didn’t say a word though. She just tipped the edge of her mouth up and cocked a brow.
An unspoken question clearly asked between us.
Well? What are you going to do about it?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Julian
I’d just finished the last stretch around Central Park’s six-mile running trail and was cooling down with a walk on the way back to my hotel. The morning air still held a crispness to it that I knew the sun would steal in a matter of hours. I loved New York City, but the summer heat was a bitch.
I passed by a bagel shop already packed with customers and contemplated buying a dozen for Jo and I to share throughout the week. My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I paused my This American Life podcast and switched over to answer Josephine’s call.
“Could you smell the bagels through the phone?” I asked after the line connected.
She groaned in mock pleasure, but my dick still responded as if she were actually having an orgasm on the other end of the phone line. Really? At 6:00 AM on the sidewalk outside of a bagel shop? There’s a toddler staring at you through the window with slobber dripping down his face. Focus man.
“Are you at Hot Bagel?” she asked.
“How’d you know?”
“Because it’s Saturday, which means you’re doing your six-mile loop around Central Park.”
Christ I was predictable.
“Yeah, yeah. The sooner you leave me alone, the sooner I can go in and buy us some bagels for next week.”
“Okay. First off, make sure you get some cinnamon raisin. Not just a bunch of those gross sesame seed ones. Second, what are you doing tonight?”
I tucked my hand up under my arm as I held the phone to my ear and gave myself a second to calm down. She’s not asking you to go down on her, Romeo. She’s asking you a simple question.
“I was going to meet Dean for drinks. Why?” I was trying hard not to sound over eager, but in reality I just sounded short. I’d never had to try this hard around a woman before.
She hesitated before continuing. “Can you cancel?”
“Depends on what you’re about to ask me to do.”
“Will you please, please come to a party with me?” She was using her honey-laced tone, the one that had a direct line to my pants.
“Whose party? I thought I was your only friend.”
If she was calling to invite me to some dude’s party, I was going to lose it. I knew it was only a matter of time before some guy noticed her on the subway or in some deli as she picked out a sandwich. She was too gorgeous to fly under the radar of other men and I was about to have to sit through a night of watching some bass player from Brooklyn try to work his moves on her. Oh cool, tell me more about your indie band.
“Well…my landlady is throwing a party tonight and I promised her I’d come. I kind of owe it to her considering how much she’s helped me with my blog.”
Her landlady?
“I told you I’d help you with those photos,” I protested, annoyed that she hadn’t taken me up on my offer.
She groaned. “I know. I know. I just feel bad asking you for favors. You already do so much for me and I don’t want you to get sick of me.”
“Aren’t you asking me for a favor right now?”
She laughed. “This is different. This is supposed to be fun!”
“How old is your landlady?”
“I’d say she’s closer to seventy than fifty.”
“Jo…”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ll buy you a beer after.” She continued before I could reply, “No, wait. I can’t afford that. I’ll buy you a coke from the nearest vending machine.”
I laughed. “Okay. What time should I meet you?”
“Eight.”
Eight? What kind of old person starts to party at 8:00 PM?
…
At 8:05 that night, Josephine and I made our way up the four flights of stairs that separated her apartment from her landlord’s place on the top floor. I’d already memorized what she was wearing: jeans, sandals, and a white tank top. The fabric looked soft, and the spaghetti straps were thin, hardly there at all. The fact that I couldn’t see a bra strap made it that much more painful to bear.
“My landlady is a little old school so just say that we’re friends. I don’t want her to think we’re living in sin or anything,” Josephine said.
“Isn’t that what we are?”
She shot me a sidelong glance.
“Would she really care