Shut Up and Kiss Me (Happy Endings 2)

“You loved her. It hurt when you learned she abused that trust.”

“I did. I felt pretty stupid,” he admits. “Maybe that’s the other reason I didn’t tell you about the money. I didn’t want to remind myself of that bad choice.”

I rub his shoulder, squeezing it. “Do you think that’s why you haven’t been serious with anyone since then?”

“I’ve dated here and there,” he protests, but it’s feeble.

“You’re a serial monogamist, but you never go that far. As far as with Inés,” I point out.

“Who wants to get hurt again?” he asks, offhand.

Maybe we’re both afraid—for different reasons, but valid ones. “No one wants to get hurt. But that shouldn’t stop you from trying,” I say.

Maybe that’s advice I should follow myself.

As the afternoon spills into evening, I vow to do just that. To let Nolan in. To let go of some of my fear, even though I’m not quite sure which I’m afraid of—that I’ve been falling for my best friend all my adult life, or that I won’t let myself fall.

I don’t know the answer, so I indulge in the physical, hoping it’ll bring me closer to understanding.

Soon, we’re back at the hotel. Twilight falls over the city, and in my room, we strip down to nothing. Last night, I wanted the intensity, the press of his fingers on my skin, the feel of his teeth on my body. Right now, I want all of him against me, so I pull Nolan onto the bed and hand him a condom.

Tonight, I let myself revel in the bliss of the moment, in the strange and wonderful sensation of making love with my best friend.

Of feeling him deep inside me.

Of relishing his delirious kisses along my neck, his warm skin pressed to mine, his words in my ear.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers.

Keep me. Keep me.

I don’t want us to stop. I want it all. I want everything.

But I can foresee the future. All I can do is savor the press of him against me, the feel of his pulse thundering in time with mine, and the insistent hum in my heart and my head.

The hum that tells me I might be in love.

That tells me this won’t end well.

In the morning, I get a text from Jo—a sad face, chased with a sadder message. I’m leaving New York and moving to London.

I gasp.

Impossible! I thought she’d be in New York forever!

The day is full of shoots and food and cameras and work, but that evening I march into Gin Joint intent on getting to the bottom of this blasphemy. Jo is perched on a couch and holding a glass of wine, looking smart in a yellow blouse, her hair blow-dried. The sharp effect, though, is muted by her frown.

When I reach her, I park my hands on my hips. “I refuse to accept this.”

“Me too.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“My company is relocating. They’re shutting down the New York office. The job I want? The VP promotion? It’s in London now.”

I sink onto the blue velvet chaise and drape an arm around her. “That is not okay. We’re finally in the same city. I don’t want you to go.”

She lays her head on my shoulder, her brown hair spilling onto my chest. “Just handcuff me to New York, please.” Jo sounds as unenthusiastic as I feel.

“Do you want to leave?”

Lifting her face, she shakes her head, her blue eyes brimming with wistfulness. “It sounds like a great opportunity. Most art curators would chomp at the bit for a job in the UK. But London is full of . . .”

“Bad memories?” I supply, knowing her story well.

“Yes. Too many of those.” She reaches for me and squeezes my hand. “Plus, all my friends are here. I know you don’t live here yet, but I was going to keep you in town. We would all hang out together, all the time. You and Nolan, TJ and Easton. All of us.”

That sounds like the life I desperately want.

“I’m going to miss you.” My voice wobbles as I slump deeper into the couch.

A server swings by and asks if I want something. “Your saddest white, please,” I reply.

He smiles. “I’ve got an uplifting Chardonnay. Will that do?”

With a heavy sigh, I nod. When he brings the drink a few minutes later, I lift my glass in a toast to Jo. “To me, kicking and screaming and not wanting to let you go.”

“To me, kicking and screaming and not wanting to leave,” she says.

As we clink glasses, realization hits me. I’ve only been in New York for a few short weeks, but already it’s where I want to stay. True, I miss Katie and my friends in San Francisco. But I feel at home here. I feel like myself here.

New York seems like the starting over I didn’t know I needed.