Truly (New York Trilogy #1) (7 page)

“Back in a bit.”

And then he was gone, and she had to stand there and breathe for a while, because his grip had triggered a land mine of heat between her legs, and being so close to his mouth, to his breath …

Holy, holy, holy cow.

She unlocked her knees, and her wobbly legs dropped her into the chair like a zapped bovine in the kill chute.

Could she chalk this up to stress? She felt as though she were fourteen again, riding home from school packed into the back of a too small car, perched on Ryan Van Den Haven’s lap when she first felt that quick, slippery pulse of heat and thought,
What is going on here, exactly?

May wasn’t fourteen anymore. She knew what was going on. She was lusting after a dishwasher. She shook her head and turned her attention to more pressing problems.

Ten minutes later, she’d gotten the numbers she wanted and left phone messages for three friends. No one had answered, which made her wonder if they were together—at a movie or a bar, or kicking off the long weekend grilling in someone’s backyard. She hadn’t thought to ask Ben his phone number, so she said she’d email it to them.

May scanned through her inbox, but just the thought of dealing with any of the worried
Are you OK?!?!
messages from friends and family members made her feel ill. Retrieving Ben’s phone from the desk, she poked around it until she found his number in the settings, then typed a quick email.

Ben returned as she was searching for hotels. He seemed more intense than he’d been when he left the room—keyed up in a way that made her uncomfortable. Something had happened in the kitchen, maybe. Something that made him angry?

He plunked down a large plate covered in what looked like cold cuts and cheese, plus a bunch of things she didn’t recognize.

“We just ate,” she said.

“I know that.”

His tone of voice made her bite her lip.

He laced his hands behind his head, elbows sticking out to the sides, and released a long exhale. “Sorry. Being in there during the service gets me worked up.” He dropped his hands and rolled his shoulders. “Not your fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Uh, thanks?”

That made him smile. He leaned against the wall and pointed at the plate. “That’s just in case your tongue gets bored.”

“What is it?” She peered at the food.

She opted not to peer too close at the tongue comment.

“Bunch of different kinds of pecorino, chestnuts, a fig jam Sam does that’s insane, bunch of summer sausages.” He pointed to a small white bowl. “Best honey in the world, right there.”

“Maybe in a few minutes. Did you fix the dishwasher?”

“Sure. I’m a wizard with those things.” To her surprise, he gave her a cocky little smile she couldn’t bring herself to interpret.

Surely Ben wasn’t flirting with her.

Right?

“Nice of you to help out. When you’re off the clock, I mean.”

He shrugged. “Cecily’s an old friend. I owe her. Plus, she lets me use the kitchen when it’s quiet.”

“Use the kitchen for what?”

This produced a quizzical look. “To cook.”

“Doesn’t your apartment have a kitchen?”

“Yeah, but I like this one better.”

Was there something between Ben and Cecily? May had thought the mysterious Sam might be Cecily’s boyfriend—and then her girlfriend, when Cecily revealed that Sam was a “she”—but if Ben was over here all the time using the kitchen when he had a perfectly functional one at his apartment …

… 
it is completely none of your business
.

She fired up her default travel site and started looking for last-minute hotel deals while Ben picked at the food on the plate, smearing a tarlike substance on top of a piece of cheese.

After a few minutes’ searching, she clicked back over to her email. Still nothing from her friends, and the rooms were a lot more pricey than she’d counted on. She hated the thought of putting three hundred and fifty bucks on one of her friends’ credit cards—and that was only for starters. She’d need food, and then in Green Bay she had the rental car to get … although with no driver’s license, that was probably out. She’d have to ask someone to pick her up.

It was all so daunting, and she felt guilty for making it this way. She could walk out of the restaurant and take the subway back to Dan’s apartment. She just didn’t want to.

A sigh escaped her.

Knock it off, May. Ben will think you’re not grateful
.

“Bad news?”

“Expensive news. I guess I have to get used to the idea of spending three hundred bucks for clean sheets.”

“Yeah, New York is a bitch that way.” Ben picked a piece of cheese up with his fingers. “Try this.”

“What is it?”

“A soft pecorino, hardly aged at all.” He spread some of the tar-paste-stuff on it with a tiny spoon. “Really mild. Try it with the fig jam.”

May wanted to tell him she couldn’t eat another bite, but then she lifted her eyes to his face and saw that this was his way of helping.

Their fingers brushed when she took the small slab of cheese. She placed it on her tongue.

The bite was sweet and tart, rich and granular. It was fourteen flavors at once, none of them quite distinct. The sound she made was like a moan crossed with a growl.

“What
is
that?” she said after she swallowed.

“Sam’s rosemary fig jam.”

“It’s obscene.”

His mouth hitched into a smirk. “I talked her into naming the restaurant after it.”

“They should seriously consider naming the State of New York after it.”

That made him grin, which made May feel like she’d managed to accomplish something after all.

He picked out another kind of cheese and a thin slice of sausage. “This one’s smoky. Try
it with the honey on top.”

She let him put it directly into her mouth, and then she had to concentrate all her attention on not making any more noises. It was quite a feat, with the taste of smoky meat and rich cheese in her mouth, sharing space with herb-flavored sweetness and Ben’s salty fingertip.

Just the tiniest bit of fingertip, and just the tiniest flick of her tongue over it. Surely an accident on both their parts.

“Hey, May?” His voice was lower than it had been earlier, rumbly and almost as delicious as what he was feeding her.

“Yeah?”

“Come home with me.”

She chewed. Because the food was delicious. Not because Sensible May was rolling around the floor of her brain, tussling with Hedonistic May, who wanted more food and more low-Ben-voice and more fingertips in her mouth.

“I couldn’t impose,” she managed, after Sensible May stunned Hedonistic May with a punch to the face. “It wouldn’t be—”

“You’re not imposing,” he said. “I’m inviting you.”

He’d perched one hip on the desk, and his head blocked out most of the light. Like talking to a god—distant and difficult to interpret. Did he want to help her, or did he intend to stake her to Mount Olympus?

And if the latter, what happened after the staking?

You wear a gauzy white dress, but it’s all ripped up because the staking has been so vigorous. And he kneels over you, chest heaving from how hard he had to fight you to get you pinned down. He stares at your breasts, naked underneath the thin fabric, and then with no warning, he reaches out and rips the dress open. Those big, scarred hands close over your breasts, his thumbs finding your nipples, and he lowers his head—

“I won’t try anything,” Ben said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh.” The word came out so disappointed, she tried again. “That’s good.”

Ben frowned, a chevron of irritation between his eyebrows. “I just don’t think you should spend a ton of money on some sterile hotel room where you won’t have a computer or a phone or anybody to talk to. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the couch. In the morning, you can hang around until you figure out what to do next. I’ll cook you breakfast.”

She should turn him down. It seemed likely that a dishwasher’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen would involve a scattering of pizza boxes and a bare mattress pushed into a closet.

Also, roaches.

But if she said no, she’d never see him again, and it felt too soon for that. He was her ally, the only friend she had tonight in this gigantic, alien city.

It’s not safe
, Sensible May warned.
It’s not smart
.

When she tried to imagine telling her mother about it, her cheeks went hot.

Ben leaned even farther in, until his eyes were a few inches from hers. “I promise, I won’t touch you,” he said quietly. “If you want, you can leave a note with Cecily or some random customer who doesn’t know me that says what you’re about to do, and you can tell her to post it to the authorities if I kill you or whatever.”

Damn. Now he was appealing directly to Sensible May, and Sensible May had to admit, it was working. Plus, Hedonist May really liked being so close to his eyes. Those strange light brown eyes of his were starting to grow on her.

“I’m not worried you’re going to kill me,” she said. “Or hurt me.”

“What are you worried I’m going to do? Rob you?”

That made her smile, and he grinned again. A quick flash of lopsided boyishness.

He’s from Ashland
, she reminded herself.
And we met him at Pulvermacher’s. He’s practically family
.

“Okay,” May said. “I’ll come home with you.”

Ben’s apartment was twenty-some blocks north, so they took the train. May was grateful for that. Her feet hurt like mad.

They got off at Fiftieth. He led her down a street crowded with five-story redbrick tenement buildings that had shops and restaurants on the first floor. They stopped in front of a Greek tapas restaurant.

“This is me,” he said, pointing to the short flight of steps that led to a scratched and weather-beaten black door. The window above displayed the number 406 in friendly gold and red. Someone had done the trim in red and painted the columns flanking the door an eyecatching sky blue. But whoever that whimsical person was, she’d made the effort a long time ago, and the paint had chipped off in hand-size chunks, revealing the deteriorating cement beneath. “I’m all the way on top.”

May followed Ben inside and up a dark staircase while her stomach sank lower and lower. She fixed her attention on her shoes, which looked about as bedraggled as she felt from the day’s adventures.

Allie had bought her these shoes. They were too girly for May, but she tried to be receptive to gifts. Allie had given them to her
because
they were girly.
You should have beautiful things
, she’d said. So May wore them every now and then, even though they made her feel like a giantess lumbering through the Land of the Small People.

The stairs went on and on. By the time they reached the fifth floor, she was short of breath and trying hard not to sound like it. Did he have to climb these stairs all the time? With groceries and everything? Her little ranch house was looking better and better.

Ben led her down a short hallway and unlocked a door. He started flipping on lights, and May stood a few feet inside the threshold, absorbing the view.

The materials were nice—granite countertop in the kitchen, wood floors, deep moldings in the doorways and along the ceiling—but it couldn’t be more than … what, five hundred square feet? It was as though someone had taken Dan’s whole city apartment and shoved it into a shoebox. She had the impression that from where she stood, she could reach out and touch every surface in the place.

To her right, there was a living room—couch, window, entertainment center—and a small nook that contained the kitchen, with a breakfast bar for dining.

To her left, she glimpsed his unmade bed through an open door. It seemed to take up most of the space in the room. Right next to the bedroom was a white-tiled bathroom, barely wider than its doorway.

Ben was looking at her expectantly, and she searched for a compliment. “It’s tidy,” she said finally.

“Yeah, I’m kind of a neat freak. Costs an arm and a leg, but the location’s unbeatable. I’m subletting from my friend Alec while he’s in Spain.”

If this place cost an arm and a leg, Dan’s place in the Meatpacking District must have cost, like, all the limbs. Plus the torso, the head, and three or four other poor suckers, to boot.

“It’s nice,” she said. And then, just to get it out of the way, “I can take the couch.”

“Not a chance.” He ducked behind her and closed the door, which she’d left gaping open. When he turned the lock, the spearing sound of the bolt moving into place did a funny thing to her insides.

Locked in. Locked in this tiny apartment with a stranger
. Maybe this hadn’t been her smartest move ever.

“You want a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks.” Best to stay sober so she could berate herself properly for getting into this situation.

“Have a seat.”

Ben went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle down from one of the cabinets. He opened it and poured a glass, then joined her on the couch. Which was pink.

“So you want to take a shower?”

“No.”

Ben leaned forward, squinting at her face. “You look really freaked out.”

“It’s been kind of a long day.”

“I bet. Sure I can’t get you some wine? Might help you unwind.”

That’s what I’m afraid of
.

He’d already unlaced his shoes and left them by the door, and now he unzipped his hoodie to reveal a gray T-shirt underneath.

Socks and a T-shirt. Lounging on his pink couch, he should have looked like Ken relaxing at the Barbie Dream House. Instead, he looked disreputable. A standing lamp cast a pool of light around him, and the exposed bricks behind him gave the scene a rugged feel. The T-shirt stretched tight across his chest, hinting at an even better build than she’d guessed.

She could see him exactly like this on a catalog page. Slap a faded Packers T-shirt on him, put some other bodies in the frame, and with the wineglass in his hand and the unzipped jacket, the scene would say,
I’m just lounging around in my urban apartment among my metropolitan friends, drinking wine and eating canapés and being hipper than you
.