A Love Letter to Whiskey

by Kandi Steiner

  “I see you’ve just been blown away by the welcome committee,” someone said behind me. I jumped, tucking my phone back in my purse and whipping around. It was a boy, or should I say a man — he couldn’t have been much more than two or three years older than me. His dark blonde hair was parted at the side and flowing in a swoop like he worked all morning to get it that way. His eyes were bright blue, kind and inviting, and he had a wide grin that reminded me a little of Ethan’s. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said, reaching out my hand and returning his smile.

  He took it, giving it a light but firm shake before eying the few people at their cubes over my shoulder. “Sorry about them. It’s busy for us lately, and I guess that gives them all an excuse to forget their manners.” His eyes found mine again and he dropped my hand, resting his elbow on the wall of my cube. “I’m sure after a riveting tour with Mona, they feel like a field of puppies.”

  I laughed at that, but I was nervous. “Oh no, she was great. I really love the hammock room.” I cringed. I really love the hammock room? Cool, B.

  He cocked a brow. “She was great?” He shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you it’s terrible to lie to your boss on the first day?”

  My stomach rolled and I blanched, stammering. “Oh, I mean, it really wasn’t that bad. I think she’s just busy. It’s actually—”

  “Relax,” he said with a chuckle, pushing off his casual stance on the wall of my cube. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” I breathed.

  He led the way, introducing me to a few of the associates he’d been referring to as we passed them. When we made it back to the chic break room, he popped a new cup into the Keurig and leaned against the counter to face me, folding his arms. “So, Brecks Kennedy, you ready for your first day?”

  My name didn’t sting as much as it had when I was younger, but it still unnerved me, and I brushed a long chunk of hair over my shoulder before correcting him. “It’s just B, actually. I don’t really go by my full name. But yes, very honored to be here…” My voice faded when I realized I didn’t know his name. Mona had been the one to handle my hiring paperwork over email, and I had no idea who I was reporting to.

  “River,” he said, pulling the fresh cup of coffee from the coffee machine and handing it to me before starting another for himself. “River Godsby.”

  “Godsby?” The Chairman and CEO of Rye Publishing was Randall Godsby, and my wheels started turning before River could even respond. Not just about the fact that they were surely related, but the fact that his parents had named him River. His name sounded as expensive as the Zegna suit he was wearing.

  He nodded, a smile playing at his lips as he turned to face me again. “Indeed. Randy is my father.”

  “Oh.” That’s all I said. I wasn’t really sure how to respond to that.

  River chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of a family business. I’ve been in the literary world since I was in the womb, practically.” He smiled that wide, genuine smile again and I relaxed a bit.

  “That’s neat, actually. Are you… what’s your position here, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  He smiled. “Not at all. I’m an agent right now, but on my way to vice president if I have anything to do with it.”

  “Impressive,” I said, taking the first sip of my coffee. I wasn’t sure where any of the creamer or anything else was and it was scalding hot, so I flinched, but tried to hide it.

  River laughed, grabbing his own coffee and guiding me to a cabinet that held what I was looking for. “Here,” he said, handing me a few creamers and packets of sugar. “Fix your coffee up and take a few minutes to get settled at your desk. Your login info should be on a sticky note on the keyboard and you can change your password then. Get your email set up and I’ll be over to touch base in fifteen or so, okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  He turned, but paused. “And B?”

  “Yeah?” I asked, mid-tear on the first sugar packet.

  River eyed me curiously, in a way that reminded me way too much of the first time Jamie had looked at me. “Welcome to Rye Publishing.”

  I MOANED OUT LOUD as I slipped off my first high heel and let it fall to the floor just inside my apartment. Stretching my toes, I pulled the bobby pins holding my hair up before tugging the other heel off and letting myself fully sigh with relief.

  It had been a long, hard first day — but an amazing one, too. I smiled as I picked up my shoes and padded into my bedroom, tossing them to the bottom of my closet before turning and heading straight for my freshly stocked fridge. There was a cold slice of pizza and chilled beer in there with my name on it.

  My head was still spinning with all the information I’d had shoved at me that day as I took the first bite and popped my beer open. I looked out the large window on the far side of my small studio apartment, loving the floor-to-ceiling view of Market Square. It was the main reason I decided to live here, even though it was more expensive than every other place I looked at. It was worth it to me, to spend a little more but get a view like that. Plus, it had a bathtub, and that was a necessity.

  I think there are some times in life, seemingly insignificant snapshots of time, where a sizable shift takes place. Standing barefoot in my kitchen overlooking downtown Pittsburgh while I ate cold pizza and chased it with cheap beer was one of those times for me. This was it — I was on my own, for the first time in my life, and I was doing it. No mom, no roommate, no boyfriend — just me — and I was going to show the publishing world who I was in that summer I had their attention if it was the last thing I did.

  When I finished my pizza, I texted my mom quickly before calling Jamie. My fingers still shook slightly when I called him, or in the few seconds it took me to answer his call, instead. After three years of ignoring him, I was finally at the point where I felt like we could be good for each other — even if just in the friendly way. I’d missed him, missed our conversations, and if I got to have his hands on me occasionally, too? It was an all-around win.

  “I just rode the best wave,” he answered, breath heavy in the receiver. “You should have been here. For South Florida, it was like surfing gold.”

  “Rub it in,” I teased.

  “Okay. Did I mention I’m not wearing a shirt?”

  I chuckled, tapping the speakerphone button before dropping my phone to the bed so I could undress. “You never did play fair, Jamie Shaw.”

  “So you’ve told me.” I swear, I could feel his grin through the phone. “How was the first day?”

  “Long, but amazing. My boss is young and really cool. He seems eager to have me start on projects, which eases my initial worry of being a paper-pusher all summer.”

  “Yeah right. Like they’d stuff you behind some desk. You’ll probably be opening another office in NYC by next week.”

  I smiled, both at the image he’d painted and the faith he always had in me. “How was your day?”

  “Meh,” he answered as a soft dinging noise rang out behind him. I heard the Jeep door close and the ringing stopped as he thrummed the engine to life. “Work was work, but I got out of the office early enough to get in some surf time. So life is great.”

  “I miss the beach already,” I said with a sigh, pulling my loose silky blouse over my head.

  “It misses you, too. Not as much as me, though.”

  My cheeks heated and I unzipped my pants, wiggling them off my hips before letting them fall and kicking them near my clothes hamper.

  “Are you getting undressed?” Jamie husked.

  “Maybe.”

  He groaned. “That’s just cruel.”

  “Relax. I’m just taking a bath.”

  “Of course you managed to find a place with a bathtub.”

  “You know I wouldn’t live without one again. The seven months at Alder were torture enough for life.”

  Jamie was quiet then, and I wondered if hearing me speak so casually about that time in our lives stung. I felt it a little, like an electric shock
when you touch a freshly-laundered pair of jeans.

  “I want to see your new place,” he finally said.

  “So get your ass up here.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh sure, I’ll be on the next flight. Who needs a job, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  I peeled off my panties and unhooked my bra, and then an idea sparked to life. I bit my lip, wondering if it was stupid, but grabbing my phone and clicking on the video chat option before I could talk myself out of it.

  “Turn on your video and I’ll give you the virtual tour.”

  “Hang on, I’m just pulling into my house. Give me a few minutes.”

  I set up the camera on my end, making sure it was facing away from me as I walked naked back to the kitchen to open a new beer. When Jamie’s video clicked in, I saw his face, and he saw my view of Market Square.

  “Damn,” he said, dragging the word out as he slung his own keys down on the same table he’d missed the night he’d taken me home. “Look at you, big city girl.”

  “Pretty, right?” The sun was hanging low over the high buildings, casting shadows between the streams of golden rays of light. It seemed the entire city bled black and gold always.

  I walked him through my tiny space as he kicked back on his bed, excited that he loved my first apartment as much as I did. Even though it was only about the size of my dorm room at Alder, it had hardwood floors and modern appliances. I’d decorated it simply in the week that I’d been there, but it was just enough for me. My bed had the same view through the large window and the more the sun set, the more rustic my place felt.

  “Alright, I know you’re dying to show me the bathtub.”

  “Of course. Had to save the best for last.” I still had the camera angled away from me and I walked him into the bathroom head on, giving him only the view of the toilet at first, then turning left and revealing my beautiful, freestanding claw bathtub. “Ta-da!”

  Jamie exaggerated a long gasp followed by an “oh” and “ah.”

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” I scanned the tub from faucet to back like it was a tropical scenery. Leaning forward a bit, I turned the water on and adjusted it to the hottest setting before standing again. “Totally worth the extra five-hundred bucks a month.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right. I’d pay at least a thousand.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  I chewed my lip for a moment, second-guessing my next move. Hesitantly, I pulled my long hair forward over my breasts and turned the phone slowly until we were both facing the mirror. Jamie’s eyes widened as they scanned me — makeup still in place from work, hair kinked from the bun I’d had it in all day, the mirror cutting off right at the bottom of my belly button and my hair staying in place over my modest cleavage.

  “Jesus,” he breathed. “You really did save the best for last.”

  I watched as he swallowed, the movement highlighted by the way the shadows of his bedroom framed his jaw and throat. The fingers of my free hand played at the ends of my hair and I kept my eyes on the phone screen. I’d made the first move, and now I was waiting. I needed him to take control, and he must have sensed it.

  “Pull your hair back.”

  The mirror was starting to steam lightly, and I let the heat soak into my skin as I used one hand to gather my hair and pull it back, letting it fall to rest against my lower shoulders. The ends of it hit the middle of my back and chills followed as Jamie groaned.

  “Now I really wish I was there.”

  For a moment he just scanned me, slowly, as if he didn’t get a good enough look the weekend before. Then he scrubbed a hand hard down his face before it disappeared out of camera view and he moved a bit. It only took a second for me to realize he was taking off his swim trunks.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice low.

  “I’m going to make you feel good,” he answered confidently. “Get in the tub.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but I did as he said, switching the view on the camera to be on my face as I slowly sank into the half-full tub. The water filled the space around my body all the way up to the top of my chest and I used my toes to shut the water off as I heard Jamie fling his shorts to the side.

  “Do you want to see what you do to me?”

  It felt so dirty, answering his question with his face locked on mine. I nodded, and Jamie dragged his teeth along his bottom lip with force before flipping his camera. The screen filled with a close up of his abs that led down to his hard shaft, the scar on his hip that I loved so much serving almost as an arrow pointing my attention where Jamie wanted it. He ran his hand across the ridges of his abdomen and down the deep V of muscles that led to his hips before wrapping it around himself. Just seeing him hard and ready, gripped in his large hand and throbbing for a release was enough to make me moan.

  “Fuck, Jamie,” I whispered, sinking farther into the water. I angled the phone to hold a better view while my free hand found my breast. I massaged it, rubbing my thumb over the nipple and arching my back into my own touch as if it was his. He stroked himself and I gasped at how big he was, how much he wanted me.

  “Pretend that hand is mine,” he said, low and smooth. “Touch yourself the way I would if I were there.”

  My hand immediately slipped into the water, and I rolled into the touch, mind racing with memories of how Jamie’s hands felt. I remembered the roughness of his palms, the confidence in his grip, his unquestionable knowledge of what I wanted. I let the camera follow it down between my legs, not even sure if he could see it clearly through the water as my fingers found my clit and I circled softly. We both moaned together and I knew that whatever he could see was enough.

  It was one of the most intimate moments of my life.

  I was sweating, working myself under the water while Jamie stroked himself closer to release. He said exactly the right things to turn me on, to work me up, and when the moment was right, he spoke the words that gave me permission to fall apart under water. We were both panting by the end, caught up in each other, in our independence and the lust that always sparked to life between us.

  What ifs are cruel motherfuckers.

  That night is one I always look back on, wondering if I’d played the next moments differently, if everything would have fallen perfectly into place. I guess we’re all guilty of that, of stringing a list of what ifs together, hoping that if we find the right combination it will somehow have the power to actually take us back. But the reality is I can’t go back to that night to tell myself not to be stupid, to tell myself how perfect that moment was, to smack myself into some kind of common sense.

  “Be with me,” Jamie said sweetly as we both crawled between our sheets on opposite sides of the country later that night. My hair was still damp from the bath and I’d have bet money on the fact that his skin still tasted like salt from the ocean.

  “I am with you.”

  “No, I mean really be with me. Be my girlfriend.”

  My stomach dipped and I tried not to show it, taking my time situating myself under the covers before responding. “Why do we have to put a title on it? Can’t we just… I don’t know. We’re friends, Jamie. Best friends. I love talking to you, I miss you, I like making you feel good.” I blushed a little at that last part.

  “Exactly, so why does it freak you out so much to be official?”

  “It’s not that it freaks me out,” I argued. “It’s just that this is the first time in my life that I’ve ever been completely on my own, Jamie. I need to just be myself for a while. You know how the last few years have been for me,” I added, and Jamie’s mouth thinned into a line, probably because he didn’t know — not really — and that was because I hadn’t let him in. “Let’s just exist, and let it go where it will go. No sense in putting pressure on either of us right now.”

  “Are you hooking up with other guys?”

  “What?” I shook my head. “No, of course not. I don’t even know any other guys out here.”
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  “That’s not the point.”

  “I know, but I’m just saying.”

  He huffed. “Would you be okay if I hooked up with other girls?”

  My stomach dipped again, this time forcing me to sit up with it. I blew out a breath, physically ill at the thought of him with someone else but knowing that if I couldn’t be his exclusively, I couldn’t ask him to be mine, either. “Yeah. I mean, I guess. I get it. You have needs.”

  “Again, that’s not the point.” He ran a hand roughly through his short, neatly styled hair. I missed it long. “I know it sounds stupid, but when I lost you three years ago, I told myself I’d never let that happen again. It’s important to me to be with you, B. But I can’t be if you don’t let me.”

  I exhaled slowly, softly, thinking back to the first time he’d told me what he wanted in life. I’d always been unsure, up until this point in my life, but he’d always known. He wanted to work at his dad’s firm, make partner, take over, and have the same family life that his dad did. He thought he’d marry his high school sweetheart, and here he was a college graduate and single. I knew what he wanted, what he needed in life — but I also knew I couldn’t be that for him. Not yet, at least.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him, and I sealed that promise with a sincere smile. “But I can’t give you my all right now. I’m here to work, to get my graduate degree, and to find the rest of myself that’s still floating just out of reach. I want you, I do,” I said again. “Just give me some time to figure out my new surroundings, okay?”

  Jamie still looked disappointed, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

  I believed him when he said that, but sometimes we say things we don’t mean. We may mean them in the moment the words leave our lips, but as time goes on, good intentions get rubbed raw by failed expectations. Those on the promising end forget why they promised at all, hearts jaded — for good reason.

  The Scottish are the only ones who can technically spell whiskey as “whisky.” They claim more vowels wastes good drinking time, and I wish I could have realized that then, because that’s exactly what I was doing — wasting time. Letting days and weeks and months of incredible, soul-shattering love pass me by because I thought I knew the right way to spell out the path of my life.