I spent over fifty dollars for an Uber from Jamaica Estates to Caleb and Oli’s penthouse in the Financial District, and I had no regrets. The idea of taking the hot, crowded subway during rush hour while it was ninety-eight degrees was bad enough, but I knew I wouldn’t make it from here to there without a bevy of catcalls that would end with me getting in someone’s face. It was not the day to trifle with a Quinones.
My driver, Marcel, rolled up in a shiny black Suburban as if he were picking up an entire entourage, and promptly drove me toward Manhattan in complete silence. He also played a nineties R&B station on Sirius XM, and I wound up relating really hard to Mary J. as we went over the bridge.
Humming turned to singing, and I only realized I was hitting M.J. high notes when I caught Marcel looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Marcel, have you ever had a lover who acted mad undercover? Because I think Mary knows what she’s talking about.”
He shrugged and made a seesaw gesture with his hand.
“I hear you, boy,” I said, nodding.
The song switched to Fat Joe and Ashanti, a clear omen that I was meant to be in this giant vehicle. I needed to unwind, but nothing helped. Even the blast of arctic air from the vents weren’t helping. I could still feel Angel’s hands on me, his mouth on me. I could still see those green eyes looking up at me as he knelt between my thighs. Feel his fingers digging into my flesh as he got more and more into tasting every inch of me. He’d probably been so hard . . .
I squeezed my thighs together and exhaled slowly. It shouldn’t have happened. I was an idiot, and now I was the one sending him confusing signals, which was what I always accused him of doing. He’d say he was cool with being fuck buddies, then hulk out as soon as another person glanced at me twice, then I’d say it was friends with bennies or platonic friendship, right before getting mushy and affectionate. We’d both been going back and forth like this for months, and it was starting to become too much.
We toyed with each other so frequently that I couldn’t keep up. It was why he’d recently suggested we stick to platonic friendship. Fat chance of that. And it wasn’t even him who initiated us fooling around half the time. Earlier, I’d known I was doomed as soon as I’d glanced up in the mirror to catch him watching me. My breath had caught, because he’d been giving me that look. The look he gave me when he thought I wasn’t watching. The one he’d been giving me since high school. It conveyed a lot more than lust, and it often caused butterflies to explode in my stomach.
I’d known him for ten years, and he could still make me nervous with nothing but a glance. If I was like several of my high school friends, I’d take that as a sign that we were meant to end up having a big Catholic wedding ending with adorable one-quarter Italian, three-quarters Boricua kids popping out right after the honeymoon.
But I didn’t, because signs were bullshit, and that was not my dream. Even without the wedding and the kids, I wasn’t here to get caught up with a guy just because he managed to look like sex in torn-up jeans and a thin gray Yankees tee when he wasn’t fronting like he couldn’t manage to be around me in a public setting. Getting caught up wasn’t my life plan. My goal was to only depend on myself, just like I’d been doing since I was a kid. Focusing on me, and me alone, and not changing things to fit another person, had allowed me to put myself through college, get my own place, and feel successful without anybody’s help. At all.
We pulled up in front of the gleaming tower that housed the penthouse, and I could not deny that I felt deliciously fancy. It was a nice change after I’d spent the entire day hunched over my desk at work, making magic by transforming bits and pieces of information into a narrative that would get one of my boss’s clients a hard-won O-1 visa. In my heart of hearts, this would be the assignment that showed him I deserved a raise. In the bitter reality, I was going to stay stuck at twenty dollars an hour unless I found another job, which was undesirable since I loved his practice.
“Thank you,” I said to Marcel. “I’ll give you five stars for not speaking.”
He nodded at me. “Thanks. Cheer up.”
I slid him a side-eye as I got out of the car. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
His laugh was cut off by me slamming the door shut. My fancy feeling vanished in the humid night air, and I speed-walked into the building. It wasn’t the first time I’d attended one of Caleb and Oli’s parties, but I was struck by the glitz every time. Comparatively, it made my large-for-NYC one-bedroom apartment in the Jamaica Estates look like a hovel. This place was . . . unreal. A fantasy. Something I’d never conceived of, let alone wanted. While I loved visiting the world of penthouses or mansions with the Stone kids, I still liked going home to my cozy place above Hillside Avenue.
The doorman nodded at me in greeting as I crossed the lobby, and I checked my reflection in the elevator once the doors closed. I didn’t look even remotely as messy as I felt, and my white dress was still unsullied, so I considered it a win.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the elevator and . . . found myself face-to-face with my brother. I went from feeling put together to internally flailing, because I wasn’t ready to see Victor this frequently. Or to face the memories that had come rushing back ever since he’d returned from Chicago. My childhood, our childhood, had remained safely tucked into the back of my closet for the past several years, but he was forcing me to confront it solely by being in the city.
“What’s good, Steph?”
I blinked, looked around, and then went back to staring at him in something that likely resembled panic. He’d been back in town for two weeks, and my stomach still sank every time I saw him, which was why I was keeping my distance. It wasn’t that I was avoiding his hulking, muscular, tattooed self—it was more that I casually tried not to speak to him. I’d done enough of that three years ago before forcing him to go to Chicago. Upon his return to New York, I’d begged Angel and Tonya to let him crash for a week until he got a place together. Seeing him was bad enough, but having him in the house with me where we’d inevitably ruminate about our absent parents . . . It seemed like a nightmare.
“Why are you here?” I asked, more sharply than I’d intended.
He raised one shoulder. “Meredith invited me.”
“. . . Why?”
Victor snorted. “Trying to suck up to Tonya by being nice to her squad?”
“You’re not in her squad,” I reminded him. “Only Angel likes you.”
“Yeah, because he isn’t a dick. Unlike Raymond.”
The way he said Raymond’s name put me on edge. Even as reformed as Victor claimed to be, with his button-down shirt hiding his gang tats, and his voice a little lower and less confrontational, the aggression poured out of his mouth at the mention of Ray. It took me back to the time when I’d been terrified of them crossing paths, convinced they’d kill each other one day. The hostility he’d had toward Raymond had never made any sense to me. He’d fixated on Ray. Gone out of his way to provoke a guy who’d been my best friend since junior high school. Even now, I didn’t get it. Just the mention of Raymond had been enough to set Victor off.
“Don’t worry, sis. I’m going.” He ran a hand over his hair. “You here with Angel?”
“No,” I said sharply. “Why would I be?”
He gave me a weird look. “I dunno. I thought you were hanging out or whatever.”
Hanging out or whatever was his awkward brother way of saying he’d thought we were sleeping together.
“We’re not in a relationship, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying nothing. I kinda figured you’d end up with a woman by now, to be honest.” It was so out of left field that I just stared at him and waited for an explanation. He snorted out a laugh. “You used to get more girls than me.”
He was right. Between Tonya in her white ribbed tank tops and baggy jeans, and me with my name chains, gold hoops, and skater outfits, the teenage girls around Kings Park hadn’t really stood a chance. Her open queerness had made me feel comfortable coming out about my bisexuality early on. And I couldn’t deny that I’d crushed on her for mad long before realizing neither of us were willing to risk our close friendship for sex. Not to mention that she hadn’t shared my disdain for monogamy.
“Because I’m flyer than you.”
“No doubt. Maybe that’s why you fit in so well with this crowd.” He glanced over his shoulder, brows twitching together. “You really like these people?”
“They’re not bad,” I said. “You should give them a chance if you plan to work for Kenneth Stone.”
“That’s the only reason I showed up.” Victor brightened visibly at the mention of his prospective job, and I softened. Sometimes I needed a reminder that he had no reason to change if I kept holding the past against him. Watching him smile shyly at the mention of a real job was a good reminder, and it calmed the part of me that wanted to reject the reality of him standing in front of me. “Caleb is a nice dude. His man too. They introduced me to the other peeps who work for their company, because apparently he’s been talking to his father about me doing security at their office.”
“I can’t believe this is necessary.” The memory of Meredith’s bruises, of the entire story, chilled me to the bone. It hadn’t just been a random robbery—someone had hunted her down. The two guys were apparently sitting in Rikers, and would be for a while after pleading guilty for various crimes, but like Caleb said—who knew who else was out there? It awed me that Caleb exercising his right to release an employee for spewing hate speech on social media had resulted in the exact audience of that hate speech . . . teaming up against them. “That guy Stavros is Mere’s guard, right?”
“Yuh. And T-Bone and one of the more senior dudes, Chester, keep an eye on Chris, Aiden, and Jace.”
“Caleb and Oli?”
Victor shrugged. “Some dude named Sean.”
“What about Clive?”
“The slick-looking lawyer cat? I dunno. Oli mentioned he’d taken off early and seemed pretty mad about it.”
I was willing to bet he’d dipped after a run-in with Michael and Nunzio. Three years later, and the guy still wasn’t over Michael. It was exactly the kind of life-ruining heartbreak I wanted to avoid. Well, the exact kind of emotional dependency. As put together as Clive looked, the man was broken after losing the man he’d loved. Probably still loved. That would never be me.
“Thanks for the update, Vic. Turns out you’re pretty good for gossip.”
He snorted. “See you later.”
I kissed him on the cheek, and he surprised me by pulling me into a tight bear hug. My throat closed up, and I tensed against him. The last time we’d embraced had been before the gang shit and the fighting and the trouble he’d brought to our door. It’d been during the days when we’d secretly lived alone in our crummy basement apartment, after both our parents had left and never returned. Even the night at the airport, when I’d shipped him off to Chicago, he’d been hard and cold and empty as he turned away with ghosts in his eyes and the world on his shoulders. A shudder went through me at the memory of that awful night, and Victor let me go.
Hugging him back would have been the right thing to do. Or I should have at least explained that it wasn’t him who had repulsed me. I was put off by memories of our awful parents and how they’d torn each other apart until drugs had been more important than their own kids. I was disgusted by their relationship because it had been a fucking crime against us both. But I couldn’t speak, so I watched him quickly head for the staircase instead of taking the elevator.
This night was not going as planned.
A security guard I didn’t recognize allowed me into the penthouse, and I made a beeline for the bar that had been set up in the dining room. It was Caleb and Oli’s engagement party, which meant I needed to find them, but first I really needed alcohol. Thankfully, I found Tonya and Raymond camped out in the corner, trying their best to blend into the shadows in the dim lighting. The sight of them being their normal selves grounded me.
“Nice outfits, friends.” I sat beside Tonya, gesturing at their sneakers and formal jackets over nonformal shirts. “Did you call each other?”
“We’re both just similarly brilliant at fashion,” she deadpanned.
Raymond scoffed. “I did call her to ask what she was wearing, though.”
More of the heaviness left my shoulders. God, I loved them. Of course they’d have the power to act as my personal life vests when I was close to drowning in confusion and stress. Leaning over to Tonya, I rested my head on her shoulder and waved at the bartender.
“Ketel One on the rocks?”
“Sure thing.”
I watched him make the drink, adding a cute little wedge of lime. There was something about his olive complexion, dark eyes, and tall willowy build that reminded me of Charles. I missed our fabulous dancer friend, but he still wasn’t back from his contract on a Carnival cruise ship. Things were off when he wasn’t around, because he was the happy middle ground between my Queens-ness and Mere’s Upper West Side swag. Charles was everywhere and everything. He was also one of the few people I spoke candidly with about my fear of monogamy and putting all my faith in one person. Considering his abusive asshole of a sometimes-boyfriend, Charles always advised me to stick to my guns. He regretted getting in so deep with his boyfriend. Regretted that he had such a hard time walking away.
“So, what’s happening?” Tonya asked knowingly once I had my drink. “Stressed?”
“Somewhat. Work is frustrating me, among other things.”
She nodded, not taking those serious eyes off me. “Where’s your man?”
Oh my fucking God. It never ended.
“He’s not my man.”
“Angel flat left us,” Raymond said. “He’s probably home watching ESPN and memorizing stats for his wack fantasy sports shit.”
“It’s not wack,” I protested. “It’s actually really interesting. He explained it to me one time.”
They both stared at me blandly.
“Shut up.”
Raymond snorted and went back to his beer, but Tonya looked at me closer. Somehow, I knew she could tell something had happened. That there was a ripple in the fabric of my unflappable exterior, and Angel was the cause. Well, part of the cause.
“You two doing okay?” she asked shrewdly. “I heard he was at your house.”
“Hmm.” I took a slow sip, wincing a little, and set the glass down. “Well, he made me come really hard right before I called my Uber, and then I sent him home with an edict that it was the last time we’d fuck around. For real this time.”
They both gave me the same identical unimpressed face.
“Don’t you two say that shit every third Sunday of the month?” Raymond wondered. “That’s how it seems.”
“I think it’s seasonal,” Tonya said. “Every three months they get mad and stop sleeping together, make everything awkward for the crew for a while, and then fall into bed again.”
“Or fall into my bathroom,” Raymond muttered. “I will never forgive you for desecrating my new sink.”
Glaring at them, I took a bigger sip and slammed it down to the make-shift bar. “Well, I’m so sorry. Not everyone can meet adorable teachers and fall into domestic bliss with actual houses and refinished bathrooms, Raymond. Or . . .” I pointed at Tonya. “Fall for a gorgeous heiress who has spent every day of the past two weeks in your bed instead of at her equally gorgeous mansion.”
“What can I say?” Tonya shrugged. “She prefers Queens to the Upper West.”
Raymond made an impressed noise, as if this somehow made Meredith cool in his book all of a sudden. I rolled my eyes.
“Regardless, her being a perma resident in your bed is why Angel has been at my place so much. He thinks it’s awkward that he can hear how wet she is when you’re—”
“Calm yourself, mamita.” Tonya’s expression had morphed from unimpressed to irritated. “It’s not our fault you two are the most complicated people ever. You don’t need to start talking shit.”
“I know.” I drained the glass and set it down again. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated and confused.”
“Confused about what, though?” Raymond pointed the mouth of his beer bottle at me. “Steph, he’s been wanting you for years. You seemed like you finally noticed he’s a piece of ass and returned the sentiment. Why’s it such a big deal for you two to just get together?”
“Because I don’t get together. Never have. Never will.”
“You’ll never . . . get with someone you like? Have sex without cursing each other out because you’re both trying to pretend you’re not sprung?”
Tonya punched Raymond in the shoulder. “Stop being an ass.”
“I’m not.” He rubbed his shoulder. “I’m just saying, I don’t get it. I’m genuinely confused.”
I struggled with how to explain it, but I usually avoided full-on discussions about it. Once you tell someone you’d rather die single than ever depend on another person to keep you happy, or to keep promises, they assume you’re pathetic or defeated. Since I wasn’t either, those pitying comments led to me wanting to punch them in the face. Also, I hated explaining since it would inevitably lead to me using my shit-show of a family as an example. I generally tried to avoid talking about my past at all costs.
Meredith and Charles had been the first people I’d discussed my relationship aversion with in depth, because they were more like me about sex and dating. But even then, I’d loathed going into too much detail. I wasn’t ready to go there with anyone other than my oldest friends. Maybe Jace, because his life had been similar to mine in some ways, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about his background either.
Besides that, now Mere was a card-carrying member of Club Monogamy as well.
“It’s not him,” I said finally. “I mean, we drive each other nuts, but it’s because we both want something neither of us will let the other have.”
“Yeah, you want to fuck him and casually date while being besties, and he wants to carve his name into your ass,” Tonya muttered.
Raymond said nothing, but that was likely because he agreed. Angel being into me had become Angel getting irrationally jealous several times. It was another reason why we’d started fighting. I’d reminded him of what we were and what we weren’t, and he’d gotten pissed and bitter before checking himself. It was a cycle I didn’t know how to break.
Sometimes I wondered whether we could work if we just got out of each other’s way. In my weakest moments, when I missed him so much it hurt, I wished it could work. Even if it wasn’t me. Or who I’d designed myself to be.
There were times when I pretended I trusted other people enough to invest my whole self into a long-term relationship. Those fantasies had even led to me telling my coworkers that I had a vague fiancé after one too many irritating questions about my single status. In this work-fantasy, my fiancé was Angel. I imagined he’d moved into my apartment, that I woke up next to him, watched him fold laundry because he was fucking meticulous, and that we cooked together while the UFC fights played in the background. That we had amazing sex every night. Sometimes in the morning too. That I wasn’t afraid of my feelings for him, and that he trusted me not to disregard his. That we were functional.
“Uh-oh!” Chris’s voice boomed across the quiet room, jerking me out of my pity party. “What’s this?”
I turned on the barstool to see Chris sauntering over to us, looking absolutely adorbs in a dark-purple suit and backward Yankees cap, with his phone in one hand. He set it to record as soon as he slid over to us.
“What’s up, QFindr fam? This is ya boy Chris Nasty Mendez doing the rounds at the Stone-Buckley engagement party, and I’ve just found my whole squad chilling in the cut, acting like they don’t know nobody.”
“Chris, what the fuck are you doing?” Raymond asked wearily.
“Vlogging. Obviously. As QFindr’s newest, and breeziest, IT master, I’ve assigned myself the role of chronicling all-important QF events. But anyway, let me introduce the faces of last summer’s QF promo campaign.” Chris aimed the camera at me. “This is my girl Stephanie, looking quite entrancing in some Versace—”
“Chris, this is from Express.”
He snorted. “Well, all right, you guys see me out here trying to elevate my homie, and she wants to stay at the mall, but it’s cool. Good to be true to yourself.”
I covered my face with my hand to muffle a laugh as he turned the camera to Tonya.
“And here we have Sergeant Maldonado, looking sharp in some fresh retros on—”
Tonya snatched his phone.
“Hey!”
“No recording without my permission.” She stopped the video and handed it back, not looking anything close to apologetic. “I’ve deleted all my social media, so why would I want to be recorded live? I’m being discreet for a reason.”
“Oh good point. My bad, T-Bone.” Chris dragged her into a big hug, grinning when she returned it, and then leaned against the bar. “I’ll resume recording later and make sure to do a thorough examination of Raymond’s man bun.”
“Stay away from my hair, man.”
“Nope. Did you know there’s a giant poster of you with your hair like that in a conference room at QFindr?” Chris guffawed at Raymond’s horrified face. “It’s so true. It’s the best part of every morning meeting. You looking all cute and mad and like a Tumblr search result.”
“I’ll break in and vandalize it,” Raymond said grimly.
“Bad joke considering the threats they’ve had,” I said. “Just deal with being pretty.”
He scowled deeper, and I ruffled his hair.
“I wish things were always this chill.” I signaled the bartender for another drink. “Or that Angel would come be chill with us instead of icing himself out.”
“He’s just a homebody, Steph,” Chris said, always the mediator. “It’s not even the people here, it’s parties in general. Can you remember the last time he went to a party for someone on the block?”
“Well . . . no,” I admitted. “Okay, maybe not everything is about him ignoring me. Us.”
“It’s not. You’re just mad self-absorbed.” Chris winked. “For real, though. If we ever did something really cool, like a group road trip or a trip to the beach or some outdoors shit, he’d be right there planning every detail with T-Bone. Getting all survival man on us. But shit like this?” Chris waved around the penthouse with the professional lighting and staff, and the guests of honor not even anywhere in sight because there were so many people. “Not his scene. And not the way to get him to kick it with us, since we’re forcing our new friends and their fancy-ass lifestyles on him.”
. . . And there it was.
I was worried about not changing myself for anyone, including Angel, and yet I was continuously trying to force him into outings and situations that specifically made him uncomfortable or that he wasn’t interested in.
“Now I feel like an ass,” I muttered. “Maybe I’ll call him.”
“Leave him alone with ESPN or Discovery Channel for the night,” Tonya said. “And go say congratulations to Oli and Caleb before you get drunk.”
“Good point.” I hopped off the barstool and smoothed down my white dress. “How do I look?”
Raymond flashed a thumbs-up without looking, Tonya nodded her approval, and Chris said, “Would look better if you’d said it was Versace.”
I laughed, but it faded as soon as I turned and spotted Angel across the penthouse. I’d just seen him an hour ago, had had his face between my legs an hour ago, and yet the sight of him stopped me in my tracks. He was wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of dark-wash jeans—not exactly formal—but I wanted to drag him into the bathroom by a handful of his dirty-blond hair.
Instead, I smiled and tried to come to terms with the fact that I had it bad.