“WHAT ARE YOU hauling me off to today?” Jake grumbles as I lead him across the artificial turf at Hudson River Park’s Pier 46. “Another drag show? A museum? Shakespeare in a parking lot?”
We’ve done all of those things—and more—in the seven stupendous sex-filled days I’ve been staying at Jake’s. Usually he’s not so surly about our little excursions. Sure, Mr. All-Work can take some convincing to switch to play mode. But he comes around pretty quickly. Especially when I sweeten the deal with the promise of a late-night excursion between the sheets. Or in the shower. Or on the kitchen counter...
Today, though, he’s moodier than usual. But I have a feeling I know what’s bugging him. I’m hoping this not-so-impromptu picnic will get him out of his funk. Then—fingers crossed—he’ll be in the mood for another late-night excursion when we get back to his place.
Maybe this time we’ll christen the balcony, me holding tight to the railing while Jake pounds me from behind with the New York City skyline, illuminated at night, as our backdrop.
Sweet zombie Jesus. My panties are getting damp just thinking about it.
“It’s a surprise.” I heft the basket in my right hand and tighten my hold on Roscoe’s leash with my left. The big lug’s been a prince all day, tagging along with me on errands like he’s done all week. But I don’t want to risk losing him in the crowd that’s starting to set up chairs and blankets in front of the giant inflatable screen at the far end of the lawn. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“Your good news from the doctor.” I gesture with my head to his right arm, newly sans sling.
Jake frowns. He’s been a grump since he met us after his follow-up appointment with the orthopedist. “If you call another week out of work good news. I don’t see why I can’t go back. My arm feels fine.”
“I’m sure the doctor’s just erring on the side of caution. He doesn’t want you playing bouncer again until it’s a little bit stronger. And he let you ditch the sling, didn’t he?” I stop at what looks to be a good vantage point, close but not too close to the screen and off to one side, so we won’t get crushed in the mob of moviegoers. “Baby steps. It’s all about the small victories.”
I ignore the voice at the back of my head telling me that this small victory has big implications for me. For us. With Jake back to two mostly usable arms, there’s really no reason for me to keep shacking up with him.
Well, except for the multiple orgasms.
“Small victories suck,” he mutters, taking Roscoe’s leash from me so I can put the basket down and pull out the blanket I’ve packed. “I have to get back to work. Shit’s going down on this Miami deal. The architect we hired is finishing up the preliminary drawings for our New York renovation. And we’re short two bouncers, thanks to the stupid summer cold that’s going around. They need me.”
“No one’s indispensable. Connor can handle things until you’re able to return.”
He flinches a little. Understandable. No one likes being told they’re an easily replaceable cog in the corporate machine. But my words aren’t meant to be hurtful, just truthful. Jake lives for his job. He needs a wake-up call, before it’s too late and one day he looks around and finds that’s all he’s got.
Like me.
I spread out the blanket, take a seat and pat the space next to me. “In the meantime, why not stop and smell the roses? Or eat dim sum from Wo Hop and watch an iconic ’80s movie.”
He lowers himself to the ground, staring at me openmouthed the whole way down. “You went to Wo Hop? I’ve loved that place since college. Their roast pork chow fun got me through freshman year.”
“I know.” Roscoe flops beside Jake, his big canine body taking up a good two-thirds of the blanket. I drag the picnic basket closer to me, open the flap and pull out a rawhide bone to keep him occupied. “Connor told me.”
Jake takes the bone from my hand and passes it to Roscoe, who immediately begins gnawing on it with the enthusiasm of a two-year-old who’s been given his first lollipop.
“You and Connor seem to be getting awfully chummy,” he mutters, not looking at me.
I stretch up on my knees to kiss the corner of his mouth, this spark of jealousy in him making me bold. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. All of our conversations revolve around one subject. You.”
He seems satisfied with that and moves on to another subject. “So what’s the movie? Please tell me it’s not The Princess Bride.”
“That’s next week.” I start pulling dinner out of the basket. Steamed dumplings. Egg rolls. Roast pork buns. The aforementioned chow fun. Both forks and chopsticks, since I don’t know how adept Jake is with the latter. “Tonight’s feature is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”
He unwraps a pair of chopsticks and reaches for the dumplings. “Cool. I’ve never seen that one.”
Now it’s my turn to gape openmouthed. “Are you kidding me? You’ve never seen Ferris Bueller? It’s a coming-of-age classic.”
“Nope.” He pops a dumpling in his mouth. “Never.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought you here so you can pop your Ferris Bueller cherry. There’s a huge hole in your pop culture education that needs filling. You’re in for a treat once dusk rolls around.”
We’ve got about an hour before that happens, which we spend chowing down, chatting, people watching, trying to keep Roscoe from eating our neighbors’ meal—fried chicken, clearly more appetizing to him than rawhide and MSG—and listening to the tunes DJ 2-Tone is spinning until the spectacular reds and golds of the Hudson River sunset fade and it’s dark enough for the movie to start. Once Jake and I have destroyed the dim sum, I pack up the remnants of our dinner and head over to the concession stand under a tent at the edge of the water to grab us some free popcorn. Not that either of us is particularly hungry after consuming half our weight in Chinese food. But hey, free is free.
“What’s this flick about anyway?” Jake asks when I return with the popcorn—extra butter, of course, because popcorn without extra butter is barely worth mentioning, let alone eating.
I sit criss-cross applesauce next to him and glance at the screen, where the opening title sequence—the one with Ferris in bed, faking sick—is beginning to play.
“Don’t tell me you’re the kind of person who likes to ruin movies by talking all the way through them.” I hold his bag of popcorn just out of reach. “Because that’s a deal breaker. I may have to go sit with that group of nuns over there. I’ll bet they’ll be quiet.”
“I’m sure they will.” He puts a hand on my ass and gives it a playful pinch. “But they won’t be nearly as much fun. And I know how much you value your fun.”
He makes a grab for the popcorn, and I jerk it away from him, spilling a few kernels, which Roscoe promptly inhales.
“This is a cult classic. You have to experience it for yourself. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
He gives in with a resigned shrug and lies back on the blanket, propping himself up on one elbow with his long legs stretched out in front of him, bare beneath the hem of his khaki shorts and unfairly tan for someone who spends most of his waking hours working. He’s probably one of those guys who gets a perfect, golden tan in the blink of an eye. Whereas no matter how hard I try, the result is always either fire-engine red or pasty white.
“If you say so.” He crosses his legs at the ankles and looks up at the screen. Ferris is up and out of bed and quoting John Lennon. “I just hope it lives up to the hype.”
“It will. Now shut up, watch and learn.”
I hand over the popcorn, and we munch contentedly, tossing an occasional kernel to Roscoe, as Ferris, Cameron and Sloane cavort their way through Chicago. Jake seems to be enjoying it. He’s smiling, laughing at all the right parts, looking more relaxed than he’s been since he left the apartment for his doctor’s appointment.
“So,” I ask when the movie is over and we’re packing up and trying to rouse Roscoe, who dozed off about the time Ferris was twisting and shouting on a float in the middle of Chicago’s Von Steuben Day Parade. “What did you think?”
“I liked it.” He nudges Roscoe off the blanket so he can pick it up.
“You liked it?” I echo, incredulous, grabbing the blanket from him and stuffing it in the picnic basket. “You just witnessed almost two hours of John Hughes’s genius, and that’s the best you could come up with?”
“I’m no movie critic.” He takes hold of Roscoe’s leash and tugs the dog to his feet. “But it was okay.”
“Okay?” I sound like a damn parrot, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “What part of cult classic did you not get?”
“All right, if you want the truth—”
“I do.” I think.
“I found Ferris kind of—” He pauses, and I’m not sure if he’s searching for the right word or if he’s afraid to spit it out and say what he’s thinking. “Annoying.”
He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.
“Did we even watch the same movie?” I snatch the basket up and sling it over my arm. “Ferris is not annoying. He’s the complete opposite of annoying. He’s a freaking inspiration.”
“He’s a slacker. And a hedonist. His whole life is devoted to the pursuit of pleasure, at the expense of everything else. Schoolwork. Chores. Family relationships. I don’t find that particularly inspirational.”
“Did you miss the part about life moving fast, and if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you’ll miss it?”
“That’s no excuse for blowing off your responsibilities.”
This conversation is starting to piss me off big-time, so I guess it’s a good thing we’re interrupted by a voice cutting through the crowd noise, calling my name.
“Hey, Ainsley. Over here.”
I swivel my head and spot her easily. Mia stands out in just about any crowd. But she’s even easier to pick out here, tall, dark and striking, wending her way through the throng of moviegoers with an easy grace even in skin-tight jeans and four-inch heels, a slightly older salt-and-pepper-haired man who I vaguely recognize as one of her fellow junior partners at DK&G following in her wake.
“I was right. It is you,” she says as she gets closer. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same thing about you. How’d you get out of the office before midnight?” I tease, giving her a quick, one-armed hug.
“Summer associate outing,” Salt-and-Pepper chimes in. “We thought it would be a nice change from the stuffy cocktail parties and dreary dinners.”
“Who thought it would be a nice change?” Mia arches a brow at him.
“You did,” he concedes with a smile.
“You remember Paul, don’t you? He’s in Mergers and Acquisitions.” Mia lays a possessive hand on his arm.
“Of course,” I fib. Now it’s my eyebrow that’s lifting. Mia hasn’t mentioned that she’s seeing anyone. Then again, I haven’t said anything to her about whatever it is I’m doing with Jake, either. I give Paul a polite nod. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Same,” he says. “How’s the errand girl business treating you?”
“Executive concierge,” Jake corrects him.
Shit. I almost forgot he’s here.
“Who’s your friend?” Mia asks before I can gather my wits and introduce him.
“Jake Lawson.” He reaches down to scratch Roscoe between the ears. “And this is Roscoe.”
Mia shoots me a we-are-so-talking-about-this-later look before refocusing her attention on Jake. “I thought you looked familiar. Top Shelf, right?”
“And you’re Mia’s friend. The one who was with her the night I got hurt.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Getting better, thanks.” He steps aside to avoid being crushed by a pack of teenagers barreling across the lawn, pulling an oblivious Roscoe, who’s too busy scarfing up stray popcorn to pay attention to his surroundings, with him. “We’re blocking traffic. How about we walk together?”
We head out of the park, Jake and Paul leading the way and making small talk as Mia and I lag a few feet behind.
“I’m happy to see you took my advice,” she says smugly.
“What advice?”
“To quit stalling and get your man.”
“Lower your voice.” I do a quick take to check on Jake. Fortunately, he’s far enough ahead and deep enough in conversation with Paul not to have heard my none-too-subtle ex–best friend. “And he’s not my man.”
“Oh, really?” She leans in and at least does me the courtesy of turning down the volume. “Do you go on movie dates with all your clients? Or only the superhot ones with asses you could crack an egg on?”
I sneak a peek at Jake’s butt. She’s right. The damn thing’s so tight, you probably could crack an egg on it. Or bounce quarters. Too bad the guy’s wound tighter than the expensive, ultrathin Piaget watch he’s wearing, too. Still, I’m tempted to try the egg thing—or the quarter thing—or both—later. Purely for purposes of scientific research, of course. For the good of womankind.
I sigh. “He does have a nice booty, doesn’t he?”
“Nice doesn’t begin to describe it. He’s got some serious junk in that trunk.”
We dissolve into giggles like a couple of tweens at a boyband concert, and I promise to fill her in on everything the next time we get together for a girls’ night, as long as she does the same. When we reach Charles Street, the four of us part company, since Mia and Paul are going uptown while Jake and I are heading downtown to Tribeca.
It’s a nice night, not as unbearably hot as it’s been lately and with a light breeze coming off the river, and we’ve got Roscoe with us, which makes taking the subway out of the question, so we decide to backtrack and walk the Hudson River Greenway rather than catch an Uber back to Jake’s.
“I had an interesting conversation with Paul,” he says as we enter the greenway. The waterfront walkway and bike path is packed with people, many of them clearly moviegoers with the same idea as us, based on the blankets and baskets they’re carrying.
“Did he hate the movie as much as you?” I quip.
“I told you, I didn’t hate it. I liked it. The scene in the police station with Ferris’s sister and that biker dude was hysterical. And the principal was a riot, too. I just have a different take on the whole Ferris-as-hero-or-antihero thing than you do, that’s all.”
“I guess we can agree to disagree,” I concede. I’m not going to let a stupid movie—even a childhood favorite—ruin an otherwise pleasant evening. One that’s hopefully going to get even more pleasant once we get back to his place and get naked. “What did Paul have to say that was so interesting?”
“He told me you used to work with him and Mia.”
“Oh, that.” I roll my eyes. If you asked me, my too-long stint at DK&G is just about the least interesting thing about me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a lawyer?”
“It wasn’t important. It still isn’t.”
“Not important? It was a huge part of your life for a long time. Paul told me you were on the verge of making partner when you quit to start Odds & Errands.”
“Emphasis on the ‘was.’”
“What happened?”
I shoot him a side-eyed look. “What do you mean what happened?”
“Something must have happened for you to give all that up.”
Something did, but it’s not something I’m ready to discuss with Jake. Especially not in the middle of a public park surrounded by strangers. When—if—the times comes for this discussion, it’s going to between me and Jake, not me, Jake and a horde of walkers, joggers, cyclists and the occasional Rollerblader.
Besides, my breakup with Dale may have been the catalyst for my professional about-face. But if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. Looking back, with the wisdom of hindsight, I can see that it was only a matter of time before my career imploded. I’m not cut out for the life of a high-powered, big-city lawyer. I was just waiting for the axe to fall.
“Give up what?” I ask. “All the late nights at the office? The weekends? The takeout food, eaten at my desk?”
I’m on a roll now. “Should I go on? Because I can.”
“Hard work takes sacrifices. But weren’t they worth it? You were on the edge of achieving everything you worked so hard for. And now you’re—”
“I’m what?” I stop dead in my tracks. “An errand girl?”
Paul’s words from earlier still rankle. But the thought that Jake’s thinking them too hurts even more.
He stops with me, pulling Roscoe up short and forcing a late-night jogger to veer around us. “I didn’t say that.”
“No. But you were about to. Or something pretty damned close to it.”
All my anger from before comes flooding back. He doesn’t understand Ferris, and he doesn’t get me, either. Just like my parents, judging me for jumping off the white-collar hamster wheel and redefining success on my own terms.
We’re at the intersection of West Houston Street. And there’s a subway station a few blocks away. Just like that, a plan takes shape.
“I need some space.” The traffic light’s red, so I start to cross.
“Wait,” Jake calls after me. “Where are you going?”
“I’m hopping on the 1 train. You can keep walking or take an Uber, I couldn’t care less.”
And with that not-so-original parting shot, I’m gone.