City Love

by Susane Colasanti

  “You didn’t know them before?”

  Jude shakes his head. “Answered an ad and hoped for the best.”

  “We got lucky.”

  He holds up his mug. “Cheers to our luck.” I clink my tiny espresso cup against his mug, locking into his gaze. The sparkle in his eyes tells me that he’s not just talking about our roommates.

  Jude is the one who’s impressive. He understands the beauty of going with the flow like a leaf in the wind. More than understands it—he’s living it. He refuses to compromise. He refuses to accept less than what he wants. The boy is my new role model.

  “So those supplemental sources of income you’re exploring . . . what are we talking about?”

  “Nothing sketchy. Just some side projects. One of them will hopefully take off soon. It’s kind of exhausting, though. I’m always on the hustle. Constantly networking. It’s weird how tiring not working can be.”

  “What’s the project you’re hoping will take off?”

  “That information is classified. But I might be able to tweak its top secret status and tell you everything next time.”

  “What makes you so sure there will be a next time?” I tease.

  “How could there not be?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Are you saying I might never see you again?” Jude scrunches up his face. “Incontheivable!”

  “Dude, I love The Princess Bride! I’ve seen it like three hundred times!”

  “‘Nonsense. You’re only saying that because no one ever has.’”

  “Westley to Buttercup when she says they’ll never survive.”

  “‘You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.’”

  “Um, yeah. You just went up like a thousand levels of magnificent.”

  “By being a movie quote geek?”

  “By quoting from one of my top five fave movies. How did you know?”

  “Like you said.” Jude smiles like summer sunshine. “We got lucky.”

  Some boys are so adorable I could watch them all day. Not because they’re doing anything particularly interesting. Maybe there’s something in the warm way they interact with people. Or in the confident but modest way they carry themselves. Or a bunch of little things like the shape of their lips, the tone of their voice, the contagious way they laugh that makes me want to get closer to them. With Jude, it’s all of those things and more.

  I cross my arms on the table, leaning in. I stare into Jude’s eyes as he sips his coffee. I don’t mean to stare. They’re just the most gorgeous shade of blue I’ve ever seen. I notice that he has a scar above his left eye.

  “How did you get that scar?” I ask.

  “Bike accident when I was nine. Normal kids fall off their bikes. I flew off mine.”

  Jude tells the hilarious story about how he flew off his bike. I tell the not-at-all-hilarious story about how I was almost clobbered by that bike messenger. Before I know it, we have to leave. I’m surprised how quickly time flew. Jude changes into his magician gear in the bathroom while I rummage in my bag for gloss. Out in front of Dean & DeLuca, we determine that we’re going in different directions.

  “Thanks for getting coffee with me,” Jude says.

  “Thanks for treating,” I say. I put my new neon yellow sunglasses on.

  “Well . . . I better go. Sunday is a busy day at the park.”

  “Yeah, I have tons of errands. After which I get to spend all afternoon at the library!”

  “Told you we were lucky.”

  A scraggly guy wheeling a shopping cart filled with empty cans trudges past us. He bangs into Jude with no apology.

  “Don’t say sorry or anything,” I retort.

  “No worries. Crazy guys on the subway are much worse. At least you can escape on the street.”

  I adjust my sunglasses, dreading the amount of reading I have to do today.

  “So . . . when can I see you again?” Jude asks.

  I feel bad that I have to say what I’m about to say. Jude looks so optimistic waiting for my answer. He won’t see it coming. Guilt swells up inside of me. I tamp it down. If I don’t protect myself, no one else will. Guilt will just have to understand.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jude’s face falls. “I thought you were kidding about there not being a next time.”

  I know Jude is disappointed in me. So am I. I hate myself for doing this to him. But our chemistry is undeniable. He helps me forget about the ex. He makes me laugh. Plus he’s someone I can look up to. Jude is the kind of boy I could fall for so hard I wouldn’t know what hit me. Jude is the kind of boyfriend material girls search for.

  Other girls. Not me.

  “See you at the park?” I offer.

  “I thought we were connecting.”

  “We were. This isn’t about you. This is all me.”

  Jude gives me a vague smile. “Okay, so . . . guess I’ll see you around,” he says.

  I walk away from him before I change my mind.

  EIGHTEEN

  ROSANNA

  THREE DAYS.

  That’s how long I was able to resist calling D. Three whole days.

  He called me the day after our date. I wasn’t home when he called. D said in his message that he was aware he shouldn’t be calling me so soon, but that he didn’t want to play games. He wanted to see me again.

  I didn’t call him back right away.

  Despite my best efforts to forget him, he’s been dominating my thoughts. Constantly. I can’t deny the intense attraction between us. Chemistry that strong is hard to ignore. But I should be ignoring it. I should be reminding myself that Donovan Clark is not the right guy for me. The guy I belong with isn’t all about money. He hasn’t had everything he’s ever wanted handed to him by his parents. The right guy for me will understand the value of hard work because he will have worked hard to build a life for himself. The thing is . . . D is the kind of guy who can be with anyone he wants. Smart, gorgeous, driven, successful guys are not easy to find. What if I’m turning away from a door that should be opened? What if he meets someone else and I still can’t stop thinking about him?

  I broke down and called him this morning.

  “Hey,” D said when he picked up.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m glad you called. I was starting to think I’d never hear from you.” A car horn beeped in the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “Walking home from the gym. Have you been out today?”

  “No.”

  “The heat wave has arrived. It’s hot as balls.”

  I giggled at the balls reference.

  “What are you doing tonight?” D asked.

  “Um . . . staying in air-conditioning?”

  “The friend I had plans with just canceled. Want to grab a drink?”

  So here we are at Press Lounge, this trendy rooftop bar in Midtown. The bouncer asks for our ID.

  “Here you go.” D shows the bouncer his ID. Then he slips him some cash. By the way D presses the folded bills neatly into the bouncer’s palm, I can tell he’s done this before. Money is clearly the main tool D uses to solve his problems.

  The heat wave apparently didn’t get the memo that it’s almost dark out. It’s still broiling. The refreshing breeze I was hoping to find up on the roof isn’t here. It probably stayed home in the air-conditioning.

  We’re seated on one of the love seats lining the perimeter of the roof. I overcome my nervousness enough to actually look around. Up until this moment it’s been all about keeping it together. Trying not to look too dorky. Attempting to blend in among the beautiful people. Brushing off the awkwardness of D having to bribe my way in. I’m so nervous I didn’t even notice the view. But now I do. And it takes my breath away.

  You can see the whole city from up here. Press Lounge has 360-degree views. No part of Manhattan is off limits. Every neighborhood, every block, every building is within reach. I could even see my buildi
ng if I looked hard enough. I take it all in. Hot summer night. Water towers illuminated with pink lights. Shimmering rooftop pool. All of New York sparkling below us. Being up here is such an amazing high I never want to leave.

  “Just so you know,” I say, “this rooftop is my new home.”

  “Nice choice.”

  “Thanks. I’m moving in tomorrow.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “Oh, you know. . . .” I glance around at the clusters of tables, chairs, love seats, and banquettes. “Under that lounge chair is fine. I don’t require much.”

  “A girl who’s not high-maintenance. Gotta love it.”

  “Throw me a pillow and I’m good.”

  D moves a bit closer to me on the love seat. “Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?”

  My face gets hot. Why does D even like me? He is so freaking gorgeous. A gorgeous man telling me I look beautiful is not something I can get used to. Not that I’m complaining. I just wish compliments like that didn’t make me feel like such an impostor. The only thing saving me from dissolving in a heap of insecurity is the new outfit I’m rocking courtesy of Darcy.

  Darcy wasn’t hearing it when I told her I couldn’t accept her way-too-generous offer to enhance my wardrobe. She went and bought me a bunch of clothes I said I liked during our window shopping outing in Soho. How she remembered everything is beyond me. Of course I said I couldn’t keep any of the beautiful clothes and accessories. But Darcy insisted I keep it all. She even went as far as cutting the tags off and destroying the receipts so returning anything would be impossible. She said I could think of the new pieces as an early Christmas/birthday present if it made me feel better. I have no idea how I’ll ever repay her. But right now, sitting next to D in his polished designer ensemble among dozens of couples dressed the same way, I could not be more thankful for Darcy’s generosity.

  Does D expect an answer to his question? Or when guys say things like that, is it more of a compliment disguised as a question? Because he hadn’t told me I looked beautiful before he asked, but I don’t want him to think I’m fishing for a compliment.

  I decide to go with honesty. “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Well, you do. That dress is perfect for you.”

  “Thanks.” What would he say if he knew my rich roommate bought it for me?

  D looks at the city stretched out behind us, absorbing the view. “I love it up here. Good place to unwind. If it wasn’t for you, this week would have been unbearable.”

  “Why?”

  “Work stress. I love my internship, but it comes with a certain amount of bullshit.”

  “But you love the whole Wall Street thing?”

  “I really do.” I must look skeptical, because D says, “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “No, I do. It’s just . . . have you ever thought about a job that’s more . . . emotionally satisfying? You might not make as much, but you could be making other people’s lives better.”

  “I will be helping people. It is possible to make decent money and be happy doing it. My dad gives back to the community and I intend to do the same. He donates five percent of his income to various charities annually. Which is a lot for a seven-figure salary plus bonus.” D gives me a sad smile. “Are you worried I won’t be contributing enough?”

  “As long as you’re happy and doing something meaningful with your life, it’s all good.”

  D gently puts his hand over mine. Until he touched me, I hadn’t realized that I was snapping my thumb against my middle finger. It’s this nervous tic I’ve been trying to stop since it suddenly started happening last year. Get control of yourself. Stop being a weirdo.

  “You have conviction, Rosanna Tranelli,” D says. “I admire you.”

  The air takes on a crispy-potato-skins smell. My mouth waters in retaliation against my nervous stomach.

  “Sorry if I sounded harsh,” I say. “But I think it’s important to make a difference in this world.”

  “You’re a better person than I am. I just want to make a decent living. And if I can help other people do the same, that’s enough for me.”

  Um . . . yeah. D and I really are in different worlds. I’m kind of wondering why I’m even here. But then he looks at me with his intense laser focus and I instantly melt. I never expected to feel this way about a boy. My crazy lust for him is so strong it makes the stupid things he says less irritating. Maybe I could try being like Darcy tonight—wild and free and living in the Now. I could see what happens if I let myself feel everything D makes me feel. Just one night to let the fire burn.

  D asks me all about camp. He asks if I found out what Nasty Girl’s deal is. I’m hoping that was just a weirdo encounter I’ll never have to experience again. As we talk over two rounds of drinks (some sort of seasonal beer for him, a virgin strawberry minty cocktail for me), I lose myself in the kind of chemistry I’ve been fantasizing about for so long. My body is reacting to him in ways I’ve only read about up until now. And all we’re doing is sitting next to each other.

  By the time D orders a third round, we’re pressed up against each other on the love seat. Partly because he’s been moving closer to me. Partly because I’ve been moving closer to him. There’s like this gravitational force pulling us together. D is so close to me now I can feel his heart beating.

  “I want to show you Tribeca,” D says. “You’re going to love it.”

  “Why do you love it?”

  “Tons of reasons. Tribeca is known for its sick loft spaces. That’s why I wanted to live there. The neighborhood has changed a lot over the years, but it still has a raw essence I appreciate. My place is a few blocks from the river. Did I tell you I run?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a morning person or a night person?”

  “Morning person.”

  “Me, too. I like running along the river early. It makes the whole day feel more productive if I’ve already worked out. What else . . . lots of my favorite restaurants are in Tribeca. I’m right near Whole Foods and Equinox. And the energy is electric. Basically, Tribeca is the quintessential New York neighborhood.”

  D’s love for New York resonates with me. His passion is infectious. “That’s how I feel about New York. This city is like a magical kingdom I can’t believe I finally get to inhabit. I’ve been dreaming of living here since I was little.”

  “What do you love most about it?”

  “The energy, like you said. It makes me feel alive.”

  D puts his hand on my arm. A jolt of electricity zips through me. “That’s exactly how I feel. Why would I want to live anywhere else? The best of everything is right here. How fortunate are we that we can experience it every single day? I’ve lived here my whole life and I keep falling in love with this city over and over again.”

  D doesn’t need to know that I’ve been constantly worrying about money. He doesn’t need to know that I’ll walk blocks out of my way just to save a dollar with coupons. Or that I’m planning to eat a bagel for dinner every day next week and buy a box of cereal on sale for dinners the week after. New York is a lot more expensive than I thought it would be. It’s like you can’t even leave your apartment without spending money. My situation is embarrassing and financial anxiety is not exactly sexy. So I keep the whole truth to myself.

  “I can totally relate,” I say. “I’ve only been here for a week, but I feel like I’m falling more in love with New York every day.”

  D looks at me so intensely I swear he can see into my soul.

  “There’s a lot to fall in love with,” he says.

  NINETEEN

  SADIE

  HEAT WAVES IN NEW YORK are not pretty. Sweaty people crammed up against you on the subway. Stenchy garbage bags on the street. Slamming into a wall of hot humidity the second you step outside. Everything slows down. I’ve been trying to use the lethargic pace as an opportunity to be present and look up more. But all I want to do is run to the nearest air-conditioned space.<
br />
  I wipe sweat off my upper lip. Austin is late. He told me to meet him here on the corner of 11th and Bank. He didn’t tell me what we’re doing. It’s a surprise. As much as I love surprises, if Austin doesn’t get here soon his surprise will be finding me dissolved in a puddle of sweat.

  One cool thing about this corner is that it was a set location for 13 Going on 30. This is the corner Jenna rounds on her way to Matty’s place when she’s looking for his building. I love the plot of that movie. Jenna and Matty grow up next door to each other. He loves her. She sees him as just a friend. Seventeen years later, Jenna realizes that they belong together. They have been soul mates all along.

  Two sweaty women in their twenties walk by, complaining about the heat. One of them says it’s 103 degrees. The other insists it’s 107. Any temperature over 80 is too extreme for me. I try not to panic that I’m going to be totally disgusting by the time Austin gets here. Even in this suffocating heat, Austin is the only thing I can think about. A few times I even catch myself making googly eyes at the streetlight. We haven’t seen each other for four days. Four long, excruciating days. It will require every shred of strength I can gather to resist pouncing on him the second he pulls up.

  What may or may not be Austin’s car pulls up in front of me. All big white SUV-type vehicles look the same. I have to remember to memorize his license plate number so I can identify his car that way.

  Austin leans over the front seat and opens the passenger door. “Sorry I’m late!” he says.

  I jump in and slam the door. The air-conditioning feels so good I almost kiss the dashboard.

  “Hot enough for you?” he asks.

  “It could be hotter. The egg I fried on the sidewalk took a whole ten seconds to cook.”

  “Sorry you had to wait out there in the heat, sweetie. I promise to make it up to you.”

  Austin just called me sweetie. I love it. Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t pounce, I throw my arms around him and kiss him. He kisses me back passionately.

  The immense anxiety I felt after our phone awkwardness disappeared yesterday when Austin called to ask me out to dinner tonight. He said he couldn’t wait to see me again. It was making him crazy that his weekend was so busy we couldn’t get together. I was worried for nothing.