My heart flutters, loving the possibilities painted in that picture.
“And the tea leaves point to Gabriel wanting my money?” Simon asks.
“Absolutely. How could he not? You know what you’re doing. You’re a wiz.” I’m well aware that he has some kind of Midas touch when it comes to business. I’ve witnessed his talent in action on some of the phone calls that he takes at home, and I know his track record. The man wins deals.
I take another bite of the angel food cake. Silence spreads, and I think, but I can’t be sure, that he watches me eat. That his eyes are on my lips as I bite into the soft cake. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the possibility heats me up. A warm, tingly feeling spreads to my shoulders then shoots down to my belly, and it happens again—one of those moments of connection where our eyes lock. It blots out all the reasons why we’re a bad idea.
Because my body says we’d be oh-so-good.
My heart squeezes, and goosebumps rise on my skin. The air between us crackles. I can’t look away from him. I love the way he holds my gaze and seems to be searching my expression.
His eyes slide down my face, and he points to my mouth. “You have . . .”
“What?”
“Blueberry sauce,” he says, his voice low and husky.
“I do?”
I swipe the side of my mouth, but he shakes his head. “Missed it.”
“Where?”
My eyes follow his hand. He brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of my lip. My breath catches. His touch lasts less than a second, but it sparks in my chest, a thrilling sensation rushing over my skin. This moment is like a match on kindling, and now I’m lit up. All these months of longing bubble to the surface. I grip the counter, dig my sandals into the floor, and look down.
This is silly. This is foolish. I have a crush on my boss, nothing more. The late hour is playing a trick on me, making me think nighttime is for opportunity.
In reality, midnight is for mistakes.
When I raise my face, Simon is still looking at me. Butterflies race through my body, and I wish for all the things I can’t have right now. I wish desperately, wanting a collision with him. His body pressed close. His lips exploring mine. His hands on my arms, my face, my hair.
I want to say something but I don’t know where to start, what to whisper, how to even begin to give words to these seconds that seem to hover in a new territory. Our gazes lock, heat flickering between us, a pull that feels magnetic. I hold my breath. If neither one of us says a word, this won’t be a foolish risk. If we just stay here, existing in this moment, me searching his face and him studying my eyes, we can pretend there’s nothing between us.
But that would be a lie.
This isn’t unrequited. It’s two-way, hot and electric. Men don’t linger in the dark and look at women like this without wanting more. Without wanting them.
A beep breaks the silence. It sounds foreign.
Then it registers. My iPad is beeping.
The noise knocks me into reality. I fumble for the tablet, my fingers slippery as I try to reconnect to the world around us.
“Eagle alert,” I whisper, pointing at the device, my pulse still thundering. “I set it to beep when there’s activity in the nest.”
“This late?”
“You never know.” I brush my finger on the screen and check out the nest, lit in infrared, courtesy of the Eagle Cam. But the mama bird is simply adjusting herself, settling into her spot on top of the babies before she turns her head backward and tucks it into her feathers.
Together, we watch the screen. All is quiet now as the eagle lady settles into her slumber, the wind blowing harshly over the sticks and pinecones of her home, high above the ground.
Like this, I’m acutely aware of the space between us. How my shoulder is near his. How a subtle inhale would fill my nostrils with his scent—that clean, woodsy scent that turns me on. How our companionship could flip into something else in a heartbeat. I could turn my face, and our lips would be too close for anything but a kiss.
The mere image of his lips on mine sends a burst of heat flaring inside my chest, spreading like quicksilver all through my veins. I bet his kisses are fantastic. I bet I’d melt from head to toe if I ever felt his tongue slide across mine, his hands glide over my hips, his arms rope around me.
This feels like one of those nights that could too easily tip over into more.
But as that thought crystallizes, another voice inside me speaks up. It tells me to be careful. It tells me to go. I’ve stayed too late, lingered too long.
I’m on the cusp of a risk I shouldn’t take. I need my job too much to tango across this line.
“I should go,” I say. “Thanks for the cake.”
“Thanks for staying.”
“It’s my job.”
He nods several times, as if he’s realizing yes, this is my job. That’s why I’m here in his home. To watch over Hayden, not to daydream about the man who pays my bills.
Besides, the job matters. If I lose the work, I don’t have a cushion to land on. Some of my friends have trust funds, or still get support from their parents. That’s not the case for me. I’ve been paying my own way post-college. My parents are generous, and they’d help if they could, but they’re both still working hard every day—Dad’s a bank manager and Mom sells real estate in Phoenix. They’re focused on putting my three younger brothers through college. They paid a good chunk of my tuition, but I took out loans for the rest. Sure, I could live someplace less pricy, but the best jobs for someone with my language skills are in cities like New York. With some creative housing decisions here and there, I’ve managed to make New York City work for me. I need it to work for me—this city is where I can thrive.
That means it’s time to get my head on straight and lasso my heart to keep it in check. I gather my things, and Simon walks me to the door. “I called an UberBLACK for you. It should be waiting downstairs. Black Audi.”
My heart hammers at the thoughtful gesture of ordering the highest end car option. Stupid organ.
I’ve worked late before. Simon often has dinner meetings after his daughter goes to bed, and he always arranges an Uber for me on his account. I half want to assume it means something special, but I also like knowing he’s a good guy who just wants to make sure I return home safely and in comfort.
Tonight, though, for the first time, I think he might want me, too.
When I return to my shoebox apartment, wash my face, unclasp my necklace, and settle into bed, I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad about this new revelation. On the one hand, if he didn’t look at me the way he did tonight, if he didn’t touch my lips with that soft finger, I’d have no choice but to let go of this mess of feelings in me.
On the other hand, attraction may have just become a two-way street, and that’s harder to turn away from. Harder to stop replaying.
As I slide under the cool sheets, I imagine his hands moving up my skin. A sigh escapes my lips as the fantasy plays out, and my fingers drift south. Then, they find their way between my legs as I picture him exploring my body, brushing his lips across my shoulder, along my neck, over my lips.
I arch my back as shivers rush through me, radiating from my belly, up my chest. It would be this way with him, I’m sure. This intoxicating, this good.
My breathing quickens along with my pace, and I imagine, and imagine, and imagine how it would feel to have him here, climbing over me. I gasp, and the sound expands into a long, lingering moan as I picture him lowering his hard body against mine.
He slides into me, and I shudder. I feel him move in me, and I reach the edge like that. Then, I fall apart, and it’s like flying.
Shuddering, I breathe his name into the dark of the night.
The next morning, I wake up to a text from him, and you’d be hard-pressed to wipe the grin from my face.
* * *
Simon: They’re feeding the eaglets breakfast. If you’re up, this is your fair warning. You m
ight very well overdose from the cuteness.
* * *
I might very well overdose from the swooning, because that was kind of the sweetest text ever.
I click on the Eagle Cam, and a rush of endorphins chases through me as I picture that man on the other side of the park watching the same scene that’s unfolding before my eyes.
This attraction is not unrequited.
5
Abby
* * *
After the Spanish class I teach that morning at a language school on the Upper West Side, I visit with Harper for lunch at a ramen shop off Amsterdam. She shows me her engagement diamond, and it’s as stunning as I would expect, a princess cut set in platinum. She became engaged a few weeks ago, and she and Nick took a trip to Italy to celebrate, so this is the first time I’ve been able to properly gawk.
“Nick’s a keeper,” I joke as I stare at her ring.
“He absolutely is. And not just because you got my apartment when I moved in with him,” she says with a wink. Her apartment is the deal of the century. It’s owned by her parents, and the rent is highway-robbery cheap. I love her and her parents madly for making me their new tenant. It’s yet another one of the housing choices that have made New York possible for me.
“I would never joke about true romance when it’s given me the cheapest rent in Manhattan,” I tease.
“And passing along the world’s cheapest rent is the biggest sign of true friendship,” Harper says, then she takes a breath and squares her shoulders. “But do you know what the second biggest sign is?”
I shake my head. “Nope. But I bet you’re about to tell me.”
She sets down her spoon. “Will you be one of my bridesmaids?”
I shriek.
There is no other way to describe my reaction but a full-on, high-pitched scream of excitement. I jump off the stool at the counter and squeeze her. I’m at least half a foot shorter, so I look like a pipsqueak in her arms.
“So is that a yes, Abster?”
I let go, smooth my shirt, and adopt a too-cool-for-school expression. “Maybe. Depends what the dress looks like.”
She chuckles. “It’s hideous. I’ve chosen a mint green dress with ruffles and a yellow bodice with puffy sleeves.”
I smile like a crazy person. “So I’ll look like Easter spat me up. Perfect!”
She elbows me and takes a drink from her tea. “But seriously, I think I’m going to do a basic black. So you can wear it again.”
I press my palms together as if in prayer. “Now that is actually the biggest sign of true friendship.”
“And since black is hot, you’ll look totally hot, so all the single men will throw themselves at you.”
I raise both arms in the air. “Let it rain down hot men at Harper’s wedding, Lord.” I return to the stool. “And the answer is I couldn’t be more excited or honored to be your bridesmaid. Now, tell me your wedding plans.”
Over noodles, she chatters about her dream wedding, and I savor every little detail. When we leave the shop, she hooks her arm through mine and says, “Your turn. You tell me stuff. Have you met any amazingly witty, bright, kind, and handsome men in your Spanish class? Wait. No. At the park. Have you found the hottest manny in town and are you going to make totally adorable manny-nanny babies called Annie?”
I laugh as we thread our way up the crowded avenue. “Shockingly, the hot, hetero, single manny is like a red panda. Rarely spotted in the wild.”
“I love it when you talk zoology.” Harper brushes a strand of red hair from her cheek. “What about in one of your classes?”
“Have I met any red pandas there?” I toss back.
She laughs. “Ha. Any hot guys?”
In addition to the Spanish course, I teach a few classes at corporations that are helping their employees learn more language skills for international business, and I’ve landed more one-on-one tutoring gigs, too. That’s a nice supplemental income, even though the nanny gig pays well, too. But this is New York. A gal needs a lot to live here, even when she’s scored a sweet deal on an apartment.
We slow at the crosswalk as the light blinks red. “I haven’t had time to check out the fresh meat in the classroom,” I joke. “Since, you know, I’ve been trying to teach them to conjugate.”
“You know what they say. First, it starts with conjugation. Then it leads to consummation.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re insane. And relentless.”
She rubs her hands together like a movie villain with an evil plan. “But what if one of your students liked you? You’d be the hot teacher, and then you could have a forbidden relationship with a student,” she says, whispering salaciously as the warm sun beats down on us. The light changes and we cross.
“Hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think it’s forbidden when I teach adults.”
She snaps her fingers. “Dammit. What about Simon, then?”
The directness of her question makes me slow my pace. “What about him?” I reply, keeping my tone even. I don’t want to reveal that we’re bonding over Eagle Cam updates. The tiny birds of prey are the definition of adorable, and I love sharing the eagles with him. But if I tell Harper that we’re texting like this, she’ll know my heart, and my misplaced feelings will be open for discussion. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
“Is the job going well?” she asks, tugging my arm so we keep moving.
“He’s a great boss. Super laid-back and easygoing, and smart, and we have fun together.” And, holy shit, I’ve said too much. I’ve pretty much revealed my hand.
Harper nearly skids to a stop outside a diner. The scent of bacon wafts out when a customer opens the door. My friend pokes me in the shoulder and narrows her blue eyes at me. “You like him, like him?”
“No,” I say, forcing a big laugh to prove how much I absolutely don’t feel that way. “Totally not.”
She crosses her arms. “Denial will get you nowhere. I can tell.”
“How?”
“That fake laugh, for one. As well as that litany of his oh-so-fine-I-wish-he-were-mine traits.”
I try to wave it off. “Definitely not,” I fire back, but the flush racing across my cheeks makes protesting pointless.
“And now, the color of your cheeks.”
“Fine,” I say with a grumble. “Maybe I like him a little.”
One of her eyebrows rises. “A little?”
“Okay, a lot,” I admit.
Her eyes light up. “Called it!”
Relief floods me unexpectedly. It’s good to have admitted something I’ve kept bottled up for so long. Maybe I do want to discuss him. Oh hell, do I ever want to talk about him. “Do you think it’s ridiculous to have a thing for my boss?” I hold up a hand as a stop sign. “Wait. Don’t answer. I already know. It is beyond ridiculous.”
She drapes her arm around me. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all. He’s a good guy, he’s crazy about his kid, and he takes her around the city doing cool things with her. But you know that better than I do. What I know is he was determined last fall to find someone who would also do all those cool things with Hayden. Someone who would be engaged in the Natural History Museum when she took Hayden, not in texting her other nanny friends about what to do after work. That’s why I hooked him up with you. And I know the job is important to you, too, so whatever happens just be careful, okay? That’s all.”
“You mean be sure to use protection?” I say with a straight face.
Her eyes nearly pop out. “Not exactly what I meant. But, duh. Yes. Obviously.” She pauses, then adopts a serious tone. “But I meant with your heart and your head.”
“I know,” I say softly.
“There’s a lot at stake. That’s why I say it.”
I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
She points at me. “I’ll see you Friday right. We’re still going out?”
I nod. “Of course. Text me the time.”
She gives me a quic
k hug then takes off.
I repeat her warning as I walk across town to Simon’s gorgeous home on the Upper East side.
Be careful.
I’m careful as I reach his building and step into the elevator. As I press my hand on my belly, I’m careful to quiet the riot of excitement in my body. I’m careful as I reach his floor and knock on the door, wild nerves thrumming through me.
Hayden opens the door, swinging it wide. She hugs my waist, nearly tackling me. “Abby! Come join the tea party!”
She grabs my hand and tugs me into the living room, gesturing grandly to her sky-blue kid-size table with dinosaur designs on it. It’s set for tea, and her father is enjoying a cup.
I try desperately not to think of him touching my face last night. Or sending me texts this morning. Or bringing me cake.
But the battle is lost. How could I think anything but sweet, dizzying thoughts when I set eyes on him? The man is utterly adorable at the little table, his knees up high since he’s parked in a tiny chair, having a tea party with his daughter and her stuffed elephant.
Hayden grabs her chair and pats the extra one for me. I drop my bag, smile at Simon, and slide right in to the party. I fit much better at this table than he does.
“Would you like more peach raspberry chocolate coconut tea?” Hayden asks the elephant.
Simon picks up the gray stuffed animal and makes him nod. “Why, yes please. With honey and sugar and syrup,” he says in a deep voice.
Hayden lifts her plastic teapot and pours for the stuffed animal. She holds up the pot and looks at me. “Would you like some of this special magical potion tea?”
I nod enthusiastically. “I would love some. What does the magical potion tea do?”
She stage-whispers as she pours, “It turns your hair purple.”
My eyes become moons, and I clap. “I came to the right tea party. I’ve been looking for a tea to do just that!”
The Sexy One Page 3