Truly (New York 1)

When she tried to imagine telling her mother about it, her cheeks went hot.

Ben leaned even farther in, until his eyes were a few inches from hers. “I promise, I won’t touch you,” he said quietly. “If you want, you can leave a note with Cecily or some random customer who doesn’t know me that says what you’re about to do, and you can tell her to post it to the authorities if I kill you or whatever.”

Damn. Now he was appealing directly to Sensible May, and Sensible May had to admit, it was working. Plus, Hedonist May really liked being so close to his eyes. Those strange light brown eyes of his were starting to grow on her.

“I’m not worried you’re going to kill me,” she said. “Or hurt me.”

“What are you worried I’m going to do? Rob you?”

That made her smile, and he grinned again. A quick flash of lopsided boyishness.

He’s from Ashland, she reminded herself. And we met him at Pulvermacher’s. He’s practically family.

“Okay,” May said. “I’ll come home with you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ben’s apartment was twenty-some blocks north, so they took the train. May was grateful for that. Her feet hurt like mad.

They got off at Fiftieth. He led her down a street crowded with five-story redbrick tenement buildings that had shops and restaurants on the first floor. They stopped in front of a Greek tapas restaurant.

“This is me,” he said, pointing to the short flight of steps that led to a scratched and weather-beaten black door. The window above displayed the number 406 in friendly gold and red. Someone had done the trim in red and painted the columns flanking the door an eyecatching sky blue. But whoever that whimsical person was, she’d made the effort a long time ago, and the paint had chipped off in hand-size chunks, revealing the deteriorating cement beneath. “I’m all the way on top.”

May followed Ben inside and up a dark staircase while her stomach sank lower and lower. She fixed her attention on her shoes, which looked about as bedraggled as she felt from the day’s adventures.

Allie had bought her these shoes. They were too girly for May, but she tried to be receptive to gifts. Allie had given them to her because they were girly. You should have beautiful things, she’d said. So May wore them every now and then, even though they made her feel like a giantess lumbering through the Land of the Small People.

The stairs went on and on. By the time they reached the fifth floor, she was short of breath and trying hard not to sound like it. Did he have to climb these stairs all the time? With groceries and everything? Her little ranch house was looking better and better.

Ben led her down a short hallway and unlocked a door. He started flipping on lights, and May stood a few feet inside the threshold, absorbing the view.

The materials were nice—granite countertop in the kitchen, wood floors, deep moldings in the doorways and along the ceiling—but it couldn’t be more than … what, five hundred square feet? It was as though someone had taken Dan’s whole city apartment and shoved it into a shoebox. She had the impression that from where she stood, she could reach out and touch every surface in the place.

To her right, there was a living room—couch, window, entertainment center—and a small nook that contained the kitchen, with a breakfast bar for dining.

To her left, she glimpsed his unmade bed through an open door. It seemed to take up most of the space in the room. Right next to the bedroom was a white-tiled bathroom, barely wider than its doorway.

Ben was looking at her expectantly, and she searched for a compliment. “It’s tidy,” she said finally.

“Yeah, I’m kind of a neat freak. Costs an arm and a leg, but the location’s unbeatable. I’m subletting from my friend Alec while he’s in Spain.”

If this place cost an arm and a leg, Dan’s place in the Meatpacking District must have cost, like, all the limbs. Plus the torso, the head, and three or four other poor suckers, to boot.

“It’s nice,” she said. And then, just to get it out of the way, “I can take the couch.”

“Not a chance.” He ducked behind her and closed the door, which she’d left gaping open. When he turned the lock, the spearing sound of the bolt moving into place did a funny thing to her insides.

Locked in. Locked in this tiny apartment with a stranger. Maybe this hadn’t been her smartest move ever.

“You want a glass of wine?”

“No, thanks.” Best to stay sober so she could berate herself properly for getting into this situation.

“Have a seat.”

Ben went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle down from one of the cabinets. He opened it and poured a glass, then joined her on the couch. Which was pink.

“So you want to take a shower?”