Singer

We can’t catch a cab dressed like this. Not in Yankees country.

For ten minutes, Ethan’s waved an arm, whistled, and even stepped off the curb to get a cabbie’s attention until I pulled him back. With the crowd pouring out of the stadium, it will only get harder to get a ride, so Ethan calls a private car service instead.

Sitting in the back, I run my hand over the upholstery, appreciating the fine leather. “What a score, huh?”

He nods. “Food or drinks?” And then he yawns.

He looks exhausted, so I suggest, “We can call it a night if you’re tired. It’s late anyway.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long week, and I never sleep well when I travel.”

“Is it the bed? I always sleep better in my own. It sucks on trips but makes coming home that much better.”

“Not sure. When I think about it, I don’t sleep that well at my place either.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “You’re probably right. I can tell I won’t be much fun. I’ve not had a good week. The Astros losing just adds to the tally.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were the highlight.”

Our shoulders knock together. “I had fun. Thank you for taking me. We can just ask the driver to go to the nearest subway station. Then I can take the train home.”

“No way. Not at this hour.”

“It’s fine. Really. I do it every weekend.”

“I’ll see you home. Where do you live?”

I hesitate. As soon as I say it, he’s going to find out just how broke I really am. We’ve always seen each other at nice restaurants or upscale bars. He’s seen the best of me. Am I ready for him to see the worst . . . the truth? Taking him downtown is going to be a bad ending to a night that’s been so good.

Leaning back, I drop my chin, and whisper the address. As soon as I tell him, he tells the driver. There’s no judgment in his tone. His fingers touch mine on the seat between us, and I leave my hand there, liking the connection, a little heat of comfort. A few blocks pass before he says, “You shouldn’t be riding the subway at night.”

“I can’t afford private cars, or cabs for that matter.” I don’t mean to snap at him, but my defenses have already shot up.

“Don’t ever be ashamed of how you live. You work hard. Good will come of that.”

“I’m surrounded by friends who are doing all these great things and moving up in their careers back home. But Melanie and I can’t seem to get solid footing here.”

His eyes are on me and the lights outside the window flashing by make them shine. “You took a risk moving here to pursue not only a career, but a dream. That’s admirable, Singer.”

“I try to remind myself that staying in Colorado would have been easy. I’m paying my dues for taking that risk; I don’t regret coming here.” Glancing into his eyes, I say, “I’m a different person here, not boxed in by expectations, or held back by small-town thinking. I love being in New York, but it’s hard sometimes.”

He smiles as if to himself. “You say you’re different here, but I think you would be different anywhere you go.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Definitely. From your name to the way you dress. You are uniquely you. I like that.”

Flattered by the compliment, I ask, “You like the way I dress?”

“Yes, you don’t dress for others. From the dress with the dots to that Yankees shirt that looked like you wore it straight from the store. Your clothes reflect your personality, which is how it should be. Genuineness is a rare thing in Manhattan.”

I take a minute to recover from the fact that he remembers what I wore that first night in the Bronx over a year ago. When I do, I angle toward him. “I did.”

“You did?”

“I bought that shirt on the way to meet you. I had no idea who was playing, but I wanted to fit in.”

“Fit in with what?”

“Fit in with you, Ethan.” Laughing lightly, I feel embarrassment creeping up my chest, but I have nothing to lose. “I figured it would probably be the Yankees playing, but I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it kept you just as unpredictable as you’ve always been.”

Stealing a glimpse, he looks up under dark lashes. “See? That’s where I see things differently. I think I’m quite boring. But I like that you’re unpredictable.”

“You date models and travel for work. Nope, not predictable at all.”

Grimacing, he says, “I have dated models, but only occasionally. I’ve also dated women in other professions—lawyers, doctors, an actress, a bartender, waitresses, and a preschool teacher, but everyone seems to only remember the models.”

“Which do you remember?”

“I’m not sure any have been worth remembering or I’d still be with them.”

“Good point.” The mood lightens between us. I don’t think I could list the professions of the guys I’ve dated.

“I really don’t think you should ride the subway at night, Singer.” He turns his attention and looks out the window.

And just like that, his heaviness creeps back in and I nod, unaware if he can see me or not. “It’s okay to change the subject, but if we are, can I ask you something first?”

“Okay.”

Thinking back to our time on the fire escape, I don’t remember if it was baseball, basketball, or football season. Maybe it was all three if that’s possible.

What I do remember is how Ethan turned away from me and exhaled a shaky breath. I remember the way he gripped the railing, turning his knuckles white, and the way he reluctantly stood up. I remember all his ways, but I also remember that almost kiss like it was yesterday, an hour earlier, or maybe it was merely seconds before by the way my lips still tingle in anticipation.

I remember his reluctance to leave me, and then how he looked back, smiled, and said, “See you around, Singer Davis.” I’d never heard my name sound so seductive, so smooth. It struck me that he had known my name without me giving it.

“How’d you know my name last year when we had never met?”

“I asked.”

He asked.

He asked others about me. Just that simple, and now I’m smiling.

The car comes to a stop in front of my building and an unsettled silence surrounds us. I’m not sure what to do, how to say goodbye to him. Open the door and dash, or leave it open to see what he does? Dashing is the most appealing right now, so I turn toward the door, but stop. “So this it.”

With his hand on my arm, he says, “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He opens the door and slides out, but reaches back in for me.

 I take his hand and when I step out, I’m brought face-to-face with him. I lick my lips, and then drag my bottom lip under my teeth. His eyes latch on to the action and my body curves in, bringing me even closer. With our bodies so close, the heat emanates between us. I don’t think I can stay just friends with him. The chemistry I feel between us is too potent, too combustible.

Stepping to the side, I look over his shoulder at the door to my building. But his hands are still on me, a fire ignited despite my better judgment, so I glance back. “I should go inside.”

“I can walk you to your door.”

“No, this is fine.” If I invite him up, I’ll want him to come in, and then I’ll want more . . . Seems like the theme of my life. More. “Thank you again for tonight.”

With a tip of his chin, he follows it with, “I’ll call you soon.”

I take a few steps away from him, putting distance between us, and fighting myself to not offer him a drink. When I look back, his eyes are still set on me, which part of me I’m not sure, but they’re scanning upward when I catch him. I turn all the way around and laugh. “You keep that car waiting much longer and it’s going to be awfully expensive.”

Fidgeting with his baseball hat, he finally takes it between his large hands and spins it backward on his head appearing bashful and chuckling. “I think it’ll be okay, but thanks for looking out for my wallet.”

My head tilts to the left, and I smile. “For someone who was yawning, you don’t seem so tired now.”

“Second wind.” He comes closer. “I spoke too soon.”

“About?”

“Us. Tonight. You still up for a drink?”

I try not to jump at the offer to spend more time with him, but I suck at lying. “I am.”

His arm waves toward the car in a formal invitation. “I just so happen to have a car waiting.”

We settle back in and Ethan tells the driver to surprise us. The driver has kind eyes when he smiles. “You got it, sir.”

I didn’t expect a can of root beer and a hot dog from a stand down near the river. The street lamps shine enough light to feel safe, and there are other couples with the same plan in mind wandering around. We sit on a bench and look out at the water. “It’s a beautiful night,” I say. “Stars as far as I can see.”

“A rarity in the city.”

“This is nice.”

“This is nice.” His voice causes me to look his way.

I ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Wow, that came out of left field.” Balling up his trash, he shoots it toward the trashcan and makes it. He leans forward on his thighs and looks at the water before us.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly add. “Was that rude to ask?”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I know this is . . . weird, but I’m not seeing anyone or I wouldn’t have asked you out.” Turning to greet me with eyes that shine with an inner light, they contradict the night sky. “Can we just go with it?” This time I turn away, my lower lip finding the edges of my front teeth. When I don’t answer, he adds, “I promise you I’m not dating anyone right now.” He’s too tempting to keep my eyes away for long, but find a straight line across his face when I prefer a smile. “If someone asks you out though, and you want to go, you should.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I have a lot of shit going on, and you’re too good to drag into it.”

“You said your personal life was complicated. And your business life?”

“My personal life is my business. That’s why I don’t want you mixed up in it.”

I exhale and sit back, watching as the moon casts reflections of dancing light across the choppy water. “Can I be honest with you, Ethan?”

“I always want you to feel free to speak your mind, Singer. I hope I can with you as well.”

“You can. I figure it’s better to be honest upfront than hurt someone down the road through misunderstanding.”

His eyes are fixed on me. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Sometimes the quiet that surrounds you makes me think you’re not having a good time.” He’s about to say something, but I place my hand on his leg to stop him. “And then your lighthearted, playful side puts me at ease.”

He rubs a hand across the light scruff of his jaw and says, “I’ve had a lot happen over the last year. Stuff that drags me down. When I’m around you, I feel more like my old self.”

“Is that why you asked me to hang out?”

The corners of his lips lift, and he confesses his own secret, “Selfishly, yes. You’re not tangled in my professional life. I like that. I’d like to have a friend who is separate from that world, someone who I can be me with and just have fun.”

He wears confidence like a second skin, but I see that’s for the world. He’s bashful for me, and it’s stinkin’ adorable. “Are you asking me to be friends with you, Ethan?”

“I thought that was understood from the pub.”

“No, that was you telling me we had to be friends because of your complicated circumstances. This is you asking me.”

“I’m asking because I like spending time with you, and we have a good time when we’re together.”

“Then I accept,” I say, holding my hand out.

He takes my hand and we shake on it, confidence returning to his eyes. “I don’t have to pretend with you, Singer. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Why do you have to pretend at all?”

He stands, sighs, and then offers me a hand up. “We should go.”

I’m becoming familiar with his modus operandi. When I get too close to his heart, he shuts down. Although I hate that there are walls that divide us, I feel I don’t have a choice but to accept them. For now.

I respect him enough to enjoy the parts he shows me and wait for the rest. We’re not in a race to the finish, but a gradual getting to know you stage. I take his hand and stand up, not pushing him for more. Again, for now.

Inside the car, the tension is growing between us, and the ride is much quieter this time. I’m not sure I’m built to withstand the back and forth, and I debate if I should call the whole thing off. The friendship. The hanging out. Whatever else this is.

He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, but attraction doesn’t guarantee a love connection. He’s open and then closes just as fast. I sigh to myself while staring out the window. Honestly? I don’t enjoy not knowing where I stand when it comes to the people in my life, and with Ethan I’m adrift in a sea of darkness.

Then he reaches over and takes my hand . . . and there it is. That’s what keeps me here. He’s strong and has so much going on in his life, but the gesture is simple. Sweet.

Rationally, I know better.

But I’m struggling to tell my heart the truth—we may never be anything more than friends who hold hands. Am I okay with this? It’s something I’m really going to have to consider once I’m alone and can think clearly.

When we arrive at my building, he offers to walk me in despite my protests. I decline again, and punch the code into the security keypad.

“Hey, Singer?” he calls from the curb, hanging back after I insisted.

“Yes?”

Running his thumb over his bottom lip, his chin is tilted down, but his eyes are solely on me. “I like you the way you are.”

“Really?” I ask, smiling.

“Really. As for the pub back there, it doesn’t matter what you wear, you’ll always stand out in a crowd.”

“Is that a compliment, Mr. Everest?”

“Yes. Don’t ever try to be someone you’re not.”

“And what am I not?”

“Expected.”

The comment hits me right in the heart—the emotions from being so sweet start bubbling over. And just like that, I’m sucked back into his orbit. Heart be damned. Smiling, I give another wave and go inside without looking back this time. The door slams, and I lean against the wall and take a deep breath to calm the beats of my racing heart.

That man.

I’m weak to that man when I need to be strong.

Just friends.

A gentle reminder whispers across my mind.