We walked a few steps before he nodded, but didn’t add any more. I’d only seen the ex—Mrs. Stella in passing, but hadn’t known it was her until she was gone, and it was too late to scrutinize every detail. I’d heard stories, little bits here and there, but never much. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken rule about gossip in the office: a little is encouraged, but too many details would just be poor taste.
We passed a trio of beautiful bronze and verdigris green headless statues in front of a towering skyscraper, one set on one side of the building, and two on the other. “Those are supposed to represent Venus de Milo,” I said, pointing them out. “They’re called Looking Toward the Avenue.”
He followed my gaze. “But they have no heads,” he noted. “They aren’t looking anywhere.”
“I hadn’t really thought of that,” I said. “Lovely breasts, though.”
Niall made a sound as if he was choking.
“What?” I asked, laughing at his expression. “They are! The city actually gets a lot of complaints about them.”
“The breasts or lack of heads?” he asked.
“Maybe both?”
“How on earth do you know all this? You said you’d never been here before.”
“My mom had this sort of romanticized fascination with New York. I could be your tour guide and bore you with lots of random stuff.”
“That sounds like an amazing time,” he said, but his tone was strange. Was he being sarcastic, or—
Oh my God.
I stopped dead in my tracks, and Niall Stella had to turn. “What is it?” he asked, looking on ahead, as if he could make out whatever had caught my eye. “Is everything all right?”
“Radio City Music Hall,” I gasped, continuing on with quicker steps now.
“Iconic,” he agreed with a hint of amused confusion in his voice, easily keeping up with me as I practically sprinted closer.
“They do a Christmas show here every year and my mom is going to die that I’m this close.” My gloves made it nearly impossible to grasp on to anything as I fumbled in the pocket of my jacket in search of my phone. “Will you take a picture of me?”
You’d have thought I just asked him to draw me in the nude.
“I can’t—” he said, and then shook his head, looking around us. “What I mean to say is, we can’t just stand here.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s . . .”
He didn’t say “undignified” out loud, but his face was screaming it.
I looked around where we stood, at the scores of people doing that very same thing. “Nobody’s paying any attention to us. We could probably make out on the sidewalk and people would just walk right by.”
His eyes grew wide before he sighed and pulled out his phone. “I’ll do it on mine and send to you. Your case is covered in hideous girly rhinestones.” A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Look at me. I’m far too masculine for such a thing.”
I’d had a taste of it last night, but I was still blindsided seeing it again: Niall Stella was polite, brilliant, refined, and contained, yes, but Niall Stella was capable of being a guy, and he was a total flirt.
I knew I was pushing my luck, but damn, he looked so cute standing there, a sea of tourists rushing by while he opened the camera app. He might have been protesting but the expression on his face when he snapped the first picture made him look a little . . . charmed?
“Right,” he said, and turned the phone to show me. “Quite lovely.”
“Okay now, you come here.” He crossed toward me and I took his phone, examining the photo. “Let’s get one together,” I said, holding his phone out in front of us.
“Wha—” he started to say, but thought better of it. “Your arms aren’t long enough.”
“Are you kidding me? My selfie game is strong. Just . . . bend your knees a little, this is like my head and your deltoids, which—don’t get me wrong—isn’t a bad thing, but—”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, snatching the phone from my hand.
“I promise I won’t tell Max you took a selfie on Sixth Avenue,” I whispered, and he turned his head, eyes meeting mine.
He was only inches from my face. We were practically married right then.
He held my gaze for a fraction of a second before he cleared his throat. “I’m holding you to that.”
It took a few tries to get the right angle, and for the last one, he wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me in tight.
And that was it. I mentally entered a “one” in the Number of Times Niall Stella Put His Arm Around My Waist and Pulled Me Close column. I knew right then what it would feel like to celebrate Christmas and birthdays and a job promotion and have the best orgasm of my life all at the same time.
He looked at the photo and turned the screen so I could see. It was a good picture, fucking great actually. We were both smiling; the camera caught us mid-laugh as he’d tried to snap the photo with his gloves still on.
“What’s your number?” he asked, looking down at his screen. I watched as his cheeks grew redder than they were already from the sharp, cold wind.
I recited it, watching as he typed. He hit SEND and smiled up at me: a little shy, a little playful, a little something else I wasn’t sure I was ready to believe. In that moment, he didn’t look anything like a vice president, an intimidating ultra-crush, or a man who finished school before he was twenty. He just looked like a beautiful guy, outside in the city with me.
In the pocket of my coat, my phone buzzed.
I tried not to think about the fact that he now had pictures of me, and of the two of us together, on his phone. I tried not to think about the fact that he now had my cell number. I tried not to think about how easy it had just been between us, when I stopped worrying about how to act around Niall Stella, and had just enjoyed this unguarded moment with Niall. Just Niall.
As he pocketed his phone and motioned for me to follow him to the crosswalk, I noted his enormous grin.
I tried not to think about how he looked pretty thrilled with all of this, too.