Brielle

 

By Sunday, I’ve recovered from my night with Hale and am headed to Kirby’s apartment. When I get there, he kisses me on the cheek and ushers me inside.

“I just need to catch the end of the game. You’re cool hanging out for a little bit, right?” His eyes stray to the television without waiting for my response.

“Of course,” I lie, even though I lined up an entire afternoon’s worth of appointments and if we’re late, it’s going to throw off the entire day.

We sink down onto the couch and Kirby squeezes my thigh. “Glad you’re here today. You’ve been busy lately.”

“Yes,” I say without expanding on what, or rather who was been keeping me occupied. I can never tell Kirby about Hale. He wouldn’t understand.

When the game goes to commercial, Kirby heads into the kitchen and rummages around in the cabinets. “You want anything to eat? A beer?” he calls.

“No, I’m good,” I call back as I take in the large apartment he shares with a roommate. It screams of bachelor pad. No personal touches, nothing to make it feel homey. I know his roommate is a lawyer at the firm where Kirby works, and that’s about it.

Kirby returns with a beer and a bag of chips, which he happily crunches into as he drops down onto the couch beside me again. I can’t help but notice the way he chews with his mouth open and wipes the crumbs from his fingers onto his pants.

“Is everything going okay with your roommate?”

“Yeah, why?” he asks.

“Because you want to move out.”

He shrugs. “Nah, he’s cool. Honestly, he’s never home. I’m just ready to get my own place.”

I nod, understanding that completely. After having roommates all through college, girls who were messy and “borrowed” my clothes without asking, I was more than ready for my own place.

“You’ve never even met him, have you?” he asks.

“Your roommate? Nope.” Every time I’ve been here, his roommate is either gone or busy.

Kirby lifts his chin toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Cameron, get your ass out here. I want you to meet someone,” he shouts.

His plea is met with silence, and he shrugs.

“Is he even home?” I ask.

“Yeah. I heard him come in at like four in the morning, but he might still be sleeping.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange I’ve never met your roommate?”

He shrugs again. “He’s a mysterious guy. I don’t know where he is half the time.” Setting down the bag of chips, he wipes his hands and turns to face me. “I never told you about why he moved in here with me, did I?”

I shake my head.

“It’s some sad shit.” His voice drops lower. “His parents died his senior year of high school, and he was a mess, naturally. He went away to college, and freshman year, he met this girl named Tara. She filled him with hope and love, and all that shit people look for. They dated all through college, all through law school. She was his rock.”

Kirby picks up his beer and takes a long swallow before continuing. “I actually met her once at a firm holiday party, his first year at the law firm. She was quiet and kind of withdrawn, if you asked me, but to him, God, you could see the love he had for her radiating from his eyes. She was all he had. His everything. He proposed with a huge diamond that he’d saved up for all year. I swear, his entire first-year earnings went toward that ring. While all the other first-years were trying to claw our way out from under a mountain of student loan debt, Cameron was scraping and saving for her.”

“What happened?” My hands are curled around a throw pillow. I clutch it to my chest, anticipating the worst, that she was somehow taken from him too soon.

“He left work early one day—he’d won a massive case, actually the one that got him promoted from junior associate to associate, and wanted to celebrate. When he got to their apartment, she was on her hands and knees, taking it up the ass by one of his best friends.”

My hand flies to my mouth. “That’s horrible.”

He nods. “Fucking tragic. She was everything to him. After that, you could see the light in his eyes dimmed. He lost faith in everything that day. Lost the last little piece of him. He fucking moped around for months. He moved in here with only a duffel bag and a whole bunch of suits. It’s been two years, and he’s finally getting back to himself.”

“That’s so sad,” I murmur, completely absorbed in his story. My heart hurts for Kirby’s roommate, and I realize his situation is even harder than my own of wanting someone you can’t have.

“I know. Every time I think about wanting a relationship, I remember the months he spent broken and sulking, and I decide that putting that much trust in another person is just not something I want to do.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move out, Kirby? You’ve painted this picture that he has no one left in his life.”

He chuckles. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure he’s been out nailing a different girl every night to make up for that bitch whore of a fiancée.”

Okay then.

“We better get going,” I say, glancing at the time on my phone. “I don’t want us to be late for all the appointments I’ve set.”

“A few more minutes, ladybug.” He squeezes my knee, eyes on the TV again.

As I observe Kirby watching his game, I’m having a hard time remembering what I ever saw in him. He picks at his teeth, chews with his mouth open, ignores a phone call from his mom, and shouts at the TV. And worst of all is that he hardly notices me.

The longer I sit here, the more I realize that I’m better than that. I don’t want a man I have to convince. I want someone who wants me for me. My mind wanders to Hale. He always makes me feel desired. A smile tugs at my lips as I stare blankly at the TV and wonder where he is and what he’s doing today.

My cell phone chimes from my purse and I fish it out, wondering who’s texting me. It’s probably Julie.

When I see that it’s Hale, my heart riots in my chest, knowing he was thinking of me at the exact same moment I was thinking of him.

 

Hale: What are you doing?

 

I smile as I type out my reply.

 

Brielle: Hanging out with Kirby.

 

Once I’ve typed that, cold dread washes over me. What if he challenges me to do something bold…like seduce Kirby?

 

Hale: Is he every bit as dreamy as you recalled?

Brielle: Of course.

 

The words feel fake, but it’s what I’m supposed to say. The whole reason Hale is helping me is because of my interest in Kirby. Just then, angry music blares loudly from down the hall, or more specifically, from his roommate’s bedroom.

I steal a glance at Kirby, my eardrums protesting the obtrusive noise. “Does he have a heavy-metal obsession?”

He shrugs. “Not normally.”

I look back down at my phone to see a new message from Hale.

 

Hale: Tonight. You’re mine.

 

My belly tightens with nervous anticipation.

When we started our working relationship, I was under the impression that we’d meet once weekly for six weeks. We just saw each other last night, but he wasn’t about to get an argument from me. Things have begun to feel more domestic between us.

Hale isn’t my boyfriend, but hell if my brain knows that. The intimacy we shared last night, God, I can’t even think about it without my face getting hot. And I’m pretty certain that second time last night, when I reached for his hand and urged him back to bed, wasn’t part of any lesson. It was just two lost souls searching for comfort together.

I text him back, already feeling the steady thrum of my heart picking up speed.

 

Brielle: When and where?

Hale: You’ll see.

 

His reply is coy and guarded, but before I can ask what he means, Kirby rises from the couch and clicks off the TV. “You ready?”

“Sure.” I stuff my phone back into my purse, already hot with anticipation for tonight.

• • •

 

After several hours of touring condos in high-rise buildings around the city, I finally make my way home. There’s a large black box with a red ribbon waiting for me outside my door. Somehow I know it’s from Hale. I take it inside, eager to see what it holds.

I head into my bedroom and set the box down on my bed. It’s fairly weighty, and I have no clue what it could be. Lifting the lid, I see crisp white paper lining the inside and a square card nestled on the top. I pull the card from its envelope, appreciating how thick the card stock feels between my fingers.

The message is brief, handwritten in neat black ink.

 

Be at the corner of Lakeshore Drive and Grand Avenue. 7 p.m.

—H

 

Peeling back the tissue paper, I discover the contents of the mysterious box. A white lacy G-string and matching demi-cup bra, along with a thick knee-length wool coat in the most bright, vibrant shade of red. The coat is gorgeous. Somehow I know I’m meant to be wearing nothing but this coat and these underthings when I meet him tonight. The idea sends a small thrill racing through me. I set everything down on my bed and then head to shower.

As I get ready, my phone buzzes constantly with sweet little texts from him. One to confirm I got the package, another telling me he’s excited for tonight, and a third that says he can’t wait to see me. I’ve never had a man make me feel this special before, or put so much thought into a date.

By the time I’m slipping on my coat over my new bra and panty set, I feel desirable and ready for some naughty fun.