Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (23 page)

The sound of the front door closing startled me from my disturbing realization. The accompanying sound of Nico’s voice announcing his arrival made me jump to my feet.

“Ma
, I went to three places and no one has fresh sweet basil so I got regular basil instead . . .” He stopped short as he entered the room, glanced between me and Rose. His eyes gradually narrowed into a suspicious squint and eventually came to rest on his mother. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, just
female talk.” Rose stood, waved off his misgivings, and covered a yawn with the back of her hand. All previous crazy lady vibes had abruptly evaporated. “Can you see Elizabeth back to her apartment? I’m going to bed.”

To my surprise she embraced me in a short
hug and gave me a kiss on the cheek as she left.

“
Don’t worry about the basil, Nico,” She called over her shoulder, not turning. “I found some in the refrigerator when I was cleaning up.”

Nico, despite my protests, walked me back to my apartment. Really, it was a short walk: down his hall, an elevator ride to my floor, and down my hall—barely enough time for me to gather my wits. 

But Nico filled the time with easy and entertaining
commentary on his frantic nighttime search for fresh sweet basil. We slowed as I approached my door, and he was animatedly wrapping up his story.

“
. . . at that point I thought about just buying a Sharpie and writing the word
sweet
across the top of the container. I would have, too, if there was any chance she’d fall for it.”

“You were right not to do it. She is far too clever
 . . .”
And conniving.

Nico stopped me by tugging on my hand. “Oh, hey, how did Angelica do today?”

“Really good, actually. How was she when you two were together?”

“You mean this afternoon? When I was Twilight Sparkle and she was Rainbow Dash and I lost the Pony Town ice-skating championship?”

I patted him on his shoulder. “I’m sure you gave a good effort. Maybe you can try again tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your sympathy. But
,” Nico paused, seemed to survey all of me at once, then leaned a fraction closer. “I won’t be able to try again tomorrow because I’m flying out early for New York in the morning.”

“Oh
. But, you just got here.” I wondered if I looked or sounded as disappointed as I felt. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah
,” He agreed, watching me closely.

“When will you be back?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“Oh.” I was certain I both looked and sounded as disappointed as I felt.

We stood in melancholy silence for a long moment. I studied him, committed his jade-green eyes to memory, how it felt to be near him, hear the sound of his voice.

“Well,” he abruptly broke the protracted silence
. “Where can I kiss you?”

W
hat?

“What?”

He lifted his fingers to my face, tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ears. “Where can I kiss you goodbye?”

My stomach did a backflip
, and I responded stupidly, “In the hall. . .?”

“No, Elizabeth. That’s not what I meant. Where—on your body—am I allowed to kiss you? Where do your other friends kiss you?”

“I—”

Thoughts of Nico’s lips all over my body bubbled into my consciousness. I had trouble thinking of places where I
didn’t
want him to kiss me.

Finally I managed to croak, “Well—they don’t.”

“That’s not true. How about your cheek?”

I shrugged, completely
flabbergasted by our conversation, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been kissed on my cheek by friends before.”

“Good.” He smiled, nodded. “We’ll start there.”

Then, he deliberately moved into my personal space.

I wanted to hold my ground
, but instead my feet—
the traitors!
—move me backward as he approached until my bottom met the wall behind me. His gaze held mine, a soft smile stealing over his features, and when I could escape no further he halted as well. His body was everywhere yet didn’t touch mine. He braced an arm just to the right and above my head then bent slowly, slowly until his lips were even with my cheek.

Hot Nico breath fell on my neck. Even the air vacating his lungs carried his magnetic charisma
, and I struggled to suppress a shudder. He kissed me on my cheek, an infuriatingly chaste peck, then straightened, but didn’t move away. My hands dug into the unyielding wall at my back.

“Was that a good friend-kiss?” Nico’s eyes searched mine, the earlier smile diminished to a residual insinuation of one.

He must’ve been pleased with what he saw in my answering glare because he started to laugh. It was a low, rumbly sound and—had I not been all wound up—it might have been infectious. His eyes danced with tangible amusement.

I released an unsteady breath and forced myself to nod, my body buzzing with awareness, and untangled my gaze from his.

I didn’t want to play this game.

Did I want him?
Heck yeah.

Did I like him?
Heck to the yeah.

Did I even adore him a little bit? Adore how sweet he was with his niece, how thoughtful and kind he was with his mother, with me? Adore how smart and witty and steady he was? Respect him?

Hells yes!

For all those reasons I didn’t want to play games.

I wiped my hands on my yoga pants and stepped to the side, navigated around his imposing form with the swiftness that only comes from being small. I worked on unlocking the door to my apartment.

The sound of his laughter tapered off from behind me
, and I could sense the moment when he detected that I was not amused.

I’d just finished unlocking the deadbolt when his hand closed over my shoulder. “Hey, Elizabeth, I was just teasing you.”

I nodded again. “I know.” I worked on the second lock.

“Are you
. . . Are you mad?”

“No.” I wasn’t mad. I was sad, disappointed, and frustrated—mostly with myself.

His hand slid to my arm and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.”

My eyes stayed on the door. “You didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed. I felt his eyes move over me, assessing. Finally he let me go
, but he didn’t move away. “You can tell me anything. Anytime.”

I couldn’t stay
my bitter smile. “Unless you’re in New York, you mean?”

Curses! That wasn’t fair
. I immediately regretted my words.

He shifted, braced his feet apart. “You have my number
. You know you can call me whenever you want.”

I glanced at the keys in my hand. “I’m tired and have to be up in a few hours so
. . . I’m going to head in and get some sleep.”

Nico stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes searching
; finally he nodded and stepped away. “Okay. Goodnight then. I’ll see you next week.”

“Ok
ay. . . Goodnight.” I mirrored his head nod and slipped into my apartment. I successfully won the battle with myself to close the door behind me without capturing another mental snapshot of him as he retreated to the elevator.

My head fell against the door. It didn’t occur to me until 2:00 a
.m. as I tossed and turned in my bed that I’d missed my chance to talk to Nico about the mixtape, how much I loved it, to say thank you.

Maybe I should call him in New York and tell him.

As I dozed off I ignored all subconscious whisperings related to rationalization of questionable behavior and succumbed to another Nico-apple-fritter fantasy.

This time he was licking me.

~*~

I was in a
mood
.

That is what my dad called it when I behaved in a morose manner.
I’d snapped at Meg at least ten times during the first two hours of my work day and literally flung myself into a broom closet to avoid Dr. Ken Miles. It was only Tuesday, and I was already missing Nico terribly. I’d only seen him twice on Sunday and both times were short interactions.

I felt
Nico’s absence like a pulled tooth. I mourned it.

Every time I slept
my dreams were filled with Nico. I began listening to the CD almost obsessively—even track six—and could sing along word-for-word with each of the songs. However, I hadn’t yet called him. I stared at his contact information on my telephone screen a few times, but hadn’t yet grown the nerve necessary to dial his number.

Matters weren’t helped by increased attention from the media. They now swarmed the entrance to the hospital and apartment building. I was thankful for the underground garage
to my apartment more than ever. On Monday a few photographers posed as patients and tried to get admitted to the ER.

The ease with which the media seemed to infiltrate the hospital was disturbing to me for another reason. Nico’s stalker had been able to navigate to the Clinical Research Unit seemingly with ease, take pictures of Nico and me by the nurse
s’ station. If the paparazzi could deftly sneak in giant cameras then how easy would it be for Fancy Boots to come and go as she pleased?

I was just thankful that no new pictures of Nico and
me had been leaked to the press.

At present, as it was Tuesday night, I s
at in my apartment—surrounded by my girls, stewing in my mood—knitting. I was finishing Angelica’s sweater, sitting on my big sofa during Tuesday knit night. We’d all agreed it made the most sense to have knit night at my apartment for the time being; at least until paparazzi and stalkers were no longer a factor.

My next planned project was a
new scarf, a man scarf. I was going to use a silvery jade-green cashmere; the color reminded me of Nico’s eyes.

Sandra discussed her recent first
-date disaster with the group, a topic that typically amused us all. She had more first dates than Janie had comic books—and that was a hellvalot. Tonight I was only half-listening. Nico’s mixtape CD was playing in the background, distracting me with thoughts of him.

“
. . . and so he finally admitted that he wasn’t over his ex-wife. So, bad news—there won’t be a second date. Good news—I think I have a new patient.”

The ladies laughed good
-naturedly. Sandra had a talent for adorable self-deprecation that I admired.

I cleared my throat to get her attention. “What ever happened to
Micah? From my reunion? You two seemed to get along well. Doesn’t he live in Chicago?”

“Ah! Manly
Micah! Yes. He was fun.” Sandra pulled out a length of yarn and adjusted her work in progress.

I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t I pressed her further. “Did you get his number?”

“Ha! Actually, no.” Sandra sent me a Mona Lisa smile. “He spent most of the evening talking about you. Did you know he had a crush on you in high school?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, dummy.”

“I find that hard to believe. I was such a nothing
.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I was. I was small and scrawny and sarcastic.”

“Well he said you were shy, pretty, and smart
,” she said.

“Did he talk about me the whole time?”

She shook her head. “No. We spent some time working through issues with his father. He is still very angry with the man.”

I noted I wasn’t the only one glaring at Sandra with disbelief.

She glanced up from her knitting; her eyes darted around the room. “What? What did I say?”

“You are a freak of nature, Sandra. Can’t you ever go out on a date with a guy without turning into his shrink?”

“This is why you’re such good friends with all your ex-boyfriends.” Marie sing-songed the words, her eyebrows lifting high on her forehead.

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with being friends with your ex-boyfriends?” Sandra didn’t sound upset so much as perplexed.

“Nothing except it’s not just ex-boyfriends. It’s every guy you’ve ever gone on a single date with. How many have you collected? Like thirty?” Ashley shook her head as though disgusted. “You’ll never find a steady beast with two backs, partner, if you keep shrinking and exploding good advice all over the place.”

“I agree
,” I mumbled behind my needles.

“You shut
it!” Ashley turned slightly in her chair, her refined wrath now focused on me. “You don’t get to talk. You have, quite possibly, the funniest and sexiest guy in the world wanting to give you multiple orgasms—and I don’t mean the cocktail—meanwhile you’ve retired him to friend pastures. Ugh! You disgust me.”

Sandra and I shared a glance
, and Marie cleared her throat.

“Ashley,” came Fiona’s soothing entreaty from beside me. “What is wrong, dear? Why so testy?”

Ashley closed her eyes, rolled her lips between her teeth and breathed out through her nose. After a long moment she responded, “I’m sorry, y’all.” She brought her fingertips to her forehead and pinched her nose. “It’s been a long week.”

“
Anything we can help with?” Kat’s quiet voice carried from the couch.

Ashley shook her head
, but she answered regardless. “It’s my biological father.”

A collective sigh of understanding spread through the room
, and she didn’t really need to say anything else.

Ashley referred to her
dad as her biological father. She had no other father, and the man was present for her childhood, still married to her mother, but Ashley despised him. When she was fourteen she’d started calling him “my biological father” because it annoyed the
jeepers
out of her family.