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His apartment was beautiful. I saw so many and I wasn’t easily impressed, but his was gorgeous and I loved it. The twelve-foot-tall windows must’ve let in incredible light during the day. With the shades open, I could see the lights of Manhattan surrounding us. I sometimes forgot, because I was simply used to the spectacle, how extraordinary New York looked at night. I kept my own drapes closed all the time. I never looked at anything anymore.
He didn’t have a lot of furniture. A table that was low to the floor in what must have been the living room. There wasn’t much of a separation between that and the eating area and the kitchen. Very standard for apartments this size. His table seated two. Max must not get too many guests. I smiled at the thought. Maybe this was unusual for him too. He had one couch, and it was white. Honestly, I would never have pictured him in such a bright place.
“This is gorgeous.”
He nodded. “I was lucky it was available when I was looking. The first time I lived in New York, I lived downtown. This time, I wanted some separation from the restaurant.”
He must be renting the space. Coming and going. If he’d owned his apartment, he would’ve come back to it. That was just how it worked with real estate in the city. I would probably own my place until I died, even if it were a hundred years from now.
I turned to look at him. Now that I could see him standing there, I realized he fit the space. Everything was clean, orderly.His kitchen in the restaurant had looked this way too. He might be the kind of person who kept order in his life. Clean lines, bright lights. NoSeptemberhere, for certain.
The whirlwind of mess that was me wouldn’t fit in his space. Not long term. “How am I doing? Acting weird?”
His grin surprised me. “How am I acting? Wondering the same thing.”
“Well then, maybe we could just both acknowledge doing this kind of thing is a little bit off and move forward from there.”
He stepped toward me, touching the side of my face. “We could just talk.”
That was sweet and absolutely the right thing for him to have said, only it wasn’t what I wanted. I’d love to talk to him anytime, but that wasn’t why I was here. Of course, he had no way of knowing how much I had on the line.
Or how gorgeous he was, and how I felt alive just looking at him.
Maybe he did know. I wouldn’t put it past him to be fully aware of how good-looking he was.
I shook my head. “Always happy to talk, but I’d like to…” I let my voice fade off. What was the right word to use?Havesex?Fuck? I didn’t know, so I left it unspoken.
He nodded once, stroking his finger over my cheek. “Me too. Want a drink?”
Yes, but the answer had to be the opposite. “No thank you, but I will take some water.”
“Water it is.” He strode to the kitchen, and I immediately felt bereft from the lack of his hand on my cheek. It was cold where it had been warm. “I also have seltzer. Want that? Or flat water?”
“Oh.” I followed after him. “I love seltzer.”
He poured some in a glass and then side-eyed me. “Ice?”
“Yes, please.”
His fridge was one of those that made ice, and after making a little bit of a squeaking noise, it deposited two ice cubes into the glass with the smallest of splashes. He winced. “Should have put the ice in first.”
He was cute. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him flustered before. He handed it to me, and I took it. “Thanks.”
The water was cold on my tongue, and I was glad for it. He picked up a drink off the counter. It was an amber liquid that I’d guess was whisky. I actually loved a good glass of whisky. He drank it straight. Well actually, he sipped it. I watched him for a second because that was what he seemed to be doing to me. It was an odd moment, and not one I was sure we’d ever repeat—two people obviously watching each other drink.
I set down my water. He wasn’t aggressive, that much was obvious. A woman my age who wasn’t fucked up would know what to do with a gentle man—of that, I was sure—so I stepped toward him. “Should I kiss you?”
Maybe I should have just done it, because talking about things wasn’t sexy.
“I’d really love you to.” He set down his drink and tugged me to him. Tight against his body, I waited for the anxiety that even thinking about being in a man’s arms would have caused just a year ago, but none came. He was warm, and he smelled fantastic. Clean and spicy, which I guessed came from the whisky.
I reached up and kissed him. He leaned down to meet me halfway, which was good because I was significantly shorter than him. His lips were warm and moist. I could immediately taste the whisky on him and decided that the mixture of Max and that liquor was my favorite new thing.
He was warm. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He drew me even closer, picked me up suddenly, and placed me on the counter. I yelped, then laughed. He’d managed to surprise me. I waited for the panic, but it didn’t happen.
I pulled back to regard him for a second. He was beautiful, and I’d bet he’d hate it if I said the word aloud. I stroked my fingers down the side of his cheek. He’d let a little bit of facial hair grow, and it scraped against my fingertips. He smiled, a slow, sexy grin, as I stroked my finger over him.
Eventually, he stopped me, bringing my hand to his mouth to kiss it. I shivered. Neither of us said a word. Were most people silent during sex? I had no idea. But in this case, I thought perhaps the less said the better.
