It’s been sixteen days since I ended my relationship with my high school sweetheart. For the first four days, I remained holed up in my apartment, writing new compositions in my studio for a new video game. One of my tenants owns a gaming company and asked me a few weeks ago to consider writing a score for his new game, The Enforcer. Without a film score to work on, I accepted the work, and I’m grateful that it allows me to be creative.

I’ve only been going out for food with Julian. My uniform consisted of leggings and sweaters. And then tired of just going out to eat, he forced me to enjoy New York with him. We went to movies and saw several musicals, including Hamilton, walked up and down Broadway, Fifth Avenue, and the High Line, read aloud to one another as we sat on a bench in Washington Park, took a rowboat out in Central Park, played with Mugpie at several dog parks, and simply enjoyed one another’s company. Although he has been inundated with work, my childhood friend manages to always find time to be with me. Even playing Assassins Creed 2 with me late into the night so I can study Jesper Kyd’s brilliant work.

Moreover, he helped me realize that leaving Andrew and LA was a smart decision. Three days ago, Julian left the city for SXSW in Austin. I declined his invitation to join him, preferring to have some time to myself while continuing to learn all about my neighbor’s new game. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t call or send me a text. There were nights when we would talk until the wee hours about everything and nothing. Last night, we remained on the phone while watching back-to-back episodes of The Killing together. He indulges my fascination with crime shows.

Julian returned this morning and came over to my apartment directly from JFK. Surrounded by the Isle of White flower arrangements that he had delivered daily, he scans my living area, amused. “Overboard?” he asks before gently taking my hand. “As much as I love your home, I want you to come and be with me at my place.” It takes me less than a second to agree to go with him. I still haven’t seen his bachelor pad.

Strolling toward Tribeca, we finally turn the corner to a cobblestoned street. Unlike most of the streets in this lively city, there is no sidewalk landscaping. The block itself is completely quiet. There are no pedestrians. There isn’t a car traveling in sight. I study Julian’s residence. It is an eleven-story nondescript building. As I take it all in, a young doorman greets us. “Good afternoon, Mr. Caine.”

“Good morning, Michael, this is Lina James,” Julian says, without letting go of my hand.

The lobby itself is anything but ostentatious. It is quietly furnished with only a few seating arrangements. The private key lock elevator takes us to the top two floors where his penthouse apartment is located. The elevator doors open to a wide-open space. What welcomes us immediately is an enormous piece of art by Damien Hirst that occupies the entire wall. A few feet away, a vintage motorcycle.

“Wow.” I point at the Hirst artwork. And then I am completely puzzled by the vehicle in his home. “Motorcycle?” I ask.

“Not just a motorcycle. That, darling, is a 1939 Brough Superior SS1100.” He continues to gush over the English designed motorcycle that had been revered as the “Rolls Royce of Motorcycles.”

“This is … this is incredible,” I exclaim in such amazement. Without hesitation, I sit on the bike and pretend to drive it.

“Lina, you look good on that bike.” Instantly, I imagine myself riding Julian. I will my mind from having such a dirty thought. Take a deep breath, Lina. You did not think of riding Julian. I will my mind to think of anything else. Pizza. Musicals. Cupcakes. But nothing deters my lust. I jump off the bike and stand by my host’s side. From my stance, a grand piano in the corner of his living room beckons me. My fingers itch, desiring to play a tune.

“Darling, you’re composing in your head, aren’t you? Do you want to play?” Julian asks, nodding toward the grand piano.

My eyes widen. “You know me too well.”

“I’d like to think so. I haven’t heard you play in days. I would love to hear one of your new compositions. Maybe something you’ve written for that video game?”

“Later. I want you to show me your new home.”

“It’s not a home yet,” he says, leaving me bewildered.

“Uh, you live here, right?” I ask, hoping he will clarify why it’s not a home yet.

“Yes, I just moved in not too long ago. Anyway, if you have this urge to run your fingers across those keys, we’ll stop.” Julian laces his fingers between mine. With pride in his voice, he reveals the history of the building. “It was originally built in 1887 as a warehouse and was converted into a condo a few years ago. I own several properties in the city but basically lived in and out of suitcases for years. I purchased the duplex several months ago.” He doesn’t mention his Upper East Side childhood home that remains in the family.

Although grand, the duplex penthouse apartment is modern and warm. We make our way out to the private wraparound terrace with its 360-degree view of the city and of the Hudson River. Comfortable lounge chairs, several heating lamps, and different types of plants surround us. A beautiful large rectangular dining table greets us. In the center of it all is a brick pizza oven.

“We’ll have to make Margarita pizza soon,” Julian says casually. We round the terrace, and a stunning rooftop pool surprises me.

I can count the number of residential New York City rooftop pools I have seen in my life on one hand. And that is one; it’s staring at me as it glistens.

I glance at Julian’s expression when his smile meets his eyes. “It’s heated, so we can swim later if you’d like.”

Shaking my head, I try to fight the image of my handsome host wet in the pool.

Breaking me out of my quick, sexy reverie, he squeezes my hand as we continue the tour. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes.

I’ve missed you too.

There are five large bedrooms all with en-suite bathrooms. Sauntering around the vast apartment, I am in awe of the walls, all with floor-to-ceiling windows, some of which are arched. I lost count at forty. High barrel vault ceilings make me feel small. All the rooms are airy, light, and spacious. And although he is a bachelor, I can’t help but feel the warmth in his place. We amble down the stairs to the living area that encloses an impressive library. The long bookcases are filled with leather bound first editions. Marveling at his collection, I can’t help but smile. On one end of the library are works by Dostoevsky, Moliére, St. Thomas Aquinas, and Graham Greene. On the other end are books on Isay Weinfeld, Zaha Hadid, Le Corbusier, and other famous architects. I am reminded of a young Julian, sitting on his bed, immersed in a book for hours at a time. I peek at him and wonder if he is still borderline obsessive with his books. He could have easily written CliffsNotes on every book he has read.

“Did you do this all by yourself?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, the Emersons did everything. Roan and Allegra made some structural changes but nothing major. Helena picked out all the furnishings and designed a good portion of them herself.”

We sit on a u-shaped couch across from one another. From my vantage point, I admire views of the river.

It must be beautiful at night.

As if he had just read my mind, Julian utters, “It is beautiful at night.”

I remain on the couch while Julian rises from his seated position to turn on the fireplace. Someone is walking around, singing a familiar song.

“She’s home,” he confirms.

“Who’s home?” I ask, surprised and unaware that someone else lives with him.

“You’ll see.” His grin is wide as he reaches for my hand without a thought and leads me to the kitchen.

* * *

Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” is sung out of tune by the woman a few feet away as she busies herself with the largest fridge I have ever seen. It takes her a few minutes to realize she has company. Dressed in Victoria’s Secret PINK navy blue sweatpants and white t-shirt, the woman reaching for a snack looks young from behind. She is around five-foot-six with a slim frame.

Julian clears his throat, prompting her to turn around with a glass pitcher in hand.

“Julian, dear, you scared me!” she exclaims before her eyes meet mine. Taking off her NY Mets baseball cap allows her salt and pepper hair to fall. Her natural curls are tangled at the ends as if she had been too lazy to brush them.

A wave of relief comes over me when I recognize the woman. It’s been years since I’ve seen her. Years since I’ve heard her soft English accent. She’s always been a part of his life. Everything about her seems the same with the exception she now wears glasses, and her once dark brown hair has a touch of gray highlights. She’s maintained her figure after all these years and could easily give a woman in her twenties a run for her money.

“Lina, dear, is that you all grown up?” she asks with affection in her tone.

“Um, yes, Miss Pendleton. It’s been several years.” I respond shyly, although she’s witnessed me in my most vulnerable teenage moments.

“My dear, fourteen years! Come over here and give me a hug. You’ve always been pretty, but my goodness, you really are beautiful. Julian mentioned earlier he was bringing someone special over, which I found quite surprising. He’s never brought anyone here before with the exception of his assistant and the Emersons. What a pleasant surprise.”

I rush over to her, and she immediately offers me a tight, warm embrace. Taking in her scent brings me back to my childhood. Hmmm. She smells like Butter Cake, and I instantly grin against her chest.

“How was your trip?” Julian asks while reaching for one of her homemade cookies.

Releasing me, she studies me for a second before responding to him. “Italy was absolutely lovely. Thank you for such an extravagant holiday.” Her eyes are now focused on him. It’s obvious she’s beaming at the man she helped raise.

Julian takes a bite of a chocolate chip cookie before rolling his eyes in appreciation. “My God, these are delicious. Lina, you have to try one,” he says while practically feeding me the remaining piece of his cookie. As I devour the orgasm-worthy treat, he continues his conversation with Miss Pendelton. “I look forward to hearing all about your culinary adventure. I was just giving Lina a tour and can’t find Mugpie. Where is that rambunctious bulldog of mine?”

Miss Pendleton shakes her head, “Making trouble for Cecelia. He managed to get into a bag of potato chips a few hours ago, and well, let’s just say he overdid it. He’s at the vet right now and should be home soon. And Lina, please let me know what you like so I can make sure it’s in stock. The bedroom next to Julian’s is ready for you. Had I known you were the guest, I would have made a special 80s music playlist for the system in the room.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not staying here. I live only a few blocks away. I would still love an 80s music playlist, though.”

Julian glares at me with an expression that I can’t seem to understand. He tilts his head, his lips pursed. Confusion? Anger?

“Excuse us, Miss Pendleton.” Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the hallway.

“What do you mean you’re not staying here? Did we not discuss this earlier? Your room is ready. We can get your clothes later, or we can just get some new ones.”

Huh?

My room.

I am utterly confused. Why would he want me to stay at his duplex when my loft is within walking distance?

In the back of my mind, I assumed I was just visiting Julian. After all, I do have my own apartment; the only place I have ever thought of as home. Roger will be returning soon, and I am excited to live with my former roommate. Some of the best times in my life have been living with him.

“Do you understand what it means to have you here? To have you in my apartment? Are you planning on returning to Andrew?”

“No!” I answer adamantly to all three of his questions. “Julian, I love my loft. That’s why I’m going back there.”

I glance around, trying to figure out why he would assume I would be staying with him. Not once since we landed in New York did we discuss my living situation. He mentioned he wanted me to be at his place but not as a roommate. I am dumbfounded. “Why is it so important for me to stay here? It doesn’t make sense. Julian, my apartment is only a few blocks away.”

And there it is, dejection in his eyes. As if the words I just uttered stung him. He remains quiet. Suddenly, our tour of the apartment is over. I’m not going to play a song on his grand piano. I’m not going swimming. I’m not going to have the chance to taste homemade pizza. I’m not going to see Mugpie and hear him snort. Instead of remaining in his apartment, after we say our goodbyes to Miss Pendleton, he gestures for us to leave. We head toward the private elevator in awkward silence.

The fifteen-minute walk to my apartment takes forever even though we’re only a few blocks away from Julian’s. Broadway is bustling with energy as we make our way in quietude. Words, unable to form from both our lips. Although there is so much that needs to be said. I’m unable to comprehend why he acted the way he did. Having only reconnected a few weeks ago, Julian seems possessive of our friendship.

We stand inches apart in front of my apartment building. “Julian, I’m sorry if I have offended you in some way.”

Not a word escapes his lips, and an uncomfortable silence continues to hang over us. I rock side to side before stopping myself. With hesitancy, I move forward on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. “Okay, then. Um, thank you, Julian. I’m happy that you’re back.” I pause before offering, “I hope Mugpie is okay. Please give him a sloppy kiss from me.”

He raises his head slightly, gazing up at my building without a response; his eyes refuse to meet mine. I continue to stare at his beautiful, long neck when my breath hitches for a second.

“Do … do you want to come up for a drink?” Our time together shouldn’t end awkwardly.

Raindrops begin to gently fall; one trickles down along the side of my cheek. Another falls on my shoulder. I am about to move back when Julian reaches for me, pulling me close to his chest. I swallow hard, aware of what this may mean. Dipping his head, our eyes lock. Oh, my God. His gaze slowly moves down to my mouth, and it renders me speechless. A few long seconds pass by. My chest begins to rise and fall. My mind races. And my heart beats at an absurd velocity. Suddenly, his beautiful mouth is on mine.

I close my eyes. At this instant, the soft full lips I’ve dreamed about belong to me. His kiss−it is slow, tender, and violent all at the same time. Rather than resist, I return with fervor, reveling at this moment.

Sweet Jesus. He tastes better than I had imagined. Our tongues dance a slow dance as if we’ve been lovers for years.

We belong.

It is the kiss of life. The kiss I’ll remember for as long as I live. Breathing him in, I’m warmed by the intoxicating spicy notes of his cologne. The feel of his stubble grazes my chin, and I love it.

Raindrops continue to fall. Cars honk. Pedestrians walk around us.

Our first kiss continues as if the world is coming to an end. I’ve never felt so consumed by one kiss.

His large hand makes its way up and down my back. I place both my hands on the side of his jaw, urging for more. He moans into my mouth. And I swear, I feel like I’m floating on air. Surprisingly, the most amazing kisser I’ve ever had pulls his lips away from mine. And the distance feels like an inexplicable void.

Our kiss ends. My mouth remains half-open, a clear invitation for him to continue. I open my hooded eyes and his handsome face mesmerizes me. My mouth continues to tingle from a few seconds ago. With his lips now caressing my ear, Julian gently whispers, “I’ve missed you, my darling, Lina.”

I missed you too.

We’re in the middle of LaGuardia Place. Even though his lips are no longer with mine, we’re still connected. His strong arms are still wrapped tightly around me. The world surrounds us, yet it is only Julian and me at this moment.  

“What am I going to do with you?” he says in a deep, low voice I’ve never heard before. Completely stupefied, I’m unable to respond to his question.  

What can he do to me?

After that insane, mind-blowing kiss, I only have one thought: Please make love to me!

The perfect image of Julian … of us … entangled in my bed plants a ridiculous smile on my face. If he made my knees weak with just one kiss, what would it be like to feel all of him? With my face pressed firmly against his chest, I peek up. His lips purse as he tilts his head up before gazing down at me. He sighs before pulling completely away.

Our passionate embrace, over. 

With a simple kiss on my forehead, Julian walks away, leaving me dumbfounded.