One of her sandy ankles flexed in unbroken repetition, the heel of her suede pump grazing the creme accent rug beneath her feet. Ms. Reyes folded her forearms atop the clear desk. “How are you liking the city?”
Peter placed the cardboard box and his bag on the floor, claiming the designated seat and stealing a glance at the gold desk plate which read, ‘Mrs. Nora Reyes,’ despite Delia referring to her as a ‘Ms.’ While he found the discrepancy odd, meddling in the details of other people’s business was among his most loathed pastimes.
Essentially, Peter did not give a fuck.
His brows flexed, angling toward the center of his forehead. “I spent the week cussing at IKEA furniture I’ve been agonizing over putting together. There’s plenty to be desired on the exploration front.”
“You’ll find there’s never a dull moment around here, although I suppose that’s to be expected in a college town. Keeps us in business, at least.” The corners of Ms. Reyes’ mouth tightened as she eyed an item peeking out of Peter’s box. “Is that a mini coffee maker?”
He followed her gaze to the item in question. “Yeah. It was a gag gift from my girlfriend.”
Peter and Ryleigh had been together for months, and yet audibly referring to her—especially to other people—as his girlfriend made his heart convulse in delight.
The amusement on her face dissipated, replaced by something unreadable. “Were you sorry to leave her behind?”
Ms. Reyes’ personal inquiry did not sit well with him. This woman had been his boss for all of five minutes though somehow had the audacity to pry into his personal life. To be fair, she also had the audacity to blab about his alleged attractiveness over the phone. Peter shifted in the chair, crossing his legs.
“Actually, she lives here.”
“Right.” She put an extra emphasis on the ‘t’ before addressing him with finality. “I won’t take anymore of your time. It seems you’re acclimating just fine. When you get to the newsroom, ask around for Lewis. I assigned him to guide you through tonight. We move a little faster than Harris.”
“Yes, I’m sure I’ll acclimate okay, Mrs. Reyes.” He gathered his stuff and gave her a zero effort third of a smile, thankful to be free of the weird vibrations in the private office.
“Oh, and Peter?” she called as he reached the door. While he did not turn, he stood in place, waiting for her to go on. “It’s Ms. Reyes, if you please. I’m undergoing a nasty separation.”
Horrendously unprofessional. And the boss, no less.
“You got it, boss.” Sarcasm corseted his words.
Better for Ms. Reyes to get a glimpse of the real Rosenfeld before she drummed up a false impression.
By the middle of the week, Peter was starting to get a grip on his responsibilities at the Times. The open workspace threw him for a loop, but he fought hard to not let the cacophony of chatter and ringing phones disrupt his writing.
Between adapting to the new environment and his two desk neighbors, it was a wonder he did not lose his mind.
With every spare second, Alicia—on his left—retweeted corgi memes. She turned to Peter occasionally to share choice selections and upon each instance he hated her a little more, meanwhile wishing her phone would die so he could be spared such nonsense. Alicia lacked the concentration that print journalism demanded; she would have been better suited for Buzzfeed. He found deep satisfaction in finding out she handled the paper’s social media accounts, and that she was not responsible for writing anything longer than a tweet.
To his right was an intriguing specimen of man, Dominic. He reeked of banana peppers and stale cigarettes, an unimaginable combination of putrid proportions. Then again, Peter had not anticipated liking any of his coworkers. Why create leeway for disappointment?
Alicia had wasted no time unveiling her fast-talking, valley girl persona on him when he set up his desk the first day. As soon as Peter positioned a framed photo of Ryleigh and himself beside the computer monitor, she had something to say about it.
Her high pitched, thousand word per minute voice carried on at the sight of the photo. “Oh my gosh! Is that your daughter? She’s so pretty, and I’m totally not saying that just to be nice. Honestly, she is model pretty.”
This woman needs Adderall.
“I’ll pass along the compliment to my girlfriend.”
Face ashen, Alicia returned to her oh-so-important role.
Dominic may have exuded a disconcerting odor and possessed the organizational skills of a circus animal, but he kept to himself. He had not breathed a word to Peter all week. And that was perfectly alright.
Thursday evening, one of the interns came around and slapped a lime green sticky note in front of his keyboard. “New guy. First field assignment.”
Peter plucked up the note, squinting at the near illegible handwriting. “What the hell is a pupsicle?”
“Phooey, I usually cover that.” Alicia pouted, twirling a pom-pom tipped pen between her fingers like her namesake in Clueless. “It’s a dog race, charity thing for the humane society. I usually bring my corgis. They always have a blast tumbling around in the snow with the other dogs. I tried to get them in the race one year except…”
Lips condensing into a thin white slash, he tuned out Alicia’s nasally chattering, returning his attention to decluttering his email inbox. A heaviness imposed itself on his body whenever he caught sight of the sticky note.
While pre-relationship Peter would have rejoiced at having a work assignment to fill up the off-day void, the news of the event crushed him. He had planned to invite Ryleigh over for the weekend, but the newly assigned and already detested bright piece required that he spend a large chunk of Saturday morning outside of his apartment, and he knew if Ryleigh was there he would not be able to untether himself from her addictive presence.
Instead of spending the weekend with his girlfriend, Peter was covering a dog race. A godforsaken dog race.
In 20-degree weather. In the snow. Fantastic.
“Can you get me Daniel’s number?” Min-ji asked.
She and Ryleigh were sprawled out on the floor of their dorm, painting their toes. The act had been sanctioned as their Thursday night, post-homework ritual. It was also the time each week that Min-ji fought tooth and nail trying to convince Ryleigh to watch Big Brother, to which the latter was growing weary of gently expressing her disinterest.
Moments like this, veiled in the disorienting smell of ethyl acetate and a night free of responsibility, made her miss Andrea. While she had warmed to Min-ji, no one could ever come close to replacing Andy.
“Ew, gross. Why?” Ryleigh dunked the plastic brush into the bottle of indigo polish and proceeded to distribute delicate strokes across her nails. “He flirts with everything that moves.”
“Whatever he is, he’s hot as hell. You’re nuts if you disagree.” Min-ji’s pale blonde hair was twisted in a tight bun, unmoving as she hunched over to fix a smudge in her otherwise flawless paint job. “Will you get me his number, or what?”
“Why don’t you ask him? I didn’t think there was a dick on campus that intimidated you.”
Min-ji perked up as if she had prepared an entire PowerPoint presentation on the subject.
“Number one, Daniel hangs around you like a moth on a flame. I don’t have a single class with him. Number two, if you get me his number, it creates some mystery, you know? That’s sexy.” She wiggled her toes and replaced the cap in the cone-shaped bottle of glitter bomb lacquer. “While we’re on the subject of dick, I haven’t heard much about the arrival of your antique boyfriend.” Leaning in, she whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “Does he have to pop a blue pill before you guys get in bed, or what?”
“My God, Min-ji.”
Holding her hands up, she said, “Sue me for being curious about an older dude’s sexual function. That’s a path I have yet to venture down.”
“Last I checked, everything works fine.”
But it was a lie to preserve her pride. She r
efused to let on about her virginity in front of Min-ji, who was basically the reincarnation of Aphrodite.
Ryleigh folded her forearms atop her knees. She opened her mouth to speak but paused, considering how much she wanted to reveal. “He wants me to stay at his place soon, for the weekend.”
Vocalizing that truth zapped all traces of moisture from her mouth. Soon, a four-letter word which put a timestamp on Ryleigh’s fear of being alone with Peter for an entire weekend. She was ecstatic to see his place and to hang out with him; the inevitable issue of intimacy is what plagued her with unhinged worry. What if she made a fool of herself? Worse yet, what if she disappointed him?
“Brainy Branson is getting some action. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Min-ji clutched a hand to her chest, mimicking a proud parent.
P: Covering a dog race on Saturday morning. If it goes down like Balto, maybe I’ll be remembered for my journalistic efforts.
R: sounds awful. can I tag along?
P: You’re horrendously distracting. My vote is no.
Min-ji shook her head. “I never understood the appeal of being in a relationship. I like the freedom of being single, you know? But when I see the way you glow whenever this guy texts, I have to wonder if I’m missing something.”
Ryleigh recognized a look in her cognac eyes that she had never noticed. Envy. Min-ji, the girl who went out every weekend partying, drinking, having the ultimate college experience envied her. It was laughable.
She conjured a smile. “Maybe you’ll find that something with Daniel.”
“Oh, no. I’m definitely only in it for his luscious head of hair and devilishly good looks.” Licking her rosebud-tinted lips, she added, “Plus, between you and me, this girl in my humanities class said he’s majorly hung.”
As per Peter’s fervent refusal, Ryleigh had not yet seen his new place, and her nerves were shot that fateful afternoon when she knocked on his door. Smoothing the peak of her ponytail, she blew out a short breath as her flighty gaze darted around the empty corridor.
The apartment was a mile from her dorm, a walkable distance; and good thing, too, because she had not bought a car since relocating to Michigan.
She clutched the hook of her backpack, which housed clothing and toiletries rather than its usual textbooks, for any shred of support. Ryleigh rocked on her heels until the jittery action was halted by the clanking chain lock sliding open on the other side of the door and an anticipatory smile bloomed on her face.
Peter, being the type of person who forewent getting dressed unless he had to be somewhere, sported plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. Despite the plainness of the lounge attire, he wore it like he belonged on the cover of GQ, standing tall and lean in the doorframe.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping aside.
He ruffled Ryleigh’s ponytail as she swept past him into the apartment. The teasing gesture combined with being in the entryway of his home made her spasmodic heart flutter. She stepped out of her sneakers and lined them up alongside his shoes.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to let me come over.” The humor was a futile attempt to mask her ascending anxiety. They had not been alone together in this context since her bedroom in Connecticut when everything had gone sideways.
Her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet knowing they would share a bed the next two nights, that they would fall asleep and awaken tangled in the same sheets, no longer separated by hundreds of miles but only by inches of mattress.
But Ryleigh was starting to wonder if what should have been a romantic evening would feel like learning to ride a bike all over again.
Peter had not even given her a proper kiss since his arrival, just little pecks on the cheek or forehead following the conclusion of their three Rise and Grind meetups. In fact, he had been so faithful in his commitment of transitioning to the new job, they had not seen each other outside of their cafe dates. And while she had next to no expectations of what would happen upon Peter moving to Ann Arbor, she thought they would have gone on a real date by now, and had been confident that a kiss would come on day one.
Alas, that was not the case. Though, Peter was not the average guy, and she found solace in knowing that these things were always more complicated with him.
“I didn’t make you wait that long,” he muttered, unsnapping the metal buttons on her parka. The methodical manner in which Peter’s slender fingers plucked at the brass enclosures made her breath hitch. “How was class?”
Did he realize that he was torturing her? With every swoop of his dark lashes, with every syllable of his guttural speech. Tears pooled in Ryleigh’s eyes. She fought to disguise their sheen by focusing on the linoleum beneath their feet.
Tipping her chin, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” She pulled away, wiping at her waterline. Parka and bag abandoned, they wandered into the main area of the apartment, Peter trailing behind her. All of the unfamiliar details were lost on Ryleigh as she spotted a brand new coffee maker nestled beside the fridge. “Since when do you have a Samurai?”
“Since I have a girlfriend who’s exceptionally skilled in the art of cappuccino-making. Don’t think I bought it without selfish, underlying motivations.” Peter poked his tongue in his cheek to ward off a grin. “I’m only half joking. My income’s more robust here. Thought I’d splurge. I figured as long as we have a reliable coffee maker and a sturdy mattress, we’ll never leave the apartment.”
Ryleigh rolled her eyes while a pink hue invaded her cheeks. It was strange, almost, hearing such racy words on his lips when this time last year he refused to kiss her with tongue. Funny how time and distance had changed their dynamic, though not their hearts, which had been loyal to their union from the start; even if one of their minds had been reluctant to follow.
She wrapped her arms around his frail waist. It seemed like there was less of him to embrace and that notion sliced through her chest. “Have you been eating?”
“Who are you? My mother?” His mocking words tickled the crown of Ryleigh’s head. A million tiny shocks coursed through her veins, electrifying every nerve ending. Delightful as the sensation may have been, she did not lose sight of the serious conversation she had dared to broach. He coiled a strand of her ponytail around his finger. “I lost some weight after you moved. So, what?”
“How much?”
“What does it matter, Ry? I’m not on my deathbed or anything.”
What does it matter? Gee, I don’t know. Let’s start with the fact that you were already 160 pounds—and oh yeah, let’s not forget that you’re 6’2”.
But Ryleigh did not voice further concern, because it was obvious he would hear none of it. Instead, she liberated herself from his hold and offered a stiff, “Alright.”
Before she turned away, Peter cupped her face, thumbs stroking her unmade-up cheeks. “You look very pretty today.”
His soft tone and steady eye contact made Ryleigh hopeful that the long-awaited kiss would finally come. Leaning down, he delivered the coveted affection to the tip of her nose, leaving her to reckon with a confusing wash of contentment and disappointment.
“How about some coffee? I picked up that nasty vegan creamer you have a bizarre affinity for. I had to go three places to find it.”
“If you had texted me like a normal person, I would’ve told you it’s from TJ’s. And it’s not nasty, you’re just a coffee purist.” She boosted herself onto the counter, pressing the preheat button on the machine.
From where she perched, she had a clear view of the living room. Everything was new and lacked the character of his home in Harris.
“What happened to all of your CDs?” she asked.
“Got rid of them.”
“All of them?”
Peter shrugged. “Well, I kept a few. They’re in my car.”
“Why? I mean, why did you get rid of them?” Steam rose from the coffee maker’s vent, condensating the cabinets and warming her right side. CD
s to him were like books to Ryleigh, and she could not begin to understand how he had arrived at the decision to usher them out of his life.
“I don’t know. I think they were a placeholder.”
“For what?”
Fingers skimming his jawline, he uttered a singular word that set her soul ablaze: “You.”
Resting her head against the refrigerator, Ryleigh smirked. “You admit I fill this void within you, yet you haven’t kissed me in the two weeks I’ve known you were here? That makes zero sense.”
A near painful thrumming low in her loins was elicited by Peter approaching to stand between her legs, getting so close that the minty zing of his toothpaste permeated the air.
Something wondrous crackled in his honey gray eyes. “I thought kissing you in public might be a bad idea.”
Ryleigh’s heart sprung into her throat. “Why’s that?”
His nose angled to meet hers, and he spoke at a volume that bordered on inaudible. “Because I knew once I kissed you, once I tasted you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Her chest might as well have collapsed from sheer anticipation in the few seconds it took them to connect. Peter kissed her with a controlled urgency; she felt his desire and restraint dueling for dominance, but one was declared the supreme victor as his tongue parted her lips. Neither of them could be bothered by the repetitive beeping when the coffee had finished brewing. They were too preoccupied with rediscovering the once familiar rhythm of their mouths.
Ryleigh bit into his bottom lip with a playful delicacy, earning a subdued sigh from him that sparked further agitation in the seat of her yoga pants. Why had she been so worried about something so beautiful, so natural? Perhaps she had forgotten how easy it was to be with Peter, how inexplicably right it felt in spite of the many years and experiences that separated them.
But whenever their lips brushed, an overwhelming sense of homecoming flooded her being, and there was no denying that they were meant for each other.
Having Rosenfeld (Rosenfeld Duet Book 2) Page 4