Page 149 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

Does she not see how she’s the only one I want?I won’t be the one to ruin the fun, though. “It’s not my ego that needs the stroking.”

Slipping out of bed before I can catch her, she says, “Good to know, hotshot.” When she goes into the bathroom, I spread my arms wide. As much as I love this massive bed, I sure the fuck like having her in it with me, taking up space not only here but also in my day-to-day life.

We swap, and I decide to shower. By the time I return, she’s close to being asleep, so I hold her in my arms, wrapping myself around the back of her and soaking in how good we are together.

It’s a new year. Time for a fresh start. Maybe it’s our time as well.

I drift off after her breathing has steadied, finding comfort in the possibility of what tomorrow brings.

CHAPTER 4

Marlow

“Are you okay?” Panic shrouds Tealey’s tone.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I whisper.

“Thank God.” Yawning, she asks, “Then why are you calling me at . . .” She pauses, I assume to check the time. “Four thirty-six?” Maybe I shouldn’t have called, but I need to talk through my feelings with someone I trust.

“What am I doing, Teals?” I ask, confused by my revolving emotions.

Jackson and I were supposed to be a little fun.

Nothing more.

Sex—the casual kind with no strings involved.

That’s worked great for a while, but he only knows a portion of my situation. I have no room in my life right now for the added commitment. None of that will come as a surprise to him. I’ve never portrayed myself to be any different. But no one could have predicted Jackson and I would hook up. Least of all, the two of us. We’ve always been more different than alike in our views on life. From art to movies, food to cocktails, how welike to spend our time to how we spend our money, Jackson St. James couldn’t be a worse match for me.

“I don’t know. Whatareyou doing?”

I peek back into the bedroom, where Jackson sleeps so peacefully. The moonlight glides over the cut of his muscles and the sharp corner of his jaw. Crossing the living room so I don’t wake him, I say, “I should leave, but my gut tells me to stay.”

“Then you should stay.”

“I can’t do this, though.”

An impatient sigh, which is uncharacteristic for my friend, is heard. “Marlow?”

“Yeah?”

She gulps and then says, “You’ve been doing this with Jackson for some time now. Hold on . . . Let me get out of bed so I don’t wake Rad.” I hang on the line, listening to the soft shuffling from her end of the call. “Okay, we can talk now. Tell me, Marlow, what’s so different about tonight than the other nights you two have been together?”

“We kissed. He kissed me, and I kissed him.”

“I know.” A light giggle permeates the line. “We were all there.”

Sitting on the windowsill, I say, “It?—”

She gasps. “Wait. I may be a little slow at this hour, but I just realized what you meant. You and Jackson don’t kiss?”

“We kiss in . . .hrm. . . How do I put this? We kiss in certain ways, but we don’t kiss like we did tonight.”

“I had no idea.” Her voice is clearer, the fog of sleep stripped away. “I thought?—”

“I know.”

“So . . . ” She pauses again. I can tell by her humming that she’s hesitant to speak her mind.

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