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NICK
When I come around the corner from Hudson onto Barrow Street a few minutes before seven on Friday night, I keep reminding myself to slow down. But it’s impossible. I’ve been thinking about this moment since Adam invited me to dinner after our incredible interlude in his office.
I was so anxious about the date that I enlisted Oliver’s help in getting dressed. He rejected everything in the closet until he spotted a pair of black gabardine pants.
“Those are positively you!” he cheered, reaching for the hanger. “They’ll look amazing with that blue cashmere sweater on the shelf! They’re fashion forward, sleek, stylish and—”
“And positively not me,” I told him. “Because they’re not mine. Those belong to David.” I studied the pants as Oliver held them up for inspection. “Or probably Luke, now that I see the inseam.”
“If David’s the short one,” Oliver had sniffed, glancing at the label, “then these definitely belong to Luke.”
We’d laughed about the difference in height between our two friends. On more than one occasion, strangers had assumed that David was Luke’s son because he was younger and shorter. They were thirty years apart in age, but ideally suited in every way to be partners. Or husbands, since they’d tied the knot a few days before leaving New York on a months-long trip around Europe.
As I make my way down the tree-lined block, I imagine Adam standing in the foyer of his house after I arrive. What if he’s running late from work and answers the door in a bathrobe? I feel my cock jolt in my pants. Then I smile and wonder if we’ll even make it to the restaurant. I can’t speak for him, but I’m so fucking horny that I’ll probably sink to my knees as soon as I hear the door close behind me.
I dismiss the silly porn-influenced fantasy and check the address on the nearest house.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. “I’m almost there. I don’t want to be early.”
I turn around and walk toward Hudson. Before I reach the intersection, I pace back and forth, killing time and thinking about how nervous I feel and what I should say after Adam opens the door. When it’s almost seven, I head back toward his townhouse, walking at a slow pace so that I don’t seem too eager.
When I reach his house, I stand in the middle of the sidewalk at the bottom of the front steps and gaze up at the four-story red brick building. The shutters and front door are painted a deep navy blue, there are pots of geraniums on either side of the entrance and a gleaming brass lamp hangs above the door.
Classic and elegant, I think. With the window boxes and the—
I abandon the thought when I see someone walk past the windows in what looks to be the living room. At first, I think it’s Adam because of the broad shoulders and close-cropped hair. But when I move closer to the front steps for a better look, I realize it isn’t him.
Instead, it’s someone closer to my age, with a beard, narrow face and wide forehead. He’s wearing a tan jacket and striped polo with a backpack slung over one shoulder. An unlit cigarette is lodged behind his left ear and he’s swigging from a bottle of beer.
Classy. Too cool for a glass. And he smokes. I thought Adam told me that he detests cigarettes.
My mind goes blank when I finally see Adam. He moves into view, but he doesn’t notice me because he’s staring intently at the younger guy. They’re obviously having a heated conversation because at one point fingers are waved and arms start flying and faces become red.
Who is this guy? Is it his ex? Is it just another boy that he’s fucking?
I try to remember if Adam mentioned the name of his ex-boyfriend, but my mind is too busy whirring in circles to come up with a concrete answer.
Something dark and menacing crosses Adam’s face as he seems to lecture the younger guy with an intensity that sends chills along my spine. I’ve only known him for a few days, and we’ve been together just twice, but I’m startled to see the jagged sneer that contorts his handsome features into an angry grimace.
As I watch the exchange, I start to think that I can hear them, but then I realize the voices are coming from a group of people heading my way on the sidewalk. I wait until they walk past, taking a moment to offer a friendly nod. When I look at the window again, the intimidating snarl on Adam’s face is gone.
While their conversation continues to cool, I keep my eyes pinned on the interaction. Between the now tender expressions and handful of times that Adam reaches out to touch the other man’s shoulder, there’s obviously a familiarity and warmth between them.
Affection and warmth. Some kind of a connection. A shared history. But is it current or from the past?
The longer I stand on the sidewalk, gazing into Adam’s living room window, the more my imagination starts to overheat. I imagine a dozen different scenarios, none of which calm the frantic dread that’s flooding my heart.
What the fuck was I thinking? I fell for it. I fucking fell for it again. He lied to me about being single.
I pull out my phone, send a text to Oliver to tell him what I just saw and invite him to meet for a drink. He tells me that he’s in the middle of something and will be back in touch as soon as possible. After that, I walk down the block and dial Dede’s office number.
“Why are you calling me?” she asks. “I thought tonight was your big dinner with the sexy hunk.”
I groan loudly. “It fucking was supposed to be tonight, but he’s inside with another guy.”
“Inside the restaurant?” she asks.
“His house,” I say, stepping off the curb to allow a woman and man to pass by. “We were meeting here before going around the corner for dinner.”
“Well, who is it?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I tell her. “But they were hugging.”
“And?” Dede sounds calm and reasonable; the perfect counterbalance to my skittering nerves. “Can’t two friends hug?”
“But that’s just it!” I say. “It didn’t look like a friendly hug. There’s definitely something between them.”
“Well, then fucking march up to the door and ring the bell,” she says firmly. “There’s no need to torture yourself like this, sweetheart.”
“It doesn’t feel like torture,” I tell her. “It feels…inevitable. I swear to God, Dede. All men are pigs!”
She chuckles. “You’re not. And Oliver isn’t.”
“Okay, so maybe there are two exceptions to the rule. What I’m saying is—”
“Hang on!” she blurts. “I know what you’re saying. If Taylor cheated, every man will cheat. If he lied to you, then Adam’s not being truthful. And if the other guy in his house is a boyfriend or a trick or whatever, then the last thing that you need is another broken heart.”
I don’t know if it’s what she intended, but I feel buoyed by Dede’s words. Like hearing her voice and getting her opinion was all that I needed to find my way forward.
“I’m done,” I say after a few seconds trying to decide what I’m doing next. “I already called my old roommate. We’re meeting for a drink at the White Horse.”
“Really?” Dede asks, sounding uncertain. “You don’t even want to ring the bell and find out for yourself?”
“I’ve seen enough,” I answer. “Life’s too short for this bullshit.”
She starts to say something more, but I cut her off. After thanking her for taking time to talk, I hang up, put the phone in my pocket and walk back to Adam’s house. I glance through the window just in time to see him hugging the bearded guy once more. The embrace is brief and tender, but lingers long enough to confirm my verdict.
“Fuck you, Adam Coleman,” I hiss, scuffing the toe of my shoe against the sidewalk as I turn back toward Hudson Street. “I’m not doing this. If you want to lie and mislead people, that’s your choice. But I’m not going to play that game ever again.”