Disorderly Conduct

by Tessa Bailey

  The three rules cemented themselves once more for my mother after that. Not only did she come back from maternity leave and bust her ass until she usurped my father from his position as manager, she moved to a much higher level within the company, fired his ass and never relied on or trusted another man again. They are nothing more than one month’s worth of free entertainment to her and the more unavailable, the better.

  Unfortunately, while my mother was out kicking ass and taking names, she wasn’t home very often as I grew up, leaving me with babysitters or interns. Whenever we spoke, it was almost always about the dangers of trusting the opposite sex. How to be independent. How to avoid entanglements.

  “Are you headed out of town?” She still works for the same company in merchandising, sending her across the pond pretty frequently. “I lost track of the date . . . is it Paris fashion week or—”

  “I’ve come here with something to say.” She stands and clicks over to the window on impractical high heels. “Something very important, Ever.”

  At the rare use of my name, I fall back into my chair. Everything about this situation is rare, really. We don’t have heart-to-hearts, my mother and I. She informs me via e-mail or text message if she’s going out of town or relocating. That’s about it. So there’s a quickening in my pulse knowing she’s thought of me, planned a conversation for us to have. Together. “What is it, Mother?”

  “Until last night, I was seeing a man. Married, yes. I know you don’t approve.” Her slim shoulders lift and fall on a breath. “He . . . ended things before the month was up. Decided to give things with his wife another try.”

  “Oh.” I know better than to reach out and comfort her. Her associations with married men are a bone of contention between us, so I have to strike the right note of sympathy if I don’t want to sound like, them’s the breaks when you creep on another woman’s dude, Ma. “I’m sorry.”

  She starts to wave off my apology with an impatient hand, but doesn’t follow through, her hand just . . . dropping. “Last night was the first time since your father . . . that a man ended things first. I’ve learned to choose my men very carefully, and I never failed to adhere to the one-month rule. But it had only been a week. A week.” She meets my gaze, but it flits away before cementing. “For so long, these short associations have been a constant in my life. I was guaranteed one month with no strings. But last night . . . I realized there are no guarantees in the rules we live by. Not anymore. Not even the single month I’ve gotten so used to relying on.” She smoothed a hand down her scarf. “It took being cut loose to realize something. The only thing I’ve guaranteed is my own loneliness.”

  Numbness moves straight down to my toes. “Mother. I’m . . . what are you saying?”

  “I haven’t been happy for a long time, Ever. After your father, I followed the rules because I was hurting. I needed to earn my self-respect back. Gain back the power I’d lost. And I don’t know when following the rules stopped being . . . fulfilling. But it’s been a while.” My mother turns, and with sunshine streaming in on either side of her face, she looks almost divine. Divine but so incredibly sad. “I’m a lonely woman, Ever. I don’t remember the last time I confided in another person. Or laughed. Actually laughed. And I think those opportunities with men have been right in front of me for the last twenty-three years, but I pushed them aside, because I was afraid of being hurt again.”

  You could have laughed with me. We could have laughed together.

  Those words stick in my throat as my mother comes toward where I’m super-glued to the chair. Since walking into my apartment, she has aged a decade, I would swear to it. She’s crumbling under the truth of her words, and it’s a tragedy playing out, right here in my apartment. Seeing it, hearing it, makes my stomach twist into a pretzel. “Ever, I’ve steered you down my path, telling you to stay free and committed to no one. But there’s still time to change.” She kneels in front of me—such an uncharacteristic action for my unflappable mother—and tears push, hot and full, behind my eyelids. “Find someone to grow old with, Ever. A man who’ll look you in the eye and respect you. A man who will care enough to argue with you. A man who can’t think of a better place to be than with you. Get off this path. It only leads to meals for one and no one to laugh with, baby girl.”

  “But . . .” I haven’t cried in so long, my garbled voice jolts me. “You said a woman doesn’t need a committed man to make her happy. I can’t . . . how can I change when it’s all I’ve ever known?”

  “Maybe it’s okay to need someone, so long as they need you back just as much.” My mother rises and lays a hand on my head. “Just promise me you’ll try. Really try, Ever.”

  I’ve never been given the opportunity to make my mother proud before. My whole life, I’ve been heeding her advice, but we’ve never bonded over it. Our emotions have never collided in any way. Now I’m in the center of the impact, seeing the strongest woman I know fall down on her proverbial knees. For me. She’s humbling herself for me, so I don’t face the loneliness she’s experiencing. She’s trusting me with her advice, with her hurt, and I’m not going to squander this chance.

  As a young girl, I used to yearn for my mother to come home from work and talk to me. Talk to me about anything but avoiding being tied down. It’s a long time coming, but her being here and opening up? I have a sense that it’s her unique way of apologizing. For all those times she didn’t hold me close. All those times she shut down conversations about boys, telling me to ignore them and stay smart. Be independent. She isn’t the type to come right out and issue apologies, but actions speak louder than words. And she is physically here, trying to save me from her mistakes.

  If easing my mother’s concerns means dating—with the intent to become one-half of a relationship—so be it. I can do that for her. I can do that for us.

  First step: end things with Charlie. My blood pumps heavily in my temples at the thought. I’m no longer abiding by the one-month rule, but that hardly matters now. He doesn’t want a serious relationship. Our whole association is founded on that fact. So . . . in order to move forward, giving up Charlie is a must. No big deal, right? Why am I thinking about it so hard?

  Maybe because . . . lately, I’ve been wishing he wouldn’t run out so fast.

  There. I admitted it. I’ve been secretly hoping he’ll ask to try one of my brownies. And feeling disappointed when he doesn’t text about something besides hooking up.

  If I can feel the beginnings of more with Charlie . . . maybe there’s someone else out there who could inspire the same feelings. Sure, I’m skeptical, but I need to find out. Not to mention, she could be right. Letting go of my resolve to be alone could be the first step toward shaking what’s got me in a funk lately.

  “Ever?”

  I look up to find my mother paused at the door, hand on the knob. “Yes, Mother. I’ll try my best.”

  Chapter 4

  Charlie

  All right. My head is back on straight. Whatever weirdness I vibed from Ever was a hallucination. Just like that time I drank too many Red Bulls at a Miike Snow concert and swore I was levitating. I’m going to have proof on my side in mere minutes, because I’m climbing Ever’s stairs, my chest expanding as I suck in the citrus aromas dangling in the air like ripe fruit. She’s going to answer the door, we’re going to screw like a meteor is headed for Earth, and this weird, shaky feeling in my stomach will bounce.

  So why does my hand pause on the way to knocking? I can hear her soft humming through the door, the gentle scrapes of kitchen utensils. Homey sounds I’m not accustomed to. Ones I don’t normally absorb. And I shouldn’t. I don’t have time. When my brother, Greer, was a recruit, he slept in the locker room between sessions. When he’d found the NYPD drills to be unchallenging, he’d designed new ones. They’re not going to name a sweaty gym mat after me unless I raise my game. A lot.

  I will, too. As soon as I get Ever out of my system for the day, I’ll be able to focus. Ignoring the way her hums
seem to swim lazy laps in my stomach, I knock. Harder than usual. There won’t be any games played today. No flirting through the door crack. I’m going to make short work of whatever sexy outfit she’s concocted to make me insane, then ride her on my dick until she loses count of her orgasms.

  She takes way too long to answer the door. The longer it takes, the more my chest feels like it’s caving in. There’s no more humming. It’s complete silence, and I’m contemplating the merits of knocking again—or breaking down the door—when she finally opens.

  Immediately, I know yesterday wasn’t some fluke. Everything has changed.

  “Hey, Ever.”

  “Charlie.” She smiles, but it dips at the edges. “Hey.”

  In red jean shorts and a tight, white, see-through T-shirt, she looks phenomenal, but for the first time, my lust is cut with desperation. There’s nothing more dangerous. A no-fly zone. A vision of Ever wrapped in yellow caution tape flashes in my mind, but I shake the image loose and focus. I see the writing on the wall here. The fun is over. But I can’t get my feet to move. Going into her apartment is the absolute worst idea, but I can’t stop myself from making it, because goddammit. This is Ever. A unicorn. I’m not just going to walk away and be left wondering what got her horn stuck in the mud. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Not to mention unprofessional. Cops aren’t supposed to leave stones unturned.

  “Can I come in?”

  She nods and steps back, clearly putting distance between our bodies when normally I would be ripping off those tiny shorts by now, my cock in her hands. Fuck, I’m so hot for her. No matter what’s going on here, I don’t think that will ever change.

  That’s definitely not panic making me winded and edgy. I’m just very aware that my schedule only gives me twenty minutes before I need to be back uptown.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  Whoa. She’s offering me refreshments? “Um . . . no, thanks. I chugged a Gatorade on the subway.”

  “Gatorade.” There is none of the usual seduction in her walk as she moves to the kitchen, sliding orange debris from a cutting board into the trash can. “I guess my lavender-flavored water wouldn’t have been a hit, huh?”

  “Flowers in your water?” I shake my head. “Why?”

  “The floral notes are supposed to be calming.” She closes her eyes and laughs. “It tastes like shit. I don’t get it, either. Pretty sure everyone just drinks it because they think they should. In high school, the peer pressure is over cigarettes. As grownups . . .” She flips on the sink tap. “We’re pressured to drink flower water and tolerate quinoa.”

  “Tell me quinoa hasn’t invaded your repertoire.”

  “It’s invaded everything,” she whispers. “It’s here right now.”

  Crazy as it sounds, this is the most conversation we’ve had since meeting in the bar that afternoon a month ago. Is this why I’ve had a ball of fire in my stomach since yesterday? Had staying just this side of personal started to bother me?

  Nah. Couldn’t be. We drew the line at personal for a reason. It’s what made this arrangement so ideal. So . . .

  “What’s going on here, Ever?”

  Slowly, she removes her hands from the sink and wipes them on a dishtowel, her eyes landing everywhere but me. “I have to end this, Charlie.”

  “Yeah. Believe it or not, I picked up on that.” Although hearing it makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a glass full of rusty nails. We’re a casual hookup. No pressure. Now she’s ended it, so I should give her a kiss on the cheek and walk. Right? Yeah . . . “I want to know why, Ever.” Sauntering toward the kitchen, I seesaw a hand between us. “I thought this thing we had going was pretty fucking perfect.”

  Her expression is one of shock. Really? I mean, she’s acting like a man wouldn’t be even remotely miffed over giving her up. This girl is dynamite, wrapped in Please Santa, I’ve Been a Good Boy. Hadn’t someone told her that before? I could have, if my mouth hadn’t been so busy elsewhere. Or if I hadn’t been afraid she would read something into it.

  “Charlie, I told you I didn’t want anything serious. I’m tapping out.” Her hands slip into the back pockets of her shorts. “It was perfect for a while. But I . . .”

  Don’t ask. “You what?”

  Ever squares her shoulders. “I’m going to be straight with you.” She blows out a breath and rolls her neck, like a boxer getting ready to enter the ring. “I’ve decided to give serious relationships a try.”

  Even as a two-by-four smacks into my middle, clarity descends. For once, Jack had been right. She was doing the relationship dance. I’d walked right into the trap.

  Ever

  You could have heard one of my mother’s Hermès scarves drop.

  I can’t tell what Charlie is thinking, but I assume there’s horror involved. Take a fucking number, bro. I’m not exactly turning pirouettes at the idea of throwing my hat into the bizarre Manhattan dating ring, either. But hours later I’m still thrown from my mother’s visit. In addition to having my belief system turned upside down, the woman sort of put the fear of God into me.

  The moment she’d left, I’d opened my Mac and created a dating profile on the site with the least obnoxious questions, DateMate.com. Already I had a few dudes interested. They all looked and sounded the very definition of assholes, but it was still early days. Maybe Nina’s boyfriend knows someone who is looking to engage me in an awkward conversation where a bill arrives at the end.

  Shoot me now.

  It’s extremely difficult to conjure faceless date candidates when Charlie is only a few yards away looking delicious. The crisp, navy uniform pants and gray T-shirt do endless favors for his body. Biceps, thighs and throat muscles vie for attention. His blue eyes are a little deeper set than usual, black rings beneath, like he didn’t get a good night of sleep. Which makes me think of naps. How he would look with his shirt off, in some freshly laundered sweatpants, burying his face into a pillow. A pillow right next to mine. Really, really good. That’s how he’d look.

  I need to get rid of him before I attempt to find out.

  “Look, it’s a long story and I don’t want to bore you,” I say, trying to fill the wake of silence. “Suffice it to say, someone very close to me pulled a Ghost of Mistresses Future and showed me what life could be like if I didn’t give relationships a fair shake.” My throat starts to hurt, thinking of my mother’s distress. “I don’t want to be left thinking what if. What if I’d tried. So I’m going to armor up and enter the battle.” Dismissing Charlie from my life is even harder than I’d thought it would be. “The least you can do is wish me luck. You’ll . . . find someone else.”

  I have to be imagining the flash of hurt that crosses his face at those two final words, right?

  Yeah, a moment later, he proves I had.

  Charlie’s eyebrows lift. “You really expect me to believe all that?” He advances, rapping his knuckles on my kitchen counter. “This is the part where I say, ‘No, please, Ever, don’t date someone else. Date me. I’ve seen the light.’ Right?” He scoffs. “There’s no way in hell, Ever. We’ve never lied to each other about what we wanted. I can’t believe you of all people would pull this shit on me.”

  Uh. Wow. I’ve now had my hair blown back twice in one day by the two most unlikely candidates. Charlie thinks my brave foray into the dating scene is a ploy to land him as a full-time boyfriend? Hot acid razes the back of my neck, my vision crowding together. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Charlie.”

  “Kidding about what? Not wanting to officially date you or anyone else? I assure you I’m very serious. I would be serious about that if you were Kate Middleton.” There’s a touch of discomfort to his jerky movements, as though he wasn’t all that sure about his argument, but he’d committed, so now it was ride or die. “We were up front from the beginning, Ever. I don’t have time to cuddle on the couch with you and watch Fashion Police.”

  “Okay, first of all, I haven’t watched Fashion Police since Joan Rivers
died. It has lost its luster.” I hold up my finger and allow that to sink in. “Second, I understand you, Charlie. I know you don’t do serious. I never had these ambitions myself until this morning. I was trying to let you down gently with some goddamn lavender water and you’re shitting all over it.” I can’t believe this. I’m having a break-up squabble. As if we’ve even been dating in the first place. “I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to cuddle you. And by the way, I must really be a truly evil mastermind to trick you into a relationship with a month of no-strings sex. What a bitch I am, right?”

  Charlie holds up both hands and whistles, long and low. “All right. I’m backtracking. Tracking way back. This is why everything said in a locker room should stay in a locker room. I’m sorry. I jumped to an idiotic conclusion.” He searches my face, but I have no idea what he’s looking for. Lingering signs of deception? Maybe he’s just trying to decipher the shade of red my cheeks have turned. Magenta? Crimson? “I forgot for a minute I was talking to a unicorn.”

  “What?” I have the sudden urge to throw my bowl of chocolate-orange mixture through a window. “And Kate Middleton? I’m like her exact opposite.”

  “I don’t know. It just came out,” Charlie mutters. “I mean, if I had to pick, it would be Pippa—”

  “Please leave, Charlie.” I’m definitely not jealous of the Duchess of Cambridge. Or her sister. This whole conversation needs to be filed away in my things to cringe about at odd moments folder. “I have a job tonight. And dating matches to go through.”

  Oh, real mature, Ever.

  “Wait. Just wait. This is going way too fast.” Charlie drags both hands over his close-cropped brown hair, then visibly centers himself with a deep breath. “Ever. You’re making a mistake. No one has what we have.” His throat flexes. “It’s too rare to give up.”