Bound to You: Volume 2 (7 page)

“I need to make sure she got home okay.” I push back the covers on my bed and stare at the floor trying to focus my vision.
Please stop spinning.

“I’m sure she’s home by now,” Alison says, annoyed. “I was here when you guys got here.”
We? How does she know where I live?

“Did I say anything?” I ask, clutching my stomach

“No, you were out of it. Why didn’t you answer any of my calls last night?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.
I think I’m going to barf.

“I called you about twenty times. Your assistant answered your phone and said you weren’t feeling well.”

I remember arriving at the Lit For Kids event, but I sure as hell don’t remember leaving. Flashes of last night run through my head. I remember Rebecca… oh God, I kissed her. I remember the taste of her lips on mine. The taste of her on my fingers.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The following day Nicholas doesn’t show up at the office. When nine rolls around, I start to get the feeling I won’t be seeing him at all.
Big surprise.
I’m mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I’ve heard Nicholas comes on to his assistants all the time. The memory of his whiskey-stained lips is still fresh in my mind. I want to forget the flavor, but each time I run my tongue across my bottom lip I taste him.

A pang of guilt hits me. Hearing Alison’s voice on his cellphone the other night caught me completely off guard. I wasn’t thinking when I picked up his line, but after twenty missed calls, I figured it had to be an emergency. Alison didn’t seem happy to hear another woman answer his cell. In fact, I spent five minutes trying to explain to her exactly who I was and what the hell I was doing with her fiancé.
That was super awkward.

Even the drive to Nicholas’s apartment was difficult; it took me half an hour longer to find his place. I think I passed it about three times before I realized it was only a few feet away from us. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see that he lives in what looked like a mansion made of limestone. Black cast iron gates and rows of green trimmed hedges surround it. It’s not like any apartment I had ever been to, but that’s exactly what he called it. I was genuinely surprised when I didn’t see a butler waiting for him at the door. The inside of his place is mostly empty. It felt and looked seemingly abandoned.

Carol was waiting for me when I finally got home this morning at about a quarter to two. It was like high school prom night all over again, except she was playing the role of the concerned parent instead of my mother. She didn’t expect me to come home so late, but she definitely wanted the dirty details of what went on. I told her about Nicholas’s strange attitude after his acceptance speech, his drunken stupor, and the heated moment between us. She was happy to hear the play by play as she hung on to each juicy detail.

The other night wasn’t what I expected when Nicholas told me I was coming to the Lit For Kids event with him. I don’t understand why he needed me to go, but for the first time, I experienced a side to him I couldn’t imagine existed. He was vulnerable. A drastic contrast from the cocky exterior he projects around the office. I didn’t tell Carol this, but he got to me. The way he practically begged me to kiss him did something to me.

By lunchtime, I’m starting to feel restless. I can’t concentrate on anything, and every time I look at the clock, it’s only gone up a minute or so. Time couldn’t move any slower than it is right now. I really need to get the hell out of the office. I didn’t want to obsess over last night, but every time someone walks near my cubicle, I can’t help but hope it’s him. I guess I should be happy I haven’t heard anything, but his silence has actually annoyed me.
I mean, how hard is it to send me a quick email?
I hate this unwanted feeling of disappointment in the pit of my stomach. It’s like I’m in grade school again, waiting for my crush to arrive at school.

Maybe a nice walk would help. The outside streets below still look wet from the overnight rain, but despite the hovering grey clouds, it isn’t actually raining anymore. I should text Carol and see if she’s free. Like usual, Carol responds within a few seconds. She should just glue her phone to her hand, because she’s on it constantly.

Carol: I’m in a meeting. It should be over in five. Meet me at Romero’s New York Pizzeria.

Me: Sounds good. Pizza sounds ah-mazing.

She texts me the address and I pull it up on MapQuest. To my surprise, the pizzeria is only a few minutes from the office. Perfect. Just as I’m about to grab my bag and leave, Ken’s voice grabs my attention

“Hey, where are you headed off to?”

I haven’t had much time to hang out with Ken, but he’s been really helpful with answering any question I have related to our work area. Twice I think I’ve gotten a paper jam in the mail sealer, and he’s been gracious enough to show me how to take it apart so I can pull my crumpled envelopes out.

“I’m actually on my way to lunch with your cousin. Do you want to join us?”

“Man, I’d love to, but I’m expecting a call.”

“Oh okay, well have a good lunch.”

“I actually wanted to ask if you’re busy next weekend,” he says, pushing up the rim of his thick glasses. He smiles hesitantly, as if he’s nervous.

Oh.
“Uh, no, I’m not doing anything.” A flush stains my cheeks.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” I don’t mean to hesitate, but I’m not exactly sure what to say. It’s been a long time since I went on an actual date, if you don’t consider the other night one.
Do I consider the other night one? God. It shouldn’t matter. Nick is my boss.

“Sure, I would love to.”

“Great,” he says, smiling. Ken’s phone line rings, drawing his attention back to his office.

“I should probably get that. It’s probably the Senior Editor calling about a manuscript. She mentioned she would call around lunch.”

“Okay, see you later.” Ken waves goodbye as I head toward the elevator.
Oh, man. I have a date.

“You’re going on a date with my cousin?” Carol asks with a skeptical look.

“Yeah, is that okay?”

I watch nervously as she pauses to think about my question. She scrunches her nose and then shrugs her shoulders. “It’s okay. I just didn’t think he was your type.”

“So what’s my type? Assholes?’

“Becca, everyone can be an asshole. Even nice guys can be assholes.”

Romero’s New York Pizzeria is packed, but Carol and I manage to slip in front of three off duty firefighters who, to my pleasant surprise, are more than willing to let us cut in line.

“Well, thanks for meeting me for lunch. I needed a moment to get out of the office after this morning.”

“No problem, I was actually finishing a meeting with Tristan Knight for the upcoming opening of his art exhibit.”

“So how did your meeting go?”

“It went great. We’re working with a local designer for the inside layout of the studio. Tristan is a perfectionist when it comes to his art, but I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“He seems a lot more relaxed compared to Nicholas,” I say. “A lot nicer, too.”

“I guess. He had the nerve to ask me not to take on any more projects until his exhibit opening.”

“He doesn’t think you’re capable of juggling projects?”

An annoyed looks crosses over Carol’s face. “I think he’s an alpha male who likes things done the way he wants,” she says flatly.

When we finally get to the front of the counter to order, it takes me at least five minutes to decide on what kind of pizza slice I want. There are too many choices. I can’t help but laugh at the name of each pizza. They’re unique and some of them are even a little dirty. Like Mike’s Meat Load, which is actually a mixture of meats: pepperoni, sausage, ham, and salami. After several eye-rolls from the front cashier, I finally decide on two slices of Lady Liberty, which turns out is just your classic cheese pizza.

The size of New York pizza slices are nothing like the ones in California. I take a bite of my second slice and moan in pleasure at the mixture of flavors dancing in my mouth. I love the taste of oregano, tomato, and mozzarella cheese. It’s like the holy trinity of flavors.

“Becca, you sound like you’re having an orgasm over there,” Carol says, handing me a stack of napkins to wipe the cheese grease off my lips.

“I am,” I laugh. “This is better than sex.”

“Obviously you haven’t been fucked in a while,” she teases. I roll my eyes at her lopsided grin. Sometimes she can be such a brat. “I can’t believe you can actually put down a second slice.”

"I know, these are ginormous!” I say excitedly.

“That’s what she said,” Carol says with a shit-eating grin.

“Very funny.”

A giant slab of cheese slides off the side of my pizza slice. It leaves a grease spot that travels through the bottom of the paper plate.
I know this is terrible for me, but I don’t care.
The best part about New York is definitely the pizza.

"Told you this would cheer you up," Carol mumbles between bites.

"This is pretty good, but I really need to stop eating this stuff. Work has their annual Gala coming up. I need to look somewhat presentable.”

“Maybe we can hit the gym together later,” Carol says. “Besides, you look great."

“I guess I should be thankful it's a masquerade."

“We need to go shopping for your costume. Hey, are you bringing a date?"

"Date?” I ask, almost choking on my slice.
Maybe Ken will want to go with me.

"Yeah, you know that thing that normal people do when they need to get laid. It might help your mood. Although if things work out with my cousin, I do not want to hear about your guys’ sexcapades.”

I elbow her side playfully. “I am not that kind of girl."

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles at me knowingly. "That's not what you said last night, baby," she says in her best manly impression, which coincidentally sounds like she’s also a chain smoker.

"You're too much.”

"That's what she said."

“Does that ever get old?” I snort.

“Never.”

“I should probably get back to work.” Not that Nicholas is counting the minutes while I’m gone. He’s probably still not at the office.

"I think you should take a longer lunch and let me take you to
Demure.
Let's find something you can wear underneath your dress for the gala," Carol says, wiggling her eyebrows.
Demure
is keyword for the hottest lingerie store in town. It’s also known for its overly expensive lingerie and the famous customers who are seen wearing it.

"You know, I’m still not sure why they call it
Demure
. Isn't that ironic when nothing in there is shy or reserved?”

Carol laughs as she drapes an arm around my shoulder. "It's their way of luring young girls like you into their store."

"It sounds far too expensive."

"But I get a discount. I'm sleeping with one of the cashiers,” Carol says with a wink.

“I guess I won’t be missed. Plus, I usually only take a half hour lunch, so sure, let’s go.”

After several hours of lying in bed with a massive headache, I was finally able to hold my head up around noon without wanting to puke up my insides. Despite my protests, Alison refused to leave my apartment and I had to spend hours listening to her as she talked my ear off about our upcoming wedding. After a while I got fed up, and I told her to go home. She pouted, of course, but eventually she left.
Thank god.
At one point, she offered to give me a blowjob to help me feel better. While a blowjob usually sounds fantastic, if it meant listening to her gab for the next hour, I would’ve rather gouged my eyes out. That’s even with me suffering blue balls for the past several weeks.