by S. L. Scott
“Oooohhhh. I see. Charlie boy has fallen for girl Charlie. A girl who shares his name— it’s kind of narcissistic, don’t you think?”
“The difference between you and me, my friend, is I don’t like her for her name, but because of who she is. You would go after a girl Justin in a heartbeat, but it’d be attached to a very butch girl and wouldn’t be that appealing.”
“True dat.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m too busy to get sucked into some rapper’s lingo with you right now. Get me Charlie’s number. Her address would be even better.”
“So what you’re saying is you will speak the rapper’s delight another time if I get you her address?”
Now, I laugh. “Yeah. Sure, homeboy.”
He turns away from the receiver and calls, “Hey sexy! Charlie, your friend . . . what’s her address?” I hear voices in the background but can’t understand. “Yep, for Charlie.” I hear her say something before he comes back on the line. “She knew it was just a matter of time and wishes you luck.”
“Great,” I reply sarcastically. He gives me the address, and I hop in a cab.
Charlie doesn’t live that far from me, which makes me happier than it should. I pay the driver and stand in front of her building. It’s small, five stories, but quaint and old. I like it because it has history and personality in its architecture.
Justin got the door code from Rachel before we hung up. Rachel is very trusting or else very supportive of me. Either way, I appreciate it, because I’d rather be rejected face to face than through an impersonal intercom system. I jog up four flights, taking the stairs by two, and walk down the hall to apartment 4A. With my hand in the air ready to knock, I take a quick breath then tap the wood door with firm knuckles.
Waiting.
Waiting is torture. I hear light footsteps and see the other side of the peephole go black before one, two, three, four locks, and a chain are opened.
I know I’ve fallen hard for the woman when everything slows as if in a movie. The door swings open, blowing her red hair delicately from her shoulders as her face shows her surprise.
Chapter 14
“What’s your last name?” he asks, standing just outside my door. He’s out of breath and intense, as if everything in the world depends on my answer.
His handsome face makes me breathless as his eyes penetrate my soul.
“Barrow,” I say before I have a chance to stop myself. I don’t mind telling him my name. It’s not a big secret or anything. It’s more that I still don’t understand why he’s here, much less how he knows where I live and how he got into the building.
“Barrow? As in wheel?”
It’s a typical reaction. “Yes, Barrow is my last name. It’s Scottish.”
Charlie is still staring at me, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, what he’s expecting from me.
I shift to the side and make an offer. “Would you like to come in?”
This was my second mistake today, and it’s only 10:15 a.m. My first mistake was that I should have stayed to see how this played out, but I don’t deal with rejection well. Jim hurt me enough. I’m not ready for more pain.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”
I close the door behind him, relocking one of the deadbolts, and stand there feeling awkward.
He looks around my small apartment then turns back toward me. “I don’t have your number either.”
“You apparently have my address.”
“About that—”
“I have a feeling that Rachel is behind this.” I walk away, waving my hand in the air carelessly.
“She wished me luck.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
He watches as I walk into the kitchenette area. I can see him standing there staring, so I ask, “Coffee or orange juice?”
“Orange juice would be great. Thank you.”
I fill the glass and hand it to him. He drinks over half before setting the glass down on the granite countertop, swiping his thumb over the corner of his mouth. My mouth might have dropped open watching that little bit of juice-tainment. My own glass remains untouched, since I’m still stuck on the fact that Charlie is here in my apartment and looking as hot as he does. I only saw him once before in casual clothes and that was on the subway. I wasn’t paying that much attention then. I am now and he wears them well.
“Why are you here, Charlie?” I ask because I need to say something instead of just gawk.
“Why did you leave this morning?”
“You came here to confront me?” I can’t stop my defensive tone. “I had to do the walk of shame in an evening dress and heels, and now you’re here to make me feel worse?”
He steps closer, but I turn around to focus on cleaning the mug and bowl in the sink. To focus on anything that allows me to think clearly, because I’m not so sure I do when he’s around. I can’t look him in the eyes right now. He must think I’m horrible or, even worse, slutty for my drunken antics last night. I practically ravaged the boy with my mouth.
“No, that’s just it,” he says, not sounding as sure of himself today. “I didn’t want—”
“I’m sorry about last night. I know it was wrong, just a stupid drunk mistake. I hope we can get past this and still be friends.” I hear nothing behind me, silence holding court, so I continue, hating the tension that separates us. “The other day meant a lot—”
“Why are you so nervous?”
“Huh?” I ask, glancing at him to see his eyes are still on me.
“You’re nervous. I don’t mean to make you nervous or upset you. I can go if you want.”
“No!” I shout, startling him. I laugh, anxiety laced with shaky giggles. He smiles at me, and a calmness engulfs me. I take a deep breath before explaining. “No, you don’t need to go. I’m glad you’re here. I should apologize.” I take a step toward him and smile. “I’m sorry about this morning and I’m sorry about last night.”
His smile falters before he regains his composure, and as much as I want to ask what just went through his mind, I don’t want to push my luck either.
“You’re sorry about last night?” he asks, studying my eyes.
“Well, yeah. We had such a great time until the alcohol went to my head and I attacked you.” I feel my face heat, remembering how I begged him to kiss me. “I’ll understand if I’ve ruined everything, but I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed our time together, as much as one can at a funeral.” I’m rambling and can’t seem to stop myself. “I was referring to talking with you at the Subway Inn afterward and then—”
“Stop, Charlie. Just stop.”
My mouth clamps shut, and my heart hurts because I can hear the words coming from his mouth before he even says them. I grip the edge of the counter and close my eyes in preparation.
“You didn’t beg me, and you didn’t ruin anything. I want to be friends with you.”
Those aren’t the words I expected at all. “So, you’re not mad at me?”
He shakes his head, and a small smile reappears. “No, I’m not mad.” He rubs behind his ear and says, “I was hoping we could be mo—”
My oven timer sounds, drawing both of our attention.
“My cupcakes are ready.”
I can feel his eyes on me as I take the cupcake pan out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. Looking back at him, I ask, “You were saying?”
“You do bake.” He sounds surprised.
I nod. “Baking relaxes me.”
“Eating relaxes me,” he says, joking, then looks down at his feet like he said too much.
That makes me smile. He makes me smile, and the tension that was there a few minutes ago has evaporated. I don’t feel the need to fill any voids with ramblings or explanations or any more apologies. I can be me, Charlie’s himself, and this is right.
Even though we haven’t talked everything through, we’re on the right track. We’re friends again, just how we were meant to be.
Ch
apter 15
He frosts. He does dishes. He’s funny and smart. Is this guy for real? I watch as he looks over the frosted cupcakes and carefully chooses one. It doesn’t slip past me that he chooses the one I was going to pick. It’s the largest in the batch. That amuses me.
He appears to be on the verge of drooling, but looks up and smiles, presenting the cupcake to me. “The chef should get the biggest one.”
No, he’s definitely not for real. Men like this don’t exist among us mere mortal women.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the cupcake from his hand. Our fingers touch by accident, and like last night, my stomach twists in giddiness to be near him. “Grab one and come on.” I nod for him to follow me.
He picks his cupcake after a second careful perusal, and follows me to the couch. I feel like this should be awkward right now. That us like this would be uncomfortable for some reason, especially after last night, but like all the times I’ve spent with Charlie, it’s not. It’s easy, which brings up an earlier thought I had. Is it too easy with him? Is it even possible to be too easy? I’m going to drive myself insane with all of this overanalyzing.
“How are you doing?” he asks, peeling his wrapper down on one side.
“I’m good. It’s been a weird week, but I’m holding up. How are you?”
He’s about to take a big bite, but stops and says, “I’ve been thinking about my great-aunt a lot.”
“I’d love to hear about her if you want to share.”
He sighs, and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not today.”
He looks at his cupcake and a small smile returns. “These look great.” His mouth opens wide, and he closes his eyes as he takes a big bite of the small cake, frosting spotting his cheek. Opening his eyes, he catches me staring. Looking embarrassed, he asks, “What?”
I laugh. I shouldn’t, but I do. “You’ve got . . .” I start saying as I point to the left of his mouth, then swirl my finger wide in the air in front of him, “. . . a little frosting there.”
His tongue darts out and licks. “Here?” Charlie rubs his finger where I first pointed.
“No, over more.”
He sticks out his tongue and searches his cheek again. “Still there?”
“No, a little more to the right.”
He wipes aimlessly around his mouth, missing the spot, so I reach over and wipe the chocolate off with my thumb. I linger just a second before laughing.
“Thanks,” he says, all mischievous smile and happy eyes.
I’m quick to retract my hand, because that was probably inappropriate. Actually, I’m positive it was inappropriate. Looking down, I take another bite of my cupcake instead of licking my thumb like I want. Self-conscious that he sees right through me, I try to distract by saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“So, why’d you track me down? Just had to know my last name?”
“Yes, and I want your phone number.” His confidence is attractive.
He finishes his cupcake, and I nibble on mine.
“What do you want my number for?” I take the empty wrappers and get up to toss them in the trash.
“Usually they’re given so people can reach you, talk to you, and schedule time together—”
“Okay, okay.” I smile. “So, you want to do those things with me?”
“No. I just collect numbers.” His sarcasm drips.
“Fifty-five,” I say, deadpan.
“Fifty-five?”
“Yeah, you can add that to your collection.”
He laughs, sinking back into the couch cushions to get more comfortable. “You’re funny, real funny.” He chuckles as he folds his arms across his chest.
I return, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Make yourself at home.”
He gets my humor. “You have plans today?” He may be asking, but his body position tells me he has no intention of getting off this couch anytime soon.
“Oh yes, I have very fancy plans today. I was going to clean the mess I made in the kitchen, order a pizza, eat about a half dozen cupcakes, and watch movies. You want to stay? I mean, I’m sure your day can’t be as exciting as mine, but you’re invited to the grand event.” I roll my eyes because my day sounds so lame, even if I do play it up in a joking manner.
“Sounds like a good plan, and I’ll buy the pizza.”
He’ll stay? Charlie wants to stay and spend the day here . . . with me? “Really?”
His face contorts. “Did you not want me to?”
“No, of course I did. I just didn’t think you’d want to.”
He sits up straight, questions filling his eyes. “So, you invited me on the pretense that you didn’t think I’d accept? Does that mean,” he stands and takes a few steps toward the door, “you don’t want me to stay? I can go. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I invited you because I want you to stay. I just didn’t think you’d want to.”
He stops in front of the door, looking at me, reading me in that way I’m starting to become accustomed to, a way that makes me feel like he cares. He’s looking beyond the surface, seeing the real me underneath my words. “I’d like to hang out with you.”
“I’d like that, too. I’m not letting you buy the pizza, but you can pick the first flick.”
His body relaxes, and I can tell he’ll stay.
“Deal.” He runs and jumps on the couch, kicks his shoes off, and props his feet up on my well-worn coffee table. Pointing at his bare feet, he asks, “Is this okay?”
I nod, giggling. “No socks?”
His eyes dart to his feet, and then he looks embarrassed. Dropping them to the floor, he hurries to explain. “Wow! That was rude of me. I forgot I wasn’t wearing socks. I was in kind of a rush to get out the door.”
“It’s okay. I keep it casual around here. You can kick your feet up. Soda?”
He lifts his feet back onto the table, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning his head back on his linked hands. “Yes, please. Let’s get these grand plans started.”
“Go ahead and find a movie. My movie collection is in the large drawer in the TV console, or you can choose one from pay-per-view.”
I walk back into the kitchen and stack the dirty dishes in the sink to deal with later. I fill two glasses with ice and pour soda in both then wait for the bubbles to fizzle down. Sneaking a peek over my shoulder, I spy him kneeling in front of the television, flipping through the cases. His shirt has risen, and I get an eyeful of those sexy back dimples above his jeans.
Dirty thoughts of him are swirling around my head when he asks, “How about A Fool’s Future?”
My eyes meet his, and I immediately turn back to the sodas, pretending to be busy and hoping he didn’t see me checking him out. Sounding flippant, I say, “Sure, if you’re up for something chick-flicky.”
“I’ve never seen it. But if you own it, it must be good.”
I walk to the couch, setting the drinks down on the table before curling up on the side opposite where Charlie’s taking up space. The DVD starts as he takes a few sips of his drink.
“Thank you—”
“No worries,” I reply.
“Thank you for letting me stay.”
I stretch my legs out next to me and nudge him with my foot. “Thanks for staying. Now hush. I love this movie.”
He chuckles, and a happy peace fills the room.
We polish off a medium extra-cheese and pepperoni pizza, two more cupcakes each, and sit through a rom-com and a gangster movie before we fall asleep.
I wake up around 4:30 p.m. Our legs are tangled between us on the couch, and my foot is between his thighs. Oh my. Just two small inches north of my toes and . . . I wiggle my foot out super slow so my mind doesn’t linger in the gutter.
He also fell asleep, but stirs, his eyelids barely rising. His eyes are more grey than blue under the haze of sleep.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is raspy from th
e nap. “Guess we were both tired.”
He may look drowsy, but light reflects off his eyes, making them shine. “Yeah, we were up kind of late last night.”
I don’t know if it’s his soft, comforting expression or his words, but I feel warmer. I’d like to say I’m blushing, but the heat is not just in my cheeks. It’s all over. I sit up, grabbing my drink and taking several large sips to try and cool down.
Charlie sits forward, swinging his feet to the floor and scrubbing his face roughly with his hands.
“You want to go for a walk? I could use some fresh air.” I offer because I could use some, too, though maybe more for the cool breeze than the freshness of the air.
“I’d like that.”
We put our shoes on and I grab a jacket before we make our way down to street level.
“I like this part of the city. Lived here long?” he asks.
“Not that long, but I always liked this neighborhood. Jim wanted to live uptown. He considered Murray Hill once as a compromise to me, but that was still more uptown than I wanted. His parents disapproved of my suggestions, because they wanted him close to them.” I laugh at the memory. “A five-minute cab ride was too far for their liking.”
“You lived together when you were still dating?”
“What can I say? He was very convincing.”
“He convinced you? You didn’t want to?”
“I did, but I didn’t. I’d never lived with a guy, so it was big step. We were engaged at the time, but I think I was scared something would happen and then . . .” We stop at a corner a few blocks away from my apartment. Charlie doesn’t move. He faces me and waits for me to finish. “And then all that stuff did happen, and I’m here now.”
“It suits you.”
“What does? Being single?”
He laughs, a real gut chuckle. “No, your apartment and this neighborhood. It suits you.”
I look up at him and smile. He makes me feel good about myself, about my choices, and about what my instincts told me a long time ago. Instincts I didn’t trust and was talked out of back then. “Thanks, Charlie.”