I’m not thinking straight, because Nan plied me with wine in the hopes that we would both make questionable decisions. Nan wanted us to end up in bed, shifty matchmaking grandmother that she is. She’s a sneaky minx who loves romance, who would love nothing more than to see me settled down with the love of my life.
And Nan has got it in her head that the love of my life is Brooks.
The alcohol has gone to both of our heads a bit. Here we are, standing like two fools whose lips are about to touch, and suddenly there Brooks is, bending his head and leaning in for a kiss. Wait—what?
What is happening?
I want to jerk back to look at his face; surely he knows what he’s about to do? And with whom? You don’t just kiss your friend. Friends don’t just plant one on the other person out of the blue. You don’t take them to romantic parks and go on leisurely strolls.
Fine. Maybe you do.
But he is kissing me, warm tongue mingling with my mustard, ketchup, and hot dog mouth, and could he have chosen a worse time for this? Really, Brooks? Just after I’ve eaten two hot dogs? Kind of gross. Even I can’t deny that.
He does not care.
I’m tempted to apologize, because I wouldn’t kiss him if he were the one who had just scarfed down an entire hot dog, but I think better of it. Decide to enjoy the moment despite the circumstances.
Warm, warm lips. Gentle but firm, planted over mine. And if I had to describe it, I’d say more than anything, it’s a nice kiss, considering the situation. Nice. Pleasant. Lovely. Words he wouldn’t love hearing, but true nonetheless.
Eventually he pulls back, removes his hands from my body a short few seconds later. Steps back and regards me, breath leaving his nose in quick puffs.
I let out a sigh. “Well.”
Brooks nods. “Glad we got that out of the way.”
Out of the way? “Have you been thinking about doing that?”
“Kind of but not really? It seemed like a good thing to do at the time.”
“At the park while I’m eating a hot dog?” I laugh, side-eyeing him before balling up the garbage in my hands and stepping toward a nearby waste bin. Toss the crumpled silver wrapper into the trash and glance at him standing there. “You coming?”
The whole thing—the kiss—was just…strange.
Strange, but typical and fitting—for us, anyway. We can’t seem to do anything like normal humans.
We make our way back through to the other side of the park, one of my hands buried in the pocket of his coat, the other in my own.
16
Brooks
I kissed Abbott.
I kissed her.
It was short and unexpected, but sweet. Gross and meaty, but sweet, and oddly appropriate.
What can I say? The moment felt right.
And now it’s official: I love a seventy-year-old grandma and I ain’t even mad about it. Okay, perhaps love is a tad strong a word considering Nan is more than twice my age and married to another, far more successful man, but love can be felt in different ways. What I feel for Nan is familial, not romantic. I can love her if I want to.
I felt included today, enveloped in the Margolis family fold. Nan seems to have roped me into what appears to be a not-so-subtle version of Operation Get Abbott Married Off.
Nan’s attempts, albeit obvious to everyone, haven’t gone unappreciated (except maybe by her granddaughter). Her antics are, at the very least, entertaining. They are to me, anyway. Abbott? Not sure how she feels about it, but let’s assume it grates on her nerves.
I regard Abbott on the curb, wind picking up, thrashing her beautiful ponytail into a frenzy as she lurches forward toward the approaching yellow taxi cab. I lunge faster, grabbing at the handle, besting her. Goal: open the door first, forgetting that, for today, I am the gentleman.
I am taking the lead.
The last thing I need is her taking the dominant role.
I acted like one through lunch, amusing Abbott with stories, using the few manners I was taught—and the ones picked up in movies and books—to impress her.
We both know the efforts are pointless.
Traffic is on our side on our return from the park to our apartment complex; in short order we’re in front of our building, laughing as we stumble out of the cab, the driver shooting us an agitated look through the dirty plexiglass partition.
I slide him a twenty and tell him to, “Keep the change.”
I’m in a great mood and feeling generous.
His eyes go wide with appreciation as I slam the door behind me and join Abbott by the elevator banks, the button already glowing. When the gold doors glide open, Abbott leans on one side of the car, I lean on the other, and—is it just me, or is there sexual tension in here? Real tension, not the kind left over from sharing a chaste kiss.
Wait…is that a half-mast boner in my pants?
Shit.
I catch her eyes sliding up and down my torso, resting briefly on the crotch of my slacks before traveling up my chest, over my shoulders.
“Are you objectifying me?”
She purses her lips. “Pfft.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a no.”
What a sweet little liar. I smirk. “Right.”
“You wish.”
Some nights, yeah. “Hardly.” That came out rough, edgy, and far too unkind.
Her brow softens, expression changing. “Don’t be a jerk so soon after you kissed me.”
“Sorry.” Fuck, I’m losing my touch. Relax, buddy. Chill. Abbott is your friend—she’s just teasing you.
Friends, and not the kind with any sort of benefit. Which isn’t true, because she feeds me and gives me shelter, so basically I’m a stray cat, but one with a home?
“I am sorry.”
She doesn’t say a word, because it’s not okay, simply putting a hand up to quell my talking.
“Sorry.” There. Now I’ve said it three times like a complete schmuck.
“I get it. It’s fine.” Mood killed, she’s watching the numbers above the door change as we ascend to the higher floors.
Twelve.
Fourteen.
Seventeen.
At twenty, it dings and the doors slide open to the lobby of our floor.
I sweep my hand out. “After you.”
Her lips purse. “Thanks.”
“Movies, your place in ten?”
Abbott bites down on her lower lip, which I wonder about because it’s cherry red and pouty, yet no color appears on her teeth when she releases it.
Interesting.
“Bring chips or something. Don’t be a slouch,” is her reply, and all is forgiven. As she hikes her sleek leather purse onto her shoulder, she tosses her hair and I catch a whiff.
Damn, I always love the way she smells.
“Race you to the couch.” Why am I so competitive?
“Ha ha.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “You gave me back my key, remember?”
“You should probably give it back so I have one.”
“Why? We’re not in a relationship.”
“So?”
Another once-over by Abbott as she says, “When I start dating someone, he will have the only other copy of my key.”
“Other than Nan,” I correct her.
Her blue eyes sparkle before she presents me with her back. I watch her work the key into the gold lock above her handle. It inserts smoothly and turns, lock clicking out of place. Her slender hand grips the handle, pushing.