“He wouldn’t be jealous,” she slurred. “He doesn’t want me.”
I jiggled the keys in the lock a few more times and the bolt clanked open. “Well, then he’s an idiot.”
I pushed the door open and held out the keys to her. On the handoff, she bobbled them and giggled some more when we banged heads reaching down to pick them up from the floor. Over the sound of her laughter, I heard the door next to her apartment open. Emerie didn’t seem to.
When Baldwin stepped into the hall and looked at us, I suddenly felt very territorial. With her back to him, Emerie was still unaware that we had an audience. She smiled up at me with those big blue eyes, and something came over me. I leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the lips—a toe in the water to take the temperature.
That little kiss was all testosterone, me being a dick to the asshole next door. Pissing on the fire hydrant, so to speak. But when I pulled my head back and saw her eyes dilated and lips parting for more, my next move had nothing to do with who was watching.
It was sheer desire. I lost it. My mouth crashed down on hers again, and her lips parted for me. My tongue slid in, and I took my first long stroke inside. It was salty and peppered with tequila, but it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. And suddenly, I was starving.
I pulled her flush against me and wrapped my arms around her tight. There was no guy who she was in love with watching—it was just me and Emerie. Everything else disappeared as I deepened the kiss, and she eagerly pushed her tits up against my chest. The sound she made when my hand went to her phenomenal ass encouraged me to keep going. I wanted nothing more than to push her up against her door and grind my swelling cock against her. And I might have given in and done it, had the asshole next door not put a damper on the moment.
Baldwin cleared his throat. Hearing the sound, Emerie pulled away and turned to find that the man she was in love with had just watched this entire thing. She looked startled, and I hated that there was already a look of regret in her eyes. I didn’t have the heart to make her feel any more shaken than she already was.
Cupping her cheeks, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Maybe that will wake him up.” Then I kissed her cheek. “See you at the office, birthday girl.”
Drew, New Year’s Eve, Four years ago
“Who the fuck are these people?” Roman was sitting on the balcony of my apartment in the dark, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, when I snuck out to escape for a few minutes.
“Maybe you’d know if you were inside instead of out here.” I took the seat beside him and stared out into the sea of lights that was New York City. “It’s fucking freezing.”
“Did you see the tits on that blonde with the blue sweater?”
“That’s Sage. One of Alexa’s new friends.”
“She ain’t the brightest bulb. I was joking around and told her I could tell her age by feeling her up.”
“Don’t tell me she let you grope her?”
The end of Roman’s cigarette illuminated bright red as he took a long drag. “Yep. After I copped a good feel, she asked me when she was born.” He blew out a string of smoke rings. “I told her yesterday and came to sit out here.”
I chuckled. Fucking Roman. He either got smacked or lucky, and sometimes I wondered which one he actually liked better. “Yeah. Alexa has a knack for picking choice friends.”
“Looks like she’s settled into New York okay, at least.”
From the outside, at least tonight, it would appear that way. This was certainly better than her going out alone last year, followed by a huge fight to kick off the new year when I’d questioned her about the guy who’d driven her home. This year, our home was filled with all of the friends she’d made over the last four months since we moved to New York from Atlanta. But the truth was, she still bitched daily about leaving her friends behind.
“She’s made some friends. Mostly from the acting class she’s taking and the gym. I was hoping she’d find friends who have more in common with her—maybe some of the ladies from Mommy and Me, but she says they’re all sweater-wearing, stuffy bitches.”
“If those sweaters are anything like the blonde’s, I might be borrowing your kid to take a Mommy and Me class.”
We were both quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the peace of a clear night. Roman’s voice was serious when he spoke again. “H
ow’s AJ doing?”
AJ was my father’s nickname, short for Andrew Jagger. Neither of us used our given name—I was always Drew, and he was always AJ. “Not good. It’s spread to a lung now. Looks like they’re going to have to remove a piece.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, friend. AJ’s too damn young for this shit.”
Four months ago my father had gone to the doctor for an annual physical and his blood work revealed his liver enzymes were off. Two days later he was diagnosed with liver cancer. Even though the statistics weren’t on his side—a fifteen percent five-year survival rate from diagnosis—he was optimistic. He’d endured months of high-dose chemo that made him sick as a dog, only to be told the day after he finished the last round that the cancer had metastasized to his lung.
“Yeah. I’m glad I could be here for him. He’s got a shitload of friends and business associates, but without a wife taking care of him, I needed to be back in New York.”
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”
“I think that was Alexa’s plan.”