“Why what?” I asked.
“Why bother apologizing?”
“Apologizing? What did I do? You were the one dousing me with beer last night.” I attempted humor, hoping to get her to lighten up a bit.
She giggled, but it didn’t have that bubbly tone. It was more genuine. “You weren’t taking the hint.”
“What hint is that?”
“That I’m never going to sleep with you.”
“Who said I wanted to sleep with you?” I absolutely did want to sleep with her, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Why else would you have approached me?”
“Maybe because I just wanted to talk to you, but clearly all you can think about is sex.” I couldn’t help but grin. “I mean, if that’s all you are looking for, I could definitely help you out.” Rubbing my chin, I made a show of checking out her body, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth until I finally got to her eyes.
“How generous of you,” she deadpanned. She shifted her weight and stared me down for a moment. Finally, she took a breath and said, “Give me one good reason why I should give you another shot.”
I was starting to win her over. “Well, the way I see it, we have two options. You can slam the door in my face and continue to hate me, or we can be friends.” None of my usual charm was working with Red. I wanted something different, so it was time to try a different tactic.
“Friends?” She scoffed. “You want to be friends?” She gestured between us like we were a different species. I tried not to be offended.
“Yeah. Why is that so hard to believe? We could help each other.”
“What could you possibly help me with?” she asked, propping her hand on her hip. The move caused her tank to rise a bit, exposing a strip of the smooth white skin above the waistband of her shorts.
Her question momentarily forgotten, I cleared my throat and continued. “For starters, an escape from Sean and Kerri’s sexcapades. I don’t know about you, but I have already walked in on them way too many times. It isn’t safe to sit on any surface in my apartment. Does she do yoga, by the way? That chick is really bendy.”
The corner of her mouth twitched upward, and I smiled at her reaction.
She paused, examining me while she thought it over. She reached out, taking the coffee cup from my hand, and leaned against the door frame. She took a sip.
“You going to invite me in?” I asked.
“Not a chance.”
“Okay.” I chuckled. It was worth a shot. “So, what do you say? Friends?” I held out my hand to her.
She was quiet for a moment, but then she nodded, straightening up and shaking my hand. “Friends,” she said. She pointed a finger at me while still gripping her cup of coffee, “But, to be clear, there will be no benefits. Understood?”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, Red. You aren’t my type, remember?”
I winked, turning to head out. Who knew something good would come from one of Queen Kerri’s evil plots?
Chapter 2
Alex (Now)
Six years later…
Ping, ping.
I cracked one eye open and fumbled for my phone.
Ping, ping.
I really needed to change that ringtone. Surely, my decision to use the bicycle bell was to ensure I actually check my messages, but I spent that particular moment wondering if I owned a hammer.
I smacked at my nightstand, knocking over bottles of water and nail polish, trying to feel for the shape of my phone with not much luck. After knocking over a few more random items, I finally brought my phone to my still half-closed eyes without lifting my head off the pillow.
Drew: Meet me at our place. I’ll bring coffee.
I sighed and let the phone drop to the pillow next to my head. Figures it was Drew. No one else is brave enough to text me that early. He did that shit on purpose. He knows, better than anyone, that I am not human ‘til it’s eleven in the morning and I’ve had at least two cups of coffee. I picked up the phone again, glancing at the too bright little screen to check the time. Asshole! It was only seven thirty! I shot him a text back.
Alex: This better be big. See u in ten.
Drew: Damn right it’s big. ;)
Hilarious. I was not awake enough to deal with Drew’s thinly veiled penis jokes. I rolled on to my back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he could possibly want at seven thirty in the morning. Guess there was only one way to find out.
I dragged myself out of bed, trudging into the bathroom as a yawn stretched wide across my face. I leaned my forehead on the wall next to the sink and brushed my teeth, still half asleep. I considered finding a way to hang a pillow on the wall in that exact spot every morning since moving in this place two years ago, but I’d yet to follow through.
I stumbled back to my room, bumping my hip into my dresser on the way to the closet. It was too early to think about anything, let alone deciding what to wear, so I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, ran my fingers through my gnarly red curls, and headed out the door.
When the morning air hit me, I took a deep breath, hoping it would breathe some life into my body, which was still back in my bed, asleep, where the rest of me should be.
My neighborhood was so full of life in the spring. People happily walked their dogs, and flower vendors and street artists were setting up in the square. It was all really charming, even more so at a normal hour of the day, like noon. This early in the morning, things were pretty quiet, as most people didn’t find it necessary to wake up their friends before dawn. Okay, so that was a tad overdramatic. The sun was up, but barely.
Overall, Madison Square is the best place to live, at least in my humble opinion. I was lucky enough to find a gorgeous apartment in an old townhouse three blocks from work. It had everything I wanted and so much more: beautiful hardwood floors, windows spanning from the floor to the cathedral ceilings…
I was overwhelmed by the design potential and the little quirks that reminded me of its past: The linen closet that always smells like pine needles, the initials carved into the baseboard behind my bed, the nail in the hallway just beyond the kitchen that refused to stay down no matter how many times I nailed it back into the floor.
What sold it for me, though, was the view. It overlooks Madison Square Park, a beautiful little Eden that covered an entire square block. The trees were full of color in the fall, and there were jazz concerts near the fountain in the center of the square every summer. I would throw open all the windows and sit on my couch with a glass of wine, letting the music sweep me away.
I plopped down in our place, a bench in the center of the square, and rested my elbows on my knees to wait for Drew. He lived just across the square, which was very convenient when stumbling home drunk. It may have seemed like just a bench, but it was the place where our lives met. It was neutral territory, a place dead center between his apartment and mine.
I rested my head in my hand, blowing a stray piece of hair out of my face, wishing he would just hurry the hell up.
“Good morning, Red!” Drew dropped down next to me, stretching an arm out on the back of the bench.
“You said you would have coffee,” I said, lazily rolling my head to the side to look up at him.
“Chill. Here.” He handed me my extra-large coffee with cream and sugar, my usual from our favorite coffee place, Down the Street. That was the name of the coffee place as well as the directions to it. Every time someone suggested getting coffee, it had a tendency to start an Abbot and Costello “Who’s on First?” routine, which, apart from the excellent brew, was why I loved Down the Street.