Chapter Eight
On Monday I smile my way through the entire day. I spent the weekend with Max, returning to my apartment only long enough to grab clean clothes on Saturday morning and not returning again until Sunday night. We played tourist all weekend, doing the things I imagined I'd do when I moved here. We saw a show on Broadway, something Brad had kept promising to do with me but never had. After, we walked through Times Square, which is insane twenty-four hours a day, but at night it's insane with a neon cherry on top. There's nothing like Manhattan at night. The lights, the sounds, the energy, the people.
We got gyros from a street vendor on Fifty-Third and Sixth that Max insisted would change my life and edible cookie dough from the new place in Greenwich Village that I contended would change the size of my ass. Max whispered some very filthy promises to me about how we'd burn the calories off while we waited in a line that snaked out the front door and down the block.
We even took one of those double-decker bus tours. Max said he'd never been on one either—and it was probably pretty repetitive for him to see a bunch of sites he's seen for years, but we went anyway. We took a night tour and I know it's silly because we were on a bus and surrounded by tourists, but it was romantic. Like stupid romantic. Max had his arm slung around me as I rested my head on his shoulder and enjoyed the tour. We drove past Rockefeller Center and Madison Square Garden. Past the Empire State Building illuminated in white light and the Flatiron Building, which the tour guide told us was mocked upon completion by critics believing the combination of the triangular shape and height would cause the building to fall down. Over a hundred years later it still stands and is considered one of the most photographed buildings in the world.
We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, which is stunning in the daylight and magic after dark, the lights running up the cables to the top of the stone towers and then back down again. On the Brooklyn side of the bridge the bus stopped long enough for picture-taking of the Manhattan skyline. Max took our picture with his phone, smiles on our faces and the city sparkling behind us. My heart beats a little faster and I suck my lip between my teeth just remembering it.
I'm so happy even my troll boss hasn't been able to get me down. She keeps looking at me suspiciously, likely trying to imagine what's making me happy so she can dream up ways to squash me, but whatever. It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter because I will find another job eventually. This job is just a blip on the radar of my career. I've already found two open positions within the company that I'm perfect for and applied. Maybe I'll get one of them, maybe I won't. But eventually I'll find something because I won't quit until I do.
It turns out I don't have to wait very long because on the following week I get asked to interview for one of the jobs I applied for and I have an offer by the end of the week.
It's to move to the social media team. A twenty percent increase in pay and, even better, it's a job I could be excited about doing. I really clicked with the supervisor I interviewed with. She's a blogger too and we spent most of the interview chatting about affiliate programs and algorithms. She blogs about living in small spaces and when I told her about my bunk bed living situation she asked if she could take some photos and feature my apartment on her blog. So, yeah, we totally hit it off and—dare I be too optimistic?—I think she's going to be more than a boss, I think she's going to be a friend too. She's already sent me links to several blogging conferences she wants me to attend and told me if there's any others I'm interested in to let her know, that as long as it's something I can use for work then we can find a way to justify sending me. It's a dream gig. I'll be using my skills instead of wearing a wedding dress in Times Square and I'll be getting paid to learn things that I'll also be able to apply to my personal blog.
You know that saying about how fast life moves? That in the blink of an eye everything can change? It's true. I've spent the last year stuck, so to say, and these past two weeks it feels as if my life is moving faster than a New York minute.
Probably because it is. A promotion and a new guy. Crazy.
And not just any guy. The perfect guy.
One who makes me smile.
One who makes me shelve my skepticism.
One I might be falling in love with.
I know it's only been a couple of weeks. I know it sounds insane and like I should use more caution. But it feels right. It feels like everything is coming together. Meeting Max feels like the reason I came to New York. I mean, I know the reason I came to New York was Brad. But when that went south, I stayed. I persevered though a shitty year at work and a tight budget. Through self-doubts and questioning if I should have gone back to Iowa with my tail between my legs where I could have at least afforded my own apartment and a car. But I didn't. I stayed and meeting Max is more than a reward for staying. Max is like the answer to everything happens for a reason. Like all roads led to him. So cheesy, but I don't know how else to explain it.
I'm still smiling when I walk through the door after work on Friday and the entire time I get ready.
"You're seeing the new guy again tonight?”
"Yup," I reply with a big grin on my face.
My roommate Allison—the part-time fit model—is sitting on the couch in our apartment watching me get ready at our kitchen table-turned-vanity.
"Where are you going?"
"We're having dinner with his sister. Some Indian restaurant that she loves and Max tolerates."
"His sister, huh? Serious stuff." Allison looks up from her phone with interest, my love life suddenly becoming more interesting than her social media. "Didn't you just meet this guy?"
"Yeah, a couple weeks ago. But what can I say? I like him."
"I like him too," Allison comments.
"You haven't met him." I turn to her in confusion, mascara wand halfway to my lashes.
"I like that he keeps you at his place all weekend. Last weekend you were gone, Delaney flew home for someone's wedding and Bridget was on a multi-night leg with the airline. I took a ten-minute shower on both Saturday and Sunday and pretended I lived alone. It was glorious." She sighs happily.
"Did I tell you Max has two bathrooms?" I finish with the mascara and apply my fade-resistant lipstick.
"Two? Marry him."
"I know, right?" I nod. "But all joking aside, I really like him."
"Well, if you like him I like him too," Allison says from the sofa, where she makes a big production of stretching out and hogging the entire sofa. "I think I'm gonna watch a movie on my laptop tonight. Without headphones. Bam," she boasts as she kicks back.
I laugh because I know what she means. When you have roommates you spend a lot of time with headphones shoved in your ears so you're not disturbing the others. "Enjoy your movie with the added soundtrack of the neighbors downstairs having sex and the ones across the hall fighting."
"Oh, I will." Allison claps her hands in glee. "Neighbor noise equals bonus soundtrack," she says while scrolling through the options on her laptop.
A minute later Max arrives, the buzzer from the front door announcing his arrival. Allison hops off the couch before I've even set my hairbrush down and hits the release, allowing him into the building. Then she opens the front door and leans into the hallway waiting on his arrival like a little sister about to check out her sibling’s big date.
"You're way too excited about my social life, Allison," I comment.
"I'm bored. Sue me," she retorts.
I'm about to ask her why she's home for the second weekend in a row, as it's not like her, but Max is here so I slip my feet into a pair of sandals and fasten the straps while introducing them.
Allison takes an instant liking to him, meaning she grills him for info.
"What are your intentions towards my friend?" she asks exactly one heartbeat after introductions are made.
Max laughs and I roll my eyes. I don't have to tell Max she's joking because she can't keep a straight face herself, bursting into a fit of giggles the moment the words are out of her mouth.
"Sorry, I don't know where that came from," she says between giggles. "I just channeled my dad for a minute there."
"Well, rest assured, I've only the kinkiest of intentions towards Lauren."
"Lucky bitch," Allison mutters and we all laugh while I grab my purse.
"Don't forget your stuff," Max tells me as I raise a brow in question. "Weekend bag? I'm not bringing you home," he murmurs into my ear as he pulls me close and kisses the spot just under my ear.
I was hoping I'd be spending the weekend with him again, but I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I've only mentally packed a bag. As in I know exactly what I need to grab right now and even which bag I'm bringing, but I haven't actually packed the bag.
"Okay," I agree with a quick nod. "Just give me a second to grab some things," I tell him as I dash into the bedroom to grab my bag and the predetermined outfits for the weekend. Max stands in the doorway and watches me with an amused expression on his face.
"You're packing pretty fast there, tiger."
"Yeah, because I'm starving and we're going to be late for dinner," I lie.
"No rush, my sister is rarely on time."
"I'm ready," I announce half a second later and he does nothing to hide his smirk as he walks into the room.
"The infamous bunk beds," he comments as he takes the bag from my hand. "Which one's yours?"
"Top bunk," I say, patting the side of the mattress.
"We can play top bunk later if you want." He winks at me and I laugh while pushing at his chest and directing him towards the door. I grab my makeup bag as we pass the kitchen table. I've already got a toothbrush at Max's. He gave me a spot for it and everything. He bought me shampoo and conditioner last weekend too. He'd complained that my hair didn't smell like vanilla when I used the stuff in his shower and then ordered the stuff I normally use and had it delivered the same day. Manhattan is great for indulgent same-day delivery. Full-size bottles. His walk-in shower has two recessed niches for shampoo bottles and he gave one of them to me.
Who says chivalry is dead?
Toiletry space in the shower is a really big deal.