Chapter Seven
Jeannie
I watched the sedan drive at least one Mercer away. I could have a town car pick me up every day too but the subway was faster. I walked the half a block to my station, scanned my metro card and hopped on the waiting and slightly smelly subway car.
Two dates, two nights, two brothers. What the hell was I doing?
I thought about canceling on both of them about a dozen times in the time it took me to get from NYU to my parent’s brownstone uptown. But without either of the Mercers’ numbers, I was kind of stuck. I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong—I’d checked the university website so I was good there and one date did not an obligation make. I was allowed to see more than one guy at a time. I know, I know. They were brothers and that complicated the reasoning. The logic was flawed but it kept me from chickening out and not showing up altogether.
I wanted both of them and I’d been too scared to go after what I really wanted far too many times.
My undergrads and even my friends all thought of me as Jeannie the badass but that was only true to an extent. Yeah, I grade hard, I don’t take bullshit excuses and I push my students and friends toward their goals, but when it comes to myself, I’m kind of a big scaredy-cat.
For instance, I could have afforded an apartment on my own in East Village—far closer to campus. But I was afraid the nightlife would keep me up weird hours so, instead of taking the risk and moving in with my best friend Cass, I stayed in my parents Upper East Side brownstone. They were never home anymore, preferring to split their time between their rental in Vermont and their second home in San Diego, so it wasn’t as if the choice had cramped my style. But staying home and in my comfort zone was a choice I’d made out of fear. In fact, even being at NYU was a result of being too scared to go to my first pick, Carnegie Mellon. I’d been accepted into their business program as an undergrad but I stayed in-state because I was a chicken shit.
I didn’t know it at the time, of course. I told myself lots of “reasons” I wouldn’t like it there. Philly was gross, (it’s not, it’s lovely), the program was too lenient (it’s comparable to NYU’s), and the best (and by best I mean most ridiculous) reason I came up with was that it was too expensive and I should stay in-state and live at home. While that’s a valid reason for a lot of people, I’m very privileged that it is most definitely not the case with me. But at the time, I really thought it made sense for me to stay in New York because it was cheaper. That’s how deep I was in my own bullshit. It’s why I refuse to take bull from others—I’d had enough of my own.
As time went on and I started to see all the ways I was keeping myself here, safe and sound in my twenty-two square mile island, and I made a choice not to do that anymore. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who made choices from fear. I didn’t want to make my world smaller. I wanted it as big as I could get it. So, no, I wouldn’t cancel on either Mercer brother. I’d be charming and funny and maybe, just maybe if I got really lucky, I could get them both in bed with me at the same time.
I hoofed it from the subway station to my house, knowing at this time of day a cab might be warmer but walking was faster. As soon as I entered the brownstone, Lucifer ran himself in circles trying to greet me.
“Hello, sweetie,” I said, scooping him up with one arm and dropping my bag in the foyer. “Did you have a good day?” He answered with a lick on my chin. “I’m glad to hear it. I had a pretty good day too.” We went to the kitchen for a treat, our weekday, home-from-class ritual.
I put the black bichon-poodle mix on the kitchen stool and fished a treat from the jar. He really was a magnificently ugly dog. Most bichon-poos were adorable but this one got the bad end of the genetics stick. A protruding lower jaw and a wandering eye made him look more like a zombie and less like the designer toy dog he was supposed to be. That’s what my mother gets for taking me along with her to pick him out. At eleven I picked the dog I was afraid no one else would love and he instantly went from being my mother’s purse dog to being my lap dog. Lucifer was mine the minute I saw him.
She balked at the name, of course. What self-respecting New York socialite would have a dog called Lucifer? That was when eleven-year-old me, a hardass-in-the-making informed her mother that Lucifer was the direct result of bad breeding and if we hadn’t taken him home he would have been euthanized and that I would call my dog anything I wanted.
She resigned herself to the name and to her eternal credit, she did some research on the matter and now spearheads a campaign to stop unethical designer dog breeding. Good for you, mom.
I gave my ugly but otherwise healthy dog a treat and he followed me upstairs, claws clicking on the hardwood floors. Once we were settled in my room, I dug my phone out of my pocket. I was about to call Cass, my best friend and fellow T.A. but as I glanced at the screen her smiling face flashed across it.
“Cass! I was just about to call you!” I said, hunting in the closet for something to wear tonight.
“Weird,” she said. “Did you get Webb’s papers graded?”
“Ugh, almost. I’ve got about thirty or so left.”
“Haha, I finished mine.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you.” Cass and I both T.A. for Webb. She’s got the Tuesday/Thursday classes and I have the Monday/Wednesday/Friday ones. It would have been great if we’d ended up with the same schedule but Webb probably knew better than to put us on the same classes.
She was the main reason I didn’t regret going to NYU. We met on our first day and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
“I’m just kidding. Why don’t I take those last thirty off your hands?”
“Really? Are you serious?”
“Sure. You covered my classes during Halloween. I can grade a few extra papers for you. Did you leave them in the office?”
“No, I took them home to work on them this weekend. Would you mind swinging by?”
“Not at all.”
“Cass, you’re a lifesaver. I’ve got two dates this weekend and zero time for papers. Thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome. Just make sure you tell me how your dates go, party girl.”
“Oh, very funny.” Cass knew good and well I rarely went out, let alone twice in a weekend.
“So, who are the lucky guys?”
I didn’t want to say, for obvious reasons. “Um, I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Fine, at least tell me where you’re going.”
“Well, tonight it’s Reservoir Bar and tomorrow it’s Josie’s.
“Uh, they’re both kinda dive-y, aren’t they?”
“That’s the point,” I said.
Cass and I talked for a little while longer while I figured out what to wear. Then I let her go and got showered, re-made-up and blow dried in record time. I was out the door and on the subway with time to spare.
The Reservoir was a fairly typical college bar. Lots of dark wood dotted with flat screens and the cheap beer and food and great staff made it a go-to for most budget-conscious college kids. It was why I was certain Nick hadn’t been here. Why go someplace cheap when you don’t have to? I suggested it to see how Nick acted around “regular” people, or if he really was a rich boy with no grasp on reality.
I sidled up to the bar, ordered a drink and waited for my date. I wasn’t waiting long before the door opened and the whole bar, even the bartenders, cheered.
“Hey! Nick, where ya been!”
“Nick, long time no see! How’s it going?”
“Nick!”
I spun in my barstool to see Nick Mercer smiling and waving at people as he walked toward me.
“Wow,” I said as he sat next to me.
“What?” he asked with a sheepish smile.
I shook my head. “Your regular place, I guess?”
He nodded his head, put my drink on his tab and ordered a whiskey, burger and waffle fries. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah. Order me whatever is good,” I said, yielding to his knowledge of the menu.
“Make that two,” he said, green eyes glinting in the dim light. Fuck he was gorgeous. I could stare at his face forever, the scruff on his jawline, the curve of his lips, the dark lashes and brows putting a perfect frame around his dark green eyes. I couldn’t wait to see how gorgeous the rest of him was. I pulled my lip between my teeth as I imagined him shirtless and the rippling, sculpted muscles he no doubt spent hours in the gym to achieve.
“Jeannie?”
“Yeah?” I said, snapping back to reality.
He smiled, shaking his head at me. “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”