by Connor, Anne
“Oh, here we are,” he says as he waves over the waitress coming toward our table.
His hands slip out of mine and I feel their absence on me, almost more than I felt their presence a moment ago. I’m already craving his touch again, but I’m relieved that I can take my hands away from his and pretend they were never there to begin with.
The waitress brings over a narrow, long wooden plank with a row of three small glasses filled with different shades of brown liquid, ranging from light amber to dark, chocolatey brown.
“What’s all this?” I ask, pushing the salt and pepper shakers aside and plunking my hands back down onto the table quickly.
“This is a beer flight,” he explains, gesturing along the row of glasses. “I thought you’d like it. You get to have a little bit of a few different things, and then, if you want, you can have more of whichever one you pick.”
I look at the glasses, skeptical but intrigued. I was never really one to drink beer. I’m more of a cheap white wine drinker. Even better if the wine comes in a box.
“Okay. I’m game for this.”
“Start on this end,” he says, indicating the glass with the lightest color liquid, “and work your way over.”
“Okay. I can do this.”
I’m just glad that Drew has given us something else we can do with our hands. Any more of his touch on me and I’m not sure I would be able to control myself.
I take the first glass and bring it tentatively to my lips. It has a mild, slightly sweet aroma, and as I sip it, a cool and refreshing sensation coats my tongue.
“Ohh! I like it!”
“You look like you like it. Okay, now try the next one.”
The next one is slightly darker, with a more heavy scent.
“This one is good too, but I prefer the first one. This one almost tastes like oats.”
“Okay. That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think you’re going to like the next one, but try it anyway.”
I take the glass to my lips and sip it slowly. I don’t want to drink it too fast in case it tastes bad.
“Hm,” I say thoughtfully, putting the glass back down on the paddle.
“Not your favorite?” Drew asks.
“No. That one’s not my favorite. Too bitter.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have that one. You have the first one. We can share the middle one.”
“Sorry, but I don’t want to swap spit with someone I just met.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, grabbing the middle glass and shooting the liquid back quickly. He puts the glass down on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I have a feeling that’s not all we’re going to be swapping.”
“An open house. I love these.”
We’re walking back to my apartment after finishing our beers, and my head is spinning. It’s not from the drinks, and it’s not because I’m on the first date - accidental date - I’ve been on in too long. It’s because I can’t get Drew’s words out of my head. I can’t shake the feeling of his hands on mine. His hands are an oxymoron. They’re too rough to belong to a man who sits in his cube of glass above the city, making deals and signing contracts. But they’re too perfect and smooth to belong to a man who does manual labor.
The sun is just setting over the city’s horizon of rooftops, painting the sky pink and blue behind the black outlines of the buildings, and his words take me out of my head and back to reality. I’m no longer lost in a daydream about the guy standing right next to me.
He starts up the stairs of the brownstone with “For Sale” and “Open House” signs perched in the windows.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asks, one foot on the top step, hovering between me and the house. He reaches his hand out to mine, as if to help me up the stairs.
“Um, I’m not really in the market to buy a house right now. And what do you need with a house in Brooklyn? This isn’t really your target for investments, is it?”
He hops down a few of the steps and sits on the bottom step.
“No, it’s not. But it would be fun just to check it out, right? Sometimes they have good snacks at these things. And,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him, “you can pretend to be someone else.”
I enter the foyer of the building after him. He puts his hands on the solid wooden handrail of the staircase and looks upstairs quietly, peeking around corners and taking his time.
“I wonder how many bedrooms it has, honey,” he says to me. “We need at least a three bedroom, if we want this to be a place we can grow into.”
I don’t know why, but I pretend to go along with his little game.
“Right. Little Timmy needs his own room, and then Samantha, and you never know what the future might hold after that.”
He winks at me and turns to walk down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Nice work, here. Nice cabinets. Custom.”
A woman’s heels click from the other room and a slightly older, maybe mid-30s woman comes through the doorway and into the kitchen. She’s wearing a pantsuit and big gold hoop earrings, and has a dramatic mane of blonde hair.
Her look, her attitude, everything about her screams Brooklyn.
“It’s nice, right? The owners are moving to Florida, and they’re very motivated to sell.”
She puts her hand out to shake Drew’s.
“Older couple?” he asks, shaking the woman’s hand and looking from her to me, grinning.
“That’s right. Snowbirds, they were, up until now. Two kids, married with their own kids. You know, these older folks don’t want to be up here with the ice and cold in the winter. They’ve had enough of it.”
“This is a very nice property,” Drew says, folding his arms across his chest and making his way through the kitchen, around the center island with a large barn sink.
“You should see upstairs. The owners did all the work themselves, and they did a good job of it, too.”
I stand in the doorway opposite the broker and look around, peeking my head into the room. I don’t feel like I belong here. I’m sure I’ll never have enough money to buy a gorgeous place like this. It’s all old wood and new appliances, and way out of what my budget will be when I’m ready to settle down with a family.
“God, I’m so rude,” the broker says, striding over to me with confidence. “I’m Marie. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“That’s my wife, Cindy,” Drew says as I’m about to offer my name.
He stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. His hands are warm and safe. Protective. Reassuring.
“Yes. I’m Cindy. And this is my...husband...”
“Chip,” he offers, giving my shoulders a little squeeze. “We’re kind of on the fence about Brooklyn. We’re from Pennsylvania ourselves, and we always wanted to live in New York, but we’re not sure about making the big move yet.”
“Well, I’m glad you both came to the open house today,” Marie says, grabbing a flier from the kitchen counter and handing it to me. The price shocks me. “Please take a look around, and let me know if you have any questions at all.”
I walk past her and Drew and into the dining room. I can imagine having a big family here. Two boys and a girl, a loving husband, a big bowl of my grandmother’s sauce and ziti in the middle of the table.
Bustle, commotion, love. A lot of space to grow into. A yard. A cat and a dog. At least one of each.
“Do you like it?” Drew doesn’t make much noise as he walks up next to me and moves the lace curtains on the window aside to look out at the backyard.
“I do like it. It’s very nice.”
“Did you have a dog growing up?”
“No. No dog. Our building didn’t allow them. Other tenants had them, but my mom and dad were real sticklers for rules.”
“I had a few dogs growing up. They liked to run around at my mom’s place. There’s a lot of land there.”
“I read that your mom lived
upstate when you and Eric were young.”
“That’s right. Still does. I went up there a couple of days ago.”
There’s a little bit of tension in his voice, and I’m not sure if I should ask if something is wrong, or just leave him alone, even though I want to know that everything with his mom is okay.
The way he parts the curtains on the window makes the light from the setting sun dance across the warm brown hardwood floors. Even though the overhead ceiling light is off, the room is awash in gold and pink tones, like the colors you see inside your eyelids while falling asleep on your towel on a hot day at the beach.
“Everything okay with your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. She’s going to try to sell the house. I wish she’d come live in the city. I’d buy this place for her, if she wanted it.”
“Do you think she’d like it? It’s got a sort of country vibe to it.”
“Yeah. You’re right. It does.”
He takes his hands away from the delicate lace curtains and lets them go slack, brushing and whispering against the floor.
“Do you like this house?”
He walks toward me, gently and purposefully, not taking his eyes off mine, until he’s standing squarely in front of me. He looks down at me from above, his chest moving up and down with his steady, even breaths.
I should just walk away. Go out the door, back to my apartment. Forget that Drew Anderson ever landed in my building. Think of him as a random rich guy who hit on me at a bar, someone whose name I don’t know. Someone whose backstory I don’t care about. Someone whose struggles I don’t identify with.
“Yes. I like it.”
He cups my chin and brushes his thumb along the edge of my bottom lip, his breath still calm and even.
Inside, my body is screaming. My heart is pounding in my chest, my ears, my throat. I feel like there is a string connecting me to Drew Anderson. I want to cut the tie between us. He is too hot, too confident, too cocky and too rich for me. He would only be at my building for two weeks, and then he would go back to his life. Even if something had happened with him at the bar the first time we met, it wouldn’t have been good. I don’t want to get my heart involved with a guy who has a reputation like Drew’s.
But for all his arrogance and cockiness, all his teasing and ribbing, he is actually being kind to me. And I want to know about him. He isn’t just what I thought he was at first.
That might even be worse.
But I’m already getting swept up in him.
My breathing is speeding up, and even though I want to be cool, to match his wit, I can’t in that moment. I’m unable to be cool.
I’m on fire.
I’m melting.
I’m left helpless by him.
As he finally tilts my chin upwards and moves his soft, full lips to brush against mine, I feel myself giving myself over to him.
His lips part slightly with mine, and he catches my upper lip between his. It’s warm and sweet, and not the least bit awkward.
This is what I was afraid of.
16. Drew
As if I wasn’t already a lucky bastard, here I am kissing Molly for the first time.
I knew she’d come around. They always do.
But it’s different this time.
She does something strange to me, deep inside. Like I can sense she and I are kindred spirits, and there’s something inside me only she can unlock, and that only I can do the same for her.
I slip my tongue past her parted lips and hers meets mine. I pull away from her, her hand gripping my shirt, like she’s holding on for dear life.
“You’re really fucking beautiful. You know that, right? And I want you so fucking bad.”
God, what the fuck am I doing? How does this woman have so much power over me already? This would have been the perfect opportunity for me to have a fling with this hot girl and then cut it back to the city. But I won’t. I can’t do that to her.
“Remember what you said when you knocked on my door the first time?” she asks.
“Yeah. I think I teased you about you blowing up my phone.”
“No.” She pulls her gaze away from mine and steps back a little. She’s still close, but I can feel the distance between us growing, the gulf between us spreading, even though she’s still standing before me.
“You said you were only here temporarily. And I know how this ends. You’re only here for a couple of weeks, and then you’re going back home. Maybe even sooner, you said, in case something important comes up and you have to leave. This isn’t a good idea.”
“But Molly,” I say, getting close to her again, “that was before I knew it was you on the other side of the door.”
Her beautiful brown eyes light up, like she’s coming back to life.
“I bet you say that to every girl who harasses you to come fix a leaky sink.” She punctuates her words with light, playful jabs on my chest.
“Not a chance. Only you. I do have to admit you’re the first woman whose sink I’ve fixed. I’ve done drywall, roofs, even some light electrical.” I tick off the contracting skills I have, listing them with my fingers.
“But you do have to leave at some point,” she says, turning away from me slightly, her chestnut brown hair glimmering in the faint sunlight. “I know that. I’m not stupid. You have your whole life across the East River.”
“Molly, you are less than five miles away from me.” I look tenderly into her eyes, trying to reassure her.
“But that’s like an hour on the subway.”
“Baby, you haven’t seen my sweet car yet.”
“God, you have a sweet car? Of course you do.” She pokes me square in the chest. “You would.”
“I’m going to take you upstate sometime in it.”
“Some time? That’s a line if I’ve ever heard one. I should actually be getting home, like, right now.”
“Quit your job and come hang out with me.”
“But what about your job? Remember that?”
“Of course I do. But I’ll quit. Just to spend time with you.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
“You’re right. We have a long time until we retire like this old couple that’s moving to Florida.”
Something changes subtly in her eyes. But even if she doesn’t know that I won’t hurt her, I know it.
17. Molly
“Do you have anything here that isn’t Ben and Jerry’s or a box of wine?”
“Yeah! I do!” I call out from my bedroom.
It’s crazy that I kissed Drew Anderson, but that’s not the most insane part. The really freaking crazy part is that I’ve invited him to come back to my apartment to hang out.
It’s like in college. Hanging out means have a make-out session in the dorm.
Come over to study? Make out.
Come over to watch a movie? Make out.
Come over to see the new awesome tape recorder I ordered online to help with my interviews for my final project in this semester’s journalism class? In case you haven’t already guessed it, some guy in my class actually used that line on me. It was fine because I liked him a lot, and he was hot. But I knew what the line was for.
You didn’t know? It was to make out.
So now, here is Drew Anderson in my apartment to “hang out.” Have a drink. I think once you reach the real world and have your own job and your own apartment, you’re supposed to ask the person you’re on the date with if they want to come upstairs for a drink.
So here he is for that drink, and I’m in my room, pacing about like a madwoman, unsure of what to do.
It wasn’t even supposed to be a date.
And now, I’m faced with a few different options.
I can do what Jess told me to do. Just take this opportunity to get back out there and put some distance between myself and the ex. Have a fling with Drew Anderson. I’ve done stupider things. Like the haircut I got last summer. And the aftereffects from that took longer to go away than D
rew Anderson will take to go away.
But I don’t know if I’m ready for that experience. I want to think I’m mature enough to have a fling with Drew, but I don’t know if I can do it. I already know too much about him. I already find him too interesting. My mind wanders to him when he isn’t around, and I’m definitely regretting looking him up after the first night I met him.
The second option would be to just see where this all goes. Have a little faith in him, date him if that’s what he wants, and go with the flow.
But I’m not really a go with the flow kind of girl. I’ve always had everything planned out for myself. Grad school, the job, the apartment. It’s all been predetermined. There’s no way I could have predicted and planned for the contingency of Drew Anderson.
Why does he have to be so hot? It’s freaking infuriating. And his cockiness doesn't help. It’s just making it so much worse. Maybe if he wasn’t so cocky and confident, I wouldn’t be so afraid of falling for him.
It’s really the entitlement that makes me so afraid of him. The idea that he wants me, has gone after me, likes me. The way he acts like he’s already got me.
It’s frightening. It’s dangerous.
And it’s a total turn-on.
I check myself in the mirror. I need a haircut and I’m hardly wearing any makeup. I check my hands. They’re dry even though it’s the summer, and I’m in desperate need of a manicure.
Drew’s nails are better manicured than mine are.
Clarissa doesn’t need a haircut. She doesn’t need a dye-job and a mani-pedi. She lives an easy life, and she’s able to do maintenance on her appearance constantly, if she wants to, I’ll bet. It’s not crazy that Drew would go for a woman like her.
What is crazy is that he would go for a woman like me.
So, what’s my third option? My third option would be to kick him out of my apartment, avoid him in the hallways, and pretend I never met him.
“I thought you said you have food in this place,” Drew calls out from the kitchen.
“I did say that!” I yell.
Get it together, Mol!
Option three is out. I’m not going to be rude. That would be rude. After he brought me to the bar and bought me that beer flight, there’s no way I would be able to just ask him to leave. I owe him a drink, at least.