“Seems we do all that. We’re the poster children.”
When we reach Gin Joint, he says goodbye and walks away.
As he leaves, I feel a strange pang in my chest.
What the hell?
Am I missing him already?
I’ve never missed a friend quite like this before.
Well, there’s a first time for everything.
19
Jason
A few weeks later, Truly and I wander through Central Park, passing a playground where schoolkids scamper up the monkey bars.
“What were you like as a kid?” I ask, tipping my forehead toward the cluster of children.
“Hellion,” she says. “I was a total hellion.”
I shoot her a look. “I have a hard time believing that. You don’t seem like you could have been a hellion at all.”
She stares sharp knives at me. “How can you say that? I’m complete hellion material.”
“Okay, prove it. What did you do that was so hellion-esque?”
She holds up a finger as if to make a point. “I threatened to run away once. I packed a lunch. I told my mom that I was leaving and was going to live down by the river.”
“And did you go?”
“For about an hour. I had a picnic. It was quite good.”
I laugh as we meander down a path. “You are so not a hellion.”
She lifts her chin and gives me a defiant look. “But I wanted to be one.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “Admit it. Deep down, you were a good girl.”
She offers me a smile. “I was mostly good. Does that surprise you?”
“You’re a mostly good girl now, so the answer is no.”
“What about you? Were you a good boy?”
I square my shoulders, acting all proud. “I was a choirboy.”
“You were never a choirboy.”
I raise my right hand. “I was. I swear. Mum and Dad were regular churchgoers when they were together. I sang in front of the congregation as soon as I could walk.”
Her lips curve in a grin. “That’s actually adorable. And I bet that’s where some of your confidence in speaking in front of crowds stems from.”
“You may be right,” I say as the path spills out to Fifth Avenue. I look at my watch. “Speaking of speaking, I need to practice a best-man speech for a wedding I’m working this weekend.”
“Come by the bar once the bride and groom are hitched.”
Loving the free and easy way she invites me, I give an equally easy answer. “I’ll be there.”
And I’m looking forward to it already.
* * *
When the I dos are through, I head straight for Gin Joint. It’s almost automatic these days, giving in to the draw of Truly’s place, knowing I’ll see friends there like Malone, Nick and Harper, Spencer and Charlotte. But most of all, her.
On the train, I fire off a text to Truly, asking what’s on tap. She answers straightaway.
Truly: Gin. And more gin.
Jason: Obviously. Beyond that.
Truly: A chalkboard full of delicious specialty cocktails.
Jason: Hmm. Will I like any?
Truly: Sorry, I had a hard time hearing you through your doubt. What did you say?
Jason: I said I bet everything is fantastic.
Truly: That’s what I thought. Because playing hard to get with my drinks will get you nowhere.
Jason: Exactly where I don’t want to be.
By the time I arrive, the crew is all gone, so I head to the bar and say hi to the woman of the hour. She offers me a smile and something about it just hooks into my heart.
Who am I kidding?
It hooks into my heart and other parts too. This friendship thing is great and horrible at the same time. I want her and I can’t have her, and that’s for the best, but it sucks.
I settle in, focusing on chitchat rather than unmet desires. “So, tell me. What sort of advice did you give out as the world’s greatest bartender tonight?”
“Well, someone came in wanting to know how to properly grow a mustache.”
I slam a palm on the counter. “My column does indeed come in handy.”
“Yes, I did as you suggested and told him about the Miracle-Gro.”
“Perfect.”
“That’s my job as a bartender. To know the answers to literally everything.”
“Then what’s the answer to—” I’m about to say how friends can become lovers, but I can’t go there. I can’t let on—for every reason. She’s become a vital part of my world. She’s part of the friendship gang. And I need everything in my life to work perfectly right now. I have bills to pay, people to support. I can’t simply pursue whatever falls my way.
So I glance around the bar then ask, “What’s the answer to . . . the best spot in the whole world to take a crazy, wild trip?”
“Well, obviously you want to go to Antarctica,” she says immediately.
I wiggle a brow as if considering this odd suggestion. “I do?”
“Of course. Don’t you want to freeze all the time?”
I shudder. “Nope. Can’t say that I want that whatsoever. But I do love snow.”
She leans closer, whispering like she has a secret, “Then you ought to consider going snowboarding.”
“Snowboarding,” I say, stroking my chin as I noodle on this. “That’s not a bad idea.”
That seems to spark an idea for her, judging by her tone. “Maybe we should go sometime.”
“I look forward to that sometime,” I say, my voice a little wistful and a little full of mischief too.
Maybe we aren’t talking about snowboarding at all.
20
Truly
Six months later, the jingle bells are jingling, and I have a blast seeing my mother and spending Christmas with her, her dogs, and my brother.
We sing Christmas carols and make up random lyrics to them on the fly, open silly little gifts, then spend the day doing volunteer work as we’ve done for the last several years.
The next day, I return to the city and pop into Gin Joint because even during the holidays, people still like a stiff cocktail. Perhaps more so.
Though I’m busy, my world feels both full and a little empty too, because a certain someone is gone.
Jason’s back in London, visiting his mom and sister, and I feel the weight of his absence in a way I didn’t expect.
I don’t see him every day. I don’t even see him every week. But there’s the idea that I could see him. There’s the possibility. And as I head to work on the last day of December, I’m keenly aware that I’ve become accustomed to his face, to the very regular presence of him. He’ll stop by after a wedding, grab a beer or whiskey, or just chat. He’s here often, and that’s not because he’s a lush. It’s because this is where the gang hangs out after a softball game in the summer or during one of Malone’s shows in the winter.
I won’t see him tonight when I host a huge 1920s-style bash. I arrive early and work my little butt off, prepping for the party.
Fifteen minutes before we’re about to open, my phone pings with a message.
Jason: And a very Happy New Year to you from London!
He adds a kiss emoji.
Truly: Emojis are so not your style.
Jason: My New Year’s resolution is to resign myself to the use of emojis.
Truly: I feel like you’ve done a column on how men shouldn’t use emojis.
Jason: Ah, my heart flutters every time you tell me you read my columns. Indeed, I do refrain from emojis. But sometimes, one must give in.
I laugh when he sends another text with the eggplant emoji.
Truly: You pervert. Also, it’s not midnight yet.
Jason: Well, it’s midnight here, and I’ve had a few glasses of the good stuff.
Truly: What’s that? Whiskey?
Jason: My friends from uni plied me with champagne. I’m all pissed on bubbly. Shh. Don’t tell a soul.
Truly: Yo
u’re a lightweight when it comes to champagne. Your secret is safe with me.
Jason: Total champagne lightweight. Yes, I’m a little pissed.
Truly: I never tire of your British charm. Even when you use terms that sound like they should mean something else.
Jason: Oh, I have loads of charm. Also, that emoji was supposed to mean something.
Truly: The eggplant one? Yeah, I know what that means.
Jason: The lips one.
Truly: It means you have lips?
Jason: It means if you were here, I would kiss you because it’s New Year’s.
I pause in rearranging bottles behind the bar as I reread his note. Is he for real? Would he really kiss me?
A ribbon of heat unfurls in me as I picture how his lips would coast over mine.
Truly: Is that so, Mr. Pissed on New Year’s?
Jason: I absolutely would. Quite a proper New Year’s kiss.
Truly: And what’s a proper New Year’s kiss?
Jason: Tongue. Lots and lots of tongue.
Truly: One would hope there would be tongue.
Jason: Actually, I’d brush my lips across yours and kiss you slow at first, then I’d explore your mouth, then I’d kiss you incredibly hard.
Truly: You are drunk.
Jason: I’m tipsy. But that really doesn’t change my desire to kiss you.
My stomach flips. Tingles spread all over me. This is a whole new level of flirting. I want to tell him that the feeling is mutual. I want to let him know I think about kissing him on many nights, and many mornings too. Hell, I’m thinking about it now, and it’s doing all sorts of crazy things to my insides. But I also know, for a million reasons and for one really important one, I can’t go there. So I write back with a rather simple “Happy New Year,” and I put my phone away.
* * *
When he strolls into Gin Joint two days later, I do a double-take. I point at his face. “You have a beard.”
He checks over his shoulder as if there’s someone behind him, then he pats his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “What? I do?”
I laugh at his antics. “Yes. Your face is covered in the stuff. Just thought you should know.”
“Well, it’s a good thing somebody is telling me the truth. I wondered why everyone was staring at me.” He scrubs a hand across his facial hair. “What do you think?”
I think he looks crazy hot. Manly and sexy. Good enough to kiss. And I can’t entirely hold back. As I wipe down the counter, I give a little shrug. “You’re hot, furry, and unfunny.”
He arches a brow, studying me. “Is that so? You think I’m hot?”
I lean forward, dropping my voice. “I thought that had already been established.”
“It bears reestablishing occasionally. Or, even better, frequently. Turns out I rather enjoy it.” He offers me his chin. “Want to touch?”
Those flutters? They skate down my arms, sizzling and hot. Maybe because there’s a bar separating us, maybe because I’m confident this won’t go anywhere beyond this simple little contact, I reach across and stroke his beard. It feels good, it feels right . . . It feels like touching him is something I’m supposed to do, and that terrifies me more than I expect.
I pull my hand away and busy myself sorting glasses behind the counter. “Why did you grow it?”
“I’m doing a column on beard grooming. I need to test the products.”
“Will you keep it?”
“The products?”
I shoot him a you can’t be serious look. “The beard, silly.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You want to test it one more time and see what you think I should do?”
It’s like we’re talking about something else, talking around what’s happening between us. “You know, just for the column and all,” he adds.
“Just for the column,” I lie as I stroke it again, touching him for no one but myself.
He watches me the whole time.
Then he stops, grabs my hand, and holds my wrist. “I saw my texts from New Year’s. I’m so sorry.”
I’m taken aback. I wasn’t expecting an apology. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to mention it at all. “Why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t realize what I was doing.”
“You didn’t mean it?” I ask, then I wish I could take it back because I sound like a needy girl who requires reassurance.
He meets my gaze, his eyes blazing. “Oh, I meant it. I meant it so fucking much.”
All the air rushes from my lungs. It seems impossible to breathe when he’s just put that out there. “You did?”
“I just didn’t mean to say it all. To make you feel uncomfortable.”
I shake my head. “They didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.”
He studies me, peering closely at my face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive, Jason.”
He heaves a sigh. “Even so, I won’t do it again. I’ll stick to the plan.”
“Is there one? A plan?”
His eyes twinkle a little bit. “The plan we’ve always had. The plan where we don’t act on the instant attraction.”
21
Jason
A week later, when we finish jujitsu class and step outside the studio, the evening has painted the sky with an orange glow. Snow has started to fall, white flakes floating down from the clouds.
Truly sighs happily. “I love snow.”
“Why is that?”
“It always feels peaceful, but also possible. Do you know what I mean?”
“Like anything can happen when it snows.”
She meets my gaze, her eyes lighting up. “Yes. That’s exactly it. It feels like all sorts of incredible things can happen because of snow. Isn’t that strange?”
I shake my head as we walk through the neighborhood. “No, I don’t think it’s strange. Snow is sort of inherently romantic. It makes it seem as if the city is slowing down. As if it’s draping a blanket over Manhattan and secrets are being told under it.”
“I want to know Manhattan’s secrets,” she says wistfully.
And I want to have secrets with her. I want to take her back to my place while it’s snowing and have all sorts of secrets that the weather will keep for us.
“You know what I also like about snow?” she asks.
“Tell me.”
“Snowboarding. Weren’t we going to go? Do you want to get out of the city this weekend?”
“Do I ever.”
“We should invite Malone,” she suggests.
But when she reaches out to him in our group chat, he says he can’t go because he’s busy.
I’m more relieved than I thought possible. I don’t want to go snowboarding with Malone and Truly. I want to go snowboarding with her.
So we make a plan to get away.
As we drive toward the mountains in a rental car that weekend, we blast Rolling Stones and sing “Wild Horses” and then croon “Come Together” by the Beatles. We can’t resist belting out Eric Clapton’s “Layla” either.
“Nothing is better than singing classic rock with you. Also, you get major points for having top-notch taste in music,” I say as we near the ski resort.
She blows on her fingernails then rubs them against her chest. “I do have most excellent taste.”
“If you had said you liked Ed Sheeran or Coldplay, I’d have had second thoughts about our friendship.”
Her eyes go wide and playful. “News flash. I do like Ed Sheeran.”
I cringe as if she’s said the worst thing in the world, because she kind of did. “I’m pretending you didn’t just say that.”
She shrugs. “I love Ed.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Nope. You don’t. You are a woman of the finest taste.”
She shoots me a coy look. “I do have excellent taste.”
And right now, I wish she’d act on that taste when it comes to the guy she’s snowboarding with.
Except that can’t happen.
* * *
/> When we hit the slopes, I swear we’re a million miles away.
We spend the day zipping up the chair lift and then zooming down the hills, hopped up on adrenaline and by the possibility that snow brings.
After the final run, there’s no way we can drive back to New York City.
As we head into the lodge, she says, “I guess we should stay the night.”
“We should.”
We reserve two rooms, and once we meet for dinner, it feels like everything’s about to change.
Interlude
Spencer
Things are about to change? I wonder what he could possibly mean by that.
That question will wait though. Because I’ve been dying to know about Savannah and Gavin’s sleepover.
Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s the kind that involves a sleeping bag. In fact, I wonder if they’ll sleep at all.
Instant Attraction Page 8