“You’d think.” I laugh. “What’s the deal with it, anyway? You don’t come across many men who sport pocket watches these days.”
CJ shrugs as we walk toward the elevator. “Sentimental value. My grandfather gave it to me when I was a kid.” He hits the button. “He basically raised me.” The elevator door dings open, and we step inside.
“Oh?”
“My parents divorced when I was seven. It was pretty nasty. My father left us with essentially nothing. My mother was devastated.” CJ looks down and rubs his jaw. “We went to live with my grandfather after that. He was ex-military, very rigid, but an amazing man. I idolized him growing up.”
“Is that how you ended up in the military?” I ask intrigued.
“Yes.” CJ pulls me into his arms. “He was a very big influence in my life. He gave me the pocket watch shortly after I moved in. The transition was really hard. Especially seeing what my mother was going through. He explained certain things to me, like why I was upset and angry all at the same time. It felt like one minute, I wanted to punch something, and the next, I wanted to cry.”
“Too many grown-up emotions for one little boy.”
“It was exactly that. And I was constantly asking if he was going to leave us, too.”
My heart nearly breaks.
“What did he say?”
CJ smiles. “He told me grandpas don’t leave. Then he gave me the watch. It was like a security blanket. His promise to always be there. He told me his grandfather gave it to him, and now, it was my turn to have it.”
The elevator doors open to the lobby. CJ takes my handwithout skipping a beat and keeps talking.
“I bring it everywhere, and yet, I manage to forget about it half the time.”
“Quite the predicament.”
“It is.” We walk out into the brisk December air and wait on the sidewalk for several seconds before a black Town Car pulls up and we are ushered inside. Talk about service.
CJ gives the address to the driver, and he pulls out right into the middle of midday traffic. A horn blows but none of us pay any mind.
“Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He was.” CJ relaxes into the leather seat.
“Was?” I frown.
“He passed. A few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” He halfheartedly smiles. “Tis life.”
“Sometimes life sucks.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t.” He nestles me up against him. I feel like I’m sixteen years old crushing on the hot college guy giving me attention. We kiss like crazy adolescents in the backseat the whole way. The driver actually has to clear his throat to get our attention when we arrive.
I wasn’t really paying attention to the address CJ gave the driver, so when I step out of the car on Fifth Avenue, I look around confused.
“I thought we were going to a museum?”
“We are.” CJ slams the car door shut then spins me around. I gaze across the street.
“The Museum of Sex?” I raise my eyebrows and read the metal sign. Above it, in a large window, reads KINK in hot pink letters.
“The Met seemed too stuffy.” He snatches my hand and drags me across the street.
Only CJ. What did I tell you? Twelve-year-old in a man’s body.
