Annie

Cam looked up when I walked into the office to clock out. “Hey, Annie.”

“Hey!” I reached for my coat. “I’m all set out front. Need anything else?”

“Nope, you’re good to go.” She watched me as I clocked out using the little machine in the back. “Excited about the mixer?”

“I cannot wait. I’m bringing my new boyfriend,” I sang, waggling my eyebrows, feeling that zing of excitement and unfamiliarity of the word in my mouth.

“Boyfriend?” she asked, though I thought there was a little bit of shock in the question.

I nodded, smiling. “Will, the guy I met in the park the other day.”

“Ah.”

Disappointment? Was that what I’d heard? I shook off the notion.

“We’re going as Sophie and Benedict from An Offer from a Gentleman.”

Cam nodded her appreciation. “Ooh, Julia Quinn. I like it. God, I wish I could be there. I was this close to convincing Tyler to come with me as Jondalar and Ayla from The Valley of Horses. He was pretty staunchly opposed to dressing up like a big, beautiful caveman.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not tall enough, and he’s not blond or bearded enough. But man, what I would do to see him in a loincloth in public.”

I laughed. “After that pitch, I can’t believe he wasn’t jumping at the chance. Also, that’s definitely taking historical to new levels. I didn’t realize we could go back thirty thousand years.”

“I like to test boundaries.”

“No…you?” I pulled on my coat.

“Shocking, I know.” She smiled at me for a beat. “So, you and Will jumped right in, didn’t you?”

I sighed. “He’s just so…romantic, you know? Every word that comes out of his mouth is just…right.”

“You know, I had my own Will once.”

“Did you? A total dreamboat?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Football player, total babe. Smart, funny, into me. But he didn’t end up being who I’d thought he was.”

The smile that had been on my face most of the day faded, and Greg’s recount of Will’s story crossed my mind.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I learned a lot about what’s real and what isn’t, who to trust with my heart and who to keep out. But it wasn’t an easy lesson to learn; it took me years to sort it out.”

Apprehension snaked through my stomach, but I waved away the sense of foreboding. “Well, hopefully my Will doesn’t do me like that.”

“I’m sure you’ll fare better than me, but it wouldn’t hurt you to keep your eyes open,” she said, the words holding more weight than I’d been prepared to shoulder. But then she smiled, and the moment passed. “I’m so bummed I won’t get to meet him at the party. I hate missing it, especially historical night. All those cravats.” A sigh slipped out of her. “But Tyler and I ended up having this last-minute dinner with one of his sports agency’s clients.”

I gave her a look. “You’re missing a costume party for a work dinner?”

“Uh, yeah, but only because it’s Julian Edelman. I hate the Patriots, but God, if I don’t love me some Edelman.” She paused. “Is Greg doing okay? I caught wind of some gossip about him and Will.”

I sighed. “I think so, yeah. We talked about it earlier, and I think it’s all right. We’re going to the ballet in a couple of days. God, I’m so excited. My week is going to be the absolute best.”

She smiled enigmatically. “I hope you guys have fun.”

“Thanks. Me too. I’d better run; my sister’s waiting.”

“See you tomorrow, Annie.”

I waved and left the office, hurrying to the front where Elle and Greg were still talking. They stopped before I made it to them, and Elle was off her stool and pulling on her coat in a second flat. And then we exchanged goodbyes and headed out into the chill, arm in arm.

“How was work?” I asked as we headed toward the burrito joint down the street that everyone always talked about.

“Fine. How was your day?”

“Good. How’s Ward?”

Her cheeks flushed. “He’s fine.”

“Still handsome?”

She bumped me with her hip. “No. He came to work today, and his face was all wrong. Nose where an eye should be, ear where his mouth should be. It was like Picasso took a solid swing and landed him in the Cubist period.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Ward is fine. Everything is fine.”

“I mean, with a word like fine, how could I not be assured?”

She laughed but otherwise ignored me, swiftly changing the subject. “Tell me about your day.”

I sighed and gave up. “It was great. Greg asked me to the ballet to see Romeo and Juliet. Isn’t that incredible?”

Elle didn’t say anything right away. “What did Will say when you told him?”

I frowned—mostly at her, but partly at myself. “I haven’t told him yet, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The second I said it, I thought of at least four reasons he absolutely would not be fine. Dread slithered through me.

She gave me a look.

“Well, he has to be fine with it. Greg’s my friend, and I’m going.”

“And if he’s not fine?”

“Then I’ll have the same talk with him that I just had with Greg. I don’t want either relationship to interfere with the other.”

“I know you don’t, but they might despite the fact.”

That dread took a hard left, looking for attention. “It’s so stupid. Greg doesn’t like me. I even asked him, and he said no.”

She fixed another disputing look on me.

“Honestly, Elle, he had a chance right then to tell me if he did. I believe him. I trust him. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

She sighed but didn’t argue.

“Why can’t things be easy?”

“Because,” she said gently, “easy is for fairy tales. Life is too fluid and unpredictable and nothing short of complicated. But the good news is that they say nothing worth having is easy.”

“How’s that the good news?” I chuckled, not feeling like it was at all funny.

She tightened her arm, bringing me a little closer. “I just mean that there’s a payoff, if you can get through the hard part.”

I blew out a noisy sigh. “If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Then I have to believe it’s true.” I laid my head on her shoulder.

My mind turned in on itself, admitting first that I’d been relieved at Greg’s answer. Because if the answer had been yes, could I have kept hanging out with him? Was I allowed to be friends with someone I knew had feelings for me? I didn’t know the rules, wasn’t sure of the protocol. And his answer saved me from having to consider it in detail.

But he’d said he cared about me, and I understood that. I cared about him too—a lot in fact. I wanted to tell him the details of my day and hear about his. I wanted to spend my time with him, craved his company. But most importantly, I didn’t want to lose him.

But didn’t all friends feel that way? Because we were just friends, right?

I drew in a breath full of resolve, filling my lungs up with decision. If I had to ask myself whether or not I felt more for him than just friends, the answer was no.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “you’re coming to the costume party with me, right?”

“Annie…” she sighed my name like she was exhausted.

I pouted. “Come on. It’s gonna be so fun. Just think, there will be loads of guys there, and they’ll be largely wearing cravats. Cravats, Elle.” I raised my head to give her a look so salacious, I could have been talking about porn.

She laughed. “Ugh, I don’t know.”

“Come on,” I full-on whined this time. “Please?”

Elle looked over my face for a second and sighed, rolling her eyes, and I knew I had her. “Oh, all right.”

I cheered a Woohoo! imagining us at the party together—Will on one arm and Elle on the other—just as my phone rang. My heart skipped faster when I saw it was Will.

“Hey,” I said with a smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

“I like the sound of that.” I could hear him smiling on the line. “Busy?”

“I’m just on my way to dinner with my sister. Why? What’s up?”

“Ah,” he said, disappointed. “I was hoping we could grab a bite. I knew I should have texted earlier. I just didn’t want to bother you at work.”

“Oh. I wish you had.” I glanced at Elle and got an idea. “Hang on.” I pressed my phone to my chest. “Think Will could meet up with us?”

Elle nodded. “Of course.”

I pressed my phone to my ear, grinning. “Want to come meet us for burritos at Besos?”

“You sure your sister doesn’t mind?”

“Not at all. You in?”

“Be there in ten,” he said, sounding as giddy as I was.

We said goodbye, and I hung up, sighing like a fool while Elle chuckled at me.

“I know,” I admitted. “I know. He’s just…perfect, Elle.”

“No one is perfect.”

“Well, he checks all the boxes.”

“I’m only saying that maybe you should get to know him a little better before you call him your boyfriend. You don’t even really know if you like each other.”

I gave her a flat look. “Elle, he’s gorgeous, went to Yale, recites poetry, and took me on a dream date. What’s not to like?”

“The dream date wasn’t exactly original.”

“Ugh, killjoy.”

Amused, she shook her head and pulled open the door to Besos. By the time we sorted out what we wanted, Will was strolling through the door, looking like a movie star—tall and dark and dressed in clothes that looked both casual and rich, his hair disheveled in all the right places. And then there was that smile.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek in greeting, and I introduced him to Elle, who was as amiable as always. And a few minutes later, Will bought our burritos, and we were taking seats in a booth by the window.

“So, guess who I convinced to come to the mixer?” I asked, displaying my arms to Elle in a ta-da! gesture.

He chuckled. “You too?”

Elle nodded, pretending to look defeated. “There’s no standing up to her when she gets like this.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find a dress for you too. Annie will tell me what kind of costume to get,” he said before taking a bite of his burrito.

I leaned toward her. “His brother performs on Broadway,” I said, as if that explained everything.

She looked confused. “Is he also a seamstress?”

“No,” Will said with a smirk, “but he has access to costumes. I’ll let the hair and makeup artists know they’ll have two.”

I frowned, confused. “Wait, what?”

“You’re so cute, you know that?” He kissed my nose. “If you’ve got an authentic dress, your hair should match. Really, it’s nothing. My brother set it all up.”

I turned to Elle, still gaping. “Oh my God, we’re going to be like actual princesses.”

“All this for a mixer?” she asked Will.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” he answered with a wink.

“I guess not.” Elle took a bite of her burrito, but oddly, I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or not.

“How does it work, Annie, with you being eighteen in the bar?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. They wristband everyone at the door, and since it’s a coffee shop too, the rules are a little different. But technically, I’ll be working.”

“Do you serve? Or…” he started.

“I’ll be working the door. They do this thing where everyone gets name tags, and they all pick out their favorite books along with their favorite drinks and list them with us. So if you see someone you like, you can buy them a drink and their favorite book for a discount.”

“That is genius,” Elle said.

“Cam’s brilliant. Anyway, I’ll be ringing people up.” Elle looked like she wanted to back out, and an idea struck me, one that put a wide smile on my face. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you’re entertained. Promise.”

She didn’t seem persuaded but didn’t press it.

“So, what do you do, Will?” Elle asked.

“Right now, I’m between things.”

It was the same answer he’d given me, but she seemed less amused than I had been. “And what did you do before you were between things?”

“Yale.”

That seemed to finally impress her. “What did you study?”

“Literature. Just trying to sort out what I’d like to do from here, you know? I want to be sure before I commit to anything.”

Elle laughed softly. “Look before you leap? However did you end up with Annie?”

He offered a laugh of his own. “She sort of fell in my lap.”

“What can I say? You’ve got a great lap.”

“Thank you by the way,” Elle said, setting down her burrito. “I’m glad you were there to help her.”

“So am I,” he said with a glance at me.

I would have died happy if there weren’t so many things left on my list.

We tucked into our dinner, chatting all the while. And when we were through and pulling on coats and hats, he asked if I wanted to come over and watch a movie.

To which I answered with an emphatic, “Yes!”

We said goodbye on the sidewalk, and a few minutes later, I was nestled into Will as we drove through the park toward his apartment.

Will had a doorman, though he wasn’t nearly as friendly as George, and his building was just as high-end as Susan and John’s. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the splendor of the kind of luxury they lived in. I always felt a little like a fraud, as if someone would point right at me and announce to the room that I didn’t belong there.

Passing the threshold of his apartment didn’t make me feel any more like I fit in. How a twenty-two-year-old man had access to a place like this was beyond me. It was beautiful and open—no park views, but there was a great view of Madison Avenue, which felt ludicrous to even consider, never mind gaze upon with my own two eyes. The furniture was all sleek and simple, modern but with a mid-century nod.

“God, Will, how beautiful,” I said, drinking in the view.

He laughed gently as he closed the door. “I’m glad you like it. And I’m glad you’re here.”

He moved to stand behind me, his hands finding my upper arms, his nose trailing against the curve of my ear, sending a sweet chill down my back.

“Me too,” I managed to say.

“Oh,” he said, his lips almost in my hair, “I got us tickets to Hamilton on Thursday. What do you say?”

I turned around to face him, slipping my arms around his neck, though I wondered if he was asking me if I wanted to go or if he wanted me to thank him. I couldn’t do either.

Trepidation hung over me like a dark, heavy cloud. “Please tell me we can get tickets for another night?”

His pleased smile slipped into a frown. “You have plans?”

I nodded, not wanting to say with whom I had plans.

“You can’t get out of it?”

“Well, I could, but I made those plans first. Can you really not get tickets for another night, Will?” I asked gently.

He brushed my hair from my face. “I can get tickets for almost any night, sure. Where are you going?”

I almost lied. I probably should, but alas, I was the worst liar in history and knew it. “To Romeo and Juliet at the Lincoln Center. Greg got us tickets.”

Everything about his face hardened, even his eyes. Maybe his eyes most of all. “You’re kidding, Annie. Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

I shook my head.

“You know he likes you, don’t you?”

I huffed. “Not you too.”

He stepped away from me and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. You don’t take a friend to the ballet.”

“And why not?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

“Because you just don’t. He likes you, and you’re going on a date with him.”

“It’s not a date, Will.”

“It’s a date, and I thought we were exclusive.”

“Hang on just a second,” I shot. “Because this isn’t about me going to the ballet; it’s about me going with Greg. I won’t ask you to like him. I won’t even ask you to be around him. But Greg is my friend. He was my friend before I ever met you, and he’ll continue to be my friend. Just as much as I don’t want my seeing you to be a problem for him, I don’t want my friendship with him to be a problem for you. And if it’s a problem for you, then we really do have bigger issues.”

He watched me for a second, the muscle in his tight jaw bouncing.

“So, is it going to be a problem?”

Will let out an audible breath and unlocked his jaw. “No,” he said as he stepped back into me, winding his arms around my waist.

“Good,” I sang sweetly, trying to defuse the tension, my arms taking their previous spot around his neck.

“I just don’t like him.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want him to interfere.”

“He won’t.”

Will almost smiled. “He’d better not.” He sighed, his anger dissipating. “I’m sorry, Annie. Sometimes when I get mad, get…jealous,” he admitted, “I say things I don’t mean. Will you bear with me?”

My heart softened. “Of course,” I said on a breath.

And then he kissed me.

I was so preoccupied with where my hands were or if he was enjoying the kiss or if I was any good at it; there was really no way I could even stop to enjoy it.

He pulled back with a crooked smile on his face. “Wanna make out?”

A giggle bubbled out of me, and I nodded, feeling like I was in junior high. Except in junior high, I had been too busy reading books and playing piano to kiss boys.

Will scooped me up and carried me to the couch, laying me down. My heart almost stopped when he started climbing on top of me, and I shifted, smiling nervously, putting him on his side with his back to the couch.

And thus began my very first make-out session.

We kissed in the same emotionless way I’d felt on our date, but we persevered until our lips were swollen, and a very alarming, very hard boner was pressed against my hip. I tried to mimic what he did with his lips, tried to match him motion for motion, tried to understand what to do with my tongue, tried not to wonder how humans had figured out that shoving your tongue in someone else’s mouth felt good.

I spent at least two full minutes just puzzling through that particular discovery of mankind, but I couldn’t quite sort it out.

A couple of times, he tried to roll on top of me, but I found ways to keep myself at his side, hoping he would remain content with our scissored legs, hips pressed together. I started sweating a little and spent a few minutes obsessing about whether or not I’d put on deodorant, which I thought might have made me sweat more.

I was in the dead center of that thought—Did I put it on after my shower or when I brushed my teeth?—when his hand roamed from my hip up to my ribs, and his broad palm cupped my breast.

I involuntarily pulled back—not out of surprise that he had done it, but out of shock from the contact. No one had ever touched me like that before.

We separated with a pop of our lips.

“Oh,” I breathed.

His hand didn’t move. Well, it didn’t move away. He buried his face in my neck, his lips against my skin, his thumb brushing the peak of my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, sending a jolt of heat down my stomach, between my legs.

“Oh!” I gasped and leaned back. “Whoa!” was all I managed before hitting the ground between the coffee table and couch with a thump.

He laughed without mocking me, and I looked up at him, blushing furiously as I wished I would just die already.

“You okay?”

I nodded and tried to smile. “I, um…”

“Come here,” he said in an honest-to-God come-hither voice.

I fought the urge to run. You are a grown woman, Annie Daschle. Now, get up and get on that couch with that boy.

To which another part of my brain said, Nuh-uh, no way.

“I…I don’t think I’m…it’s just that…”

One of his brows rose. He was still smiling.

God, he’s going to make me say it. “I don’t know if I’m…ready for that.”

His smile fell at that. “Oh. Right.”

“Can we…do you want to maybe watch a movie?”

He cleared his throat and sat up, his face unreadable as he discreetly rearranged the steel pipe in his pants. “Yeah, sure.” The words were level and distant.

Shame crept over me, and I climbed back up onto the couch. “I…I’m sorry,” I said, wondering why the hell I was apologizing.

Will offered a smile I didn’t believe, but he didn’t absolve me. “What do you want to watch?”

He turned to the television and started talking about movies, but I only gave cursory answers as I tried to sort through how I felt.

Why did I feel so guilty? Should I have just gone along with it? Was he frustrated? Annoyed? Why did I feel like I’d let him down?

I agreed to a movie he said he’d wanted to see, some action flick I couldn’t remember the name of and wouldn’t remember the plot of the next morning. We didn’t speak, but he pulled me into his side, throwing a blanket over us.

As close as our bodies were, he seemed a million miles away. But once it was playing, he finally looked at me and saw me.

“Hey,” he started gently, and I looked over at him, trying for reassuring. “It’s really fine, Annie. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He seemed appeased, turning his attention to the screen as I mercilessly lectured myself.

Because had he done anything wrong? Other than seeming put out, no. He wanted what most people wanted, and if that thing in his pants was any indication, he wanted it pretty bad. All he’d done was grab my boob. Most people did that their freshman year. It was me who was different, not him.

Maybe that was why I felt so bad, I told myself.

Because I was weird, and in that moment, he had known it. And for that moment, he hadn’t been happy about it.

It was me who had the problem, and really, he didn’t have to put up with it. He could tire of me at any time. I could almost guarantee he hadn’t been with a virgin at any point in recent history, especially not one who had zero experience, not even with something so rudimentary as kissing.

I wondered how long he’d be patient. And I wondered if I could force myself to be ready for something I wasn’t prepared for. Was it like jumping off the high-dive—you just needed to go for it—or was it like learning to do skateboard tricks—something that required instinct and practice and familiarity?

I told myself again that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d stopped when I said to. And I was only imagining that he was unhappy with me.

By the time he took me home, I’d even convinced myself that was the truth.