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“1809 K Street, Brooklyn,” he recited. “Last date of purchase was in 1949 for just under seven grand. No known remodels since then, although I hope for your family’s sake, you at least bought a better refrigerator.” Before I could make a retort, he continued. “I’ve seen where you grew up, Skylar, because you let me walk you there. Yes, I looked up some information, because I have to. It’s become a habit since people regularly try to scamme.” He sighed. “I met your dad, and it wasn’t even our first date. You haven’t even let mehavea fuckin’ first date with you! But I think I know at least a little something about you by now. Maybe I’m off, but last I checked, city garbage collectors who moonlight as broke jazz musicians don’t exactly make bank.”
I glared, seething. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You spent a couple of hours tagging along in my old neighborhood, had some PI look into my family, and you think you know everything about me. Be honest, Brandon. I’m a piece of ass you want to slum it with for a while, and you want to know what you’re risking. So what’s next after the trip, huh? You gonna set me up with a nice condo like you promised, baby? Give me a black Amex to go shopping on Newbury? It’s a no-win situation for me. If I say no, I’m a frigid bitch, and if I say yes, I’m just a gold-digging whore. You never once thought that I just wanted to go out on a date with you like anormal fucking person!”
Brandon winced visibly at my last words and shook his head. “I promise you, I never thought of you like that, Skylar.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled forcefully. “I have some money, and I like to share it. It’s no different from one of your law school buddies buying you a beer. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter to me! And clearly, you won’t take them for the gifts they’d be anyway!”
“Because they’re fucking insulting!” I was glad that we were in the basement of the building and not where my classmates could hear us exploding through the thin walls, Brooklyn accent versus Bostonian. “I’m not yourPretty Woman, Brandon! This might come as a surprise to you, but your moneydoesn’t fucking impress me!”
Brandon shot out of his seat then and stalked toward me like a big cat he resembled so strongly at times. With his thick halo of golden hair, blond stubble, and ferocious expression, he was the spitting image of a lion in his prime. I fought the urge to cower as he came close enough to brace his hands on either side of me on the top of the piano.
“Then what does impress you, Skylar?” he asked, his voice low, and so quiet that I had to strain to hear him. “Most people are falling over themselves the minute they enter my house. You practically sprinted out of there. Most women would jump at the chance to be swept off to Paris, but you slapped me in the face. Most girls would tear into a Tiffany box like a kid on Christmas. But you won’t even touch it. So, what’s gonna do it? How do I get in there?”
He pushed one large finger into my chest, forcing me back against the hard edges of the piano. His Boston accent was now out in full force. For a moment, I saw him as a kid, living in one of the battered row houses in Dorchester. Tired. Hungry. Bruised. Alone.
I shook the image away. “Why do you want to know so badly?”
My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be, and I struggled to maintain eye contact. He smelled so good this close, and I was battling between wanting to push him away and kiss him with everything I had. All the frustration melted when we touched each other. It would be so easy…
Brandon sighed again. Then, slowly and carefully, he pressed his forehead softly to mine.
“I can’t stop,” he whispered hoarsely with his eyes closed. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day. Every night. I can’t explain it, but…I walked into my house three weeks ago, expecting to talk business over brandy and bore myself to sleep like every night. Instead, I felt like I had been tossed underwater when I saw you sitting in my window. I couldn’t fuckin’ breathe, Skylar. You were so beautiful.” His hands floated to clasp my face gently as he pulled away just enough to meet my eyes. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”
We stood there for at least five full seconds in complete silence, blue eyes meeting green, bright blond head tipped to blazing red. He looked so vulnerable, this savvy businessman, the most cutthroat attorney in Boston, this big-time venture capitalist, scared like a child. His eyes were desperate, searching my face for recognition that he wasn’t going crazy.
I gulped.
“Yeah,” I finally answered. The admission was like a dam being released. “Yes. I felt it too.”
Brandon closed his eyes and exhaled a long, audible sigh of relief through his nose.
“Thank God,” he breathed before pulling me into a kiss.
This wasn’t the frenzied kiss from the other night; it was closer to the long, lingering one he had given me in front of my family’s house. My hands instinctively tangled themselves in his hair, already a mess from his hands running through it. We melted into each other, unable to get close enough, although there was no way we could close the distance more.
After several minutes, Brandon finally pulled away. One of his hands lingered on my waist as if he couldn’t bear to break our contact.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pushing one hand back through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. It’s…getting old. You make it sound like you’ve never been with a woman before, but I know that’s not true.”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Red, no. I’ve been with plenty.”
I cringed at the idea of him screwing half of Boston. “Yeah, Iknow. It’s kind of obvious.”
“Don’t be like that,” Brandon said with a nudge. “I just haven’t tried to be close to anyone. Not for a really long time. I told you, I haven’t had time for a relationship. I haven’t wanted one. Not until now.”
He reached up to pull at his hair again, and I fought the urge to take his hands just to calm him down.
“How do I explain it without sounding like a pushy psycho?” he asked with a rueful half grin.
“Oh, I think you crossed that line a while ago.”
His expression grew suddenly serious. “I’m not crazy, Skylar. I’m just at a loss here. My life…it hasn’t always been that great. I just wanted things to be like…the movies, you know? Like a dream. Because by the time I invited you to stay the night at my house, I already felt like I was dreaming. I wanted you to feel that way. I suppose I thought things like that,” he gestured helplessly back at the box on the table, “would help.”
I cocked my head, considering. He seemed so earnest; it was getting harder and harder to doubt him. I realized I didn’t want to doubt him anymore. I just wanted to let him in.
“Well,” I said finally. “They won’t.”
“Because it’s a game?”
