Charlie

All right. My head is back on straight. Whatever weirdness I vibed from Ever was a hallucination. Just like that time I drank too many Red Bulls at a Miike Snow concert and swore I was levitating. I’m going to have proof on my side in mere minutes, because I’m climbing Ever’s stairs, my chest expanding as I suck in the citrus aromas dangling in the air like ripe fruit. She’s going to answer the door, we’re going to screw like a meteor is headed for Earth, and this weird, shaky feeling in my stomach will bounce.

So why does my hand pause on the way to knocking? I can hear her soft humming through the door, the gentle scrapes of kitchen utensils. Homey sounds I’m not accustomed to. Ones I don’t normally absorb. And I shouldn’t. I don’t have time. When my brother, Greer, was a recruit, he slept in the locker room between sessions. When he’d found the NYPD drills to be unchallenging, he’d designed new ones. They’re not going to name a sweaty gym mat after me unless I raise my game. A lot.

I will, too. As soon as I get Ever out of my system for the day, I’ll be able to focus. Ignoring the way her hums seem to swim lazy laps in my stomach, I knock. Harder than usual. There won’t be any games played today. No flirting through the door crack. I’m going to make short work of whatever sexy outfit she’s concocted to make me insane, then ride her on my dick until she loses count of her orgasms.

She takes way too long to answer the door. The longer it takes, the more my chest feels like it’s caving in. There’s no more humming. It’s complete silence, and I’m contemplating the merits of knocking again—or breaking down the door—when she finally opens.

Immediately, I know yesterday wasn’t some fluke. Everything has changed.

“Hey, Ever.”

“Charlie.” She smiles, but it dips at the edges. “Hey.”

In red jean shorts and a tight, white, see-through T-shirt, she looks phenomenal, but for the first time, my lust is cut with desperation. There’s nothing more dangerous. A no-fly zone. A vision of Ever wrapped in yellow caution tape flashes in my mind, but I shake the image loose and focus. I see the writing on the wall here. The fun is over. But I can’t get my feet to move. Going into her apartment is the absolute worst idea, but I can’t stop myself from making it, because goddammit. This is Ever. A unicorn. I’m not just going to walk away and be left wondering what got her horn stuck in the mud. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Not to mention unprofessional. Cops aren’t supposed to leave stones unturned.

“Can I come in?”

She nods and steps back, clearly putting distance between our bodies when normally I would be ripping off those tiny shorts by now, my cock in her hands. Fuck, I’m so hot for her. No matter what’s going on here, I don’t think that will ever change.

That’s definitely not panic making me winded and edgy. I’m just very aware that my schedule only gives me twenty minutes before I need to be back uptown.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Whoa. She’s offering me refreshments? “Um . . . no, thanks. I chugged a Gatorade on the subway.”

“Gatorade.” There is none of the usual seduction in her walk as she moves to the kitchen, sliding orange debris from a cutting board into the trash can. “I guess my lavender-flavored water wouldn’t have been a hit, huh?”

“Flowers in your water?” I shake my head. “Why?”

“The floral notes are supposed to be calming.” She closes her eyes and laughs. “It tastes like shit. I don’t get it, either. Pretty sure everyone just drinks it because they think they should. In high school, the peer pressure is over cigarettes. As grownups . . .” She flips on the sink tap. “We’re pressured to drink flower water and tolerate quinoa.”

“Tell me quinoa hasn’t invaded your repertoire.”

“It’s invaded everything,” she whispers. “It’s here right now.”

Crazy as it sounds, this is the most conversation we’ve had since meeting in the bar that afternoon a month ago. Is this why I’ve had a ball of fire in my stomach since yesterday? Had staying just this side of personal started to bother me?

Nah. Couldn’t be. We drew the line at personal for a reason. It’s what made this arrangement so ideal. So . . .

“What’s going on here, Ever?”

Slowly, she removes her hands from the sink and wipes them on a dishtowel, her eyes landing everywhere but me. “I have to end this, Charlie.”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, I picked up on that.” Although hearing it makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a glass full of rusty nails. We’re a casual hookup. No pressure. Now she’s ended it, so I should give her a kiss on the cheek and walk. Right? Yeah . . . “I want to know why, Ever.” Sauntering toward the kitchen, I seesaw a hand between us. “I thought this thing we had going was pretty fucking perfect.”

Her expression is one of shock. Really? I mean, she’s acting like a man wouldn’t be even remotely miffed over giving her up. This girl is dynamite, wrapped in Please Santa, I’ve Been a Good Boy. Hadn’t someone told her that before? I could have, if my mouth hadn’t been so busy elsewhere. Or if I hadn’t been afraid she would read something into it.

“Charlie, I told you I didn’t want anything serious. I’m tapping out.” Her hands slip into the back pockets of her shorts. “It was perfect for a while. But I . . .”

Don’t ask. “You what?”

Ever squares her shoulders. “I’m going to be straight with you.” She blows out a breath and rolls her neck, like a boxer getting ready to enter the ring. “I’ve decided to give serious relationships a try.”

Even as a two-by-four smacks into my middle, clarity descends. For once, Jack had been right. She was doing the relationship dance. I’d walked right into the trap.

Ever

You could have heard one of my mother’s Hermès scarves drop.

I can’t tell what Charlie is thinking, but I assume there’s horror involved. Take a fucking number, bro. I’m not exactly turning pirouettes at the idea of throwing my hat into the bizarre Manhattan dating ring, either. But hours later I’m still thrown from my mother’s visit. In addition to having my belief system turned upside down, the woman sort of put the fear of God into me.

The moment she’d left, I’d opened my Mac and created a dating profile on the site with the least obnoxious questions, DateMate.com. Already I had a few dudes interested. They all looked and sounded the very definition of assholes, but it was still early days. Maybe Nina’s boyfriend knows someone who is looking to engage me in an awkward conversation where a bill arrives at the end.

Shoot me now.

It’s extremely difficult to conjure faceless date candidates when Charlie is only a few yards away looking delicious. The crisp, navy uniform pants and gray T-shirt do endless favors for his body. Biceps, thighs and throat muscles vie for attention. His blue eyes are a little deeper set than usual, black rings beneath, like he didn’t get a good night of sleep. Which makes me think of naps. How he would look with his shirt off, in some freshly laundered sweatpants, burying his face into a pillow. A pillow right next to mine. Really, really good. That’s how he’d look.

I need to get rid of him before I attempt to find out.

“Look, it’s a long story and I don’t want to bore you,” I say, trying to fill the wake of silence. “Suffice it to say, someone very close to me pulled a Ghost of Mistresses Future and showed me what life could be like if I didn’t give relationships a fair shake.” My throat starts to hurt, thinking of my mother’s distress. “I don’t want to be left thinking what if. What if I’d tried. So I’m going to armor up and enter the battle.” Dismissing Charlie from my life is even harder than I’d thought it would be. “The least you can do is wish me luck. You’ll . . . find someone else.”

I have to be imagining the flash of hurt that crosses his face at those two final words, right?

Yeah, a moment later, he proves I had.

Charlie’s eyebrows lift. “You really expect me to believe all that?” He advances, rapping his knuckles on my kitchen counter. “This is the part where I say, ‘No, please, Ever, don’t date someone else. Date me. I’ve seen the light.’ Right?” He scoffs. “There’s no way in hell, Ever. We’ve never lied to each other about what we wanted. I can’t believe you of all people would pull this shit on me.”

Uh. Wow. I’ve now had my hair blown back twice in one day by the two most unlikely candidates. Charlie thinks my brave foray into the dating scene is a ploy to land him as a full-time boyfriend? Hot acid razes the back of my neck, my vision crowding together. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Charlie.”

“Kidding about what? Not wanting to officially date you or anyone else? I assure you I’m very serious. I would be serious about that if you were Kate Middleton.” There’s a touch of discomfort to his jerky movements, as though he wasn’t all that sure about his argument, but he’d committed, so now it was ride or die. “We were up front from the beginning, Ever. I don’t have time to cuddle on the couch with you and watch Fashion Police.”

“Okay, first of all, I haven’t watched Fashion Police since Joan Rivers died. It has lost its luster.” I hold up my finger and allow that to sink in. “Second, I understand you, Charlie. I know you don’t do serious. I never had these ambitions myself until this morning. I was trying to let you down gently with some goddamn lavender water and you’re shitting all over it.” I can’t believe this. I’m having a break-up squabble. As if we’ve even been dating in the first place. “I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to cuddle you. And by the way, I must really be a truly evil mastermind to trick you into a relationship with a month of no-strings sex. What a bitch I am, right?”

Charlie holds up both hands and whistles, long and low. “All right. I’m backtracking. Tracking way back. This is why everything said in a locker room should stay in a locker room. I’m sorry. I jumped to an idiotic conclusion.” He searches my face, but I have no idea what he’s looking for. Lingering signs of deception? Maybe he’s just trying to decipher the shade of red my cheeks have turned. Magenta? Crimson? “I forgot for a minute I was talking to a unicorn.”

“What?” I have the sudden urge to throw my bowl of chocolate-orange mixture through a window. “And Kate Middleton? I’m like her exact opposite.”

“I don’t know. It just came out,” Charlie mutters. “I mean, if I had to pick, it would be Pippa—”

“Please leave, Charlie.” I’m definitely not jealous of the Duchess of Cambridge. Or her sister. This whole conversation needs to be filed away in my things to cringe about at odd moments folder. “I have a job tonight. And dating matches to go through.”

Oh, real mature, Ever.

“Wait. Just wait. This is going way too fast.” Charlie drags both hands over his close-cropped brown hair, then visibly centers himself with a deep breath. “Ever. You’re making a mistake. No one has what we have.” His throat flexes. “It’s too rare to give up.”

I ignore the distant voice in my head, shouting from the back of the class to agree with him. Against my will, memories rise from that afternoon in the bar. When we met and kissed. I must have imagined the relentless sense that something huge was happening. It must have been the stupid romance of the rain or a trick of light. All he really wanted was a hookup. That’s still all he wants from me.

“I’ve made my mind up, Charlie.”

He’s in front of me before I can blink. Big, frustrated, confused, turned-on male. His eyebrows are knit tight, his breathing heavy at my lips. He presses me into the counter, his fingers digging into my waist before his right hand drops to hook beneath my knee. That thumb of his, the one that has brushed my nipples and strummed my clit countless times so skillfully, makes circles on the inside of my knee. And then out of nowhere, he jerks my knee up around his waist with a groan. My neck loses power, my head falling back. He’s hard, the shape of him mouthwatering against my stomach. Pressing, pressing, thrusting. “Unmake your mind,” Charlie rasps into my neck, a thread of desperation twining with seduction. “Ever . . . please. I wanted you to ride me today, cutie. That hot as fuck way you do it, all bouncing tits and shaking legs. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to feel me crammed up into your wet pussy?”

Oh shit. Yeah. He knows all my weaknesses and when to exploit them. I’m feeling exploited enough right now to need an underwear change. It would be so easy to say, yes, Charlie, and let him round out my afternoon with another one of the best orgasms life has to offer, but I know I’d be disappointed in myself when he left.

Although, I would be so satisfied . . .

Eyes on the prize, Ever.

“Charlie, stop this.” I push on his shoulders twice before he budges. He stumbles back, his features tight, swiping a hand over his mouth. “I like you,” I breathe, horrified over the wobble in my voice. “I think you’re great. But we’re not in the same place anymore. I can’t give my full effort to finding someone if I know you’re going to show up and take me to bed. My . . .” Heart? No way. “My energy won’t really be in it.”

His hands are back in his hair, looking as if he might yank it out by the roots. “You’re really doing this,” he enunciates, going from shell-shocked to angry. “You’re going to be one of those girls who drags her boyfriend shopping, parades him in front of her friends at brunch and ends up with joint custody of a yellow Lab when it all goes south six months later?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “That sounds awful, but I won’t know until I try, will I?”

Charlie opens and closes his mouth about eight times, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. “We have the perfect thing going here.” His finger stabs the air with a jerky movement. “You’re going to realize it the first time some chump asks you to split the bill.”

“At least there will be a bill to split.” Shit. Why did I say that? I need him to leave now. All these suppressed desires for our nonrelationship picked a really inconvenient time to reveal themselves. “See you around, Charlie.”

He plants both hands on his hips and looks down at the floor, staying that way for a few seconds, then moving toward the door. When he opens it and stalks out into the hallway, he doesn’t look back. “See you around, Ever.”

The door slams.