The Hipster Chronicles

by Faith Andrews

  After retrieving our drinks and two Cinnamon Morning Buns, I waltzed back to Jane who was already firing up her Mac. “Almost done with it?” I asked, placing her breakfast in front of her.

  “Thanks. And no. I’m struggling a little, but it happens sometimes. I’ll find my groove again.” She closed the laptop, pushed her work in progress aside, and took a nibble of her cinnamon bun. I also caught her taking another glance at Ezra, but it was so fleeting I decided not to probe.

  “So, Just Strummin’ It,” Jane started. “Deets, please.”

  I bit my bottom lip and scooted to the edge of the bench so only Jane could hear my whisper-squeal. “I know you’re more the bookstore type, but have you ever been there?”

  “Can’t say I have. I do not belong anywhere near a musical instrument,” she laughed.

  “That may be true, but if there are more teachers like Milo hanging around there, you might want to reconsider that.” I waggled my brows.

  “Oh, Milo. Love that name.” She jotted it down on the notepad that sat next to her Mac.

  I shook my head.

  “What? You know I’m always on the lookout for cool names for my characters.”

  “I know, I know. Writer life,” I announced, making the hashtag symbol with my fingers.

  “Anyway. Continue.”

  I swallowed a gulp of coffee and didn’t go back to it until I was done telling Jane every last detail. When I was finished, her jaw hung slack and her cheeks were bright crimson. Even still, she managed to brush her embarrassment off long enough to say, “Why didn’t you tell me to record that? This is perfect material for my next project.”

  “Jane! Focus for a second! You can totally write a smutty tell-all once I’m done living it, but can you take off the writer’s cap and give me some single-girl to single-girl advice? Milo’s the first guy I’ve been with since the divorce. This is kind of a big deal.” I didn’t mean to get all me, me, me on her, but now that I’d relived the whole experience in my head, I was kind of freaking out.

  Jane scanned the place to make sure no one was looking. I used to think I was shy, but Jane was a whole different brand of introverted. It took over a year for her to speak a word to me after we’d run in to each other at the same bookstore every week. And even then, I was the one who initiated the conversation. She was younger than me by five years so I attributed a lot of her reserve to her age, but now that we were friends I looked forward to her letting loose a bit. Would it kill her to chat sex, boys, and one-night stands with me?

  By the looks of her, it might.

  “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were still flushed. “I’m just a little . . . Did you say three times?” Her voice was a soft, curious whisper.

  There’s my girl. I raised my right hand, lifted three fingers, and nodded my head.

  “Three times and no actual . . . sex?” She spoke the word as if her lips would fall off as she said it.

  I giggled at her naiveté. “Yup.” I popped the P, but then slumped into my chair, uncertainty getting the best of me. Maybe I should’ve taken a page from Jane’s modesty book. “Do you think I’m a slut? I mean, I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’ve only ever been with Charlie and one other guy, but I’m ready to . . . explore. I’m doing this stupid bucket list thing and Milo was just so . . . Oh, my God was he sexy . . . and he knew exactly what I needed and how and when and . . . I’m a raging whore, aren’t I?”

  It was Jane’s turn to snicker, her cheeks no longer tinted. “Emmy, calm down. You’re not a . . . whore.” The pink was back, her tone once again hushed.

  I had to admit that meant a lot coming from her. I valued her virtuous opinion and trusted her guidance. Although we hadn’t known each other long, she was there with ice cream and chocolate after I found Charlie cheating, and it was Jane who took me out for drinks to celebrate the finality of my divorce. We were a mismatched pair—an Arizona girl trying to fit in and a Bohemian Brooklyn artist chick on the rise—but our friendship was genuine.

  “How did the two of you leave off? Do you think you’ll see him again?” she asked.

  “Well, duh. He’s my guitar teacher. I’ll see him next Thursday for sure.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She scratched her head as she sipped her latte. “Do you think things’ll be awkward or are you okay with the smash-n-dash?”

  I spit out a mouthful of my coffee. “Jane!”

  “Shhh!” She wilted into her seat. Ezra and some new guy behind the counter must’ve heard my outburst because all barista eyes were on us. We both shot them a mind-your-own-business look and they quickly went back to doing their jobs.

  “Smash-n-dash?” I snickered quietly.

  “What? I use the Urban Thesaurus a lot. Would you rather I said flirt-and-squirt or maybe pump-and-dump?”

  I covered my mouth with my hand to muffle the roaring laughter that threatened to erupt. I guess what they said about writers was true—they could take on a whole different persona when it came to their work. Jane the Bookworm came off prudish and inexperienced, but Jane the Writer was obviously in the know.

  When I could look at my friend without breaking out in a fit of hysterics, I finally asked, “You’re a closet ho, aren’t you?”

  Jane fiddled with the top button of her flowery, collared sundress and cleared her throat. “Uh, no. Not even close. Now, back to you and your dilemma.”

  My ears were hot as my stomach sank to my toes. “So, you do think this is a dilemma?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  My eyes narrowed but I wasn’t about to argue. “Seriously, Jane. Urban Thesaurus and your puritanical ways aside—what should I do?”

  She stared back at me without expression. “What do you want to do?”

  It was a simple question. I didn’t have to think twice about my answer. “I want to see him again, and not just for my guitar lessons, but I don’t necessarily want anything serious.” There. That was easy.

  Jane nodded and took the last bite of her breakfast before saying, “There’s nothing wrong with that. What kind of vibe did you get from him?”

  I thought long and hard about how we left off. A sweet kiss, a lingering touch, a sly wink, and a sexy smile. “He told me he would see me next week at our lesson and not once did he make any of it feel like a . . . smash-n-dash.” It was growing on me. I’d have to scope out this Urban Thesaurus, too. Something told me the dating scene was very different now. I might have to do some homework.

  With that out of the way, Jane pulled her shiny brown hair into a low ponytail. It was a telltale sign—along with the tapping of her long, dainty fingers—that she was ready to start her writing day. “Emmy, it sounds like you answered your own question. I say you just go with it. Have fun marking those items off your bucket list, and let Milo lead the way as long as you want him to. This is your first summer as a single woman. Enjoy it! You have my blessing.”

  For whatever reason, Jane’s go-ahead was exactly what I needed to hear. I didn’t want to keep her any longer and my lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me. Besides, the more I harped on all of this, the more I’d second guess my decision to roll with it.

  With Jane’s reassurance and my first encounter with casual dating in the books, it was time to turn the tables on my wise friend before I let her go. “What about you, huh? You have your sights set on anyone this summer?” My eyes darted to Ezra for no other reason than to ruffle the feathers of my easily ruffled friend.

  “And on that note . . .” she sang, pulling her laptop in front of her and adjusting her glasses.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, but didn’t your mother ever tell you what’s good for the goose is good for the gander?”

  Her eyes avoided mine as her fingertips tapped the keyboard. “I don’t believe in proverbs, so your silly witticisms do not apply here. Now, scurry along. Dreams of Milo and random men with manbuns await.”

  It was Jane’s way of nicely telling me to buzz off. I respected her privacy, even if I w
ished she would give Williamsburg’s most eligible barista a chance to prove the Urban Thesaurus right. “Thank you for this,” I said as I stood and collected my purse.

  “Anytime. Same time, same place, next week?”

  “Sounds good to me!” I wished my friend a productive day and set off to wash away last night’s fun. Fun being the operative word.

  THE WEEK DRAGGED on uneventfully and Milo-less. It was the day of my next lesson and I was jittery as all hell about seeing him again. Being a girl, I had a thousand and one scenarios running through my head, and at least nine hundred ninety-nine of them were negative.

  I’d come to the simple conclusion that if Milo wanted anything other than our smash-n-dash he would have contacted me. No, I never actually gave him my number, but it was on file at the music store and it was 2017. Social media was more effective than Sherlock Holmes for stalking someone, and everyone and their mother was aware of that. Knowing that my Facebook profile was public and that our neighborhood was tight, I marked it off to being another notch in the hot teacher’s belt. It was what it was. No tears or tantrums necessary. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t thought much about it until today, and that was only because I was about to come face to face with the sexy beast himself.

  As I walked past Pumpernickel and neared Just Strummin’ It, I tried to curb my mental freak out. I’d been fine all week and now my nerves were getting the best of me. After my chat with Jane at Starbucks last week, I decided to put myself out there. On Saturday, I hopped a ride on the East River ferry to take part in Smorgasburg. The food festival was like nothing I’d ever seen before, attracting thousands of visitors on any given day. While chowing down on the best meatballs ever, I caught the attention of a fine young thing who later bought me a drink at a beer garden. Nothing came of it except some pleasant conversation and a boost to my confidence, but it was the push I needed to keep my heart light and my explorative mood in gear.

  Sunday had me craving more culture, so I bought a ticket to an indie release at the Nitehawk Cinema. The movie was quirky and funny and the bartender at the Lo-Res bar downstairs from the theater was more of the same. Much like my encounter with the guy at the meatball stand, there was nothing to tell, but it was nice to know I had options—other than Charlie and Milo. There were plenty of fish in the East River. I’d be just fine.

  But try as I might to convince myself that my possibilities were plentiful, my heart thundered with anticipation as I stepped into the store for my lesson.

  The girl with the dreads who manned the front desk last week greeted me with a smile. “Hi, there. What time’s your lesson, hun?”

  I stood tall and adjusted the strap of the guitar case that was sliding down my arm. “Six. With Milo.”

  At the mention of my instructor her apologetic eyes met mine. “Oh crap, I’m sorry. I must’ve forgotten to call a few of his students. He’s not in today, but there is someone covering for him if you’d like to go ahead with your lesson.”

  An unexpected surge of heat traveled up to my ears, burning them from canal to earlobe.

  I thought you had another lesson . . . I had someone cover for me.

  He’d used the same line on me just seven days ago when he followed me to Flask & Folly and lured me to his apartment to teach me a few things. I shouldn’t have been disappointed. Disappointment was not part of the casual dating thing. Milo and I were nothing to each other. It was a no-strings-attached hookup, nothing more, nothing less. I guess that was his MO. Massage the anxiety out of a deprived and eager student, ditch the next lesson for a smash-n-dash . . . lather, rinse, repeat.

  “Unreal,” I mumbled, but then gulped back the letdown. “That’ll be fine.”

  Dread girl went about typing something into the computer and my eyes scanned the small storefront, taking in the wall-to-wall instruments, speakers, and sheet music. When my attention returned to the collection of colorful guitar picks decorating the front desk, the girl interrupted my wandering thoughts about how I was already failing at my attempt to philander.

  “You know. This isn’t like him.”

  “Like who?”

  “Milo.” She smiled. “He takes his students very seriously.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he does,” I blurted, unable to contain my cynical laughter.

  Her dark eyes narrowed and her caramel colored lips glinted with amusement. “He’s in Long Island for the weekend.”

  “The Hamptons? Wow. I totally read him wrong. I don’t see Milo as the yacht club type.”

  “No,” she laughed. “You definitely won’t find Milo in a polo shirt and white shorts anytime soon. His parents live in Port Jefferson. He and his sister took a few days off to go spend time with his dad. He was in a car accident.”

  “Oh, my God!” I suddenly felt terrible for casting judgment. “Is he okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Nothing serious. Just a little shaken up. But Milo and Marley are really good kids. They’d drop anything for family.”

  Shit! So, he was sweet. What else could I get out of her? “You seem to know a lot about him. You guys been working together long?”

  She flashed a genuine grin. “Name’s Zoe, by the way. And yes, boss hired me on the spot the day he opened shop. I love working for Milo; he’s a great guy.”

  I couldn’t help wondering how great a guy Zoe knew him to be, but she was so nice and informative I didn’t want to go down that road. I was more focused on the fact she called Milo her boss. “Milo owns this place?”

  “Uh huh. Part owners with Frankie, who is more of a silent partner so you won’t see much of him around here. He’s not a fan of the . . . creatures.”

  “Creatures?”

  “That’s what he calls the hipsters. Frankie’s old school; not much into conforming. But they keep him in business and Milo draws in a lot of new customers, so Frankie stays happy.”

  I could understand Frankie feeling left out and reluctant to adapt, even if I was a creature craver myself. Everything Zoe told me set my mind at ease but made me that much more eager for next week. I didn’t want her to know that—I already felt she had some kind of sixth sense and could read my feelings for Milo—so I nodded politely and said, “Works out for everyone, I guess.”

  “Yup. And I’m sure Milo will make it up to you somehow at your next lesson. You’ll be in good hands with Renee, though.”

  Thoughts of how well I would like him to make it up to me danced around my head but the tempo of my daydream was halted by Renee’s greeting. “Hey! You must be Emmy. Come on back. Let’s see how far you got with Milo.”

  I bit my lip to stifle my laughter and when my eyes caught Zoe’s she winked. “Have fun,” she sang.

  Either Milo had told her about us or she was just that good. I found myself hoping Zoe didn’t have a clairvoyant bone in her beautiful body.

  ANOTHER WEEKEND AT Smorgasburg triggered a massive case of heartburn, but my weekend flew by without much excitement. Part time work as a receptionist at a real estate office took little brain power, but with the neighborhood’s booming market, there was rarely a dull moment. When quitting time rolled around, I contemplated taking the L train over to a place called Happy Feet where the magical masseuses could rub out a long day of photo copying and fetching coffee for the brokers. But the boisterous vibe coming from Flask & Folly was far more enticing than a steamy twenty-minute subway ride, so I opted for happy hour instead of happy tootsies.

  This place never ceased to amaze me with its eclectic list of events and ever-changing music. Tonight, folksy bluegrass exploded through the sound system and a mob of young and vibrant . . . creatures belted out the words as if the song were a mantra. I, of course, had never heard the catchy song, but the group’s contagious comradery did not deter me from parking my tired ass on a barstool and ordering a beer.

  I people watched and tapped my feet to the music, only to be startled by two warm, calloused hands on my bare shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here.” His voice was deep and his whiskers tickled m
y cheek.

  I didn’t want him to register my reaction to his closeness, so I took another sip of the ice cold beer before swiveling around to face him. “Oh. Hey, Milo.” Smooth as silk. Cool as a cucumber. Tell my panties that.

  “I was hoping to run into you again before Thursday.” Long, wispy eyelashes fluttered as he blinked his mesmerizing blue eyes. I loved the array of colors that made up his flawless features. He was a beautiful canvas of varying depths—Caribbean-blue eyes, russet and auburn hair, golden sun-kissed skin, and swirls of vivid tattoo ink.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I managed to croak. I couldn’t take my eyes off him long enough to stop drooling.

  “I’m sorry about missing our last lesson.” His gaze coated my skin as he took in my gossamer dress and peep toe wedges.

  “That’s okay. How’s your dad?” I ignored the way my body tingled from the thought of him undressing me with those eyes.

  He seemed taken aback by my question. “He’s good, but how’d you . . . Zoe, huh?”

  “Yes, she’s great. Renee was great, too.”

  Milo’s left eyebrow vaulted into a sexy, inverted V, his fingers toying with his beard. “Hmm. Would you like me to hand you over to her? She’s looking for more—”

  “No! I mean . . . um . . .” Before I could embarrass myself further with my eagerness, Milo placed a hand on my cheek and I eased into his familiar touch.

  Part of me hated how effortless it was to submit to him, while the rest of me took comfort in it. Once Zoe told me about his devotion to his parents, most of my negative thoughts about being a notch in Milo’s belt vanished. That still didn’t make it easier to adhere to the informality of whatever was going on between the two of us. There was an undeniable pull, an intense attraction, and as long as I kept my emotions in check, I could do this and not feel guilty about it.