Indiscretion

Sunday morning, I went looking at apartments. It wasn’t much fun, especially when I saw up close and personal what I could afford with my depressing new budget. I’d either have to settle for a small studio, or I was going to have to get roommates. The latter did not appeal to me at all, so I waited in line with all the other broke people to see yet another tiny apartment, only to be turned away when I finally made it two people from the door because someone had already taken the overpriced place. After the third time that happened, I gave up and called it a day.

“Honey, I’m home!” I tossed my keys in the basket Frannie kept on the table near the door and collapsed on her couch dramatically. Leonardo jumped on my lap and started licking my face.

“No luck?” my sister said.

“It’s mind-blowing how fast things move in New York.”

“Let me guess—you waited in line for hours, only to be turned away before you got to see the place because someone snatched up the amazing deal on a two-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot, five-story walkup for only thirty-five hundred a month.”

I smiled. “Basically. You are so lucky to have this big, rent-controlled apartment.”

“I know. And it’s really cool that my kids get to grow up in the same place their dad did, since he’s not around. Did I ever show you Michael’s growth chart in Ryder’s closet? He gets a kick out of marking his height every year and realizing he’s taller than his dad was at the same age.”

Both she and the kids had shown me the wall a half-dozen times over the years since Michael died, yet I wouldn’t deny her a moment to enjoy it again. “Let me see it.”

After a trip to the closet, Frannie made us some tea, and we sat on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. I noticed she looked pale, almost a little gray.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Tired, but okay.” She blew into her mug.

“Maybe you should call the doctor.”

“I’m fine. Really. Tired is normal. How was your date the other night?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

Frannie held her hands up. “Oh-kay.”

I guess it had come out kinda snippy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It was a reflex after lunch with Dawson yesterday.”

“Your boss?”

I nodded. “I stopped by the office after going to the gym to see if he needed any help. One of his big cases blew up on Friday, and he was there all night trying to figure out how to fix it. He kept making comments about Simon wanting more than friendship.”

My sister’s forehead wrinkled. “Why does your boss have an opinion about a guy you’re spending time with?”

I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Uh-oh. Complicated with the boss? That’s asking for trouble, isn’t it?”

“Nothing’s happened. Not really, anyway. But there’s some undeniable chemistry between us, although more often than not, it bubbles to the surface when we’re arguing.”

My sister sighed. “I miss angry sex. Actually, I miss sex in general.”

“Would you think about dating?”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. Maybe someday, I guess. But it would have to be when I’m done with my treatments, and I know my health is okay. I would never want to get involved with anyone just to have them experience what I did losing Michael.”

“Don’t even say that, Frannie. You’re not going anywhere.”

She smiled. “Maybe I should die on you, just so you’re stuck with my two kids as payback for that time you left me babysitting Mom’s friend Alana’s three little monsters when you were supposed to be helping me.”

I chuckled and lifted my tea to my lips. “You have a warped sense of humor.”

“Let’s get back to angry sex with the boss.”

“I didn’t have angry sex with the boss.”

“I know. But it sounds like you’re going to. What’s he look like?”

“He’s tall, dark, and sexy, with broad shoulders and an eight-pack. But he knows it.”

“I like confidence.”

“There’s a difference between confidence and cocky.”

My sister grinned. “I like cock too.”

I laughed. “Dawson is just…not a good idea.”

“Because he’s your boss?”

“That and… This may sound weird, but I feel like the man could annihilate me.”

“Wow. You’re really into him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Whatever you say.” Frannie sipped her tea. “Are you going to see your ex from college again?”

“Simon asked me to go to dinner and an art gallery with him tonight. He’s only home for a few days. His sister’s wedding was last night.”

“Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. He texted while I was looking at apartments, and I told him I couldn’t make dinner, but maybe I’d meet him at the gallery. I haven’t decided if I’m going yet. Let me ask you, do you think men and women can be friends?”

“Of course. You have male friends, don’t you?”

“Mostly they’re husbands or partners of my female friends.”

“Well, I have lots of male friends at work.”

“Right.” I nodded. “Yeah, of course. Women can be friends with men.”

“So does that mean you’re going to the art gallery?”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. I think I will.”

***

“Hey.” Simon’s face lit up when he saw me. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Sorry about being so wishy washy. It’s just…work has me sort of tangled up at the moment.” Not a total lie.

“Well, I’m happy you got untangled. Come on, let’s get some champagne.”

Simon and I found a waiter with a tray full of flutes. We nabbed two, and he introduced me to a few colleagues.

“You know so many people here.”

“Three quarters of the guests are dentists. The artist is the wife of the senior partner at our practice. You come if you want to stay on his good side.”

We walked over to the first painting and stood in front of it. I wasn’t an art aficionado, but it looked like a bunch of poorly drawn circles to me.

“What do you think?” Simon asked.

“It’s…interesting.”

He grinned. “I’m pretty sure I could draw better circles putting the paintbrush between my toes. What the hell is it supposed to be?”

I laughed. “I have no damn idea.”

We walked to the next piece—a bunch of triangles.

“I’m sensing a theme here.” Simon chuckled. “Do you think she tackles the rhombus?”

“Shhh.” I looked around. “Someone might hear you.”

Simon drank his champagne. “Someone should tell the poor woman she’s not a very good artist.”

We made our rounds, checking out all the paintings. Underneath the last one, there was a bunch of numbers. I pointed to them. “How come this is the only one without a colored circle beneath it and instead has numbers?”

“This is the only one that’s not been sold.”

“Oh wow. I’m afraid to ask, but what do they go for?”

He tilted his champagne glass toward the numbers—the five digits. “That’s the price.”

“Please tell me someone forgot the decimal.”

“Nope. For the bargain price of twenty-two thousand, four-hundred-and-fifty dollars, this baby could be yours.”

“I should’ve been an artist.”

“Tell me about it.”

A little while later, Simon introduced me to the artist and her husband. We chatted with a few of his colleagues and had a second glass of champagne.

“I’m sorry the art wasn’t great. I’d heard the pieces were expensive, and I dumbly equated that to talent.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad I came.”

“We can sneak out of here now that the big boss saw me, but I’m not ready to call it a night. You want to come back to my place for a while? It’s only a few blocks.”

“Umm…”

“Come on. I’m going back to India tomorrow. This can’t be my last bit of fun before twenty-six hours of traveling.”

I smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

Simon weaved our fingers together during the walk. It felt nice, a familiarity to it, like two old friends catching up.

Once we got back to his apartment, he went to the kitchen. “Go sit. Take your shoes off and get comfy. I’ll pour us some wine.”

My feet hadn’t yet become accustomed to pounding the pavement in heels, so taking them off for a while sounded good. Back in Virginia, I’d mostly driven everywhere. “Okay. Thanks.”

After a moment, Simon passed me a glass and took a seat on the couch next to me. He sipped. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Elementary-school art and free wine. What more can a girl ask for?”

He smiled. “It’s been what, four years, since we’ve seen each other? And yet it feels like we picked up right where we left off. There’s a comfort between us, and it’s because of you. You’re just real. That might sound simple, but it’s not easy to find dating.”

I sipped my wine. “Are you still seeing that woman you told me about a few months back? Petra or something like that?”

“We split up a few weeks before I left for India.”

“What happened?”

“Something was missing. How about you? Have you met anyone since moving to New York?”

My mind immediately went to Dawson, which was stupid because obviously Simon was asking if I was seeing anyone. I shook my head. “No. But I did get a marriage proposal from a man who looked about eighty and I’m pretty sure lives in the subway station. So things are looking up.”

Simon tugged a piece of my hair. “I’ve really missed you, Naomi.”

An alarm went off. But…ugh. I’m being stupid. I was letting Dawson’s comments about how a man and woman who are attracted to each other can’t be friends influence my thoughts. Dawson didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Simon and I talked to each other about our dating lives, for God’s sake. So I tamped down thoughts of my boss’s distorted view of the world and took the compliment the way it was meant—friendly. “Thank you. I’ve missed you, too.”

But then something shifted. Simon leaned closer, and one of his hands moved to my knee. His thumb brushed back and forth. “We always had good chemistry, didn’t we?”

The alarm in my head blared louder. Yet still, I did my best to ignore it. I had to be misreading things, right? Simon was just comfortable with me. He’d said so himself not long ago.

His eyes dropped to my lips.

Still in denial, I swiped at my mouth. Probably there was something there that had caught his attention.

But there was nothing.

Simon slipped the wine glass from my hand and set it on the coffee table, along with his. And yet I was still in denial, even as his mouth moved to meet mine…