SWNOVELS : Chapter 17
Meant to Be Podcast
Griffin and Ren
Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Griffin and Ren, thank you so much for joining me today.
Griffin: Sure. When Ren told me about the podcast, I thought our story was interesting enough to talk about.
Ren: Interesting enough is a good way to put it. Tell Kelsey about The Curse.
Griffin: *Sighs* I was in New Orleans with my brothers, and it was a drunken night when we stumbled upon a palm reader. Long story short, she did a terrible palm reading, we voiced our opinion, and then—my brothers and I will swear on this—she cursed us.
Kelsey: What was the curse?
Griffin: Broken love. It was intense, the wind swirled and everything.
Ren: We live in a small town called Port Snow, in Maine, and the entire town knew about this curse. The boys were untouchable. And to Griffin’s defense, he did lose his wife right after the trip, so he was scared to try to find love again.
Kelsey: So, how did you meet?
Griffin: Ren was looking for a fresh start. She got a teaching job in Port Snow. Came all the way from California.
Ren: I was driving to Port Snow in what felt like the backwoods, and I wasn’t prepared for incoming traffic.
Griffin: When she says incoming traffic, she means, incoming moose.
Kelsey: Moose?
Ren: Yup, a moose came out on the road, I swerved and rolled down a hill, and my car got stuck between two trees. Griffin is a volunteer firefighter and pulled me out of my vehicle. I was slightly insane that day and he helped me get to my rental, which happened to be a place his brother owned.
Griffin: Despite her screaming at me and the blood dripping down her head from a cut, I thought she was beautiful. She intrigued me, and it was the first time since my wife passed that I felt attraction. And then, soon after, I believed I could date again. Ren was my miracle.
Kelsey: Aww. I’m so glad to hear that. So, you started dating?
Ren: Not quite. It didn’t happen that fast, though, because, you know . . . the curse.
Griffin: *chuckles* Don’t bust my balls on a podcast about that.
Ren: Oh, Kelsey said we have an hour. Trust me when I say I will be talking about the curse for that entire time.
Griffin: Great.
I’D LIKE to say the penthouse is soundproof, that I can’t hear what JP is doing and he can’t hear what I’m doing, but I think after the whole walking in on him while he was pleasuring himself situation, we know that’s not the truth.
For a good portion of the last twenty minutes, I’ve heard JP throw up multiple times. I’d be concerned that he was sick, but given the bottle of Scotch he was holding last night, I know that’s not the case.
This means, he got completely wasted last night and he’s battling the effects of it this morning.
Why did he get drunk last night? Why was he talking about polar bears and pigeons? Well, probably because he was drunk.
He also said I was beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel all warm inside. Because it did.
Either way, it kept me up all night, and now, this morning, as I sit on the couch, rereading the same sentence in my book over and over again because I can’t concentrate, I’m waiting for him to come out of his room.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I see it’s a text from Lottie.
Needing the distraction from my thoughts, I pick it up.
Lottie: How was the date last night? Ellie said Derek had a good time. You haven’t said much. Not feeling him? Also . . . remind me to tell you what Ellie told me about JP.
That last part has my attention. I quickly reply.
Kelsey: Date was good. Derek is really sweet. Not sure if he’s feeling me. Didn’t kiss me again last night, but he did give me a hug. I don’t know. It’s kind of awkward. What did Ellie say about JP?
Lottie: He didn’t kiss you? Sheesh, talk about taking it slow. Oh, she said her friend is a bartender who was at the Mayor’s Ball. She served JP a Scotch and overheard a conversation between him and Regis Stallone.
The conversation JP wouldn’t tell me about. Immersed in my phone now, I text her back immediately.
Kelsey: What happened? What did JP say?
Lottie: I don’t have it word for word, but she said JP was incredibly hot when he spoke to Regis. Regis was staring out at the dance floor while JP stared at him. She mentioned his carved jawline and how tense it was as he spoke through clenched teeth. She heard him say that you’re a valuable part of the team, and if he fucks with you, then he’s done. That’s paraphrased. Basically, JP was putting him in his place.
I lean back on the couch, rereading Lottie’s text over and over until it sinks in.
He was defending me? I know Regis doesn’t like me, but from what Lottie’s saying, JP won’t settle for that.
Kelsey: Wow, I had no idea.
Lottie: Yeah, and then she heard rumblings later about how JP wasn’t taking any shit from Regis. It was the gossip of the party. One of the main reasons no one fucks with Cane Enterprises. So, I guess, consider us lucky. We somehow got on the good side of some of the most powerful men in the country.
Kelsey: I guess so.
The scuffling of approaching feet grabs my attention, and I look up just in time to spot JP appear in the living room, tugging on his wet hair, looking like hell, but clean hell at that.
I set down my phone and say, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
When he speaks, his voice comes out raspy. “Been better.” He winces, as if he has a headache, and asks, “Did you hear me?”
“I did. I’m assuming your trip to the bathroom was a result of the bottle of Scotch I saw you with last night?”
His shoulders droop as he walks farther into the living room. “Unfortunately.”
Knock. Knock. “Room service,” someone calls out from the other side of the door.
“That would be my garbage plate,” he says, walking over to the entryway. He opens it and lets the room service attendant wheel in a cart of food.
“Good morning, Mr. Cane. Everything you ordered is here. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” JP says as he signs the bill.
When the door is shut and we’re alone again, JP rolls the cart into the living room, nudges the coffee table out of the way, and then takes a seat next to me on the couch.
“I ordered you some things, in case you didn’t eat breakfast yet.” He takes a few tops off the plates and reveals a pile of croissants and a tray of beautifully cut-up fruit, and then he moves a tray of hot water, tea, honey, and jams toward me.
“You got this for me?” I ask in awe.
“You seemed like a tea-and-croissant kind of person. If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”
“No, this is . . . well, this is lovely, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes the top off his plate and I can’t help the queasy look on my face.
“Not to be rude, but, uh . . . what is that?”
“Hangover cure.” He picks up a fork and points at his plate. “Hash browns with refried beans, bacon and steak, eggs scrambled and over easy, drenched in a V8 sauce.”
*Gags*
“Oh . . . wow, that’s, uh, that’s something.”
He glances at me as he jams his fork into the pile. “Do you want me to eat this somewhere else?”
“What? No.”
“I can tell it disgusts you.”
“It doesn’t disgust me, it’s just . . . interesting. I’ve never seen something like it before. Two different kinds of eggs, very fascinating. And that V8, it’s potent.”
The smallest of smirks tugs at the corner of his lip. “I’ll eat it in the kitchen.”
He goes to stand, but I put my hand on his forearm to stop him. “No, please don’t leave. It’s fine, really, and I don’t want to have you sitting over there while I shove croissants in my mouth. I’d rather not eat alone.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Positive.”
“Okay.” He moves his fork around his meal and then takes a large mouthful. I just stare as he chews, wondering how on earth he can eat that after the marathon of puking he did in his bathroom.
“That doesn’t bother your stomach?”
“Helps it, actually. Something I learned in my college days.” He reaches for his glass of water and takes a sip. “Did you not have a hangover cure in college?”
“I didn’t drink much. Still don’t.”
“Ahh, it’s because you’re a good girl.” He winks and takes another mouthful of his food.
“Maybe I am, but at least I’m not puking out my intestines the next morning,” I reply.
He smirks. “Not my intestines, but I did tell Breaker I might have seen a boot come out of me.”
That makes me snort and cover my nose. “Oh God, I snorted. Ignore that.”
“Nah, just add it to your list of good girl things.”
“Do only good girls snort?”
“Yup.” He picks up the pepper from the table and dusts some across his plate. I take that moment to steep my tea and prepare a croissant with strawberry jam.
“Are you feeling better, at least?”
“I mean, as best as I can. Sort of embarrassed. Didn’t think you could hear me.”
“I don’t think there’s much privacy in these walls, despite how fancy the place is.”
“A note to bring up to Huxley when I talk to him next.” He lifts his napkin and wipes his mouth.
When I think he’s going to say more and he doesn’t, I ask, “Are you okay? I’m sure you’re sick of me asking that, but it seems as though something was bothering you if you drank that much alone.”
His eyes connect with mine, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see a hint of shame cross them as he looks down. JP doesn’t normally show vulnerability. He’d rather shield it or laugh it off, always presenting himself as the strong, domineering type. But here, on the couch, as he eats breakfast, I can see it written all over his face.
“You must think I’m a loser, huh?” he asks, pushing his food around on his plate.
“Not at all,” I say, setting down my croissant and turning toward him. “I’m just concerned. You seem emotionally erratic at times and I wish you’d talk to me about it. I mean, I get that we’re not friends, or that you don’t want to be friends—”
“I do,” he says, surprising me. “I want to be friends.”
“What?” I ask, entirely confused now. “But I thought—”
“You thought correctly. I told you we can’t be friends and, sure, maybe a part of me still believes that, but I’m also”—he pulls on the back of his neck—“fuck, I have a hard time letting people into my life.” His gaze matches mine. “Have, uh . . . have Lottie or Huxley ever talked to you about my dad?”
“No.” I shake my head, feel my pulse pick up.
JP leans back on the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Growing up, being so close in age to my brothers, we were all at each other’s throats. Huxley constantly pushed boundaries, and always tried to be the best, the first. Breaker was the easygoing one who just went with the flow. Didn’t really care much about anything other than doing the right thing and having a good time. And then I kind of wandered around, attempting to find my place. Never really did. Never felt like I belonged . . . unless I was hanging with my dad. He didn’t get much time off, he was driven like Huxley, but the time I did get with him, he made me feel like I meant something. Like I had something special to offer the world.”
“What would you guys do?” I ask. Frankly, I’m so surprised that he’s sharing, but I’m also soaking up every ounce of it.
“Go to the batting cages. We’d do five rounds each, grab a lemonade and nachos from the concession stand, then sit at our favorite picnic table and just talk. There were days where we talked for longer, and some days we didn’t talk at all. Breaker and Huxley were never that close with Dad. They never came with us, so when he passed away, I suffered from the loss the most.” His eyes connect with mine. “I know, ever since losing him, I haven’t allowed many people in my life for fear of losing them. It didn’t take me long to figure that out.”
“Hence why you don’t want to be friends.”
“Exactly,” he exhales. “But with you, Kelsey, it just doesn’t seem like I’m able to shake you off, no matter how hard I try. I like hanging out with you.”
A smile spreads across my lips. “I like hanging out with you too, JP.”
“So, then I guess it’s settled.” He sits back up, stabs his fork into the middle of his plateful of food, and scoops up a giant mouthful. “We’re friends despite the odds of that happening because, you know . . . I still believe men and women who work together can’t be friends.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you do, because you can’t possibly be wrong about anything, right?”
“Correct.” He smirks.
“Okay, so we’re friends, which leads me to ask . . . why did you get drunk last night?”
He glances away and pushes more food around on his plate. “How about we save that question for another day? Let’s just focus on the new bond we have.”
I don’t like pushing whatever was bothering him aside, but I also like this new side of him. He seems more . . . free, so I’m not going to push it.
“I think I can manage that.”
“Good.” He sips his water again. “Want to catch a movie today? There’s an old-school theater near the Angelica Building that runs old movies. I heard they’re playing some sort of romcom two-for-one special.”
I perk up. “Like . . . two romcoms in a row?”
He nods. “Yup. I believe it’s When Harry Met Sally and He’s Just Not That Into You.”
I clap my hands together. “Ooo, good ones. And you’d go with me?”
“Wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t want to.”
“But I thought you didn’t like movies like that?”
He shrugs. “I know you like them, so, they can’t be too bad, right? Plus, reviews say their popcorn is salty and makes your lips burn. That’s my kind of popcorn.”
“I do love a salty popcorn, as well. Okay, let’s do it, but we have to do something you want to do after . . . that’s if you don’t have plans.”
“My plans consist of hanging out with you, babe.”
“Okay.” My smile grows even wider. “Then what do you want to do after?”
I watch him chew thoughtfully and then he says, “A touristy thing.”
“What? Seriously? But I thought that was beneath you?”
He chuckles. “Hate to admit it, but your touristy outing we had was entertaining. How about a nighttime tour of Alcatraz?”
My eyes widen. “That’s way too creepy.”
He levels me with a glare. “Hey, I’m going to the romcom marathon. And you said we could do anything I wanted, so I say we do that.”
“As long as you have no problem with me burying my head in your chest the entire time.”
“Trust me, babe. No problem with that at all.” He smirks and takes another bite of his food.
“KELSEY, YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES,” JP whispers into my ear as I cling tightly to his arm. “It’s not like a monster is going to pop out.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“Babe, open your eyes.”
I open one eye and then the other, and the main hall of prison cells comes into view. Because JP can’t do anything the “peasant” way, he booked us a behind-the-scenes tour, so we’re alone with a tour guide, walking through the eerie halls of Alcatraz. I would’ve preferred more people.
“See, not so bad,” JP says.
Still clinging to him, I look around and say, “I honestly feel like my skin is crawling. Is your skin crawling? There are ghosts everywhere.”
“According to legend,” Kathy, our tour guide, says, “Alcatraz is one of the most haunted places in the country.”
“Oh . . . lovely,” I say, pressing my body closer to JP. “One of the most haunted, can’t hear that enough.”
“If you want to take a closer look at the prison cells, please feel free,” Kathy says, gesturing to the cold steel bars lined up against the wall as she gives us some space.
“Can we get in one?”
“Of course,” Kathy says.
“Uh . . . are you insane? I am not getting in one of those cells.”
“Why not?” JP asks. “Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Never been in a prison cell, never plan on being in one.”
JP chuckles and pulls me closer to the cells. I let go of his arm as he steps inside one. “Shit, these are small. You’d have to get creative with how to work with this space.” He grips the cell bars and asks, “How do I look?”
“Deranged.”
A loud creaking sound echoes through the dank halls, and then in the blink of an eye, JP’s cell door slides shut, causing me to gasp and JP to let out the girliest scream I’ve ever heard.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
From down the hall, Kathy laughs, making us both turn toward her. She presses a button and the cell opens again.
“Jesus . . . fuck,” JP says as he steps out of the cell and glares at Kathy. “I did not pay for the scare factor.”
“It’s free of charge.” She smiles.
“Fuck.” He walks up to me and whispers, “My scrotum has shriveled up into my stomach. Won’t have balls for days after that.”
I cover my mouth and chuckle. “Still loving the idea of being here at night?”
“Slightly rethinking. Didn’t know Kathy from Nightmare Alley was going to be our tour guide.”
“I’m here all night,” Kathy calls out, still smiling.
“Jesus Christ, she’s in the right line of work.” He lets out a deep breath and then says, “I was about to say, that wouldn’t be the first time I was behind bars.”
“Umm . . . what’s that now?”
He lends out his arm to me and I hang on to it as we walk toward Satan’s mistress. “I was in college. Shortly after my dad passed away. Public intoxication. Some bullshit thing like that. I think I peed on some old lady’s tree. She called the cops and I was arrested. Huxley, of course, came flying in like the knight in shining armor that he is and had everything removed from my record, and then threatened to remove me from school if I ever did something like that again.”
“Sounds . . . sad. Seems like you needed someone to care for you. You were going through a rough time.”
“Yeah, alcohol cared for me. Alcohol has always been there for me.”
“You realize how unhealthy that is?”
“Yup, but never said I was completely healthy. Working on it, though. One day at a time.”
“Shall we see the shower room?” Kathy asks when we reach her.
“Absolutely,” JP says, leading the way.
We spend the next hour listening to Kathy tell us about the many different inmates who attempted to escape, how they escaped, and the outcome. Despite it being dark, creepy, and not something I’d probably ever choose to do on my own, I actually enjoyed myself immensely. The stories were entertaining, the history unlike anything I’ve ever heard, and of course, listening to JP ask intense questions was fun, too.
Now that we’re on the ferry ride back, sitting outside under the stars, I have a million questions running through my head.
“If you were ever in prison like those guys, would you try to escape? Or would you just suffer in silence, doing what needed to be done in order to leave one day?”
“Depends on the length of my sentence,” he says, draping his arm across the bench behind me. “If it was a long sentencing, hell yeah, I’d try to escape. I’d dig a hole like the Anglin brothers, papier mâché some heads, and work until morning. But if it was like ten years . . . eh, I’d wait it out.”
“I would not survive in prison,” I say. “I don’t have it in me to be rough and tough.”
“Because you’re innocent,” JP says. “You’re too sweet for prison. Me, I could go either way. If I had to hold my own, I would.”
“I take it that means you’ve been in your fair share of fistfights?”
He chuckles. “Not sure I’ve heard many people call them fistfights—just a fight—and yeah, I’ve been in quite a few. Like I said, never really felt like I had a place in this world, so I fought my way, trying to find something that mattered to me.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
I feel his eyes on me before he says, “I’ve found a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’ve found I really like helping people and animals. I want to talk to Huxley about making the Angelica a rent-controlled apartment building. You’d have to fill out an application to live there, make less than a certain amount of money, and if you’re a single parent, you’re higher on the list of getting a place.”
I turn to him now. “JP, that’s an amazing idea, but you realize you’d take a huge hit on income. I’m sure you know, the renovations we have planned aren’t cheap.”
“Sure, we’d take a hit, but we’d also be able to write it off in our taxes, and sometimes, it’s not always about the money. I like the idea of being able to help people out. I was thinking, if Huxley says yes, maybe we could start a division in the company, named after the Angelica, that focuses on low-income households that provides them with not just a roof over their heads, but a roof filled with opportunity. We donate a lot of money to different charities and organizations, but I’d love to do something inhouse, something that focuses on helping the people in the cities where we make billions.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea, JP.”
“Yeah?” he asks, looking insecure.
“I do. Is this something that would fulfill you? I know you hate what you do now, so would this help with that?”
He sifts his hand through his hair as he stares out over the sea of black in front of us. “I really do. I’d actually feel like I’m doing something beneficial. And being the face of that, the face of collaboration—assisting those who need that relief—now that’s something I could be happy with.”
“When are you going to approach him?”
“When we get back. I still have some things I have to map out and, of course, I need to hit up Breaker for a numbers breakdown. I have a few questions about write-offs for him, as well. And then I’ll write everything up, put it in a proposal, and deliver it to him. I know how he likes professional presentations, so I’ll make sure it’s delivered the way he likes it.”
“What if he says no?” I ask.
“Then he’s a total self-centered ass and I’d be set in stone on selling my stock and finding a company or a passion in life that fulfills the need I have. I love my brothers, and I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me, and now I think it’s time they step back and see what I need.”
“Wow, JP, is it weird to say I’m proud of you?”
“Nah, not sure I hear that often, so it’s nice.”
I lean against his chest and say, “Well, I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, babe.”
JP: Where are you right now?
Kelsey: Just finished up a meeting with Regis. I’m pretty sure he sneered at me twice but covered it up with an eye twitch. It was entertaining.
JP: Did he give you shit?
Kelsey: No. He was pleasant and agreeable.
JP: Smart man. Well, I’m on my way to the penthouse. Just got done with an interview with The Gazette. I was going to pick up some Pho. Want some?
Kelsey: You don’t mind?
JP: Why would I ask?
Kelsey: True. Yes, please. Sounds amazing.
JP: I just get the original. Do you want the same?
Kelsey: Yes, that works. I’m headed back soon. Should I pick us up dessert?
JP: What did you have in mind?
Kelsey: It’s going to be a surprise.
JP: Why am I worried?
Kelsey: Because, although innocent in your eyes, I’m still a wild card.
JP: Very true.
I DAB my mouth with a napkin and set my container on the coffee table. When JP arrived, we both changed out of our business clothes. He changed into a pair of shorts and nothing else—shocker—and I put on a pair of shorts and a simple T-shirt. I also washed off my makeup and threw my hair into a clip to keep it out of my face while I slurped up noodles.
We decided to turn on The Office for background noise while we ate and talked. I found out that Dwight is JP’s favorite character, Michael being a close second. And I, of course, being the romantic, said Jim and Pam are my all-time favorites. JP just rolled his eyes at that.
Also found out JP would “bang” Jan easily, have a drunken night with Meredith, and cuddle up to Phyllis on a cozy night. I admitted to having a slight thing for Ryan, and possibly interested in a wild night with Robert California, which of course grossed out JP and ended the conversation.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had Pho before,” I say. “I’ve always heard about it and wanted to try it. I hate that I’ve waited this long. It was so good. Thank you for bringing it home.”
JP, who was done about ten minutes ago, leans his head against his propped-up hand and asks, “What’s your favorite cuisine?”
“Mexican.”
He nods. “Fuck, I could’ve guessed that. Those tamales your mom makes are fucking killer. And her homemade refried beans. Hell, I’d do anything your mom wanted for them right now.”
I smile. “I know how to make them, and it’s been said that I make them better than my mom.”
JP’s eyes narrow. “Says who?”
“My mom.”
“Okay, so what do I have to do to get you to make me some?”
“How about this—if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, we can make them together.” When he doesn’t answer right away, I ask, “Oh . . . do you have something going on tomorrow? I shouldn’t have assumed. You have been spending quite some time with me.”
“Kelsey, chill. I’d love to make some tamales with you. I was just thinking about a meeting I have at four, but it shouldn’t take long. Should we start at six?”
“That would be perfect.”
“I can pick up the ingredients if you want.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I’m particular about brands. Trust me, it makes a difference.”
He holds up his hand. “Don’t want to get in the way of the chef. Just let me know how much I owe you.”
“JP, do you really think I’ll take your money?”
“No . . . should I grab dessert?”
I smirk. “I think we’re starting a trend.”
“Yeah, one that’s killing my six-pack.” He pats his stomach.
“Doubtful. You still get up early and work out.” I point at his stomach. “Let me see.”
He slouches in his seat and puffs his stomach out, making a poor attempt at a gut. It’s poor because I can still see the outline of his abs.
“Stop that.” I poke his belly.
“Don’t play with my gut. I’m sensitive.”
“Oh my God, that’s not a gut. I can still clearly see your abs. Nice try.”
“Well, if I keep it up, no woman will want to see me naked.”
That makes me actually laugh out loud. “Once again, doubtful. I’ve, uh . . . seen enough to know that any woman would want to see you naked.”
His brows raise in surprise. “Kelsey Gardner . . . tell me more.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “This is why I hesitate to compliment you. I knew this was going to happen.”
He scoots closer and wiggles his brows. “Were you impressed with my body? How about my penis? Did you like the old log between the legs?”
“Eww, who says that?”
“Who says eww when referring to a man’s prized possession?”
“Someone who’s responding to a person who’s being obnoxious, which is you. Your penis isn’t a log, it’s . . . a regular penis.”
That makes his face fall in disbelief. “A regular penis? You think I have just a regular penis?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn’t have any adornments and, sure, it’s well kept, but there’s nothing super special about it.”
“Um . . . not to sound like a fucking voyeur here, but I’ve been in enough gym locker rooms to know my penis isn’t regular. Just because it’s not pierced doesn’t make it ho-hum. There’s a lot to my penis that you don’t know about. And the length and girth alone are probably better than anything you’ve had.”
“How do you know the kind of penis I’ve had in my life?” I challenge him, humor in my voice.
“Given how innocent you are, most likely those penises have been regular. Mine is anything but regular.”
“Said every man ever.”
His eyes grow dark and all humor fades from his face. “Do I need to take my cock out right now?”
“No, that’s okay. I can still remember how it felt when you sat on my face. Very . . . fleshy.”
“That’s because it is fleshy.”
“I always thought penises were supposed to be soft like velvet, you know? I didn’t get that from you.”
“Where the fuck did you hear that? And what cocks are you hanging out with that are velvet?”
“Ones in romance novels.”
He snorts. “If a cock is velvet to the touch, then the man fucking glue-gunned some fabric to his manhood. Dicks are flesh, and when they’re hard, they’re stiff and veiny. I’m sure you can recall my hard cock. You came in your lingerie, after all.” He gives me a pointed look and I can feel my cheeks heat up. Walked right into that one.
“I came because of the work I put in.”
“Bullshit,” he says. “You came because of the moment you were in.”
“Possibly, but we can’t ever be sure now, can we?”
“I know for sure. You wouldn’t have come like that if I wasn’t there, egging you on, telling you how to touch yourself, grabbing my cock and enticing you.”
I just shrug, because I know he’s right, but I like pushing his buttons.
“Do I need to show you again? Because I will.”
“I know you will, and it’s really not necessary. How did we even get on this topic? Weren’t we talking about dessert for tomorrow? Let’s get back to that. I think it would be lovely if you picked up dessert.”
“Who says I need to pick it up . . .”
I press my palm to his face and push him away. “It’s either dessert we can eat, or no dessert at all.”
“I can eat my dessert.” He wets his lips.
Oh hell.
“Stop it. You’re making me—”
“Aroused?” He waggles his brows at me.
Yes.
“No. You’re just . . . you’re making it weird. And I don’t want it to be weird between us.”
“There’s nothing weird about this conversation. Friends can talk about this stuff. Go ahead, tell me the craziest place you’ve ever had sex.”
“Why? So you can just say how vanilla I am?”
“I never said you were vanilla. I said you were innocent. There’s a difference. A vanilla person never would’ve masturbated in front of me.”
Once again, my cheeks heat up.
“Well, that was—God, I hate what I’m about to say.”
“Just say it. We’re buddies now, right?” His one eyebrow raises in question.
“I guess we are.” I roll my teeth over the corner of my lip before I say, “Well, it wasn’t sex, but what we did was probably my most provocative experience. Which, I still don’t understand how that all happened, and I don’t care to hash it out. But, yeah, everything else has been pretty bland in bed. Nothing more than that.”
“Shame,” he says. “If you were mine, we wouldn’t just fuck in the bed.”
“Oh . . . I’m sure you have a giant list of odd places you’ve, uh, you’ve had sex. So, instead, I’m going to ask, what was your favorite place?”
“Hot tub,” he says without even giving it a second thought. “Fucking in the hot tub. Christ, I love it.”
“Really?” I ask. “It doesn’t get all watery and weird?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “There’s something about a naked woman in the hot tub, fucking her from behind . . . yeah, I love it.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “And, uh, how many times have you done this?”
“Not nearly enough and not with the right person yet.”
“How do you know it’s not the right person? Clearly, you’ve enjoyed it.”
“Because I know there could be so much more intimacy involved. I’ve had just random fucks, but with the right ambiance, with the correct amount of foreplay, I know it could be explosive.”
*Gulp*
Yeah . . . I could see that.
“What about you?” he asks. “Do you have an ideal situation planned in your head where you’d have the best sex of your life?”
“Not really. I just know that when I find the right person, everything will just click and I won’t have to try. I won’t have to imagine these romantic situations, but rather just live in the moment and let them happen.”
“And you haven’t had that yet?”
I shake my head. “No. For a girl who’s obsessed with love, it’s sad how my love life has turned out.”
“Not sad, you’re just not settling, and I think that’s smart. You will find the right person.” He tips my chin with his forefinger. “But in the meantime, unleash the secret you’ve been holding all night. What’s this dessert you got us that you won’t tell me about?”
Anticipating his reaction, I can’t hide my smile as I get up from the couch and retrieve the bakery box from the fridge.
“Should I be scared by that smile?” he asks when I sit back down across from him.
“Possibly.” I flip open the box and reveal the two dollar-sized penis cookies on a popsicle stick. “I bought us penis cookies, covered in white and dark chocolate.”
I look up at him and wait, grinning like an idiot. The corner of his mouth ticks up, and then he smiles. He picks up the white chocolate cookie and examines it, twisting it from one side to the other. “I’ve never had a dick in my mouth, but there’s always time to change that.” Then he takes a large bite and chews. “Hell, this penis is good.”
I snort so hard I feel droplets of snot come out of my nose. Attractive, Kelsey.
“And so lifelike.” He examines the cookie again. “Now this, Kelsey, this would be average. Your boy . . . not so much.” Then he takes another bite and I can’t help but think he’s so freaking right.
JP: Do you hear that?
Kelsey: Is someone having sex? I thought the other people on this floor are across the way.
JP: They are. It’s not them. It’s below us. I just looked. People are fucking on the balcony.
Kelsey: Seriously? Where everyone can see them?
JP: LOL. Oh, Kelsey.
Kelsey: What? That’s concerning, don’t you think? “Caught with your pants down” is a real term.
JP: But that’s the excitement of it all, getting caught.
Kelsey: Let me guess—having sex on a balcony isn’t something new to you.
JP: Not so much.
Kelsey: Shocking.
JP: Are you saying I’m a bit of a man-whore?
Kelsey: I don’t think we need to label our sex lives. You just have a more frequent one.
JP: Very. Want me to teach you a thing or two?
Kelsey: How did I know you were going to suggest that?
JP: Because I’m becoming a good friend and you know me inside and out.
Kelsey: Sort of. Hell, I think I talk to you more than my sister now. Granted, she’s been busy with the wedding.
JP: Do you have any other friends?
Kelsey: Yeah, a few girlfriends, but unfortunately, we’ve slowly grown apart because of my business. The hustle doesn’t allow for many friends.
JP: I get it. Well, you have me now.
Kelsey: I do. And I’m grateful for that.
JP: So . . . do you want to sit out on the balcony and listen to the fuckers?
Kelsey: . . . good night, JONAH!
JP: Ooo, say my name again. I like it.
Kelsey: *Sigh*
KELSEY: Thank you for the mid-morning smoothie delivery. How did you know I needed this more than anything right now?
JP: Caught a glimpse of you when I was walking through the Angelica with Huxley on FaceTime. Had it delivered right away. You look tired, babe.
Kelsey: The fuckers were really going at it last night.
JP: Is that really what was keeping you up last night?
Kelsey: My mind was racing, thinking about all things business. You know how it goes.
JP: I do. If you want, we can skip the dinner tonight and just hang, or do something else. Not sure what you like to do to decompress.
Kelsey: No, I still want to make dinner, unless you don’t want to.
JP: Babe, if I get to spend time with you, I don’t care what we do.
Kelsey: Well, okay then . . .
JP: Was that a weird comment?
Kelsey: It was unexpected.
JP: I just feel my best around you. Sorry if that’s weird, but it’s true.
Kelsey: It’s not weird. Makes me feel like I mean something.
JP: You do, babe. You mean a lot.
“OKAY, NOW ADD THE ICE,” I say, as my hands are wrist-deep in the masa.
“Sure,” JP says, while working around me. The pork has been cooked, I cheated and put it in the crockpot this afternoon, and we already prepared the sauce. I thought it was cute when JP was in awe over the dehydrated peppers and how we rehydrated them and then blended them up.
“And from here, we mix for about ten to fifteen minutes with our hands.”
“Oh, shit, really?”
“Yup.”
“Okay.” He maneuvers around and awkwardly stands next to me, but can’t quite get the right angle until he finally mutters, “Fuck it,” and stands behind me. He reaches around my arms and puts his hand in the bowl, his head right next to mine. “Is this okay?”
His chest is plastered against my back and the rough scruff of his cheek is rubbing against mine, driving my internal temperature up another ten degrees. But I’m not going to make a big deal about it so I nod.
“That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.”
“I’m good, babe. What perfume do you wear, by the way? Fucking kills me.”
“Dolce and Gabbana, Light Blue.”
“Hell, it smells good. Not that I should be saying that while standing next to you like this, but it smells really fucking good.”
“Thank you,” I say as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
The last few days have been . . . comforting. Spending all this time with JP makes me realize that he truly is a good guy. When his mind is clear, when he’s happy, he’s so open and honest and a good time. He jokes around—like he used to—and I hate to say this, but he sort of makes me feel alive. Like a part of me has been missing and he’s woken it up.
I feel excited to see him, thrilled to get a text from him, and count down the minutes until our next planned non-date. Within a very short amount of time, he’s become one of my best friends. Never would’ve expected that.
“This is kind of fun. I feel like a cat, massaging a gut.”
My hands pause as I turn just slightly to look at him. “What kind of analogy is that?”
“You know . . . how cats paw at things.” He replicates a massaging motion. “That’s what this feels like. Did you not have a cat growing up?”
“I didn’t.”
“Ah, you missed out,” he says, leaning in against me even more. “Shame. You never experienced a sandpaper tongue on the back of your hand. Or the feel of a cat’s claw seeping through the threads of your clothing, straight into your flesh. Or the absolute pleasure of sifting shit out of a litter box.”
“Yes, an absolute shame,” I say sarcastically. “What was your cat’s name?”
“Huxley and I called her Cat, because we didn’t have any feelings toward her. She was more of an annoying asshole than anything. Always clawed the shit out of us. But Breaker was best friends with the cat. Her name was technically Jiggles. Have you ever watched New Girl?”
“Yes, love that show.”
“Well, think of Winston and his cat. That was Breaker and Jiggles.”
Our hands collide in the bowl, and instead of pulling away or moving, I just let our fingers tangle through the masa mixture. I like it. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“I can’t see it. Breaker seems so cool and calm. I can’t see him fussing over a cat.”
JP chuckles. “Man, does he have you fooled. Sure, he’s cool and calm, but he’s the biggest nerd. Loves data, has autographs from every cast member of The Lord of the Rings, and he has been known to dress up a time or two as a calculator for Halloween.”
“What? No way.” I shake my head. “That can’t be true.”
“Trust me, babe, he’s a nerd. He has a computer at his place that he built on his own.”
“Gah, like Henry Cavill?”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Henry Cavill, he built his own computer and recorded the whole thing. It was hot.”
“Wow . . . man, am I missing the mark on what women find attractive these days.”
“Then again, Henry is such a dreamboat. The chin dimple, the seductive eyes, the unbelievable muscles.”
“You know, some people have said that I look like a tattooed Henry Cavill.”
“Who on earth said that? Someone in your dreams?” I chuckle at my joke.
“Funny. No, it was a girl I met at a baseball game.”
“Uh-huh. And let me guess—she asked for your autograph and then was extremely embarrassed that she thought you were someone else, she apologized profusely, you consoled her, bought her a drink, and then took her home that night. Was she one of the hot-tub girls?”
“No,” he drags out. “But the rest of that story is scarily accurate.”
“Figured. When I was in college, there was this wave of girls who would pull that trick on guys all the time to get free drinks and an easy lay.”
“Any guy is an easy lay.”
“It was a pickup move. She played you.”
“Whatever, play me all you want. I had sex that night.”
“As if it’s hard for you to find someone to have sex with you.”
“You’ve been difficult,” he says, his voice practically caressing my skin. Once again, those goosebumps spread. “But, then again, you friend-zoned me from the beginning, so there was no chance.”
“You were off limits. I didn’t have a choice but to friend-zone you.”
He pauses, his rough cheek moving across mine as his hands sink deeper into the mixture. “Why was I off limits?” His lips nearly move against my cheek; I can feel them, they’re so close. Just a feather of a whisper away.
And it’s frustrating because I shouldn’t want his lips near me, I shouldn’t be comfortable with him wrapped around me, I shouldn’t wait impatiently for him to call me babe, but here I am, waiting with bated breath for his next move.
“Because you’re Huxley’s brother. Because my company falls under your management. Because I knew you were in a different frame of mind than I am.”
“And if those weren’t factors, then what, Kelsey?”
I swallow hard.
My hands have slowed, barely mixing, and my heart pounds so loudly, it sounds deafening in my ears.
His cologne surrounds me.
His voice rumbles across my skin.
He’s deliciously trapped me between him and the counter.
This is everything I could dream up for a romantic moment, and yet, the man who’s making me feel, the man who’s turning me into a pool of yearning . . . is supposed to be my friend. He’s not supposed to be the one who makes my heart beat faster.
“Hell, I don’t know why I asked that,” he says, when he pulls his hands from the bowl, mistaking my silence for discomfort. “You have your reasons, and it’s great that we have this. You and me, friends. It’s been easy.”
I don’t turn toward him. I can’t.
I can’t let him see the way he affects me.
I can’t let him hear the thick breaths I’m taking, attempting to find that easy rhythm again.
And I can’t let him see how my hands are clawing at the masa, begging and pleading for him to come back.
“What can I do to prepare for the next step?” he asks.
I take a deep, steadying breath and slow my racing heartbeat. “You can lay out the husks and grab that spatula. We’re going to start spreading the masa on them.”
“You got it, babe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Keep it together, Kelsey.
“EATING out on the balcony was a great idea,” I say as I sip the homemade virgin margarita JP surprised me with.
Virgin, because he said he was backing off on drinking. He didn’t elaborate on his decision, but I could see that it was a well-thought-out one and I support him completely.
“But I can’t help but wonder,” I continue. “Were you hoping for an encore from the fuckers?”
“I mean . . . a little dinner and a show would’ve been nice.”
I laugh. “Not sure how great of a show that would’ve been.”
“It would’ve been entertaining, that’s for sure. But this is nice, the peaceful night, faint sounds from the streets below, the occasional whip of the wind, amazing food . . . it’s been a great night, Kelse.” He rubs his stomach. “Not sure I have room for my dessert.”
“Me neither.” I lean back in my chair. “I’m grateful for the elastic in my shorts. Is that an unflattering thing to say?”
“Not even a little.” He snaps the waistband of his shorts. “I’m just grateful we cleaned up while the tamales were steaming.”
“Me too.” I let out a low whistle. “I can’t believe we only have two more nights here. I feel sad about it. I’ve grown accustomed to the penthouse and this city.”
“What about the company?” JP asks, taking a sip of his margarita.
“That too. Going back to my tiny studio apartment will feel so lonely.”
“You can always move into my place. Plenty of room. Comes with access to an elaborate pool . . . and a hot tub.” He wiggles his eyebrows, causing me to laugh.
“Tempting, but I’m sure you’re ready to have your life back.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
“You know, getting out and about, not always having to hang out with me.”
He looks me in the eyes when he says, “I don’t have to hang out with you, Kelsey. I want to hang out with you. I choose to.”
A smile tugs across my lips and I look away, hating that his words shoot a thrill up my spine.
“Same, Jonah,” I say, testing out his name. When I glance in his direction, his expression is of total awe. I wince. “I mean, JP.”
He shakes his head. “Call me what you want. I like both.”
“I like your real name. I think it fits you—at least, this side of you. JP is more of the partying playboy guy. But the man I’ve been hanging out with lately, he’s Jonah.”
“Yeah.” He looks up at me shyly. “I fucking like that a lot.”
“I’m glad.” I gather our plates and say, “It’ll be weird, though, going back to my normal life. I really enjoyed my time here.”
“I’m sure you’ll be back. We’re just starting on the Angelica Building, and Huxley is going to want you to oversee things. This won’t be the last time you’re here.”
“Good. I have so many more dessert places to try. I should start a dessert Instagram. I could call it Mint to Be, like a play on words with my podcast.”
“Or you could call it Lick Me Till Ice Cream.”
My eyes level with his playful ones. “That was a JP comment.”
“Try all you want. You can’t knock that out of me.” He winks and stands with me. I grab the plates and he grabs the rest of the tamales and refried beans we didn’t eat.
“I wouldn’t want you to change. I like you as you are,” I say while we walk back into the penthouse and head toward the kitchen.
“Ooo, what movie is that from? I feel like some girl made me watch it.”
“Bridget Jones,” I answer.
He snaps. “That’s right. I recall Bridget wandering around onscreen in short skirts, correct?”
“Of course that’s the part you remember.”
He just shrugs, and together we put away the food and fill the dishwasher with the rest of our dishes. When we’re done, I lean against the counter and fold my arms over my chest. “I had fun tonight. You’re pretty helpful in the kitchen.”
“I make a thing or two.”
“Well, I should get to bed, where I can shamelessly avoid any stretchy elastic around my waist so I can better breathe through the tamales I consumed.”
“Babe, save the dirty talk for the bedroom.”
I chuckle and move past him. “Good night . . . Jonah.”
“Hey,” he calls out, causing me to spin around. “I have something for you.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s your penis or something deranged like that.”
“First of all, my penis isn’t deranged, it’s regular . . . remember?”
I laugh.
“And no, I actually have a physical thing for you.” He walks toward his suit jacket, which is draped on the back of a dining room chair, and reaches into the inside pocket. He pulls out a small bag and hands it to me. “I saw this and thought of you.”
“Oh, it is a real thing?”
He laughs. “Yes, it is.”
I open the tiny blue bag and pull out something long and hard. When I realize what it is, a tsunami of swoon hits me all at once.
“You got me a magnet?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d found one yet. I remember you saying that you get one for every city you visit. But since we leave soon, I thought it might be a nice memento. But if you already got one, we can just leave it here, or—”
“I haven’t bought one yet.” I stare down at the magnet. It reads San Francisco along the bottom, with the skyline and Golden Gate Bridge at the top. It’s cute, bubbly, and colorful, something I would pick for myself. “But this is so perfect.” I move my thumb over the lettering.
“Seriously, if you don’t like it, I can get something different.”
I shake my head and take a step forward so I can press my hand to his chest. “This was so thoughtful and kind.” Our eyes connect. “Thank you.” I move in closer, loop my arm around him, and give him a hug. His arms fall around me.
“You’re welcome. Hopefully, you will have more to add as your business grows.” His hand rubs up and down my back.
I don’t pull away.
I don’t want to.
I grip him tighter instead, pressing my cheek to his chest.
“I really hope so.”
And for the next minute or so, we remain like that, hugging each other. From the outside looking in, it might seem awkward, two people simply hugging in the middle of the common space, but right now, it feels right. It feels like I belong here, in his arms, protected by his strength, cared for by his heart. This. This is what I’ve missed so much since not having a boyfriend. Touch. Every time I watch Jeff swallow Mom in a hug, I feel so incredibly grateful to him, because he gave her confidence back in his hugs. Showed her that she was a desirable woman, not a single mom. And the longer you go without incidental touches, something I’ve gone without for so long now, the more you long for them. Hugs. A brief kiss on the forehead. Holding hands. Fingers stroking your cheek. I miss that terribly. Even though I can’t expect JP—Jonah—to provide those things, he has been. And I’m going to miss that when I go back to my apartment, back to living on my own.
“You okay?” he asks, probably wondering why I’m still holding on to him.
“Yeah.” I nod and take a step back. “That was just really sweet of you.” Our eyes connect. “Really sweet.”
He awkwardly smiles. “Glad you like it.” He thumbs toward his room. “I’m going to go to bed now. Thanks for a great night, babe.”
Don’t leave yet.
Sit with me on the couch.
Talk to me some more.
Come back to my room, where you can sift your fingers through my hair and let me feel the rumble of your deep voice against your chest . . .
“Have a good night.” I wave.
“Later, Kelse.”
And then he takes off to his bedroom, leaving me absolutely breathless.
Speechless.
And completely confused.