It Started with a Kiss

Marlow Marché has started treating me in ways that allow wonder to creep in—what if we tried for more? I’m not opposed to this idea anymore, not like I used to be. In fact, with her, I’m beginning to like it.

A lot.

Little mysteries embody the parts of her left to discover, and I can’t wait to unravel every one of them.

“Jackson?” Fuck. “There you are,” Mr. Morgenstern starts. He’s a former client from when I was an advisor for Christiansen Wealth Management. We made a lot of money together. He also hosts one of the best parties in Manhattan. Not only did I score an invite but my five friends were also included. I wouldn’t have come if they weren’t, but I thought I’d actually get to spend time with them. I haven’t. Not so far.

I’ve been paraded around the place as Morgenstern’s golden ticket. But I need a break from the stale financial conversations I’ve been stuck in for the past two hours, looking for free advice.

“Do you have time to meet with a friend in the library? He’s in need of some good advice,” he asks.

I start backing through the crowd. “It’s almost midnight, and I promised my friends—”

He checks his watch. “Ah. Yes. Go. I need to find my wife. She’ll kill me if I don’t kiss her.”

I escape, leaving him there mumbling about Argentina 1986. Sounds like that was the only time he’d made the mistake of not kissing his wife at the stroke of midnight.

Tugging at the sleeve of my dress shirt, I straighten the cuff as I trek through the party toward the large balcony. Large being the distinguishing factor from the other three this apartment has.

When I push through the door, the gang is almost back together. As best friends since college, we always kick off the new year together. Rad, Tealey, Cade, Cammie, and me. We’re only missing Marlow. I’m hoping she’ll be here in time, but we didn’t set anything in stone. We never do.

A wink.

A nod.

A subtle insinuation.

That’s usually enough for the other to get the hint to move behind closed doors. Even when subtle, she knows the signals without me making a production. I don’t have to chase her down just like she doesn’t do that to me, but when I look back, she’s not coming. Yet.

Should I sneak back in to help her free herself from the crowd, or should I disappear to avoid being stood up? Maybe.

Whatever I decide, I need to figure it out fast. That or be stuck with couples kissing all around me while I stand alone at midnight twiddling my thumbs. Or staring at me, like they are now, which makes me think it’s too late to make a break for it. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” Rad replies, moving his arm from his fiancée Tealey’s waist to her shoulder.

The few inches separating Cade and Cammie is the most distance I’ve seen between the newlyweds since they got married a few months ago. Then she resettles against his side as if she couldn’t take it, and says, “Hi.”

I get a sympathetic grin from Tealey, but Rad and Cade exchange a guilty glance like they were busted speaking of the devil. The devil being me—the last of the trio to still be single. I ask, “What?”

“Nothing,” they practically all reply in unison, and then start busying themselves by quickly turning back to face the city. They were definitely talking about me. I can’t say I like that kind of limelight, but I can’t stop them from gossiping. It’s what friends do. We don’t say anything hurtful, but we’re all embedded in each other’s business and have been since the six of us became friends at NYU.

It feels a little different tonight, matching my mood. I can’t tell if I’m feeling lonely or left out. I scratch the back of my neck to ease the discomfort before I close the door behind me and step into the line of fire. “Just fucking say it.” I walk to the corner and lean against the railing to face them. The balcony is big for New York City, even for this large apartment on the Upper East Side. But I’m still within glaring distance of them.

Tealey steps around Rad as if she needs to protect him. “We were just talking about how beautiful Marlow looks this evening.”

I narrow my eyes, searching for the lie, but Tealey hates lies more than anything, so I know I can trust her. I lighten up and turn to face the cityscape. “She does,” I say indifferently, though I feel the opposite inside. Marlow looks fucking stunning. Irresistible.

I kept myself from checking to see if the fucker returned to touch or talk to her once I left. We’re not a couple. She’s not mine to claim in any way, so why am I having a change of heart these days?