For the Plot (All for Love #1)

Chapter 37

37

Cameron

The first thing Joey thought when she saw me with my sister was that I was seeing someone else. Fuck. How can I make it any more obvious that I’m into her?

I was just as shocked to see her at the education center, though without the dread she probably felt when she saw me with Claire. After Joey left my apartment this morning, I made plans to meet up with my sister. Luckily, she wasn’t working at the hospital today—a rarity—and fit me in.

The two of us are close. When kids experience tragedy together at a young age, it either bonds or breaks them. Fortunately for us, it tied us together. It could also be attributed to how I took on the caregiver role when our mom was hospitalized.

I’ve never resented being forced to care for her back then. I take pride in being her big brother, and I’m proud of her for pursuing medicine. Though she’s never spoken it aloud, I’ve always assumed her choice has to do with Chloe’s death.

The only point of contention that has come between us was when my parents withheld my inheritance because I didn’t take over the family business. We never argued about it, but for a while, this unspoken tension lingered between us. Our parents have never held Claire to the standard at which they hold me. She was never expected to be involved, yet she’ll still receive her inheritance.

Regardless, we moved on from the awkwardness quickly. She played no part in the decisions our parents made, so I had no right to hold any of it against her.

Once Claire and Joey get to know each other, they’re going to be thick as thieves. I was tempted to tell her about our plans tonight to get a second opinion, but if I told her I planned to take Joey to Under the Summer Stars, the temporary outdoor theater overlooking the Hudson River near the George Washington Bridge, she would follow us like a puppy seeking adoption.

When I found out The Parent Trap was playing tonight, I instantly purchased tickets and made sure to reserve two inflatable chairs. My favorite deli is on the way, so I figure we can grab food to-go.

I planned to pick Joey up tonight and assumed she’d meet me outside her building. At every turn, I have to be patient and give her time to warm up, so I was under no misconception that I’d see the inside of her apartment. Now, I’m sitting on her sofa-slash-bed, and it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to pull her onto my lap and confiscate another pair of panties.

“Should I change?”

Her question pulls me out of my fantasy. Tilting my head, I give her a once-over. As much as I love the way that dress puts her perky tits on display, she’ll probably get chilly.

“Yeah. The forecast says it’s going to get down into the low sixties tonight.”

“Oh, will we be outside?” she asks, thumbing through the clothes in her laundry basket.

She retrieves a long red dress adorned with tiny white flowers from the pile and excuses herself. When she returns, she’s added a white T-shirt that says Kind people are my kinda people in red letters. The shirt is cinched in a knot at her navel. She’s still wearing her white Chucks, and she has a denim jacket draped over her forearm.

“You look beautiful.” I stand and follow her to the door.

She rummages through the purse hanging on a hook in the entryway until she pulls out a bottle of pink gloss and a black scrunchy, then she steps in front of the small mirror mounted on the wall.

“Wait.” I pull her close. She smells like she did in Greece: citrus shampoo, mixed with her light floral perfume. “Before you put that on,” I capture her chin with my thumb and forefinger and tilt her face so she’s looking at me, “can I kiss you?”

“What? Pink not your color?” she teases, tugging on my bottom lip.

I nip at her thumb, and even though we’re alone in the apartment, I whisper, “Oh, sweetheart, pink is my favorite color. But the only place I want to be marked with it is my cock, when your lips are wrapped around it.” It’s not a joke.

Biting her bottom lip, she pops up on her toes and presses her plush lips to mine. I barely have time to drink in the sweetness of her kiss before it turns feral, like heat on metal, soldering us together. I open my mouth in invitation, and she gladly accepts. Damn, I’ll never tire of this. But her stomach grumbles, and my innate need to take care of people assumes control.

When I step back, she stumbles forward, and a whine escapes her lips, all pink and swollen from my kisses. See? She doesn’t need lipstick after all.

“Hungry?” I ask.

The way her eyes blaze tells me she knows I’m not talking about food.

Once outside, we cross the street and walk the couple of blocks to Bubbe’s Nosh Pit, my favorite delicatessen. The aroma of the place--the combination of chicken broth, potato, and onion--reminds me of Ezra’s mother’s house.

“Joey, my love!” Mark calls from behind the counter as the bell chimes over our heads, and an instant later, he follows it with “Cam? My man!”

She turns around, just as astonished as me. “You know Mark?” we say in unison.

Mark, the owner of the deli, is a middle-aged man with a round belly. Though he’s bald, his arms are covered in a thick layer of dark hair, and the glasses he wears are constantly slipping down his nose.

Before we make it to the counter, he’s holding a black-and-white cookie wrapped in a napkin over the counter to Joey.

Beneath a clear encasement lies a display of traditionally Jewish foods—potato pancakes, potato salad, lox, bagels, several flavors of cream cheese, chopped liver, matzo ball soup, pickles, and so much more.

Accepting the cake-like cookie covered in chocolate icing on one side and vanilla on the other, she smiles. “Thank you. How’s your bubbe?”

“Wait, how do you know about his grandma?” I ask. “And how come she gets a cookie and I don’t?” I cock a brow at Mark, feigning offense.

He pulls another cookie from the display case and winks as he passes it over.

With a shit-eating grin, I accept the treat. “Thank you. But yes, how’s your bubbe?”

“She’s bossing us around, so I’d say she’s made a full recovery,” he huffs, pulling on a new pair of plastic gloves. “She says to say thank you for the flowers and the puzzle.”

Peering up at me, Joey laces her fingers with mine and squeezes. I squeeze once in response and shoot her a smile.

“What’ll it be?” Mark inquires .

She steps closer to the counter. “I’ll have half a pastrami on rye.”

“With extra pickles?” he assumes correctly. “What else?” He looks at me, then back at her.

“Two potato pancakes and a side of fruit. Oh! And a Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry.”

“Make that two cherry sodas, six potato pancakes, and a bowl of fruit,” I pipe up. “Plus, a corned beef sandwich and an assortment of rugelach .” I love the flaky pastries. Especially the ones with dates and cinnamon.

I guide Joey to the side, hands still intertwined, while Mark puts together our order. “How do you know Mark so well?”

“Sounds like you know his grandmother pretty well,” she says, bumping my shoulder.

“This is my go-to place for comfort food.”

She arches a brow. “Jewish food is your comfort food?”

“It is,” I laugh. “Ezra’s Jewish. Did you know that?”

She shakes her head.

“I’ve spent a lot of time at his mom’s house. She loves to cook.”

“Huh.” She shrugs. “My dad was Jewish. Millie is too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My mom is Christian, so I grew up both and neither at the same time, I guess. But we celebrated all the holidays,” she says. “Mark and his wife live in my building.” Dropping my hand, she leans in and loops her arm around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “They bring us food all the time, so I don’t come into the deli often. They’re like our surrogate parents, I guess.” The smile that lifts her cheeks is bright and full of genuine adoration. It makes me want to kiss the soft flesh.

Mark spots us in the crowd that’s forming and motions for us to meet him at the checkout counter .

Joey reaches for the large brown paper bag just as I reach for my wallet.

“So what’s happening here?” Mark questions, waggling a finger between the two of us.

“It’s our first date,” I say, lifting my chin and maintaining eye contact.

“You don’t say.” He beams. “Well, then, my friends, it’s on the house.”

“What?” I look at Joey, who’s biting back a smile. “No?—”

He shoves two extra black-and-white cookies in the bag and announces, “Next!” effectively dismissing me.

“Thank you,” we say in unison.

He puts his hands over his heart, and when we’re halfway to the door, he calls out her name. He points to me. “He’s one of the good ones!”

With blushing cheeks, she nods and blows him a friendly kiss before stepping onto the sidewalk.

The streets of New York City are alive tonight. The diverse population, the cultural richness, and the urban dynamic make it the greatest city in the world. The greenery is lush this time of year, with dogs and children rolling in the open grass spaces. A gentle breeze carries the city’s fragrances: one second, the acute scent of blossoming flowers, and the next, the aroma of a nearby pretzel stand. By the time we arrive at the park and have been led to our reserved seating, the sun has nearly set, and a canvas of pastel hues paints a backdrop for us.

When The Parent Trap toggles on the giant screen, Joey nearly catapults out of her green inflatable seat in excitement. We lay our food, plastic utensils, and sodas on the small circular table positioned between our chairs and eat our sandwiches straight from the paper wrapping.

When we arrived, there was a black blanket wrapped in plastic, much like those on an airplane, resting on each of our seats. And about the time Chessy figures out Hallie is Annie, we unwrap our polyester blankets and Joey climbs onto my lap. With her butt flush against my hip and her legs draped over my lap, she snuggles into the crook of my neck.

“You smell good,” I whisper.

“Shh,” she scolds. “This is my favorite part.” She quickly kisses me on the cheek. “And you’re a liar. I smell like pickles.”

“Shh,” I tease. “Pickles smell good.” I steal a kiss, smacking my lips against hers for dramatic flair, and someone to the left shushes us.

The movie ends, and Joey slips her arms through her denim jacket. “That was really fun.” She stands and helps me throw our trash away. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I release the pieces of her long hair that are still tucked in her jacket.

Just as I reach for her hand, she spins around on the pavement to face me and walks backward. “Wanna grab a drink?”

I absolutely don’t want this night to end, so I take her hand in mine and drop a kiss to it. “Sounds great.”

She leads me to a bar I’ve never been to about halfway between our apartments, and we snag a high-top by the window.

“Old-fashioned,” I tell the server before we’ve even had a chance to look at the drink menus.

“Make that two,” Joey adds.

When our drinks arrive, garnished with oranges and maraschino cherries, she spins her glass on the sticky surface. “This was my dad’s favorite drink,” she admits, nostalgia caught in her throat. “He used to ask for extra cherries, then give them to me.”

Lifting my glass, I raise a brow, and when she follows suit, I clink mine against hers. “He sounds like a solid man.”

“Did you give Ezra hell about his little mix-up?” She uses air quotes, then drops her elbows to the table and tucks her fists beneath her chin.

“Yeah, he heard it from me, all right.”

He called this morning to make sure I’d made it home, and when I questioned him about not telling me that Joey was sleeping in my bed, his response was along the lines of “are you kidding me? You would have been up my ass for a play-by-play, or worse—you would have flown home early.”

He’s not wrong.

“Too bad he and Millie didn’t work out,” she says, bringing her drink to her lips. “I think he could be good for her.”

I take a sip, too, relishing the way the bold bourbon slides down my throat. “He’s on a date with someone tonight, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Her name is the same as one of those American Girl dolls Claire used to have. Kirsten or Molly or something like that.” I laugh. I can’t keep up with my roommate and his women.

Joey sighs. “I’m sure going to miss your bed tonight. Not looking forward to my pull-out sofa.”

“Spend the night, then.” The words are out of my mouth before I’ve even considered them.

“What? No, that’s not why I brought it up.” She swirls a finger in the condensation on her glass, then wipes it on her cocktail napkin. Her cheeks are tinted pink, like maybe she’s embarrassed. She finishes her drink in two long gulps.

“I know,” I assure her. “But I’m actually going to be gone for work for a couple of weeks.”

She’s chomping on a piece of ice now, but she freezes when the words register. “You are?”

“I got that job I was telling you about. The one in Austin.”

Her eyes widen with genuine glee. “That’s great!”

“Thank you.” I grin. “So, my bed needs someone to keep it company. ”

“Oh, it does, does it?” She leans closer, playing along.

I pluck the cherry from my glass and hand it to her, then take the remainder of my drink back. Her eyes twinkle and she grins at my gesture.

“Yes, if no one sleeps in it, it will lose its lived-in shape.”

“You goof. It’s Tempur-Pedic.” She lets out a loud laugh.

“Okay, fine, you got me. But still. I think you should stay at my apartment.” My gaze is steady. “I already know how much you love my bed.”