Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (20 page)

I left out the fact that Nico and I had slept together as teenagers, his visit to my room after the reunion, his confession of love, our friends
-without-benefits discussion at the hospital. But I did tell them about megalomaniac Meg and finalizing the details with Dr. Ken Miles as well as the resultant not-date for our first benefits session.

Several times during the story Marie poured me a new glass of wine. I had to cut myself off at the third glass because I needed to be sober enough
for a double shift the next day.

When I finished the ladies heaved a collective sigh
, and the room plunged into a prolonged period of silence.

Unexpectedly, Kat was the one to speak up and ask the question
I’m sure everyone had on the tip of their tongues; “What was in the envelope?”

“I don’t know. Ashley and I decided to leave it in the
truck.”

“
This lady could be Nico’s hands-in-the-pants stalker.” Marie added. “It could be anything.”

“Or she could just be another stalker and not the hands
-in-the-pants stalker. Nico could have several stalkers.” Ashley hiccupped halfway through this observation then nodded at her own assertion. “Hot celebrities usually have more than one stalker. I read that somewhere.”

“That’s a cheerful thought. Here, have some more wine.” Sandra poured Ashley another glass then turned to Fiona. “What should we do about the envelope?”

I half-smiled. Neither Ashley nor I had said anything about consulting Fiona regarding the envelope. It warmed my heart that, by default and universally, we all looked to her to provide us with guidance in times of chaos and absurdity.

Fiona sighed. “The
cautious part of me thinks that you should call the police, just in case it’s something dangerous. The curious and impatient side of me says that we should just open it.”

We all nodded.

“My two sides tell me the same.” Kat offered.

“Well then
.” Sandra put the bottle of wine down on the table. “Give me your keys, Ashley. Since I’m a little cautious but mighty curious, I’ll go open it up.”

Ashley handed Sandra her keys and hiccupped.

Sandra pulled on her coat, gloves, then marched out the front door, wearing leather-soled fuzzy slippers and no hat.

We all waited
. I tried to start a knitting project but couldn’t concentrate. Through my wine-induced cloudiness I had a sudden spike of adrenaline and shot to my feet. “I should stop her. I’ll—I’ll call the police. What if, what if it’s—”

Sandra reentered the apartment at that moment
carrying the envelope in one hand. Her face was grim. She motioned with her hand for me to join her.

As I approached she pulled a picture from the envelope and handed it to me. I glanced at it then sucked in a sharp breath. It was a picture of me and Nico, at the hospital, walking out of the infusion room after our friends
-without-benefits conversation. She’d first used a black Sharpie to scribbled over my face then some kind of sharp object to scratch at my image.

“There’s more.” Sandra flipped the photo over.

On the back of the picture was a very lengthy hand-written letter. The script was sporadic, sometimes large, sometimes small; in some places capital letters, other places in cursive. Certain words and phrases stood out:
I love you
, or
be with me
, or
I hate you
, and
I’ll die without you
. Mostly it just appeared to be a crazy, scrawling blob of indecipherable script.

I released a breath I didn’t actually know I was holding. “She’
s bonkers.”

Sandra nodded. “You should probably call the police now.”

~*~

I ended up calling the police from my apartment when I got home. I explained the situation as much as was feasible over the phone and with a great deal of
reluctance. I was passed from person to person until someone offered to take down my information and schedule a phone call with a detective for the following day.

Things progressed much faster the next day. The detective, it seemed, had looked me up on the
Internet, seen the YouTube video, and offered to come down to the hospital to collect the picture. Detective Carey Long met me just inside the ER clinic and praised both Sandra and I for not touching the photo without gloves; she also admonished me for opening it at all.

“Have you informed Mr. Moretti about the incident?”

I winced a little. “No. He’s in New York.”

Detective Long gave me a disapproving frown. “
Do you have any way to contact him? He should know about it. Tell him as soon as you can.”

I promised I would.
I was then instructed to call her if I saw the woman again and given strict orders to always have a walking buddy.

Before the detective left and just after we shook hands, she dropped her official persona and said, “I’m a big fan of the show.” She gave me a polite smile then swiftly left.

I stared at her retreating form until it disappeared around the corner, wondering how a smart, seemingly capable woman like Detective Long could be a fan of Nico’s misogynistic show. For that matter, how could Sandra be a fan of his show?

I didn’t have much time to meditate on this disturbing fact as I was paged with the results for Angelica’s screening tests. They came back positive
, and she was officially eligible for the study. I felt a twinge of relief on her behalf. The results thus far looked promising, and I was very pleased for her and her family.

My next call was to Rose to inform her of the results and work out the next month’s calendar.
Administering Angelica’s infusions at the hospital every eight hours for twenty-eight days meant that my schedule for the next month would be completely rearranged.

We settled on t
he timing of her infusions for 6:00 a.m., 2:00 p.m., and 10:00 p.m.. This meant I would have to be at the hospital at these times regardless of whether I had a shift or not.

But I didn’t care. I could give up four knit nights
over the next four weeks with no complaint if it meant a lifetime of improved outcomes for a patient. No big whoop. Besides, other than knitting, my social life was basically nonexistent and had been since before college. Now with Janie missing in action, making kissy face with Quinn Sir Handsome McHotpants Von Fiancée, I was free as a bird.

You can’t miss what you don’t have.

Of note, I didn’t count my future benefit sessions with Dr. Ken Miles as part of my social life. They fell more into the
recreational category. Like seeing a movie or window shopping.

Speaking of window shopping, Wednesday evening I pulled together a first day infusion survival kit for Angelica. I’d noticed earlier in the day that her blue blanket had a
My Little Pony patch; therefore, I purchased a purple purse with an obscene amount of lace and fringe and filled it with pony paraphernalia. I also packed pineapple slices for after the infusion. 

When Rose and
Angelica arrived Thursday I tried to hand the purse off to Rose, but she waved me away.

“
Lizzy, what is wrong with you?” She gave me a mother stare, the
where is your common sense?
kind. “You went through all that trouble to put this together for Angelica and you want
me
to give it to her? Why can’t you take credit for your good deeds?”

I groaned. I complained. I didn’t want to give Angelica the purse because just the thought of doing it made my hands damp. Rose held fast and in the end—with sweaty palms and a nervousness I didn’t really understand—I gave Angelica the purse.

She loved it. Her smile was brilliant. S
he squealed with happiness, and her eyes twinkled in a way that reminded me of Nico. It made my knees wobbly and my heart melt.

The infusion
portion of the visit was uneventful, which was a big relief to everyone. When it was over, while one of the research nurses was taking Angelica’s vitals, I pulled Rose to the side and asked her to have Nico give me a call when he had a free moment. I didn’t want to tell Rose about the fancy stalker lady, worry her unnecessarily, but I did need to inform Nico about the issue.

A
fter Rose and Angelica departed, the stars aligned such that I had the remainder of the day off. From 3:00 p.m. until Angelica’s 10:00 p.m. infusion, the time was mine to spend, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

It was high time for
a panty dance party.

Sometimes, when I had an afternoon off
, instead of going to sleep right away like I ought, I liked to dance around my apartment wearing nothing but underwear. Usually sexy underwear. Sometimes paired with high heels. I’d introduced this concept to my best friend Janie some years ago, and she’d joined me on more than one occasion. We’d bonded over lip-synching to ’N Sync and bobbing to the Back Street Boys.

Even
I, Elizabeth the tomboy, wanted to feel beautiful, feminine, and desirable every once in a while; even if no one was there to see it. It made a difference in my mental wellbeing. This behavior was usually precipitated by periods of dressing in nothing but scrubs. I felt like an asexual blob of teal cotton and sensible shoes.

I left the hospital with a panty party plan in mind.

I’d perfected a method for avoiding the paparazzi by tucking my hair in a hat, changing into civilian clothes, and leaving via one of the lesser-known back doors. If the photographers were loitering around my train stop I would cross the street and walk to the next closest, several blocks away. Also, I was diligent to keep an eye out for the fancy stalker.

I arrived at the apartment without incident.

A certain amount of preparations were required in order to maximize the benefits of my plan: I needed to take a bath, shave everything that could be shaved, lubricate my legs and body with fancy lotion, apply light makeup—just enough to make me feel girly—paint my nails, and brush my teeth. I blew out my long hair and it fell in soft waves over my shoulders. 

Once I felt clean and pampered I pulled out a full set of pink
-and-black lacey lingerie, thigh highs, pushup bra, garter belt, lace panties—the works—and strolled over to the stereo in the living room in stocking-clad feet. I felt and smelled fantastic.

I briefly considered listening to the CD that Rose had given me from Nico, my music homework, but quickly dismissed the idea. I wasn’t in the mood to broaden my horizons
, and I’d already spent too much time fantasizing about him recently. I was in the mood to dance like a crazy person and enjoy being in my own skin.

The first few beats of
“As Long As You Love Me” by the Backstreet Boys reverberated over the speakers. I allowed the cotton-candy, feel-good rhythm and lyrics to carry me off on the fiction of sublime happiness and true love. I slid around the wood paneled floor, I spun on my tiptoes, I tossed my loose hair from side to side with wild abandon, all while mouthing along with the song and meaning every syllable. I jumped up and down on the couch during the chorus and felt the fantasy of the words to my bones.

It was during one of these jumps that I caught sight of a figure standing just inside the entranceway from the corner of my eye.

Startled beyond reason I spun, sucked in a gasping breath, and lost my footing. I fell ass over ankles off the couch and landed with an unforgiving thud on the area rug in front of the sofa. I also made weird yelping, moaning, screaming sound. The figure ran toward me; his face half-amused, half-concerned.

And that’s when I realized that Nico
Manganiello had been watching my panty dance party. 

When I opened my eyes I found Nico kneeling
at my side. His forehead was creased with worry. It took me a moment, only a moment, to realize his hands were on my body. One hand cupped my face; the other moved from my hip slowly down my thigh.

“Elizabeth? Are you ok
ay?”

“
What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I rolled on my side and toward him; my hands automatically clutched my bottom. It hurt.

“
Janie gave me the key. Are you hurt?”

“Where is Janie? And why did she give you a key?”

“I’m looking at . . . Wait, are you sure you’re okay? Did you break anything?”

“
No, but my bottom is going to be sore tomorrow.” I rubbed the painful curve of my backside.

Nico
released a breath, sat back on his heels, and gently pushed my hair from my face. His fingers threaded in the long strands, and he carefully brushed the waves over my shoulder. “I can massage it for you if you want.”

I glared at him and his
teasing face. Stupid handsome face. Stupid twinkling eyes. Stupid kindness.

God, I wanted him.

“No, thanks. I’m sure I’ll recover without you needing to get all handsy.”

He half
-smiled and his eyes decided to choose that precise moment to lazily scan my scantily clad body. He loitered for a prolonged moment on the straps that held up my lacey stockings and also where my bra snapped together between my breasts.

“See anything you like?” I meant
for the words to sound biting and sardonic, but the breathy quality to my voice might have derailed my intent.

“Mmm.
Yes. Quite a few things.” His gaze felt like a touch, his eyes heavily lidded, his tone distracted, all velvet and soft and soothing.

“Hey
! Buddy!” I was surprised by the tremor when I spoke; I removed my hands from my bottom and tried with no success to conceal everything that was exposed. “Do you mind? Eyes up here.”

“
I’m not finished.”

I stared at him for a shocked second then shoved him.
“Nico!” I rolled away, my face flaming as I grabbed the only thing nearby that could serve as shelter from his scrutiny—a sofa pillow. I held it in front of my torso as I stood. It was ineffectual.

A wide, crooked grin
spread over his features and he chuckled—actually chuckled—and watched me from his position on the floor, on his knees. “I’ve seen you before.”

I officiall
y lost the war against my mortification and felt crimson heat spread to the tips of my ears. “That was—that was a long time ago and this is different.”

He nodded
in agreement, his eyes unapologetically moving over me again. “You’re right. This is very different.” Nico straightened from the floor and stalked to where I stood.

“What are you even doing here? How did you get in?” Again, I sounded winded. But I was d
etermined to shift the conversation away from me and my lingerie before his scorching stare made me lose all self-control, before my panty party turned into a depanting party, and I tore all his clothes off.

I needed to remember tha
t this guy, adult Nico, was a nice guy; smart, sweet, funny, deserving of all good things. And he loved me—or at least he used to; I was equal parts unwilling and incapable of returning those feelings. I was many things, but I would never knowingly hurt him—not again.

Therefore, Nico Manganiello and every ounce of his hotness were off limits.

Off. Limits.

Which was what I kept repeating to myself as our faces inched closer together. The twinkle in his eyes heated to an inferno of desire. A small whimper
passed my lips.

Nico whispered,
“Elizabeth. . .”  His blazing gaze on my mouth.

And then
I heard voices from the entryway and we both turned, startled, just in time to see Janie and Quinn rounding the corner.

“
. . . the second penthouse makes the most sense—oh!” Janie stopped short, her hazel eyes growing wide then moving over me in curious appraisal. “Elizabeth. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Quinn
, Janie’s fiancé, glared at me. In fairness, Quinn may not have been glaring. But his gaze was always ice cold, and his mask of perpetual aloofness was firmly in place. He indicated in my general direction with his chin. “Why are you dressed like that? And whose crappy music is this?”

I mentally face palmed.

“Janie, could you turn off the music?” I asked, not willing to sashay mostly naked over to the stereo.

“I’ll get it.”
Nico gave me a last lingering look then left me. He picked my phone off the iPhone dock, then re-crossed to our trio. I felt his eyes on me the entire time; he stood just to my right, still studying the black-and-pink lace openly. I turned a little and readjusted the pillow, hoped to appear not at all effected and failed. In truth his gaze was making me hot . . . and bothered.

Janie clasped her hands together and pointed at me with both index fingers.
“You were having a panty dance party, weren’t you?"

"A
what?" Quinn shifted his glacial-blue eyes to his fiancé.

"From time to time
Elizabeth and I like to dress in our underthings and dance around the apartment." She smiled at me. "Once these two leave, I'll join you."

"Wait
—what?” Quinn no longer looked aloof. “You're going to dance around here in your underwear?”

“Ideally it will be lingerie of some sort.
Cotton underwear won’t suffice. Luckily I have on the nice set you bought me in London.” Her tone was explanatory, serious. Typical Janie.

Quinn’s expression shifted from incredulous to wounded. “
Why do I have to leave?"

"Because, unless I'm mistaken, I imagine Elizabeth wouldn't feel very comfortable with you being here while she is dressed in her underwear."

"We could all stay here and have a pants off dance off." Nico offered with a careless shrug. His mouth tugged to the side in a way that told me he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

"No!" Quinn and I responded at the same time
and with an identical amount of vehemence.

I finally found my voice and
added, “Wait! What is going on? I thought you and Quinn were in Boston. And how did you get in the apartment?” I addressed my last question to Nico.

“You gave him my number.” Quinn
replied unhelpfully.

“
I’m moving in,” Nico supplied with cheerful easiness. “We’re going to be neighbors.”

“What?” I almost dropped my pillow.

“It was actually my idea, Elizabeth,” Janie said. “Nico explained about his issues with security, the whole mess. Additionally there is the rigorous schedule with his niece and the research study to consider. If Nico moves into the building then it will help with both problems. This building already has top-notch security, the firm will be supplying personal guards wherever Nico goes. And now you don’t have to go down to the hospital every eight hours and neither does Angelica. She can meet you at the hospital if you’re already down there for a shift, but the rest of the time you can just go upstairs to Nico’s penthouse and treat her there.”

“But
 . . .” I closed my eyes. “But I can’t treat her in an apartment. The study drug is in the investigational pharmacy and I need an infusion chair and a lot of other equipment.”

“Just give me a list.” Nico
brushed my curtain of hair, moving it over my shoulder; I fought the urge to lean into his touch. “I’ll have it ordered, whatever you need.”

I glanced from Nico to Janie then back to Nico again. I’d lost
, and I didn’t even know I was playing. “Fine, fine. I’ll pull together a list.”

"Ok
ay, then. It's settled.” Janie turned her smiling face back to Quinn.

“There is one more thing.” I
announced even as I reflected how awkward this conversation was going to be with me in my underwear. “I was approached at the hospital on Tuesday by a woman.”

Like flipping a switch, Nico’s stance and posture became alert, intent. “What woman? What happened?”

I glanced between Nico and Quinn. “She approached me after work and gave me a picture, of the two of us, from Monday. She’d, uh, marked up my face. And she wrote you a letter on the back of the photo.” Nico’s eyes closed, and he turned, cussed severely, his expression thunderous. I told them the entire story, start to finish, during which Nico paced the room like a caged animal.

I addressed my last comment to Quinn. “I don’t know how she could have taken
the picture. There was no one on the floor except for staff.”

Quinn nodded, frowned. “We’ll have to get you a guard.” Then he turned to Nico. “Do you have any idea who this woman is?”

Nico’s hands were on his hips, and he was watching me, his expression rigid. “Yes. I know who it is.”

“Did you call the police?” Janie placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah. I met with them yesterday.” I responded, then offered to Quinn, “My contact is Detective Long. I’ll get you her information.”

He nodded once. His jaw ticked. “We better let the hospital know too.”

Janie rubbed my arm. “I understand now why you need a panty party.” Her smile was warm and reassuring.

I huffed a laugh and glanced at myself.

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.” Nico’s words were softly sincere, and my eyes tangled with his. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

I endeavored to shrug
, but the heat of his gaze was wreaking havoc on my motor function. “S-okay.” I slurred, swallowed, then tried again. “It’s okay. I’m really fine.”

His frown intensified at my words. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“You could have gotten it from my mother.”

“I told your mother to have you call me. I didn’t want to invade your privacy if you didn’t want me to have your number.”

His eyebrows jumped on his forehead
and he closed the distance between us. “Well . . . from now on consider my privacy your privacy. You can call me anytime, okay? In fact, call me every day.”

My eyes flickered to Quinn and Janie. I readjusted the pillow. “I’m not going to do that.”

Nico shook his head; his eyes moved over my face with gentle deliberateness. “I wish you would.”

Everything about him at that moment made my internal organs bleed
hearts and flowers and puppies and kittens and hot chocolate and hot apple cider and red wine and campfires and Star Trek and yarn—all my favorite things. I flushed scarlet under his focused, exploding charisma.

Janie squared her shoulders and spoke with authority to both Quinn and Nico
, effectively pulling me out of another Nico-trance. “Now you both need to leave. Elizabeth and I will be down here dancing in our underwear and you two can go upstairs and finish your tour of the penthouse where Nico and his family will be staying."

Quinn's
eyes abruptly heated and swept over Janie's curvaceous form; then he actually groaned, muttered to no one in particular. "This is so unfair."

Nico leaned
even closer and whispered in my ear, "I agree with Quinn. How am I supposed to concentrate with that mental image?" I was still beating down my blush.

"I guess you'll just have to suffer through
," I offered even as I shivered.

His smile was
crooked and immediate. "You have no idea."

~*~

“I like him!” Janie, true to her word, stripped to her underwear and bra as soon as the door clicked behind Quinn and Nico.

“Who?”
Still dazed, I flopped myself on the couch, tried to sort through my feelings and the fact that my panties were literally on fire. If the combination of embarrassment and lust could kill a person I would have been dead.

“Nico. Mr.
Manganiello. He’s nice.”

I glanced at the red lacey bra and panty set Janie was wearing. It was a nice one. It looked
brand new.

“
Yeah. He’s nice.” Nico was nice. He was
really
nice. And it was a seriously bad idea to think about how comprehensively nice he now was. I sighed again thinking about the way he looked at me when he first came in. I could get used to that look coming from him. I could probably grow addicted to it.

I felt an intense need to change the subject. “When did you get back from Boston?”

“Just today, this morning actually. Nico called Quinn last night and made arrangements to meet us today, to arrange private security, and that’s when I suggested his family move into the second Penthouse.” She walked to the stereo, picked up my discarded phone, and presumably scrolled through my playlists. “Have you abandoned your plans with the Dr. Ken Miles?”