Love Me Broken (23 page)

I take this in. “Brad?” I ask. “From Chad to Brad, seriously?”

She shrugs, but she’s still pleased. “I know! But it’s just a coincidence. He’s nothing like Chad. He’s much more mature.”

Mature. I know what that means. “How old is he?”

“Oh...” She looks up at the ceiling. “I think maybe thirty. You know. Thirty-five or forty.”

I blink. “That’s a big range.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I needed something different.”

“He’s not married, is he?”

“Only to the sea.” She laughs, and I can’t help it. I laugh too.

“How long is he in port?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But he comes back all the time. The end of his line is in Astoria.”

I nod, but I’m cynical. “Uh-huh. And where’s the start of his line?”

She looks a bit embarrassed and picks up her cup. “China,” she says, and then takes a sip before she can say anything more.

“Well,” I say after a moment. “I wish you the best with Brad.”

She leans forward and whispers, “He’s got so many tattoos, you wouldn’t believe it. That’s how I met him. He started showing them to me.”

I try to think of a situation in which showing off tattoos counts as a cute-meet story, but I come up with a blank. I’m not sure I want to know, so I don’t ask. She talks a little more about Brad—mostly things that suggest she’s only met him the one time, and even then briefly—and then gets a look on her face like she’s the cat that swallowed the canary.

“So,” she asks, almost giggling. “How are things with Adam?”

I picture his face, and my eyes must go sort of dreamy, because Nicole starts laughing before I even answer. “They’re great,” I tell her. “He’s really amazing. We had another date last night, and I—” I hesitate “—showed him all around Astoria.” I take a sip of my drink and look up at Nicole.

Her eyes are squinting at me, as if trying to peer into my soul. I think about all the things that she could see, and I blush.

Nicole gasps. “Erica!”

I can’t look at her. I stare at the table. I don’t even have to say anything.

“Oh my god!” she continues, and I realize where we are and look up just enough to hush her. She starts laughing. “This is perfect. It almost makes up for my entire morning. And about time! I was beginning to feel like a bit of a floozy when I’d be going out all the time and you’d just stay home. Finally! We’re on the same page again.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Part of me is a bit offended. My first couple of dates in a year, while she is working her way through the alphabet with guys. But I know she means well, and it would be worse for me to say something about our differences than to let this one slide.

“So what was he like?” she asks. She’s quiet now, careful not to embarrass me so that she won’t miss any of the details. “I bet he’s big. He seems like he’d be big. What kind of lover is he? Does he take control? Sometimes that’s nice, but sometimes it’s nice when they let you take control, you know what I mean?”

She notices that I can’t get in a word, and then goes silent. “Just tell me about him,” she says.

“He’s...” I look out the window, trying to think and put it into words. “He’s
Adam
.”

Nicole waits a moment, and sees that I’m not going to continue.

“Right. I know that much. What did you do?”

I hold my drink, just to have something to do with my hands. “I called him—”

Nicole squeals, and I give her a look. “Sorry, sorry,” she whispers. “Continue.”

I can’t help but smile a little at her excitement. “I called him, and then he came over to pick me up on his motorcycle.” Nicole’s hands clutch together but she manages to stay quiet. “We rode down to the trolley and then rode that around for a while.” I stop, remembering the awkward moments on the trolley ride. I had forgotten about that. I’ll have to think about that more later. “Then we got out and walked around a bit. Then... we, um, went up to the Column.” I stop here abruptly and blush.

Nicole’s mouth drops open. “No!” she gasps. “The Column?”

I nod, my face burning.

“Erica! The Column!” She’s shaking her head. Then she teases, “I always knew that deep down you were a little slut.”

“You’re one to talk,” I tease back.

“Well, I’ve never done it in the Column. So how big was he?”

My forehead creases. “Um, I didn’t exactly see him. It was more, um, about me.”

Nicole leans forward. “He went down on you?” she whispers.

I nod, and Nicole leans back and squeals. I try to hush her, but she is too overjoyed. Then she lifts up her glass, and I lift up mine. “To our summer flings,” she says, and clinks my glass. She takes a drink from hers, but mine stays in the air in front of me.

Fling? Is Adam just a fling?

Nicole sees the tension on my face. I don’t take a sip. My cup goes back to the table. “I’m not sure I want him to be just a fling,” I tell her.

All the amusement falls from her face. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I—I don’t know.”

“Erica,” she chides, “you’ve just met him.”

“I
know
. I know that. But it’s just that, these last few weeks with him, it’s like I’ve woken up from some deep sleep that I’ve been in ever since...” I hesitate, then close my eyes tightly and force myself to say it. “Ever since Conner died. And I just don’t want to live like that anymore. It’s different with Adam. He—he does something to me. Something I need. Something I don’t want to end.”

Nicole just stares at me. I had no intention of saying this to Nicole. These were ideas that I’ve not let myself think about completely on my own, and surely she didn’t intend to provoke such a confession. But I can’t be casual about how I feel for Adam. It’s too important. I can’t lie about it.

It’s quiet between us for a while longer. Finally, Nicole says, “I suppose there are repair shops in New York.” Her tone is mocking.

I shake my head. “I’m not even sure I want to go to New York anymore. I’ve been thinking of just following Adam wherever he goes.”

Nicole’s eyes go wide. “Erica! Don’t be stupid!”

“Honestly,” I tell her, “I’m not sure I ever really wanted to go. I just needed—”
a way out of here
“—something to do.”

She huffs. “Erica, a full ride to Columbia—mother-fucking
Columbia
!—is not just some something to do! Do you know how jealous I am of you? Do you know how much I’d give to be in your place? I won’t let you throw this away over some stupid crush.”

“It’s not a stupid crush!” I snap. “It’s more than that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just because you come in a fucking tower, all the sudden you think you’re goddamn Rapunzel. Well, guess what? This ain’t no fairy tale. This is Astoria. It sucks to live here, and it sucks to be stuck living here. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be here forever. This is your only chance, and you’d be a fool to throw it away because you enjoy getting off.”

I look away. Tears are forming in my eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

She slams a hand on the table. “But it is! This is just some loser. There are hundreds more where he came from.” She reaches across the table and takes my hands in hers. “Listen to me, Erica. I’m your best friend. Leave this guy. Leave now. You have to believe me that no man is worth it.”

I pull my hands away. “Just because you hate your life and your job and can’t find anyone to be around for more than ten minutes, it doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do.” The words are bitter and cruel, but I don’t care. I’m pissed. I start to collect my purse.

“You’re making a mistake,” she says, folding her arms and not bothering to stop me from leaving.

“Fuck you,” I tell her. “Enjoy serving coffee the rest of your life.”

And with that, I rush out of the store and down to the pier. And when I get there, I find a bench, and I cry. I can’t even think. I just cry.

I call Adam that night, after I’ve had time to think things over. He picks up on the second ring.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” he says. I can tell he’s smiling.

“You know,” I tease, “the phone works both ways.”

“Noted.”

“And texts don’t count as calls.”

He laughs. “Of course not.” Then he’s quiet a moment. “So,” he says, “what are you up to?”

There’s a hint of sex in his voice that makes my heart race. I’m sitting on my bed at home. It’s dark outside, and I’ve only got one lamp lit on my dresser. It fills my room with warm pink light.

I hadn’t intended on starting anything with him tonight. This was supposed to be a call to vent, perhaps ask his advice about Nicole. But now that I hear his voice, I suddenly don’t care about Nicole anymore. Suddenly, I’m too distracted by other possibilities.

I sit up a little and listen for noise in the rest of the house. Nothing.

“Not much,” I say. “Just hanging out in bed.”

Another beat of silence. Then, in a low voice, he asks, “What are you wearing?”

I look down at my pajamas: an old T-shirt and silk shorts. “Hold on,” I whisper. Then, almost shaking with nerves, I get up and lock my door. My parents never come in anymore, but no sense taking chances. I hop back onto my bed. “Just a beat-up old shirt and some shorts.”

He moans a little. “No underwear?”

“I don’t wear them to bed.” I try to keep my voice light, but my breath is increasing, and my free hand is already moving down, playing lightly on my stomach before sliding farther. “What about you?”

“Some jeans,” he says. “No shoes though, or socks.” I can almost hear him grin. “I’m not wearing a shirt either.”

I picture his chest in my imagination. I haven’t seen him shirtless yet, but I’ve felt his chest and flat stomach through his clothes.

“Although,” he continues, “thinking of you, I might have to take off my jeans pretty soon. There’s not so much room in them anymore, and it’s starting to get painful.”

Jesus. I remember his bulge, and instinctively my free hand goes down to touch myself. “You should take them off,” I say, almost shocked at my forwardness.

“I will if you will,” he says.

“Okay.” I put the phone down for a second and pull off my shirt. Then I wiggle out of my shorts and toss them to the ground, slipping naked under my cold sheets. “Okay,” I tell him. “They’re off.”

“Mmm,” he moans. “I wish I was there.”

“What would you do?” I ask.

“First,” he says, “I’d start with your neck. That spot right by your earlobe that drives you crazy. I’d lick it, and then bite your earlobe softly, before kissing my way to your mouth. Then we’d kiss, our bodies pressed up against each other.”

I imagine him doing this, feeling his skin touching mine, his lips and tongue on my mouth. “It feels good,” I tell him.

“Then I’d work my way down with my tongue. From your mouth, to your neck, to the center of your chest, right down the middle until my face is pressed between your breasts. My hands are on them, holding them. Mmm, they feel wonderful. I can’t decide which one I want to lick first. I start with the right one, running my tongue up from your chest to the nipple. Then stop, just shy of it. I return to the center and run my tongue up the other breast, slower this time, and when I get to the nipple, I stop just shy again. This time though, I run my tongue in a wide circle around it. Again, and again, each time getting closer.”

I run my fingers around my nipple, imagining Adam there, imagining his eyes meeting mine as his tongue explores my body. My nipples are erect and sensitive. I moan a little into the phone.

“I bet this is driving you crazy,” he says. His voice is so sexy—it’s liquid and masculine and it feels so close and heavy. “You like that?”

“Yes,” I answer, my voice shaky. “I like it.”

“Good. Because now that your nipples are ready, I’m going to suck on them. First licking them so that they’re nice and hard, then putting my whole mouth on them, licking and sucking while holding your breasts with my hands.” I hear him breathing hard on the other side, and I know he’s touching himself. “I want to make you feel good, Erica. I want to make your body melt. So after your nipples are good and sensitive, I start working my way down, starting at the base of your ribcage, in the center, and running my warm tongue down your stomach. I reach your bellybutton, and give you a light kiss.”