanner’s nostrils flare. “The thought of you with another man—”

  “Calm down, caveman.”

  Tanner looks to the side as his mouth pinches. “So, you’re from an affluent family, went to prep school, and own your own home.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you going to do with the money from the sale of your apartment?”

  I shrug. “Probably invest in something else. My dad came from little, so when his business took off, he was very wise to invest. He instilled that in me. I’m not a penny-pincher per se, but I certainly save, and real estate was a no-brainer. That apartment has increased thirty percent since I bought it. I mean, it’s a tiny one-bedroom, but it’s desirable. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His eyes are glazed over, and his mouth is parted slightly. “Nothing. You’re perfect. That’s all.”

  Gosh, this guy is good for my ego.

  After dinner, we wash the dishes and make a bowl of popcorn. I have papers to grade for tomorrow, so I pull them out of my tote bag and walk them into the office where Tanner is seated, watching the History Channel. I curl into his side and bend my knees as I do my work to the soft sounds of popcorn crunching in his mouth. I’ve never enjoyed grading papers this much.

  I reach for a few kernels, lean back to get his attention, and throw them up in the air for him to catch with his mouth. I’m completely off with the first toss, and it earns me a boob grab in return.

  I try again, but this time, he leans over and tickles me without even attempting to catch it.

  It takes us a few tries, but before long, we get it. We cheer in celebration before I lay my head on his lap, bend my knees, and get back to work. His fingers run through my hair as I grade. After an hour, I have the final one done. I run my hands over my eyes, and I put everything away.

  I pour two more glasses of wine, this time the twenty-eight-dollar kind that I had in the refrigerator. When I sit back on the futon, Tanner hands me the remote. I’m surprised since I thought he’d want to get naked.

  “Put on what you want,” he says.

  I take it from him and put on Friends.

  “You love this show.”

  “It’s my entire life. Well, it’s like the theme to my life. I was in college when it ended. I thought my entire adult life was going to be one big episode of Friends. I always fashioned myself to be a Rachel, but, honestly, I’m a Monica.”

  “Who am I?”

  “You’re just Tanner. They didn’t know men like you existed when they created this show.”

  He grins. “Probably because I was eleven.”

  I place a hand on my chest. “Oh, dear Lord, that means you’re younger than my favorite show.”

  “Come here, crazy.” He pulls me back into his side and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Tell me all the things you love about this show. I believe you said you could quote it verbatim.”

  As he kisses me on the head, I realize just how lucky I am. Here is this great guy who wants to cook dinner and enjoy a night at home, watching reruns. We’ve had some fun, wilder times, but for the most part, my life with Tanner has been moments like this. Coffee and reading, painting and doing work. Silent moments where we can just be.

  We sit like this for a while, watching a mini marathon. His laugh is deep and sexy. I don’t know how much of the show he’s seen, so I just let him watch. Since I’ve seen them all, I just watch him.

  I love you.

  Shit.

  Tanner’s right with his nickname today. I am crazy. It’s way too soon. Yet …

  “What are you doing this weekend?”

  He glances down at me. “You tell me.”

  “I’m going home to see my parents.”

  “Do I get to go, too?” Tanner asks me with surprise excitement in his eye.

  “You’d want to go?” I ask, sitting up.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? Your father is your hero, which means you’re going to be comparing me to him for the rest of our lives.”

  I sigh in agreement. “No man has ever held a candle to him before.”

  “I need to see for myself just how tall that candle is held.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’d love to meet your father. Mostly, I’d be honored to meet your mom.”

  Okay, it’s official. I’m so far gone for Tanner Sexton that there is no way I’ll ever survive when he leaves.

  18

  TANNER

  I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed to meet Harper’s dad, so I knew what I was being compared to. Being with a woman who talks about her father with such high regard as she does hers, I need to make sure I get his seal of approval.

  If Mr. Doyle and I get along, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone on my side or to give advice when it comes to Harper. She’s an open book for the most part, but I have a feeling she holds back her thoughts sometimes. It’s her way of maintaining control.

  My father hasn’t been the best role model on how to treat a woman. He’s good to Missy in the form of providing. She wants for nothing monetarily, and he is always placing her on a pedestal in public, showing her off and applauding her minor accomplishments.

  At home, their relationship is an enigma. At first, they were always behind closed doors. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the attraction they had for each other. My high school years were full of friends wanting to come over to gawk at my stepmom in a thong bikini, lounging by the pool.

  They never spoke though. Their conversations were about schedules and vacations they were planning. Laughter was seldom, and they had very few shared interests. They never even talked about their day.

  When I was growing up, my parents used to talk.

  I remember Mom tucking me in when I was about six years old with a Curious George book and a song, and then she’d kiss my nose while uttering the words, “To the moon and back.”

  I’d ask her if she was going to bed, too, and she’d say it was, “Dad’s time.”

  My dad liked to drink wine by the firepit outside. My room overlooked the backyard, so I’d watch as my mom sat on the arm of his chair, and they’d talk about their day. He’d run his hand up her arm. That was about as affectionate as he got. They rarely kissed, and he rarely told her how beautiful she was—and my mother was very beautiful. But they talked—about work, us boys, the family, stories they’d heard around town, music, and movies. Mom always had the radio on, and Dad was an old movie buff. Still is, I suppose.

  By the time I was twelve, he came home less, and I remember Mom crying when she thought no one was watching. She’d wipe away the tears before anyone was in the room.

  Austin said Mom was angry because Dad didn’t show up at the office anymore. Years later, he told me he suspected Dad had been having an affair. I’ve never told my brothers, but I found out years later that he and Missy had been. When I was living with them, Missy mentioned being with him for four years. My mom had only died two years before then.

  I want the kind of relationship that shows no question on how I feel for my wife. I want to hug her at every turn, kiss her forehead while we snuggle on the couch, and make sure she’s happy at the end of every day. And I want that woman to be the only one I’ll ever be with for as long as I live.

  From what Harper’s told me about her parents, I know that’s exactly what she wants, too.

  We take the Long Island Rail Road to her town and walk from the station toward her house. She says it’s about a half-mile walk.

  The shops and restaurants near the Douglaston train station are in brick buildings, and as we cross Northern Boulevard, I’m surprised at the suburban feel of the neighborhood. Old colonials are mixed with newer brick ho
mes that are enormous in size, taking up every inch of property, leaving little yard space. The streets are wide and tree-lined. It feels more like a town in New England than New York City.

  “You sure this is Queens?” I ask.

  “Yep. One of the five boroughs.”

  “I always pictured Queens as being like the Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America. I was expecting Queens Boulevard and people. Where are all the people?”

  She giggles. “That’s more Long Island City and Sunnyside, closer to Brooklyn. My dad’s family lives there. Douglaston’s more suburban. We moved here when I was five. Dad’s business took off, and Mom fell in love with the house.”

  I follow her to a colonial with white wood siding that looks to be original and black shutters. There’s a flagpole with a wagon wheel at the base and red brick pavers leading up to the front door.

  Harper doesn’t knock or pull out a key. She doesn’t have to. The door swings open, and a man with short gray hair and blue eyes opens the door.

  “Sweet pea!” Mr. Doyle says as he pulls his daughter in for a hug.

  His eyes light up at the sight of Harper. It’s obvious she is the love of his life, and I understand the feeling.

  “Daddy, I’d like for you to meet Tanner.” She turns to me with a beaming smile. “This is my dad, Kevin Doyle.”

  He’s about five foot nine and wearing a flannel shirt tucked into blue jeans. He’s pretty fit for an old guy, probably from being active in his garage all day long. The lines on his face are deep, and his skin looks like leather.

  I extend a hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Doyle.”

  He eyes me up with his brows pinched and his stance strong. I’ve got a couple of inches on the guy, but he looks like he can box Tyson and win the match. He’s a man’s man, a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. From what I’ve been told and what I deduce from the raise of his chin, he doesn’t care about what’s in my bank account or the job my family has lined up for me. All he cares about is that his little girl just brought a man home.

  He takes my hand. I shake it firmly, not hard. I’m sure his calloused hand is taking in how smooth mine is. I feel oddly insecure about it. I don’t waver though. I give a sharp nod, letting him know I’m up for anything he wants to throw my way because Harper is worth it.