by J. Saman
The phone rings a few times, and just as I’m about to hang up, his groggy, disembodied voice carries through the phone. “Hello?”
“Kyle, it’s Claire. Sorry to wake you,” I whisper, because I feel like talking too loudly right now would be jarring. Not to mention I’m lying here in the dark in my bed, so whispering feels like the thing to do.
He’s silent, probably because he doesn’t know what to make of this call. Oh, and I woke him out of a sound sleep. God, I’m a miserable bitch.
“You still there or did you fall back to sleep on me?” I ask after another quiet minute passes.
“Um. No. I’m here. I’m just . . .” He chuckles and then it sounds like he’s moving. “Fuck, it’s three-thirty in the morning. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Wow, suddenly I realize I shouldn’t have called. I’m not supposed to mention that Ryan asked me to have dinner with him per his instructions, and I have no real excuse for calling and waking the poor guy up. And now I laugh, because really, what the hell else can I do? “I don’t know why I called you this late,” I admit. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow during normal daylight hours.”
I’m about to hang up when he yells out, “No, don’t hang up. I’m awake now and I’ll never fall back to sleep until I know why you’re calling me.”
I’m smiling. Something about this guy just brings that out of me. “It really can wait. It’s nothing epic or nefarious, or even all that interesting.”
“Spill it, baby doll.”
I laugh at the nickname, biting my lip and shaking my head. Suddenly, I realize I’m really freaking excited to see him. So, if he never tells me what’s up and I just get an excuse to hang out with him, well, that’s cool with me.
“Do you want me to guess?” he asks when I don’t respond, lost in my reverie.
“Sure. Go for it.” I roll over so I’m lying on my side, my face propped up with my hand, as if he’s next to me in bed. Setting the phone down on my pillow, I hit speakerphone and listen to his breathing as he thinks this through.
“You can’t get me out of your mind, and now you’re hopelessly addicted to me.”
“That’s a given, and frankly, not all that creative. You can do better than that.”
“So, you’re saying I’m on your mind and you’re hopelessly addicted to me?”
“Well, yeah,” I laugh the words. “And don’t even try playing it off. I know you’re way more hooked on me than I am on you,” I tease, unable to stop my spreading smile. Or the random flock of butterflies fluttering around my stomach.
“It’s true. I can’t even deny it. I mean, what sort of asshole maintains a purely platonic, phone-only relationship with a female if he’s not?”
I bite my lip, squirming around under my sheets. “Ah ha, I think you’ve stumbled upon something.”
“Really?” he asks bemused. “How’s that now? Our mutual need for the other is why you’re calling? Don’t tell me you’re ending this? I’ll never survive.” Sarcastic prick. “Cut to the chase here, Claire. I’m missing out on some much-needed beauty rest. And if this doesn’t get me phone sex or anything else worthwhile, I’m hanging up in a minute.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. Especially since he’s never talked about us having sex before. Whether on the phone or in person.
“You drive a hard bargain here, but your detective skills are lacking. I prefer a little more seduction and manipulation when trying to be coerced into giving up answers.”
He growls at me.
“Just saying.”
“Out with it.”
“I’m coming to New York for a meeting. I’ll be there Sunday and Monday night, and I was wondering if you’re around to meet up for dinner one of those nights.”
He’s silent for another beat. “That’s why you called me at three in the morning?” He’s incredulous and I can’t exactly blame him for that. “To see if I want to meet up for dinner?”
“Um. Yes?” I flop back down onto my pillow covering my eyes with my forearm, feeling guilty for withholding the real reason. But I can’t tell him why. I don’t even know why. “We can do the whole phone sex thing if you want,” I jest, yet I’m oddly liking that idea more than I should. “I mean, I haven’t rubbed the pearl yet tonight.”
He chokes and then coughs, and then it sounds like he’s choking again as he’s suddenly muffled, no doubt from him covering the phone with a pillow.
When I hear the sound clear, I smile big and ask, “You still with me?”
“Sorry, I think I just spit out my lung.”
I snort. “Am I too much for your delicate sensibilities?”
“No. I just like to know what to expect, but I don’t think I’ll ever get that luxury with you.”
That makes me smile like a girl who just aced her Economics final. Not like a girl who just offered phone sex to her friend. Or like a girl who likes a boy. Definitely not like that. It’s too cliché.
“Sure,” he says, continuing where we left off, “I’d love to have dinner with you. Sunday night is better than Monday, if that’s okay?” He sounds a little pissed and I wonder if that’s because I woke him up or because of my asinine reason for calling. Or because I made him spit out a lung, as he put it.
“Sunday is great. I’ll get in touch when I land that afternoon. I’m sorry I woke you, Kyle Smile. Do you forgive me?”
He rumbles out a chuckle. “I don’t think it’s possible to ever really be mad at you. But yeah, I forgive you.”
“Thanks, baby cakes. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“See you soon, cupcake.”
I’m smiling. I’m smiling big. Because I’m really, super duper freaking excited to go to New York and hang out with Kyle. I may even be a bit giddy over it because I just giggled out loud like a stupid schoolgirl.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter 5
Claire
I land in New York in the late afternoon after a long, but uneventful flight. I don’t even have to bother taking a cab or the train, because fucking Ryan has a driver waiting for me, holding a stupid sign that reads Claire Bear Sullivan.
Asshole.
Ryan, not the driver.
On the oh-so-comfortable and luxurious ride into the city—okay, maybe calling Ryan an asshole was a bit much—I text Kyle, letting him know I landed.
He replies almost instantly and for some inexplicable reason, I get a touch of butterflies from that. I’m sure it’s just because we haven’t seen each other in a long time.
He’d sent me a text last night that said, “wear something comfortable.”
So, I did. I’m wearing my green pickle “I’m kind of a Big Dill” tee and a plaid skirt with my red Chucks. If that doesn’t scream comfort, I don’t know what does. But it also has me curious as to what he’s got in mind. I’m so nervouscited!—which really should be a word.
The New York City skyline comes into view as we hit the Queensboro Bridge, and my giddiness morphs from being about Kyle to being back in this city. I haven’t been to New York since I was a student at Penn and my friends and I came here for a weekend away after midterms.
For a Sunday afternoon, there is surprisingly very little traffic, so we pull up to the Ritz Carlton Central Park in no time. After checking in, I make my way up to my suite—damn it, Ryan—toss my bag onto the floor and jump onto the giant fluffy bed, letting out a resounding sigh of contentment.
But of course, my phone rings and it’s in the main part of the suite. “Ugh!” I groan out as I pull my body up and off the bed before I fly across the room and pick up my phone just before it goes to voicemail.
“What’s up, dude?” I ask, just a touch breathless. Damn, I really need to start hitting up the gym a little harder.
“Are you at the hotel yet?” his sexy baritone fills my ear, the ever-present sounds of the city behind him.
“I am indeed, my friend. Where you at?”
“Outside. Come meet me.
”
“You got it.”
I hang up with Kyle, grab my light leather jacket and make my way back outside.
It’s a gorgeous spring evening in New York. I mean, simply perfect. The sky has a mellow pinkish purplish glow. The air is sweet and mild with only a subtle hint of a breeze. Across the street, the trees in the park are coming back to life after a long miserable winter. New leaves and flowers are in abundance, peppering the air with their soft fragrance.
My eyes scan the street lined with busybodies and evening strollers, but I come up empty. Not a Kyle to be seen anywhere. But then a tour bus moves its large ass and I spot him standing across the street abutting the park and staring at me.
And suddenly, my stomach coils and clenches in a way I’ve never known, while my heart takes on a new rhythm.
My smile cannot be helped. Neither can his.
And damn does he look good. There really is no question that Kyle Grant is a fine piece of man. As I walk over to the crosswalk and wait patiently for the light to change, I study him. He looks different than I remember, and I can’t exactly place why. Paler, maybe? I don’t know.
His perfectly styled, sandy dark-blond hair is short on the sides and slightly longer on top, which is normally not my thing but I like it on him. Hazel green eyes sparkle as they catch the remnants of the sun before it sets behind the tall buildings. He reaches up casually, stroking his strong, clean-shaven jaw that boasts an irresistible dimple in his chin.
Kyle saunters over to the opposite side of the crosswalk to meet me, and as he moves, my eyes inadvertently draw to his tall, strong physique. His is the body of a man who hits the gym hard. He’s wearing a dark blue Henley and matching dark jeans and old-school Adidas sneakers. When my eyes scroll back up to find his, he’s smirking at me, shaking his head like he finds me amusing for blatantly checking him out.
“Kyle Smile,” I say as I finally reach him. He immediately enfolds me in his arms, and for a few seconds, I allow myself to fully melt into him. He smells like clean laundry, expensive body wash and fresh spring air. I’m going to be real honest with you, I was afraid shit would get awkward with us. You know, after spending so much time talking and texting each other, but never actually seeing one another.
But they’re not.
“Heya, cupcake.” Kyle pulls back, dropping a chaste kiss on my cheek. “You’re looking good.” His eyes scan my outfit before he tugs on one of my braided pigtails. “Are you trying to reenact a high school fantasy for me?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. What is with guys and the stupid schoolgirl stuff? I’m wearing a skirt and rocking pigtails. That’s it. I’m not even donning the white blouse or knee socks. “I guess I shouldn’t show you my leather bustier and thigh-highs.”
Kyle smiles big, displaying those perfect pearly whites. “I didn’t graduate to leather and thigh-highs until college.” He nudges me with his arm. “How was the trip in?”
I shrug a shoulder, looping my arm through his elbow. “Uneventful. Boring. The usual. What’s up with you?”
Kyle looks out into the park that we’re now walking perpendicular to. “Just working a lot.” His eyes turn back to find mine. “But I’m glad you’re here. This is an unexpected bright spot.”
“Ditto. What’s the plan, and what I’m really asking is if we’re going out for a drink?”
Kyle laughs, throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me to cross at 8th Avenue heading towards West 58th Street. “If it’s a drink you want, a drink you shall have. Would you like a nice view to go with it?”
“Always, although you’re not bad in terms of views.”
Kyle looks over at me, seeming a bit surprised. “Back atcha, babe.” His eyes dance around my face, a soft smile bouncing on his full lips. It makes me . . . squirmy. I kind of wish Kyle wasn’t so attractive. It would be easier if I could look at him the way I look at Ryan.
When I met Ryan, I was twenty or so and still in college. Ryan was just starting to date Super Bitch Francesca and I was dating my then boyfriend, Mike. Ryan is much older than I am, and at the time, I never even thought twice about him.
Sure, I guess Ryan is considered hot, but I don’t see him that way. He’s like a brother to me. But Kyle is different somehow. The first time I saw him at Kate and Ryan’s wedding, I thought to myself, wow. That was really the first word that flitted through my brain before I even spoke to him.
But once I realized his pedigree, I just flipped a switch into friend zone. For one, he lives here in New York. For two, he’s Ryan’s brother, and considering I no longer play the love and romance game, I knew he was off limits. It’s never a good idea to screw your boss slash good friend’s brother and then never speak to him again. It’s simply not done.
So, I meant what I said when I told him that he was going to be my new BFF.
There was just something in his eyes that drew me in, and made me want to stay. I can’t explain it further than that. We’re going on about ten months of solid friendship now. A friendship I value. And though I don’t think for a hot second that Kyle harbors any feelings for me other than that, when he says certain things to me or throws me a certain look—like he just did—a very frozen part of me thaws just a little.
“This is us,” Kyle says and I realize that we’ve almost walked back towards my hotel.
“This is one of my favorite bars in the city. It may be a bit on the trendy side, but the views are awesome, the seats are comfortable and the drinks are great.”
I bump Kyle with my hip, smiling up at him. “You sold me on views and drinks. Lead on.”
The moment we step foot in the main part of the lounge, I smile. Kyle takes my hand and leads me out the folding French doors onto the outdoor bar and seating area. “Nice huh?” he asks as we stand by the railing, staring out at Central Park.
“Definitely.”
The sun has almost fully set and the lights of the city are glowing against the muted sky. Kyle tugs me down into one of the navy blue love seats and tosses his arm over my shoulder.
As if on cue, the waitress comes over, placing a small dish of spiced nuts in front of us. I order myself a mojito and Kyle orders a vodka on the rocks. I can’t help but throw him a look for that one.
“What?” he asks through a laugh.
“Are you trying to pickle yourself with that? Straight vodka? No olives or twist of lemon or splash of some kind of mixer?”
“I got it with ice.”
“You’re right. You did.” I laugh, shaking my head slightly. “My apologies. Now that we’re settling in for some drinking fun, tell me a story.”
“A story?” he pushes out a touch bewildered.
“Yeah, Kyle Smile. I want to know what’s going on in your life. You’re not only my friend, you’re my boss’s younger brother and my best friend’s brother-in-law. Wow,” I muse, “that’s sort of a mouthful and a headache all rolled up into one.”
“It is,” he agrees, kissing the side of my head. “A story? Shit. I suck at being put on the spot like this.”
“I doubt that. You’re a very good lawyer. Something tells me that you thrive at being put on the spot. So, cut the shit and just talk already.”
“You’re fucking bossy.”
I nod my head, taking a sip of my newly delivered drink through the straw. But really, I’m hoping he’ll open up to me. Whatever made Ryan ask me to be here with him is eating at me.
“Okay. A story.” Then he laughs, sipping on his own drink. “Fuck if I know one.”
“You really suck at this whole friendship talking thing,” I tell him and he pokes me in the rib. “Okay, fine. Tell me about that last girl you were with. You never said much about her. I only know about the other women you’ve frequented over the last ten months.”
Ryan said he was lonely and I don’t exactly buy that. At least he’s never given off that impression to me. But maybe I’m wrong?
“The women I’ve frequented?” He scrunches up his nose, which is a
n adorable look on him. “You make them sound like a bar or a restaurant.”
I can only shrug at that.
“You want to know about Margaret?” he asks with an incredulous note to his voice, his eyebrows at his hairline.
“Well, not really about her, per se. I’m just curious if you’re dating anyone new.”
He chuckles lightly, leaning in to kiss my forehead this time. That’s probably the third or fourth kiss he’s planted on me so far. They’re friendly enough, but yet, they’re not.
“Nah, I’m not really all that interested right now. It never seems to work out with the women I date. In case you missed it, I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He winks at me.
“Are you lonely?” I don’t know why I just asked him that point blank. Probably because I don’t handle curiosity all that well.
His eyes meet mine. “No. I’m not lonely.” A small lopsided grin twitches the corner of his lips as his hand brushes my forehead. “I’m certainly not lonely right now.”
God, the heat in his eyes could melt diamonds. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone and then he shrugs nonchalantly.
“I just don’t make enough time for the women I date. And frankly, it’s mostly because I don’t find them all that interesting. They bore me. I’d rather be working than with them.”
“So, you don’t make time for the women you date,” I parrot. “But you make time for me.” I realize a second too late that I just said that out loud. That wasn’t my intention. It was more of an observation and I regret everything those words imply. Everything. Because it’s all true. He does make time for me and I do the same for him.
“Yeah,” he says, intently staring into my eyes, but his tone and expression are stoic. “Does that bother you?”
I realize this epiphany doesn’t bother me. Not the way I know it should. If I’m honest, I like it. Fuck it, I downright love it. But it could never lead to anything healthy or productive other than a friendship with interest and flirtation.
“No,” I say instead of any of that. And I don’t elaborate or qualify that no either. I just let the sweet spring air that’s filling my head and senses with things it shouldn’t absorb it.