by R.S. Grey
A bike bell rang behind me and I stepped aside, out of the way, just as a pedicab flew by me on the edge of the street. The neon lights on his wheels blinked bright in the night, illuminating the girl sitting in the carriage behind his bike. She had long brunette hair that blew in the wind as the driver peddled them farther and farther away. She reminded me of Josephine and I instantly wished that I was with her, that I could talk to her about my mom and she could tell me I was doing the right thing.
I continued walking the path to my hotel, staying right along the edge of the street, with my hands shoved into the pockets of my tuxedo. I was only a few blocks away. I could be tucked in my bed, nursing a glass of scotch in five minutes. Instead, I veered to the right and headed in the direction of Greenwich Village, toward Josephine. I didn’t know her exact address, but that seemed trivial in the moment. I just wanted to be near her even if that meant aimlessly wandering around her neighborhood.
Chasing women, stalking their apartments was new territory for me. I’d never been in a situation like it before. Everything prior to Josephine had been black and white. Either I was in a relationship with a woman or it was just a short-term, one night thing. The parameters were laid out early on and the expectations were always made perfectly clear by both parties. This murky swamp I was wading through with Josephine was asking for trouble.
But Josephine was different.
She was my friend.
She was my very hot friend.
She was my very hot, very unattainable friend.
I kept walking through the streets of New York with no real goal in mind and no set destination. By the time I’d arrived outside of an old pizza shop in the heart of Greenwich Village, I still hadn’t decided whether or not I was actually going to work up the nerve to call Josephine. I stopped on the curb in front of the pizza place and clutched my cell phone in my hand just as a young couple stumbled out. They had their arms wrapped around one another and just at the end of the curb, the girl stood on her toes to plant a kiss on the guy’s cheek. Her date wrapped his arms around her back and dipped her low. I watched them like a fucking creep; they were so happy and in love.
Without another thought, I pulled out my phone and dialed Josephine’s number.
It rang three excruciating times, and then I heard her sweet voice on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Lefray, are you calling me from the bathroom at the fundraiser?” she asked, amusement in her tone.
I smiled as the tightness in my chest loosened. She had me wound right around her finger.
“I bailed,” I answered simply, stepping toward the wall of the pizzeria so I’d be out of the way of the other pedestrians.
“With your date?” she asked.
I bristled at the thought. “No. Just me.”
“Well Han Solo, you officially win the award for shortest date ever to occur.”
I smiled. “It was an hour at least. Maybe two.”
“You give a new meaning to the word quickie,” she joked.
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m sure she’s having more fun without me.”
She hummed and I stared out at the street, watching cab after cab pass by in a yellow blur.
“So why are you calling?” she asked.
I took a breath and stared up at the red and white striped awning above me. Time to bite the bullet.
“I’m standing outside Ray’s Pizzeria.”
“Where?”
“Ray’s Pizzeria.”
“Uhh, that’s only a block over from me. Why are you there?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I lied.
“Mhm. Try again.”
I tapped my knuckles against the brick, trying to think of another excuse.
“I really like their pizza. Ray is my godfather.”
She laughed.
“Sure. Sure. Why wouldn’t you have an Italian godfather that happens to live in Greenwich Village?”
I faked a gasp. “I know, small world, huh? Some might call it destiny.”
She laughed and I reveled in the sound of it. Light, easy, carefree. I wanted to hoard the ability to make her laugh for only myself. I was a greedy asshole when it came to Jo.
Silence hung on the phone between us as I waited for her to invite me to her place and she waited for me to push the arbitrary line she’d set up. I knew she didn’t want to date her boss. I knew I should have left her alone.
And yet, I didn’t.
“You’re relentless,” she said after a few moments. “I should have ordered that shock collar.”
I didn’t argue.
“Buy me a slice of pizza and meet me outside my apartment on Grove Street. I’ll let you up if you come bearing pepperonis.”
I turned to step into the shop, praying they didn’t take forever.
“What else do you want?” I asked.
“Whatever looks good. Now hang up so that I can clean up before you get here. I have, like, unmentionables in my living room and stuff. I know I come off as really put together at work, but I’m kind of a slob.”
Jo wasn’t kidding. She lived a block over from the pizza shop and when I approached her building with pizza in hand, I saw her perched right outside. She was on the last step of the stoop, wearing red and white polka dot pajama pants and a University of Texas sweatshirt. Her hair was a mess of curls piled high on her head and she was wearing black-framed glasses.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked as I approached.
“I feel so overdressed in a tux. You should have told me the theme for the night was ‘eccentric cat lady’.” I smiled and handed her the box of warm pizza.
She glanced down at her chest and then back up at me. “Are you kidding? This is my fancy sweatshirt. I only wear it when I’m around royalty and stuff.”
I laughed, taken aback by how refreshing she was. I’d already known that about her, but coming straight to her apartment after leaving the fundraiser gave it a stark clarity. The contrast between a woman like Priscilla and Jo was like night and day.
“Stop staring at me and let’s go inside,” she said with a weird smile.
Had I been staring?
“So this is home?” I asked, glancing behind her.
She lived in a stout, red brick building with iron bars across the first floor windows. It was one of the most worn down buildings on the street, but I knew the rent probably didn’t reflect that. Nothing in this area of the city was cheap. She pushed open the front door to reveal a dark foyer leading to a narrow staircase in the very center.
“Yup. It’s my home for now,” she answered with a shrug.
An older short man was checking his mail on the side of the foyer. A brown yamaka rested on the crown of his head and he moved at a glacial pace as he extracted letters from his small cubbyhole.
“Hey Isaac,” Josephine called as we made for the base of the stairs.
“Oh! Hello Josephine!” he exclaimed, turning to face us. “Who is this oysgeputst mentsch with the pitse?” he whispered noisily in her ear.
“Just a friend, Isaac. Goodnight!”
“Friend of yours?” I asked as we hit the second floor landing and started up the next round of stairs.
Jo turned over her shoulder and smiled. “He’s a rabbi and sometimes I help feed his goldfish if he’s running late. Did you know they have Kosher fish flakes?”
After three more flights of stairs, I peeled off my tuxedo jacket and followed Josephine to the end of the hallway. She stuck her key into the lock, twisted it around, and then turned back to stare at me.
I could just make out her green eyes through the glare on her glasses. She suddenly seemed unsure of herself.
“Once I let you in here, you’re not going to look at me the same anymore.”
I frowned. “What? Why?”
She smiled. “It’s just that my ratmates are really sensitive and I don’t want you to insult their home.”
I held my hand up in mock seriousness. “Why d
o you think I ordered extra cheese?”
She laughed and pushed the door open so I could catch my first glimpse inside. It was by anyone’s standards a modest studio apartment. In all, it couldn’t have been more than 450 square feet, including the tiny patio off the main living room.
“Okay, good, because the rats and I have an understanding. They live rent free as long as we watch Ratatouille every single night. They love the chase scene.”
“Jo, seriously it’s not that bad.”
It was bad. Worse than how I’d lived in college, but she’d done her best to add her charm to the place. One of the walls of the living room was covered with a bright tapestry. She’d shoved houseplants along the windows and multicolored striped rugs covered most of the old wood floors.
“I like it. You have a knack for making the best out of any situation,” I said, turning in a circle to get a better look.
“Well at least let me take you on a tour,” she said, reaching for my hand. I tried to act casual about the fact that our fingers were twined together, but I was sure she could read the shock on my face.
“Here is the kitchen,” she said, taking a step to the left.
I took a step as well, pivoting my body in the direction of the small kitchen area.
“And then here’s the bathroom, bedroom, living room, and foyer,” she listed off, taking a step to the right and gesturing to the rest of the small room.
I laughed.
“Damn, after all that walking, I think we need some pizza,” I said.
“Definitely,” she confirmed with a nod.
I pulled her toward the couch. We fell back into the cushions, aligned hip to hip with the box balanced across both of our thighs.
I opened the box so she could reach in for the first slice. The pepperonis were about the size of my head and I could tell from the smell that they used garlic and basil in the sauce. I could have eaten the entire box myself. We each took a piece and folded them in half to keep the cheese from spilling off the edges.
“I like your place,” I said.
She stared around at her apartment, chewing her bite. I studied her profile as she processed my compliment.
“Yeah. It’s really not so bad. My neighbors are really nice.”
I nodded, happy that she had nice people in her building.
“And bonus: technically I get to eat every meal in bed,” she joked, patting the black futon beneath us.
I paused, mid chew, and processed her joke.
“You sleep here?” I asked, staring down at the black fabric with a pepperoni slice lodged in my throat.
“Yeah, it pulls out into a twin-sized mattress thing.”
Before I could help myself, my brain took a very G-rated comment and twisted it into every R-rated fantasy. This is where she sleeps. This is where she has sex.
“Which way do you sleep?” I asked.
“Why?”
“I pride my fantasies on their accur—”
I barely got the words out before I felt a greasy pepperoni slice hit the side of my face.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Josephine
The second I threw the pepperoni slice at Julian, I regretted it, and not because it got pizza sauce on his cheek. No, it was because I really like pepperoni and the pizza place had been stingy bitches about putting it on our pizza. (Four pieces a slice? Might as well order Chinese.)
“Wait, give that back,” I said, reaching for the pepperoni.
He jerked out of reach. “Finders keepers.”
I watched him pop it into his mouth and chew like a smug jerk. You’d think the pizza sauce on his cheek would have made him look silly, but he looked as sexy as ever, just with a tad more garlic to bring out his tan. His dark eyes were still focused on me, watching me watch him, and before I could think of the hundreds of reasons not to, I leaned forward and licked the sauce right off his cheek.
I thought I was being cute and clever, licking his cheek like it was nothing.
It wasn’t.
The tension in the room shifted in an instant. His breath hitched and I realized that I’d pushed him too far. Before I could lean back, he turned his head and his lips met mine in a crash of pizza sauce and lips and garlic and sweet, delicious lust.
He reached for my arm, grasping right below my elbow so I couldn’t lean away. At first I was too stunned to do anything. My heart hammered against my chest and my hand shook, trying to keep hold of my pizza slice. Finally, my brain caught up.
Julian is kissing you.
KISS HIM BACK, YOU FOOL.
And then like a magician snapping his fingers, my hesitation disappeared. The pizza box, along with our half-eaten slices, was shoved to the floor like yesterday’s news. My eyes fluttered closed and I slipped my hands up over his shoulders, gripping either side of his neck for dear life. He slipped his tongue into my mouth and I twisted my body so that I could face him even more.
He was so in control of the kiss, so much better than me that I felt like I could hardly keep up. I knew I wanted to impress him. I wanted to seduce him with my kiss, but he was too busy seducing me with his.
His fingers skirted the edge of my sweatshirt until he found the patch of bare skin just above my pajama pants. I shivered when his hand pressed up against the base of my spine, tugging me closer until we were chest to chest, heart to heart. He lifted my sweatshirt up, exposing my bare stomach.
I had a moment of hesitation before I lifted my hands up over my head and let him tug my sweatshirt off.
I wasn’t wearing anything underneath besides a cream colored bra. There was no lace, no filigree. It was a tad too small, which meant Julian got one hell of show. I couldn’t even bear to look down. I knew how unruly my boobs were at times. They were very good at hypnotizing men even when properly contained.
At least Julian seemed to like them.
His finger dragged along the line of my bra, tracing each cup as excruciatingly slowly as possible. I shivered at the sensation and gripped his neck, giving him unspoken approval. Of what? I didn’t care. He could have it all. I just wanted him to keep going. I wanted him to unclasp my bra and get on with it.
He leaned back, giving me a second to catch my breath, and I let one hand fall to his thigh, skimming over the silky fabric of his tuxedo pants. It was soft, so much so that it hardly felt like there was a barrier between his tensed thigh and my hand. The higher I went, the more obvious his desire became.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, pulling a half-inch away from him and meeting his eye.
He looked like he’d just gone on a long distance run. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils were dilated, and his hair was sticking up in every direction thanks to my wandering hands.
“What?” he asked, out of breath.
“You’re hard,” I said with wide eyes and a dumbstruck expression.
The edge of his mouth hitched up. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”
I shook my head. “No. You’re like, really hard, and…” I couldn’t quite pull the next few words out of my mouth, so instead I presented him with a visual. I held my hands up about a foot away from each other and stared up at him with an accusatory glare.
Julian was definitely packing more than six-pack abs. I’d been too caught up in the moment to notice that fact on Dean’s yacht, but now? Now I couldn’t stop noticing.
He rolled his eyes and pushed my hands aside; I swore there was a blush across his cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier.
“Do you always carry a t-ball bat in your pants?” I asked, too far gone to contain my laughter.
“Jesus, Jo. Can we not talk about youth sports while I’m aroused?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
I reached out to touch the bulge in his pants again.
Yup.
It needs its own time zone.
“Jo?” he asked with a gentle tone.
“Yeah?” I asked.
His hand fell over mine on top of his pants, then he grippe
d my fingers and pulled them off.
“You can’t just hold it like that.”
Oh. Oh! Right.
Oh my god. I’d just been touching my boss’ penis, like it was no big deal. Oh god. What the hell am I doing? My vision widened beyond Julian, to the expanse of my tiny apartment, to the stack of hidden bills sitting beneath the magazine on my kitchen counter.
Just like that, the game was over. My responsibilities flooded in like I was a junkie coming off a high. All the signs were there too: I felt regretful, guilty, angry with myself, and—worst of all—I wanted more.
“Dammit!” I jumped off the couch and shoved my hands through my hair. “We just made out, Julian, and—” I paused when I felt air brush over my chest. “You saw me in my bra!”
I glared at him accusingly and he had the gall to flash me his innocent hazel eyes.
“I hadn’t realized,” he said, making it a point to keep his gaze above my neck. Even still, his smirk gave him away.
I started pacing back and forth across my apartment floor, which was all of ten feet wide. Back and forth, back and forth as my brain tried to work out a plan.
First, I needed a joke to break the tension between us. Why’d the chicken cross the hard body of Julian Lefray?
To get laid.
Which came first?
The chicken or me?
Shit. I was in trouble if I couldn’t think of a non-Julian related sex joke. I blamed him. Julian was not supposed to be at my apartment. What gave him the right to show up in Greenwich Village, one block over from my apartment, when he was supposed to be on a date with another woman?
He couldn’t expect me to turn him down when he literally showed up at my apartment wearing a tailored tuxedo and holding a box of hot pizza. I mean, that’s not playing by the rules.