“Oh,” I mumble dumbly. I feel like I’ve been hustled, tricked into believing he’s some clueless simp when he’s really a shark.
He leans closer. Close enough for me to see the tiny mole next to his left ear. Close enough to smell the rum from his drink on his breath. Close enough to see more of the tattoo under his shirt—wings going across both collarbones.
I’m just about to lean in when a hand claps Damon on the back and breaks the spell.
“Bro!” Noah interrupts. “We’re moving this party uptown to Clemente. You in?”
Noah must sense the tension between us because he removes his hand and immediately backpedals.
“Oryou could stay here. A client just posted about their amazing Negronis, but I know Campari isn’t really your thing.”Sorry!, he mouths to Damon. He must be too tipsy to realize we can both see him.
“It’s cool,” Damon says, glancing at his watch and standing up. “It’s getting late, and I’m retired now. I can’t party like I used to.”
What?Things were just getting started and now he’s going to bail?
Noah looks just as shocked as I feel, but shrugs and turns to help Tiffany on with her coat. I stand too, letting my confusion show.
“It looks like we’re moving to the next bar. You sure you won’t join us?” My mojo must be off if I have to ask him after all that flirting and staring. His face is resigned.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ve been stuck in a shoebox of an apartment since I got back, and I’m touring a few new places tomorrow.”
“Fun!” I grit out, pasting back on my public smile. And the night started off so well…
I force myself not to watch him as he leaves and pull on my own coat to brave the chilly late-winter night.He didn’t even ask for my number.
It’s probably for the best. Hooking up with the brother of your new business partner’s boyfriend is needlessly messy. Justsayingthat was messy. At least tonight when I go home unsatisfied, it’s not after being made to feel like there’s something wrong with me. This is actually perfect. Until I fix my little problem, work is all that matters.
Chapter two
Damon
April
“This is a Brooklyn-bound L train. The next stop is Bedford Avenue,” the automated voice announces. “Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”
The subway doors close just as some poor woman finally gets her grocery cart down the stairs to the platform. Bummer. At least the L train runs pretty regularly during the day; otherwise, I wouldn’t even consider this job. I sigh and stretch my legs out in the nearly empty subway car.
Two months. Two months of hopping on and off trains and buses, rushing to meet landlords and movers, all so I can get out of that tin can that masqueraded as an apartment. Every month of my short-term lease ate into my savings a little bit more, taunting me with its narrow hallways and fun-size bedrooms,and every month I’d come home empty-handed, having found out the apartment was already taken, or that the super wouldn’t approve my lease without a US-based reference.Excuse me for leaving the country to follow my dreams!
But two weeks ago, finally, I found a place that fit both my budget and my super-sized body. Adam’s college friend, Bryan, had a fraternity brother moving to the suburbs with his new wife, leaving behind a spacious, rent-controlled apartment just blocks from my current place. Well aware that the apartment would be upwards of five grand a month if listed online, I jumped on the deal like a lion attacking a gazelle.
Financially speaking, I’m doing OK. Nothing close to the big bucks Henry brings in as a hotshot attorney, or what I’d hoped to be making in the NBA, but I’m comfortable. From what I’ve read, I made about what the top WNBA players make here in the US, plus extra from a couple ad campaigns and one especially lucrative commercial where I dunked on a popular kids’ cartoon character before chugging a lime green sports drink. I wasn’t in danger of ending up on Mom and Dad’s couch, not for at least ten years, anyway, but finding this apartment so I could stop blowing cash on Tinker Bell’s guesthouse was still a huge weight off. I saved even more by paying my brothers in beer and pizza to help me move. Now all that’s left is for me to unpack a few boxes.
Growing up in Brooklyn was great, and I love going home to visit Mom and Dad every week, but there’s just something about Alphabet City and the Lower East Side that calls to me.
Maybe it’s the buzzing art scene. Galleries and exhibits aren’t really my thing—Henry’s the art buff among us—but the murals and pop-up shows everywhere give the neighborhood a colorful, eclectic look I prefer over the cold, shiny buildings uptown.
Maybe it’s the plethora of cuisines crammed into every block. There’s a restaurant that just serves mac and cheese, right next to an amazing ramen bar, that’s right next to my go-to pizza spot. My rigorous training regimen is the only reason I haven’t ballooned like I did my freshman year at Fordham.Go rams!
Maybe it’s the widely available public transportation that makes getting anywhere in the five boroughs a breeze. I’m thirty-four and still don’t have my license. I may need to take Henry up on driving lessons now that I’m home for good, though I can only imagine the parking fees in the city.
Or maybe it has less to do with food and art and more to do with a certain plus-size model that’s been my obsession for going on a year now. More than maybe.Definitely.
Until Adam’s friend came through with the hookup, Brooklyn or even the Bronx were looking like the only boroughs in my price range. Mom and Dad would’ve put me up while I found a job. They even offered. But only in the Lower East Side would I have the chance to bump into the woman of my dreams.
The woman who, two months ago, I completely fumbled. Once we got to talking, I could tell she was interested. Fuck, I was interested too! But what did I have to offer someone like her? A kitchen she could reach while still lying on the bed? Adwindling savings account? Sure, I could’ve shown her a good time that night. Maybe even secured a spot as her regular booty call. But I was in no place to start anything real with her, and that’s what a woman like that deserves.
Hell, Istilldon’t have my shit together, hence the hour-long train ride for the third time this week to interview for an assistant coach position at a high school in Brooklyn. The irony of killing myself to get in front of scouts, chasing a fat contract and endorsements, only to come back to the same borough I left all those years ago isn’t lost on me. I just have to remind myself that I’m returning a success. I did what all the kids at my summer basketball clinics only dream of doing.
