I faced windows in a similar style to those below, only smaller. Someone had already pulled off some wall paneling to expose the brickwork. Off to the side was a small room, which I assumed was the bathroom. An ugly old kitchenette from the seventies came next. Gorgeous old plasterwork decorated the ceiling, framing the ancient light shade, and running around the edges of the large room.
“What do you think?” he asked, setting the two beer bottles down in the middle of the floor.
“I still think this would be a great project for you.”
He paused in the act of taking off his coat. “As long as the apartments all sold, it would pay off well. Couldn’t do it on my own.”
“You did downstairs.”
“I had a lot of help,” he said, laying the coat down on the dusty wood. “Nell and Pat, her ex-husband, came up with a lot of the style and ideas. I mostly just swung a hammer. Andre, the guy that owns the building, he loves the idea of doing something with up here and he’s up for helping as much as he can. He’d definitely give me a fair share of the profits. But still, it’s a bigger job than I’m used to. Guess that’s part of the draw of it, the challenge. Come and sit. Floor picnic.”
I stared, a little stunned by the gentlemanly act. Though I shouldn’t have been. For days he’d been putting himself out for me. “You didn’t have to get your coat dirty. My jeans would have been fine.”
“Sit,” he repeated, taking the pizza out of my hands. “You must be starving.”
“It really would have been fine. You shouldn’t have…” My words died off.
He didn’t bother to respond.
With a frown, I did as told, scooting over to the edge of his coat so there was plenty of space for him too. But the big guy sat on the dirty ground, leaving me with all the room. He placed the pizza between us and handed me one of the opened beers.
Funny, ever since I’d wed Malibu Barbie to Tuxedo Ken a few dozen times at age six, I’d thought the slick guy with the cool hair, hip clothes, and pretty face was the dream. Plastic perfection. We’d adore each other. Me and my man would have total honesty between us. And with him I’d feel safe and free to say whatever, to be myself, without fear of … well, pretty much everything.
Joe was as far removed from Ken as could be. Tangle of long blond curly hair. The beard. His big brown boots, worn jeans with a hole in one knee, and faded green Henley. Tuxedo Ken would have had a coronary. To be fair, I didn’t have a whole lot in common with Barbie, the big-breasted, skinny-waisted blond ho. I rubbed at the little indent in my forehead. Then I realized what I was doing, and made myself stop. Such a stupid old childhood habit.
Speaking of bad habits, rabidly inhaling Joe’s rampant manly sex appeal most definitely qualified. God, him in that towel. The memory haunted me. Except if I owned up to being into him, things would get complicated. My ability to avoid anything resembling a relationship was truly at an Olympic level. This shit needed to stop. Time to start being braver, more open-minded.
Yikes.
“Cheers,” he said, lifting his own brew to his mouth.
“Cheers.” I forced a smile.
We both drank.
“You’re frowning,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I lied.
He just looked at me.
Undaunted, I stared back.
“Just because I put my coat down for you to sit on doesn’t mean I’m going to try and hit you up for sex later,” he said mildly. “Relax.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Which was at least 50 percent the truth. 49 percent at worst.
“Ask me questions. We’ve been talking for months but you don’t feel like you know me anymore,” he said. “And that’s my fault. So eat, ask me whatever. Go for it.”
“Let me think.”
Thus the consuming of pizza began. No matter the silly shape, as usual, Nell’s cooking tasted divine. I think she’d used at least three cheeses. Fresh garlic and basil. Delicious slices of juicy tomato. While I chewed, I thought. I thought good and I thought hard. And then I said, “You have cheese in your beard.”
“I was saving that for later.” He fished out said string of cheese and popped it in his mouth. “Thanks.”
I took another bite, chewing slowly, taking my time. “I get that Eric can charm women. He’s an attractive guy.”
Joe just watched me, sucking his fingers clean of cheese and oil.
“But you’re not without your own assets. Why the issue with your brother?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Man, the dude had a thick neck. Strong. “Are you still attracted to him?”
“I thought I was asking the questions.”
“Indulge me,” he said.
“No.” More pizza. More chewing. “Intellectually, I understand he’s pretty with the long dark hair and that face and everything. But no, he doesn’t actually attract me anymore.”
There was a moment’s silence as Joe took that in. Whatever was going on behind his dark eyes, I had no idea.
“Little shit’s been a pussy magnet for about as long as I can remember. Women just go gaga over him. Always have.” He shook his head, snorted. “More than once I’ve been used by some girl wanting to get close to my brother. Yes, I should be over it. But no, I’m obviously still getting there.”
I nodded. Went back to work on my pizza. “Is that why you wrote to me? To get back at him?”
Brows drawn tight, Joe stared off over my shoulder. “No. I just wanted to talk to you. Eric hates technology. He bugged me till I helped him set up the profile on the site then the minute it was done, he pretty much lost interest. Typical. I only meant to shut it down, but I don’t know … your emails sucked me in.”
“Okay.” Another bite. “How long would you have kept lying to me if I hadn’t shown up in town?”
“I don’t know.” He blinked, but otherwise kept staring straight at me. “I loved getting your emails, Alex. Even though I had to be careful about what I said, I loved writing to you. Honestly, I can’t see me having come clean to you anytime soon. I was too hooked. The whole thing about hitting Seattle at the start was Eric trying to line up sex while he visited an old friend. But the emails between you and me, they were something different.”
I didn’t know what to say. So clearly it was time for more pizza. Cheesy goodness to deliver me from evil and/or emotional upheaval.
“If I hadn’t stopped writing, how long would you have waited to meet me?” Joe asked.
Guess I didn’t swallow quite right. Somehow the pizza got stuck in my throat. I coughed and coughed then downed about half of my beer in one go. “Crap.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I took deep breaths, tried to pull myself together. “I, ah … wrong pipe. All good.”
“Well?” he said eventually.
Shit. “I don’t know.”
He held his silence.
“In all honesty, I’m not the bravest. I’m not great at putting myself out there. Guess you could say I have my … issues.” I studied the dusty, dirty floor as if it were about to cough up the secrets of the universe to me at any moment. And while I did that, I fiddled with the zipper on his coat. “I might have been open for a hook-up at one time, but once we starting emailing regularly, really talking, things changed for me. You became important. It was scary.”