A Kind of Romance (6 page)

The city moved around us but time stood still. I was lost in the kiss in a way I hadn’t been since I was a teenager groping with the new hire in the alley outside Bowery Bagels. But this was different. Benny felt familiar somehow… like I’d known him for years. It wasn’t déjà vu, though. It was more like coming home.

A honking horn broke the spell a moment later.

Benny took a deep breath and took a step backward. “There’s my ride. I’ll see you round.”

“Wait!” I grabbed his elbow to stop him. “I—uh… bowling. Call me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You call me. And if you change your mind, it’s fine,” he repeated as he reached for the car door. “See ya, Zeke.”

I watched the car pull away from the curb before heading home. As I walked up the mostly deserted street, I felt a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. My thoughts were carefree. I didn’t mull over work or family. I didn’t feel the weighted burden of responsibility or the intense desire to prove myself. I was in the moment. And it felt good.

MY SOHO
loft was the stuff of dreams… or at least home magazines. It was a huge, wide-open corner unit with gleaming dark-wood flooring and ample windows that flooded the space with natural lighting. An exposed beam ran the length of the great room while two pillars delineated the living area from the dining room and large, family-style kitchen. I’d paid a highly sought-after designer to tastefully transform the gigantic penthouse into a contemporary showplace with sleek, modern furnishings and state-of-the-art appliances. I didn’t have many requests other than to let him know I liked crisp colors, clean lines, and I wanted to keep the exposed brick walls. The only thing I insisted on was room for a pool table and a wall of shelving for a small library. The result was stunning if I did say so myself.

I poured a cup of coffee and moved around the kitchen island just as a buzzing noise alerted me the doorman was calling. I glanced at the time. Nine a.m. Hmm.

“Good morning, Mr. Gulden. Mr. Hamilton-Temple is here to see you.”

Jeffrey was an old-school doorman who insisted on formalities. He was at least thirty years my senior but always called me Mr. Gulden. He referred to my guests by their surnames too. And he never used the savvy technology available linking the reception desk to the condos. He always called.

I sighed and took a sip before responding. “Good morning, Jeffrey. Send him up, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

I unlocked my front door and then returned to the kitchen island and sat at one of the black leather barstools. A minute later, Carter opened the door with a loud bang.

“Rise and shine, Zeke my man! I’ve brought pastries!” he announced, shaking a white paper bag as he joined me in the kitchen. “Anyone here or did you kick him to the curb last night?”

Carter didn’t wait for a response. His inquiry was rhetorical. As far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t have mattered who else was there. He would have offered my overnight guest a croissant and a cup of coffee nonchalantly. It would never occur to him that he wasn’t welcome. Carter was self-confident and borderline arrogant. However, he was of that rare breed of people who tempered his forceful personality with a good-natured congeniality that was hard to dislike. He was friendly, outgoing, and had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Plus, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Tall and muscular with wavy, dark blond hair, chiseled cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes. A winning combination in anyone’s book. Even mine. Alas, Carter was my first ex, my college sweetheart. He was my first real boyfriend. I was thankful we’d figured out how to remain friends.

I leaned my elbows on the black granite island and watched him move about the space like he owned it. Opening cabinet doors, pulling out plates, a mug, silverware, and even a couple of napkins. He hummed as he worked and didn’t stop until he’d poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he pushed the plate of pastries toward me and studied me as he blew into his mug.

“Why are you here?”

“First cup, eh? Drink up and eat something. I need you,” he said.

“I know you do. But not this early on a Saturday morning.”

Carter stared at me intently as though he were looking for clues, then widened his eyes dramatically and pointed toward my bedroom.

“
Do
you have company?” he asked in an exaggerated whisper.

“Nope,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Good. Get dressed. The game starts at eleven.”

“Game?”

“I need a sub, and you’re it. Our shortstop’s wife went into labor last night.”

“Schneider? That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it is. Except he’s out for the weekend, and since you are by far the best shortstop who somehow never got signed with the Yankees, I knew exactly who to call.” Carter took a huge bite of a croissant, swiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth as he grinned like a fool.

“What makes you think I don’t have any plans today?”

“Do you?”

“No.” I narrowed my eyes when Carter chuckled. “I was gonna go to the gym and get a little work done, then—”

“Sounds like I got here just in time. Eat up, buddy. Want me to make you an egg? Protein is good for you. Unless… you got plenty of protein last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“Ouch. Poor guy. Scrambled or over easy?” he asked, opening my refrigerator. He pulled out the egg tray, then bent to grab a small pan.

For a guy who was born with two last names and was heir to more money than Paris Hilton, Carter wasn’t overly concerned with social graces. Or boundaries. He had zero qualms about barging into my place and rifling through my cupboards. I knew him too well to be irritated. This was just Carter. He was a thirty-one-year-old goofball with a ribald sense of humor that hadn’t changed much in the thirteen years we’d known each other. He probably would have made the eggs even if I’d flat-out refused to play baseball on his company league team.

“Scrambled, please. With a little bit of che—”

“Cheddar. I know, I know.” He cracked four eggs into a shallow bowl and looked up at me expectantly. “So… what
did
you do last night? I figured you’d meet us at the club if you didn’t feel like dinner. It’s not like you to hole up on a Friday night alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. I was on a date.”

Carter let the whisk fall from his hand and clatter noisily against the bowl. “A date? What the fuck is a date?”

I laughed at his comedic delivery and took another sip of coffee. “It wasn’t a real—actually, maybe it was real. But it wasn’t serious.”

“Just tell me it wasn’t Taylor.”

“You sound like my dad. No, it wasn’t Taylor. It was Benny. He’s the guy who called the ambulance when Pops fell last week. My dad decided we were perfect for each other, and you know how he is when he gets an idea in his head.” I snorted derisively.

“I do indeed. How
is
George, by the way?”

“He’s doing well. Only now he’s using his visit to Mount Sinai as a medical excuse to drive me bonkers. Benny was getting Pop’s unique brand of pressure too, so he suggested we get the date over with to get the old man off our backs.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s not like you to go out with someone for your dad’s sake. You must have liked him more than you’re letting on. And even if you did agree to meet the guy for a drink, you’d have bailed within fifteen minutes tops. I know you.” Carter gave me a cocky grin before piling scrambled eggs onto the plate in front of me. “Oh, and in case you’re curious… I did get laid.”

I whistled appreciatively. “Of course you did.”

“So, are you going to see him again?”

“Benny? Yeah.”

Carter chuckled as he helped himself to the eggs. He grabbed another croissant from the bag, slid his plate in front of the space next to mine, and rounded the island to join me.

“Really? Then tell me all about him,” he said in a breathy voice.

“There’s nothing to tell. He’s a nice guy. It was harmless,” I insisted. “We’re going bowling next time. No big deal.”

“You’re going bowling? When was the last time you went bowling? I bet it was in college. Heads up, you have to wear rented, tacky shoes. Unless you buy a pair or—”

“I’m not buying bowling shoes. Geesh.”

“Then wear extra-thick socks.”

I shot an annoyed look at him as I lifted my fork to my mouth. “Thanks for the reminder. I’m not really worried about my attire, asshole. It’s just for fun. And yeah, I’ve been since college. I went with Taylor for his nephew’s birthday party about eight months ago.”

“How cute,” he snarked.

“Relax. We broke up. Remember?”

“I just hope
you
remember. I heard that tone in your voice when you told me you saw him at the farmers’ market. For a guy who plays the part of heartless asshole so well, you sounded a little… pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” I said without heat. We’d been down this path too many times to count. No one in my family and none of my friends had liked my ex. But it was over. There was no point in revisiting all the reasons why.

“Tell me about Benny before Taylor manages to ruin the spectacular breakfast I made—without even being in the room.”

“Don’t get excited about Benny. We’re not each other’s type. We’re friendly. That’s all.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s smart, funny, and easy to talk to, but he’s just too—” I looked over at Carter and shrugged. “—gay.”

He burst out laughing. “I fail to see the problem here.”

“He’s
fabulous
,” I said meaningfully. “He wore a bright pink shirt last night and had pink streaks in his hair. Oh yeah… guy-liner and lip gloss too.”

Carter cocked his head and gave me a sharp look. “But you’re going out with him again.”

“Bowling. The most harmless activity two guys can possibly do. Even two gay guys.”

“Hmm. Did you kiss him?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Then let me offer a little advice.”

“Oh brother.”

He smacked my arm hard and nudged my knee with his. “Be open.”

“Huh? What’s that even mean? Like a 7-Eleven is open or—”

“It means don’t put up roadblocks because you don’t like the color of someone’s shirt. If you like him… go with the feeling.”

“You’ve been doing too much yoga.”

“And you haven’t been doing enough,” he countered. “You’ve been on a quest to rule the world, amass fortune, and date hunky men with questionable IQs. Congrats… you’ve done amazing work. Why not relax and just enjoy the people who make you smile instead of constantly trying to feed some weird compulsion to be ‘the best’? I’d kind of hoped you’d learned something from your time with Taylor.”

“I did. You can’t always please everyone and please yourself at the same time.”

“True. But here’s another one. The best things in life aren’t always the ones made to order. You wanted tall, handsome, and well-spoken, and you got it with Taylor. You overlooked his vacuous interior and the fact he cheated on you during most of your so-called relationship because it was easier than admitting you were wrong about him. When I say ‘be open,’ I mean go with what makes you feel good and stop worrying about how things look.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Carter was well-educated, well-connected, and brilliant in his own right. He owned a financial consulting firm and had worked his ass off to make it a success, though he didn’t have to work a day in his life if he chose not to. I didn’t exactly come from nothing, but if I hadn’t wanted to get stuck in the world of bagels, I knew I had to redefine my path. I’d worked hard for the things Carter could take for granted. Money and success meant personal freedom. And personal freedom meant I wouldn’t be beholden to my father.

“I’m not shallow. I’m just honest. I have a type.”

“I know. It’s how we ended up together a million years ago. I’m not suggesting it means you’re shallow, but I think you might be pleasantly surprised if you let your guard down and give a guy who isn’t your usual type a chance.”

“Wow. You’ve got a lot to say about this. Did you miss me that much last night? I thought you ‘got some.’ You should be feeling Zen and mellow and whatever other yoga happy bullshit nonsense keeps you in your zone and outta mine.”

“Like it or not, I love you, Zeke. As your best friend, I have a duty to feed you the truth. Who else is gonna keep it real for you?”

“Have you met my father?” I asked incredulously.

Carter threw back his head and laughed. He stood and stacked our empty plates, then moved toward the sink. “I’m with George…. Taylor was a waste of time. He was self-absorbed, conceited, and more interested in what your money could do for him than he was in you. You worry me when you get that wistful look in your eye like you wish things could just go back to normal.”

“I don’t wish that.” I winced slightly under Carter’s sharp gaze. “Believe it or not, I’m not looking for anyone. My dad has it in his head that he needs to find Mr. Right for me before he kicks the bucket. We both know he’s got another twenty years in him, but I’ve never seen him so….”

“Pigheaded?”

I gave a short laugh and shook my head. “Determined. He was so fixated on Benny and me going out. It was… weird. It had to be backlash from Mother’s Day.”

“What happened? Is Miri okay?”

“She’s the same. And it sucks.” I stood and stretched my arms toward the ceiling. “It’s hard for everyone, but I know it’s worse for him. However, I’m not going to marry the new bagel boy to appease him. I like Benny. Enough to even go bowling. It’s a friendly thing. We both know it. There are no expectations whatsoever.”

“Good. But like I said, be open. You never know what can happen.”

Carter was right. Not about Benny, but about me. I had to let go of Taylor in all possible ways. I had to stop thinking about him and entertaining ideas of how to win him back. It was a matter of pride and maybe even a warped sense of competition that had me spinning over someone who wasn’t worth my time. I didn’t like being the guy who got duped and dumped. It felt like failure, and I was a poor loser. There was a fucked-up part of me that wanted him back so I could be the one to break up with him. The way it should have gone down. It was ridiculous and decidedly immature, but as Carter pushed me toward my bedroom with strict instructions to get my ass in gear, I think he knew as well as I did that letting go was easier said than done.