Page 12 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

I’m suddenly realizing that I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up the group. Those five people have my back. It’s only a temporary solution, but one that keeps me near these people I care about so much.

I study him, searching his eyes for a truth he can’t hide. To my relief, I can’t find a lie. “Are you sure?”

He nods before easing off the brake. “Positive.” He taps the steering wheel momentarily. “You still have your job, right?”

“Yes. I considered transferring.”

“Then stay. With me.”

Though I’m not sure this is the right thing to do, I take a deep breath and take the chance. “Then it’s a yes from me, but I promise not to overstay my welcome. This will give me more time to find a new place to live instead of moving back in with my family.”

A smile splits his cheeks. “I can’t believe you considered moving back to Texas. You know we’d help you however we could.”

“I know,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “It’s just . . . I’m the one who helps others in need. I don’t want to put my problems on you guys.”

“You’d rather leave us?”

“No. I’d rather stay. Texas was a last resort.” I smile and look out the window. “I can’t imagine leaving the city. It’s become a part of my identity.” Touching his arm, I add, “I want you to know that I’ll pay you rent.”

“We can worry about the details later.”

Maybe he can worry about the details another time, but my money is accounted for down to the penny. Spying his modern and incredible building ahead, I know it’s a conversation we need to have sooner than later. I’m thinking half the rent of hisapartment is going to mean selling some things and dipping into my savings. “Or tonight.”

“After dinner?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth rising with it.

“Deal.”

“Just one question.”

“Okay.” I grin, and say, “Shoot.”

He slows the car on approach to the luxury residence. “When do you need to move in?”

“Friday. Is that too soon?”

Smirking, he shifts gears. “Perfect timing.”

4

Rad

“You must love living here,” Tealey says.

Pulling into the underground garage of the streamlined, modern structure reminds me of how far it had come. It was formerly a dilapidated, bordering on condemned, four-story building that housed a tailor on the top floor, a pillow manufacturer on the third, a law firm on the second, and a deli on the first, dating back to 1921.

The bricks were crumbling around it and stood out like an eyesore on the prestigious block. The owner refused to sell it to anyone because of their visions of tearing it down and building an “ugly,” as he called it, rectangle.

There’s no changing the shape, but I presented him with an innovative design, and he sold it to me under the condition that I would live there for three years before selling. I bought the building as an investment, but I had no problem sticking to the agreement. I love this place. Although I dipped into one of my trust funds, I scored a deal and kept the elements that could be saved intact during the renovation.

“It’s a nice place to come home to,” I say, parking the car. “I guess you’ll get to experience that too.”

She looks at me and grins. I’ll never get tired of seeing her like this.

We take the elevator, which opens into the apartment. She’s been here many times over the years and even knows the code to get in the building, so when I hang my keys on a hook and toss my jacket on the back of the couch as I pass, why does it feel different with her following me this time?

Why doIfeel different?

This is nothing more than a friend helping a friend.That’s all.

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