Penny
I’m Zen. I pride myself on finding my center when things are going wrong. Perspective is everything. Sure my day might not be going perfectly, but then I think of all the reason I have to be grateful. I am healthy. I have amazing friends. I live in a city I love and have a job I actually enjoy. No one’s life is perfect, and expecting mine to be the exception is unrealistic. Of course there will be bumps. I knew coming into this it wasn’t going to be easy.
The men in this building are trying to mess with my head. It won’t work. I’m wise to the fact that they want me out. They don’t think I belong here, and I don’t. But Kylie does. She deserves a chance to network like she has a penis. I don’t see why men prefer to talk business while puffing on cancer sticks and dropping back Scotch like they really enjoy the taste of it. Wouldn’t everyone be more clear-headed to make important financial decisions if they did so over a tofu salad or after doing deep breathing exercises that increase oxygen to the brain?
I don’t get the appeal of what Brockton created, but the men in the building certainly do. It’s more like a fraternity than a co-op. I now see why Kylie wants in. So, no, it’s not where I would choose to live, but I understand why she thinks this would help her business-wise. And if it’s important to her, it’s important to me.
“Please release the car to my friend, Millie Stephens. She’ll be by to pick it up in about an hour. There’s no use bringing it back here because they’ll just have you and your buddies tow it again, even though I’m parked completely legally.”
The man on the other end of the line at the impound lot couldn’t care less about my side of the story. He just wants his money and my instructions in writing. “Make sure she’s here before five or you’ll get charged for another day,” he grunts and sounds ready to disconnect the line.
“Understood,” I say cheerfully. It’s not his fault someone keeps reporting my car as illegally parked. “If you speak to whoever it is who keeps reporting me, tell them it didn’t work. They didn’t upset me. I actually like to walk.”
The line went silent as the man disconnected the call. I tuck my cell phone away and start loading my grocery bags with fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmers’ market down the street. It strikes me as funny that all those men stay hidden behind the walls of that place like it’s a fortress and have likely never walked through the market here.
Although I’m still shopping, my thoughts have already wandered to the small café I’ll stop at on the way home. From the street it doesn’t look like much, but it serves some of the freshest-brewed, small-batch, uniquely blended coffee in Boston. The owners are first-generation citizens who came to the United States with only a passion for coffee and a dream. They put three children through college, sponsored countless family members, and love what they do so much that they have no plans for retiring.
And they greet me by name. I wonder if anyone in the Bachelor Tower even knows that place exists.
“Hey, you’re Penny,” a man with dark-framed glasses and a youthful haircut says as he grabs a couple lemons and tosses them into his bag.
“I am,” I say skeptically, sort of recognizing him.
“I’m Ben. Your neighbor. Well, one of your many new neighbors. I should thank you for moving in. I used to be the least liked person in the building, but I handed that title off to you.”
There’s a lightness to him that reminds me of Millie. As casually as possible, I say, “It’s like being the kid who shoots milk out of his nose in the cafeteria and is teased mercilessly about it until someone else pees their pants and suddenly nose milk is old news.”
He laughs.
I join in because suddenly the Bachelor Tower reminds me of an elementary school and the men there are the petulant little schoolboys. How would their overblown egos handle that comparison?
Ben is still smiling. I doubt he’d care.
“Exactly,” he says, snapping his fingers and grinning widely. “Not that I really care what those guys think, and you shouldn’t either. If your sister secured an apartment in the building, they need to get over it.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a sudden sense of relief. Tension I didn’t realize I had begins to melt away. “They won’t win. Their shenanigans are annoying, but I’m not the easy target they think I am.”
“That’s good to know,” Ben says, looking like he’s holding back more. “I heard about your car.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind walking. It’s actually healthier.”
“That’s a really good attitude.”
“Like I said—they won’t win.”
Ben shifts from one foot to another. “I wish I could say it’ll get better, but I don’t think it will. They really want you out.”
“I’ll be fine.” I shrug, then lift a bouquet of flowers and breathe in the refreshing fragrance. “It’s just a couple weeks. All I have to do is wait it out. They can mess with me, but if they try anything on Kylie, they won’t know what hit them.”
“Does she know they’re launching a campaign to get you out?”
“No.” My cheeks flush because I’m not entirely sure leaving Kylie in the dark is the right choice. I know exactly what is on the line for her in China. It’s a crucial deal she’s been working on for eighteen months. I don’t know the details because she stopped bothering trying to tell me about work years ago. But I do know if she’s there instead of here, it’s because she has no choice. If I call and show even a hint of weakness she’ll feel she has to fix the situation. She’s already wound so tight I wonder how she doesn’t snap. My goal is to help her, not be the reason she has a stroke. “She’s really busy, and I have it all under control.”
“Let me know if I can help. Don’t get me wrong, living in the Bachelor Tower is nice, but it’s outdated and smells like old men.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, because it does. “What do you think they’re afraid my sister will do if she lives there? Install air fresheners?”
Ben frowns. “They are afraid, and that doesn’t bring out the best in any of them.”
“Well, all I plan to do is keep my head down until Kylie gets back.”
With a nod, Ben says, “Just know that not everyone is out to get you. I think you add to the place.” That comment would have sounded sleazy coming from almost anyone else, but he looks too sincere for it to be a come-on. “It’s nice to have another normal person around.” He gestures at his groceries as if this is a barometer for how down-to-earth he is. I have to agree.
“I think we might be the only two people in the building who cook. Or shop for their own food.”
“Probably. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable snapping my fingers and barking for things to arrive without delay because I deserve everything I want exactly how I want it and exactly when I want it. Isn’t that exhausting?”
“I know. Hey, have you tried Barista Bungalow?” I tell everyone about that place, and now that Ben seems like a guy who enjoys the simpler things, I figure he should check it out.
“Yes, it’s amazing,” Ben says, lighting with recognition. “It’s such a hole in the wall. I can’t remember how I even found it the first time. I try to grab a cup there every Sunday when my schedule allows. You want to head over together and get something?”
The siren in my head begins to sound loudly. Ben is actually my type. He’s friendly. Charming. Social. This is the guy I should want to date—or take a wild risk on.
Not Dalton.
So why don’t I feel anything? Where are the sparks? The heated looks?
He has a nice smile, but it doesn’t send butterflies through me when he flashes it. I try to picture him naked, but all I see is Dalton’s face with a smug, arrogant expression as if he’s deliberately stopping me from being able to want another man.
I should take Ben up on the offer just to prove to myself—and to Dalton—that I’m looking for more than lust. Shared interests matter. Kindness matters.
Sadly, neither makes me wonder how Ben kisses.
Which is probably for the best. It’d be best if I write off men in general for a while. “I’m heading back to my place now before they change my key card again and lock me out. Thanks though.”
“Oh, you think I was asking you out,” Ben says, waving his hands. “I really was going to grab a cup. I hope I didn’t make things weird.”
No, I did. “Of course you didn’t,” I say gently. “See you around.”
He gracefully moves on to the next section of the market, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I try to center myself with some steady breathing and a few meditation techniques. It’s all about opening my mind, focusing on something that brings me joy. Peace. Pleasure . . . Pleasure?
My mind goes fuzzy, and there’s Dalton’s big fat face again—grinning like this is a game and he just won the first round. And I know right then—I’m in trouble.