Charlie

I’ve done so many push-ups today, my arms are aching with the strain. Soon as I hit one thousand, I’m going to run another couple miles, try to beat my best time. I’m holing up in my room tonight with study materials, because we have an exam coming up. I don’t need a refresher. Hell, I knew everything in the handbook before I entered the academy, but if I don’t distract myself, I’m going to call Ever again too soon. It has only been a couple days since the catering event, and new friends space out their interactions more, right?

Who the fuck knows? I just don’t want to appear too eager. Meanwhile, I’m about as eager as sailors during Fleet Week. How is she? Is she working a job tonight? If not, what the hell is she getting up to without me? Central Park, the beach, watching movies? I got used to living in the dark about her everyday activities, but that’s really not working for me anymore.

I’ve been tempted to message her on DateMate. As Reve. God knows I’ve been logging on to look at her photos often enough. They’ve become part of my routine. There’s a picture of her balancing a plate of toast on her head that I like to eat breakfast with.

It’s time to have my head checked.

Danika walks into the gym, kicking the edge of my floor mat. “Saw your not-girlfriend.”

“What?” I go down on my chest, roll over and sit up, like an animal that’s been offered a treat for performing. “Where?”

“At that tapas place near Union Square.”

“Fuck.” I come to my feet, just as Jack saunters in eating a burrito. “A date?”

“Who’s on a date?” Jack asks around a mouthful. “I like dates.”

Danika crosses her arms, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Ever. With some sexy financial type. Caught them through the window as they were sitting down.”

“Oh shit,” Jack says, turning on a heel and trying to leave the room. “I have an appointment.”

“Wait. Just . . . wait,” I call, halting him in his tracks. My heart and brain must have swapped places, but my heart feels twice as heavy and my head is beating. I thought Ever’s upcoming rendezvous with Reve would prevent her from scheduling dates with other dudes. Didn’t Ever and Reve have a connection? Apparently not enough of one to keep Ever cooling her heels. “Sexy financial type? Like . . . sexy how? How is he sexy?”

“Objection,” Jack waves his burrito. “Irrelevant.”

“You’re on the law side of law and order, Jack,” Danika says. “You realize that, right?”

“Stay on the subject.” I sound like someone is using my stomach as a trampoline. “Ever. Date.”

“A sexy date.”

“Sexy how?”

Danika throws up her hands. “Kind of a Patrick Wilson type, I guess. Cufflinks. Starchy shirt. Fresh haircut.”

Jack smirks. “You need a refresher course on what’s sexy, honey.”

Christ, I think I’m having a panic attack. The last time I experienced this severe nausea and racing, spiky pulse was when I found out Ever was going speed dating. I thought of her getting hurt or being sweet talked by a bunch of chumps and . . . I came up with the plan to sabotage the event. Can’t do that again, though. It made Ever sad. Made her lose her sparkle, and even for a short span of time, that’s unacceptable. I can’t meddle again. Unless. . . .

“Did he seem maybe like an asshole?” There’s no way to keep the hope out of my voice as I throw the question at Danika. “Like he could ghost her after one date. Or maybe he looked more like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, instead of Patrick Wilson?”

Danika tilts her head, like she’s on the verge of calling me an idiot. But whatever she finds in my expression seems to change her mind. “Yeah. It’s possible I might have seen a splatter of blood on his collar.”

“She has excellent vision,” Jack supplies.

“Okay,” I breathe, bracing my hands on my knees. My brain is barely capable of functioning because it’s melting. Ever on a date. A real date. And I don’t think I can physically let it happen. I completely underestimated my ability to watch her go on dates from the sidelines, just being her supportive friend. No. Fuck supportive. I’m going to be sick. “Please. I need your help. Both of you.”

Jack elbows Danika in the side. “Run this kind of information by me first next time.”

“No way. I was the voice of reason last time.” She rubs her hands together. “Tonight, I’m up for a little nefariousness.”

I’m already heading for the locker room. “Let’s move.”

Ever

I’m on a date. A date date. Like, a buzzer isn’t going to make this guy switch tables in five minutes. Yesterday, while in the Laundromat folding my unmentionables, I’d felt someone’s eyes on me and turned around to see Landon sending me side-eye peeks. Landon is in his early thirties. An investment banker with almost freakishly light-colored eyelashes. He’d been folding ten versions of the same shirt and for that very reason, Landon is not a man I would typically approach. He’s a full-blown commitment guy, right down to being on a first-name basis with the Laundromat owner. I mean, we sat down ten minutes ago, and he’s already showed me pictures of his niece on his phone. This is a man with family on the brain.

Maybe I should be easing into the whole idea of lifelong relationships, but I’ve never been the kind to dip my toe into the water. My friend wants to start a catering company? I become a cook. My mother spooks me about a lifetime of solitude? I ask a Wall Street–type out for tapas and beer.

Would she be proud of me, my mother, if she could see me right now? I’m smiling and saying all the right things. I think. One of us poses a question, the other answers. Then we pause to look down at our menus. That seems about normal. But it’s impossible not to picture Charlie across from me. How easy that conversation would be. I wouldn’t be racking my brain for topics, they would just appear.

Charlie and I hit the ground running at the outset. I might have given him my standard three-question mistress test, but no one had ever responded like him. Or made the test seem almost . . . obsolete. Like we were clicking on some unseen level that went beyond the test. Not just a physical click, either. But that part had definitely come after we left the bar, stronger than anything in my memory . . .

Charlie kicks my apartment door shut behind him, shaking the rain from his hair like a playful dog, sending droplets everywhere and making me laugh. But my amusement is cut off by his low growl, his slow approach, the chest he reveals by stripping off his shirt. Rain smacks off the windows of my pitch-black apartment, thunder booming, lightning slashing and illuminating for a second here. A second there.

There’s something I’m supposed to do here. What is it? What—

“Ground rules,” I eke out, my bottom hitting the windowsill in the living room. “W-we should probably talk about those.”

A line appears between his eyes as he unbuckles his belt. “Agreed.”

I’ve done this before, and the words are supposed to roll off my tongue. Charlie seems to have tied said tongue together, though, and his zipper coming down, his jeans sluffing onto my floor only makes it worse. His thighs. They’re cut and thick and hairy. Are his thighs commanding the thunder? Calm down, girl. You got this. “No pasts, no futures.” I hold my breath while he unsnaps my overalls and lifts my shirt, uncovering my strapless bra. “No gifts or birthday cards. Totally casual, no expectations.”

His breathing has turned erratic, his palms lifting my breasts, massaging them. “Deal.” My bra is unsnapped, dropped to the ground. “No dates or meeting the friends and family. Just us. Whenever we need it.”

“Yes,” I breathe, the back of my head bumping off the windowpane. “No need for all the pretend concern or asking about each other’s day. Just . . . easy. Just like this, right?”

A pause. “Right.” I didn’t hear a note of doubt in his tone, did I? No. No, I’m projecting, because for the first time, I’m feeling a smidgen of it myself . . . it’ll go away. It’s just jitters over liking how he talks, how he moves, how he smiles and—I’ve never felt this weight deep down in my stomach before. This is a bad idea.

I haven’t even mentioned my one-month rule. Am I going to?

Charlie slides the overalls down my hips, leaning in to lock our mouths together, erasing my reservations a little more with each expert stroke. He hooks a finger in my panties, tugging the waistband down to reveal the most intimate part of me, where I’ve left it waxed and lotioned. For me, not because I’d planned to bring someone home. But I’m glad I made an effort. It’s worth it a million times when he curses, low and rough, a vibration thrumming through his body and pushing out into the air separating us. “Jesus. I’m going to need this a lot, Ever.” He shoves down his briefs and fists his heavy cock. “Be sure about this. Be sure you don’t need . . . more than sex. Because I think you’re fucking great, but I can’t give you—”

“Shhh.” I can feel his frown against my forehead, his conflict as he applies the condom, and I don’t want his guilt. There’s no need for it. He might be one of the good ones, but this noncommitment is exactly what he wants. What every man—and this woman—wants deep down, right? So I peel my panties the remaining distance down my legs, using a kiss to draw him forward while I wrap my legs around his hips. “I want you inside me,” I whisper, my voice shaking. I’m shaking. “Charlie—”

With a surrendering groan, he slides his smooth tip through my wetness a few times and shoves deep, a choked sound rending the air. Was it me or him? I don’t know. My sight winks out, my mouth dropping open. Oh God. Too good, too good, too . . . right.

Charlie groans my name and yanks me off the windowsill, thrusting his hips up while I use his shoulders for leverage and slap, slap, slap my hips up and down. “Ever, this is bad. This is bad. Bad, bad.” Lightning shoots through the room, and I see how tightly his eyes are closed, his expression of half-disbelief, half-pleasure. I ride harder, he pumps into me with more and more feverish intensity. “This isn’t happening,” he rasps. “You can’t be happening.”

We break at the same time and Charlie’s knees hit the floor, but he manages to hold on to me as he moans like a wild animal. My arms are tempted to creep around his neck, my satisfied body wanting to get as close to its savior as possible, but I can’t set that precedent. Ground rules. We have them. I helped set them.

Minutes later, we dress in silence. He stands at the door, staring at me with a crease between his eyebrows. But I send him a flirty wave, a signal for him to walk out the door. I feel more myself once he’s out of sight. Mostly.

“Ever?” My date leans forward, a concerned look on his face. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” Oh God, the waiter is at our table staring at me expectantly. What kind of restaurant are we in, again? Tapas. Number system. “I’ll have . . . one, three and nine.” I look down at my empty pint of beer. “And another one of these, thanks.”

My date looks a little disapproving over me having a second drink before the food even arrives, but somehow I dig deep and find the determination to change his mind about me. To make this date go well. I owe it to myself. Owe it to my mother. What I had with Charlie was amazing while it lasted, but sending a man home with nothing more than a pinkie wave can’t be my normal anymore. Not if I want to move forward and start living for the future my mother wants for me. The one she wishes she’d achieved and I now want. For me, the loneliness didn’t even take decades to set in. Deep down, I’d already started feeling it that first time Charlie left my apartment.

“Um . . .” I shift in my seat, aware that the memory of Charlie has made my underwear damp and my chest feel hollow. Focus on now, Ever. “Where did you say your niece lives?”

And then the fire alarm goes off.

Water sputters from the ceiling sprinklers a split second later, and the entire restaurant erupts in shouts and squeals. Patrons are doused as they futilely attempt to cover their heads, jogging toward the exit. Waiters drop trays and follow. I’m pretty sure my jaw is in my lap, but I have an insane urge to laugh. This is a sign. It has to be.

I’m unsure whether it’s a good or bad one until Landon shoots to his feet, his expression pinched. “What the fuck,” he growls, snatching my napkin off the table to wipe his face, blot his shirt. “They have to be kidding me. Is there a manager around?” he shouts. “I’m not paying for these drinks.”

Bad sign. For sure.

Guess I’ll be finding a new Laundromat.

Charlie

Sometimes things seem like great idea, until you watch them unfold from a coffee-shop window across the street. Like, a restaurant being evacuated, hundreds of people spilling out onto the street. The kind of illegal things I’ll be arresting people for someday. Like instigating a plan to have one friend distract a restaurant kitchen staff, while the other friend pulls the fire alarm. Those kinds of things.

I stop caring about ethics, though, when I see Ever follow some fuck wad in a tie out onto the sidewalk. The coffee I’m sipping turns to battery acid in my stomach, and I can’t feel the chair underneath my ass. She doesn’t look nervous or anything, which was my main concern. She’s easily one of the driest customers outside the restaurant, thank God. If my actions got her sick, I’d have to enter the monastery and take a vow of silence as punishment. But all in all? She seems pretty amused by the whole circus.

My lips curve in pure appreciation of Ever and her sense of humor, but my smile plummets when I see her date. Really? That guy? He’s one snifter of brandy away from an old-fashioned gentleman’s club. His back is so straight, he must have swallowed a flag pole. I could go all day. I hate his guts. He’s my sworn enemy on sight.

Not that I’m complaining or anything, but Patrick Bateman seems more miffed over his shirt being ruined than he is over Ever being exposed to possible structure fire. If I was on a date with Ever and the fire alarm went off, I would carry her out of the place and administer CPR, whether she wanted it or not. Instead, Bateman is waving around a white cloth napkin and ranting at the spooked wait staff, while Ever slowly eases away, like she’s thinking of ditching him. That’s my girl.

Damn, she looks incredible tonight. Her hair is down and loose, she’s wearing a mint-green sundress with some kind of pattern on it. Sandals with heels. Most of the time I’ve spent with her, she’s been barefoot. Which would normally turn me on, but is only serving to jam a cleaver into my jugular right now.

Ever waits until her date’s back is turned, then ducks behind a potted plant. Honest to God, I want to do a cartwheel right there in the coffee shop and buy everyone a round of espresso. While I won’t go as far as to say my rash date crashing was justified—I’m not completely delusional . . . yet—I appear to have saved Ever from wasting her night on someone who didn’t deserve her company.

Now if I can make it better, I’ve done my job.

I dip to the edge of the window and dial Ever’s cell. When she sees who’s calling, a hand comes up to cradle her throat, her mouth popping open.

Oh no. Oh, cutie. She misses me, too.

I almost sink down to the floor when she answers, because it’s too much. Seeing her miss me and hearing her voice at the same time. She’s never let me see anything like that on purpose, but I caught it. I caught her.

“Charlie?”

It takes me a moment to answer. “Hey, cutie. What are you up to tonight?” I hate myself in that moment for lying to her, but it’s too late to turn back. “You working?”

“No . . .” She frowns, glancing up and down the street. “No, I’m just, um . . .”

She doesn’t want me to know she was on a date. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. “Want to meet up? I was just heading out for a walk.”

Her sigh slides into my ear. “Meet where?”

“The law-enforcement memorial on East Tenth?” I don’t know why I suggest this specific spot. Maybe I’m still in panic mode over finding out she was on a date and the memorial tends to ground me. Maybe I just need to show her an important part of me. Something that will help her understand why I can’t commit all the way. Why I can’t be the guy taking her out to eat tapas and giving her CPR when an alarm goes off. “I, uh . . . figure it’s a good midway point between us. Meet me there in half an hour?”

Please. Please, say yes. After seeing her, having her so near, I’m not sure I can survive another night without getting closer. “See you in a while.”

When she hangs up, I expect a sense of victory, but I only feel anxious. Like I’m standing on shaky ground.

Ever

I’m sitting at the memorial when Charlie rounds the corner in the distance. I speed walked here in an attempt to dry off. At least I didn’t get as soaked as my date, who frankly needed a good dousing after yelling at that group of innocent waiters, as if they had anything to do with the alarm going off and ruining his Gucci loafers. Honestly. Men like him are reserved for the date horror section of Cosmo.

Seeing Charlie in the flesh takes me back to the daydream I had in the restaurant, right before the alarm sounded. How hot it made me.

Did my memories set off the fire alarm?

A laugh bubbles up at the silly thought. Actually, all my bad vibes fade the closer Charlie comes, my muscles relaxing, head clearing. Even though he looks a little irritable himself.

“I thought I would beat you here.” He looks around the small park in the center of which sits the marble statues and benches. “I didn’t mean for you to sit here alone in the dark. It’s dangerous.”

I unzip my purse and present my pepper spray. “I had company.”

He growls at me, sitting down beside me on the bench, our thighs flush. “Hey, cutie.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“You look gorgeous.” Our shoulders brush. “New dress?”

Charlie would make a great boyfriend. Acknowledging that . . . sucks. For the first time, I let myself think of Charlie in ten years. Older, wiser. Wanting a place to call home. And I think he’ll change his mind over time about relationships. I can’t shake the impression that he’s built for one, somewhere deep down. After all, he cried when the old couple in Titanic were about to bite it. He’s just not ready for a commitment now. And not with me.

A spiky, slimy realization creeps under my armor. What if I’m just not the kind of girl you bring home? What if Charlie . . . knows it? Am I destined to be a mistress, no matter what?

“I borrowed it from Nina.” I try to shake away the ugly thought, but it hits its mark. I could be the girl Charlie meets . . . on his way to meeting the one. He likes me, we’re compatible in bed, but what if something about me is holding him back from taking the step I know he’s meant for? Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s hedging because of me, not himself. “Um . . .” I rise from the bench, feeling seasick and blindsided. “I-I saw the name Burns on here. Are you related?”

“Yeah.” He’s scrutinizing my face as he follows me over to the statue, a little frown playing on his features. “My great-grandfather was killed in the line of duty the year this was erected. To honor the fallen.” He stoops and rubs a hand over a long list of names. “They add to it every time there’s a police casualty.”

Looking down at the top of Charlie’s head, his hand poised on the marble, voice hushed with reverence, he looks like part of the memorial. Future touching past. I’m finally seeing what’s important to him, instead of imagining it. He’s showing me. Hot pressure pushes behind my eyes and I blink it back. “You’re going to have a dangerous job.”

Charlie stands. “The danger comes with the territory, yeah.” He appears to be searching for words in the darkness. “But the job . . . it’s never-ending. You are the badge and if you do your job right, it can’t be taken from you. It’s permanent.” A hand lifts and runs through his hair. “Shit, I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

“It does.” Although, I think if I knew more about Charlie, a clearer picture would be presenting itself right now. My throat aches with the possibility that I’ll never get that clarity. The possibility that I want it, can’t have it, is almost too much. “The job is you. You are the job. There’s no one to let down but yourself.”

His gaze cuts to mine, but it’s clouded. “Yes. Once I get to the level where I’m expected to be, yes. It’s just me after that.”

I nod.

The breeze ruffles the trees around us, making his voice carry. “For every hundred cops you see on the street, there is one who works harder than all of them combined. They don’t punch a clock, because they don’t have one. The clock doesn’t exist for them—only the safety of the city.” His expression is a touch chagrined, but mostly it’s pride on his face. “I know I sound like Dudley Do-Right over here, but my father pinned a badge on me the day I was born. I’ve got four generations of pressure on my shoulders. To be that one unseen officer who calls the shots for the hundred.”

“It’s not just the pressure, though.” I clear the cobwebs from my throat. “You want it for yourself, too.”

“Yeah.” Appreciation shines in his eyes as he looks at me, but it seems to crumble when he dips his head. “Yeah, most of the time.” He’s silent a moment. “It’s a responsibility. I’ve seen how big an impact men like my father have. How a single call or hunch can prevent a disaster. Disasters for people like you, Ever. If I didn’t know that kind of responsibility existed out there, waiting for me, maybe I wouldn’t feel so obligated to give it everything. But I know. It’s in my veins to be the one who . . .”

“Answers the call.” It sounds like a catchy slogan, but it’s the only accurate answer. Charlie is damn near stealing my breath away, so big and unyielding, backlit by the sacrifices of his ancestors. It’s such a huge moment, such a gripping image, I can’t swallow or move for fear of messing it up. “I’ll feel safe, knowing you’re there. Not punching the clock. I’ll think of you and feel safe.”

His voice is hoarse when he responds. “You’re talking like you won’t see me anymore.”

Right here, in this moment, it feels like I won’t. Or at least I’ll never experience this much raw honesty from him again. Why is he giving it to me in the first place?

“I understand now that what we had wasn’t enough for you.” His words are stilted. “What I was giving you . . . an hour here and there . . . wasn’t worthy. Of you.” He shakes his head. “But it’s only going to get more demanding. Sometimes I only saw my father once a week growing up. I watched him sink into the job and never come back out. It’s wrong to commit to anything . . . or anyone else. And give them half-measure. That’s when they leave.”

Leave? I want to question him, but I don’t know if there’s a point. He’s telling me we can’t be more than friends, as if I didn’t already know. If I question him or ask for an explanation, I’ll come across pathetic. “I don’t need an explanation, Charlie.”

He comes toward me, his blue eyes pleading. “There’s no place for anything real, no matter how bad I want it, Ever.”

My words are cut off by his mouth. We don’t kiss. Our lips simply lock together and stay that way, the earth tipping sideways under my feet, pulse dancing. “You should demand explanations from me. From . . . everyone who gets to spend time in your company. You earn them just by being you.” His lips slide between mine, a touch to the left, and the world tilts again. “I’m telling you that as someone lucky enough to be your friend. You deserve explanations whenever you want them.”

I barely manage to keep my knees from buckling. “This doesn’t feel very friendly.”

“I’m keeping my tongue in my mouth.” He gives a pained laugh, our foreheads bumping together. “That has to count for something.”

“It does.”

I don’t know why, but he looks conflicted when he pulls back. “Let me walk you to get a cab, huh?” He holds out a hand and I take it, letting him walk me out of the park, up toward the avenue. It’s the first time we’ve held hands . . . and I know it should be the last.

The deeper I fall into friendship with Charlie, the deeper I sink into the point of no return.