Speakeasy

by Bowen, Sarina

  Alec’s eyes flicker toward the doorway as he closes the book. He knows I’m standing here, but doesn’t say anything for obvious reasons. He sets the book on a stack next to the chair and then slowly stands up. Holding the sleeping toddler with both arms now, he moves stealthily toward the crib.

  Once again his gaze flickers toward me, and he gives me a little smile that says, wish me luck! Then he eases his niece down onto the mattress.

  She stretches and rolls when she makes contact with the bed, and I see Alec’s muscles tense as he waits to see what will happen.

  Nothing does, though. Nicole sleeps on. Alec reaches for the blanket and drapes it gently over her little body. Then he backs away like a soldier from a suspected IED.

  I am all stirred up inside, and I don’t even know why.

  Alec shuts off the lamp and tiptoes out of the room, where I’m waiting in the darkened hallway. “Hi…” I whisper. “You’re surprisingly good at th—”

  The rest of the compliment doesn’t make it out of my mouth, because Alec leans me against the wall, runs his long fingers down the soft stitching of my sweater dress, and takes my mouth.

  Whew. There’s hunger in his kiss, and I’ve already forgotten my irritation. I rest my palms on his broad shoulders and feel a little shiver of shock and arousal. Alec’s kisses never hesitate. They always blaze at a hundred percent intensity.

  My favorite party boy never does anything halfway, I’ve discovered.

  Two minutes later I’ve forgotten my own name. There’s only Alec’s kisses and the heat I feel pouring off him.

  “May?” he says between kisses.

  “Hrm?” I say against his mouth.

  He moves his head back just a couple of inches to speak again. “I’m sorry I was a grump downstairs.”

  It actually takes me a second to remember what happened that had annoyed me. Oh, right. The dude and the punch bowl. “You scared him off,” I pant. “Everyone was staring.”

  Alec’s forehead creases. “See, that’s the thing. Why does that stranger get to stand close to you at a party, and I don’t?”

  “You know why,” I whisper.

  “No, I don’t think I do. We’re a couple who pretends like we’re not.”

  “We aren’t a couple,” I say quickly. “It’s just sex.”

  Alec gives me a weary look. Then he steps right between my legs and lowers his head until he can kiss the side of my neck.

  When he sucks gently on the sensitive skin there, I shiver immediately.

  “So, if it’s just sex,” he whispers into my ear, “then let’s go have some more of it. After I make you scream, you can tell me how I’m the only one who makes you do that.”

  The man has a point. And if he and I weren’t the worst idea in the whole damn world, I’d probably admit it.

  Though we are a terrible idea. There’s no getting around it. Even as I’m thinking this, Alec leans in and kisses me again. But I can no longer relax. A moment later my anxiety proves useful, as I hear footfalls on the stairs. I put two hands in the center of Alec’s chest and push him. It’s a wordless signal to stop.

  He does, immediately. And then it’s obvious he’s heard the footsteps, too. He takes a step to the side, putting a more casual distance between us. The expression on his face is one I’ve never seen there before. Hurt.

  A second later Audrey appears on the landing. “Everything okay?” she whispers.

  “Yes!” I stage-whisper back. And then I feel like a traitor when I add, “Just listening to make sure the baby stays asleep.”

  “Aw,” Audrey says, tiptoeing past us to peek through the cracked-open door to Nicole’s room.

  Alec shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away, heading down the stairs.

  “Griff is waiting for us,” Audrey says. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  When we go downstairs, I look around for Alec. I don’t want to leave things in such a weird place. But I can’t find him in the kitchen, the dining room, or the now empty living room.

  My brother and Audrey are thanking Zara for the party and fussing in the kitchen. To move things along, I decide to carry a few gifts outside.

  “Holy cow,” I say when I get a look at the gifts table. I don’t even know if it will all fit in my brother’s truck. I stack a couple of gifts together and carry them outside. After depositing them on the back seat of the truck, I spy someone across the street leaning against his truck under the street light.

  It’s Alec. His phone is in one dangling hand, and his head hangs as if it’s too heavy.

  Without giving it a thought, I cross the street to him. “Hey. Everything okay?”

  “No.” He looks up and we make eye contact. Sort of. It’s like looking at a stranger. “Hamish didn’t make it.” Alec’s eyes shine.

  “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.” I take a step forward, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

  “I gotta go.” He turns his body and yanks the truck’s door open.

  “Wait…”

  “Thanks, but—” He’s already climbing in. “—that’s outside of our ‘just sex’ boundaries, right?” He slams the door and cranks the engine.

  It’s harsh, to be sure. But his friend just died.

  And also, he’s right. Not five minutes ago I told him, essentially, that he’s just a penis to me. But he isn’t. He’s a good friend.

  Alec looks over his shoulder, and I realize he’s waiting for me to move a safer distance from his truck before he pulls away.

  So I do it. Even if I’ve messed everything up tonight, I can at least get that right.

  I watch his taillights glow red as he drives around the town green, then heads toward the Gin Mill.

  Chapter Twenty

  May

  Two days later at a few minutes past noon, I park my car in the usual spot at the side of Alec’s building. And—if possible—I feel even guiltier than I have these past forty-eight hours. I always park here because I’m hiding. I don’t want people to see us together.

  In my defense, it never occurred to me that Alec would think it meant I didn’t want to be seen with him. He’s a great guy. The best. I’m proud to call him a friend. I’d rather not advertise the other part of our relationship, though. My family would wonder why I’ve thrown myself into a sexual relationship with a known playboy who owns a bar. They’d think it was self-destructive behavior.

  They might be right.

  And then there’s another issue. I feel weird about getting involved with a man when I’ve been saying all year that I could only see myself with women going forward.

  On the other hand, I excel at getting things wrong.

  But if Alec and I are just a temporary fling, I’d really rather not have my fickle tastes discussed like the weather every Thursday Dinner. The family hot mess can’t keep a girlfriend and really has no idea what she wants in her life.

  There’s a fun conversation I don’t need.

  I get out of the car, bringing a shopping bag with me. Yesterday—Sunday—I knitted until my hands ached. Then I sat up last night blocking the finished pieces of Alec’s sweater and stitching the sleeves to the body. At two a.m. I knitted the roll-edge collar, and then I was done.

  Slamming my car door, I look up at the windows to Alec’s apartment. I hope he’s here.

  “Hey.”

  I just about jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. When I whirl around, he’s emerging from the trees with two big garbage bags. He carries these to the dumpster and pitches them in.

  “Hi,” I squeak. “You startled me.”

  “I can see that.” He bangs the top of the dumpster shut.

  “What are you doing?”

  He lifts his chin toward the tree line. “I’ve been at Hamish’s studio, cleaning. For the wake.”

  “Oh.” I glance in the direction of the other mill building, but I can’t actually see it from here. There’s a patch of forested land between the two properties.

&
nbsp; “I thought his studio would be a good spot for a gathering. Nice open space. We were planning a party for his retirement. But now it’s going to be…”

  “His funeral,” I whisper.

  Alec flinches. “Yeah. And it will be very well attended. Hamish has a lot of friends.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking blue.

  I want to hug him, but I need to apologize first. “Does he have family?”

  “A son. Tad.” Alec makes a face. “He’s letting me plan everything.”

  “Maybe he’s too distraught to do it himself?”

  “Or maybe he’s lazy and kind of a dick.” Alec makes a grumpy sound and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m just in a shitty mood. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. That’s what I came here to say.”

  Alec tilts his head and considers me. “Nah, it’s okay, babydoll. We’re cool.”

  We aren’t, though. “There’s something I brought you. Can I come in for a second? Or are you headed back to Hamish’s?”

  “I was going to have some lunch. Is this your lunch hour?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, come on.” Alec pulls out his keys and heads for the entrance to his apartment. “Let’s eat.”

  “You don’t have to feed me,” I say, following him.

  “Better hear what’s on the menu before you say that,” he warns. “Roderick the baker is experimenting with pizzas.”

  “Pizza!” Now I’m starving.

  “Yeah. Zara and Audrey are trying to expand their lunch offerings.”

  I follow Alec up the stairs at a trot. This is the first time I’ve been here in the daylight. Even the stairwell is attractive, with sunlight filtering from a skylight on the roof, making the bricks glow orange.

  He unlocks the door and then hesitates. “Beware of the cat. He scratched me pretty good yesterday.” As soon as Alec opens the door, I hear a hiss. “It’s my house, asshole. Back off.”

  Yikes. “He’s still not warming up to you?”

  “No progress on that front.” Alec scowls. “And when I try to ask Tad what his plans are for this beast, he won’t discuss it.”

  By the time I walk into the big space, the cat is cowering under the wide coffee table. I don’t know who looks more miserable today, Alec or Bukowski.

  I set my shopping bag on the couch, while Alec heads over to the kitchen portion of his loft and washes his hands. Then he taps a couple of buttons on his stove.

  “Can I help you with anything?” I never meant to invite myself to lunch.

  “Nope. Just going to bake these for a couple of minutes. Roderick gave me precise instructions.” Alec holds up a note. “These take eight minutes. And he wants to know what we think of the topping combinations. There’s a questionnaire. So pay attention, Shipley.”

  “Yessir.” I wander around the living room area and then choose a spot in the middle of Alec’s big rug to sit down. It’s a wine color that looks fabulous against the wood floors.

  This puts me on the same level as the cat, who eyes me suspiciously. I stick my hand in the pocket of my jacket and scare up an odd length of yarn. It’s not much in the way of a cat toy, so I grab a ballpoint pen off Alec’s end table and tie it to the yarn.

  Across the room, Alec is leaning against the kitchen island, arms folded against his fabulous chest. He’s watching me with soft eyes.

  I’m six feet or so from the world’s grumpiest cat. I cast my pen out onto the rug like a fishing lure, holding the string. Then I slowly drag it toward my body.

  Bukowski doesn’t move. I don’t look at him, because he might see it as a challenge. I just sit there in the middle of the rug, where the wintery sunlight makes a pattern of pale rectangles through Alec’s lovely old windows. I toss the pen again and drag it slowly.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” I say in a low voice. “You’re a lucky cat, Bukowski.”

  There’s no movement from under the coffee table.

  “I can tell that you don’t believe me,” I continue. “So I’m gonna have to spell it out for you. See, Alec is a really good guy. The best guy. He’s fun and nonjudgmental. He’s good to his family. He’s nice to confused, alcoholic bisexuals. And to old hippie carpenters. And to, ahem, cats who behave like Satan.”

  I glance up at Alec, and he gives me a slow, sad smile.

  “He’s a good dancer and he cares about his friends. So, this is just a little friendly advice.” I toss the pen again, and the cat cocks his head. He wants to play. But he’s afraid to put himself out there. This cat and I have a lot in common. “If you have some issues that make you behave kind of like an asshole, don’t make the mistake that I did, okay? Try not to take them out on the hot guy with the pizzas. Because he deserves better.”

  Alec drops his head, studying his shoes.

  And that’s when Bukowski attacks the pen with a terrific kitty pounce. I’ve reeled him in like a fish. We play while Alec puts the pizzas in the oven and bakes them. By the time the oven timer dings, I’ve won over Bukowski. He lets me pet him on the head. And then he rubs his body all over my nice charcoal-colored work pants.

  Ah, well. A farm girl can put on lawyer clothes. But she’s still a farm girl.

  “I hate to break up this lovefest, but lunch is ready.”

  Doing my best to brush off the cat hair, I get up and sit beside Alec on a counter stool. “You look beat.” There are circles under his eyes. “Sorry. I mean beat but still super attractive.”

  He gives me another sad smile. “Got a lot on my mind and a lot of things to do.”

  “Who’s helping you throw this wake?”

  He shrugs, which means nobody is.

  “Will you let me help you?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he says, testing the temperature of a slice of pizza. He’s served us each three different pieces.

  “That wasn’t the question. Will you let me help? My family is great at throwing parties.”

  “Okay,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now tell me which slice I’m testing?” I pick up the first piece, which is dotted with olives and onions.

  Alec picks up Roderick’s notes. “That one is the provençal. With shallots, olives and lemon juice. Drizzled with balsamic.”

  “Fancy.” I take a bite and moan. “Wow,” I say with my mouth full.

  “I know, right?” He takes another healthy bite. “The neighborhood needs pizza like this. We’re supposed to make notes about what we like.” He slides the paper toward me.

  Under provençal I write, Amazing! More, please.

  Maybe it’s unhelpful, but I write basically the same thing as a critique for the sausage and apple slice and for the pear and balsamic versions.

  “We’re not good food critics,” Alec observes.

  “I love food too much to criticize it.”

  “I knew I liked you.” Alec gives me a warm smile, and it makes my belly flutter.

  Everything feels a little awkward with Alec, though. Usually, we’re so easy together. But then he tried to change the rules, and I didn’t handle it well.

  Now I’m wishing I have a glass of wine to go with this pizza. Just a little something to smooth away the rough edges of my day. But we can’t always get the things we want. And I still owe him a proper apology.

  “Hey, Alec?” I brush my fingers off on my napkin. “The other night when I said it’s just sex?”

  His face clouds over immediately.

  “Well, I was wrong. We’re not a good idea for a couple, but you are an awesome friend.”

  He snorts. “Dudes love hearing that.”

  “I’ll bet. But I know you understand why I’m not in a good place to get into a relationship. I just had a bad breakup.”

  Alec props his scruffy jaw on his hand and stares me down with those soulful eyes. “This would be easier if you just said I’m not who you want. Because you told me yourself that Daniela didn’t break your heart.”

  Well, s
hit. “It still stings, though.”

  “Not when you’re kissing me,” he counters.

  The man makes a good point. But there are other problems, too. “Want to hear a joke? It’s not very funny.”

  “What?” He sets down his pizza to listen.

  “An alcoholic walks into a bar.”

  He flinches. “You’re right. That’s a terrible lead-in.”

  “That’s us,” I point out quietly. “We are the worst idea ever.”

  “No we’re not,” he whispers. “I mean—you shouldn’t have a relationship with someone who abuses alcohol. But you’re doing so well. And there’s no alcohol in this apartment, by the way. I stopped putting beer in my fridge because you come over sometimes, and I didn’t want you to have to think about it when you’re looking for a soda.”

  I open my mouth, but then close it again. He’s right, but he’s also wrong. Silently, I point up to the space above his kitchen cabinets.

  He swivels his head to look, and spots the three bottles of wine on a rack near the high ceiling. “Oh, fuck. I haven’t touched those in so long I forgot they were there. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t expect you to baby-proof your life for me. And I don’t enjoy letting you in on the secret that there’s a crazy person in here.” I tap my chest. “But I’m not ready. Sobriety is the most important thing in my life right now. It’s the thing I can’t risk. I jumped into a relationship with Daniela because I was trying to prove to myself that I was in control of my own story. And look how that turned out.”

  He makes a face. “I’m not Daniela.”

  “No, you’re not,” I admit. “But I’m still me. And I don’t trust myself enough right now to make good choices. I count those damn bottles every time I walk through your door.” My voice cracks on the last word, because I hate this. I never mention drinking to Alec in the present tense. When I’ve mentioned my problem, it’s always in the past tense. That’s vanity talking. I want to fool him into thinking I’m done with all that.

  I’m not done. I’ll probably never be done. He can’t see it, though. He thinks I’m Fun May who shows up for hot kisses and sex.

  He’s studying me now, looking blue. “I care about you. I guess that’s all I can really say. I think you’re great, and I wish things were easier.”