Darius
W hat the hell am I thinking?
Visiting Lucy in her cubicle is one thing. Befriending her and bringing her coffees and soaking up her presence like a sponge absorbing water—that’s all fine. None of that crosses the invisible line I’ve drawn in my head.
But a date?
A fake practice date to build up her confidence for other men? A dress rehearsal before she heads out into the world for the real thing? Have I lost my goddamn mind?
My agitated strides carry me across the office, through the corridor and out into the stairwell. This building has an elevator, so there’s no need to pound my way down flight after flight of stairs, except adrenaline has flooded my system and if I don’t burn it off, I might punch a wall.
And that’s not me. Amin never gets worked up. Amin never makes a scene. I’m always cool, supremely collected, channeling whatever inner turmoil I have into music.
Then Lucy comes along, and everything is jumbled. Fuck.
My shoes smack against the steps, echoing in the empty stairwell, and I’m breathing hard. The sound is ragged. If anyone catches sight of me now, they’ll think I’ve lost my mind, and you know what? They’ll be right.
A date.
A date.
A practice date with Lucy, the woman I want but can never have. The woman I will never be good enough for, who I should have stayed away from a year ago. But Lucy kept drawing me in from a distance, taunting me with those cute little glasses and prim outfits until I snapped. Now look at us.
Lucy thinks I have a constant revolving door of dates, and has never seen past my looks. Not enough to realize that those rumors are all bullshit.
Meanwhile I’m hopelessly gone for her.
Christ.
“You’ve really done it this time.” My mutter bounces around the stairwell, and I keep pounding down, down, down all the flights of stairs, trying and failing to outrun the emotions squeezing my chest. When I finally burst out of the fire exit into an alley, I’m sweating under my dark green shirt, breathing hard through my nose.
Pigeons scatter, fluffing up their feathers and cooing. This is a quiet space, with swept cement and cigarette burns scorched into the wall. The sun doesn’t reach here, and it smells like damp stone, moss and bird mess.
It’s no paradise, but I linger anyway. Cursing myself and kneading my forehead, even as I know I won’t take my offer back.
A night with Lucy?
A date —even a practice one?
This is a once in a lifetime experience.
* * *
“Remind me again why I’ve decided to die alone.”
Thirty minutes later I’m on the top floor, my breathing calm and my clothes smoothed, strolling around the boss’s office and squinting at the artwork on his walls. Leo Corbin favors abstract paintings—explosions of colors and emotion without obvious form. I’m more of an art deco man, myself.
The sun-drenched city stretches away through the huge glass windows. The cars and buses down there look like toys.
Leo blows out a long-suffering breath, flicking through a contract on his desk and ignoring me completely. He’s been like this since our college days: prickly and ice-cold. From the outside, I seem warmer—certainly more socially adept—but deep down, I share Leo’s same exhaustion and withdrawal from life. That’s why when he asked me to join Grapevine as a composer, I agreed in seconds—he’s my brother in everything except blood.
“You know, the longer you ignore me, the longer I’ll bother you.”
It’s best to be clear with Leo. Straightforward. I learned that when we roomed together in freshman year, and nearly came to blows most weeks in the first semester. Christ, we hated each other’s guts.
But by the spring, we’d figured it out. Found each other’s wavelengths. And though neither of us would admit it out loud, we’ve been committed to this friendship ever since. It’s bedrock.
“You’re very needy for a famous composer.” Leo turns a contract page, scowling down at the small print—and he has the same thick dark hair as me, but he’s paler, with a square jaw and icy blue eyes. The boss would have interns slipping him love notes too if he didn’t give off such clear Do Not Disturb vibes.
Maybe I should take a leaf out of Leo’s book. Be less approachable—because I don’t want those damn love notes, and they’re causing me nothing but trouble. They’re why Lucy will never, ever see me as a romantic possibility.
“Leo.” Tucking my hands into my pockets, I stare blandly at the boss. He’s barricaded behind his desk, hiding from the world in his work. Same as always. Outside his office, the soft, sweet voice of his assistant Hazel seeps under the door, but her words are muffled. “I’m having a meltdown here. Schedule me in.”
With an almighty huff, Leo looks up—and frowns harder. He drops his pen.
“Christ. You look like shit.”
Thank you.
“I feel like shit.” Spreading my arms, I step closer to the huge desk. “So, go on. Make it all better.”
Leo scoffs, but he’s leaning back in his chair now, stroking his jaw. Hitting me with his full, monstrous focus. “I’m neither your daddy or your shrink. What do you want me to say?”
I already told him. “Remind me why I’ve decided to die alone.”
It’s a morbid pledge we made as college students, half-joking at the time. Poking fun at ourselves, even as we despaired at any alternatives. And yet we’re in our thirties now, and neither of us shows any sign of breaking that oath, so I guess it was more serious than we let on.
Leo rolls his neck, his gaze flitting to the closed door. Hazel laughs out there, her voice trilling in the quiet. “You know why.”
Yeah. I do.
Because Leo and I both came from shitty, broken families with parents that hated each other and us. Because we’ve seen firsthand how impossible love is, how it’s all such a fairy tale, and we each vowed not to put ourselves through that pain again. Not to bring any more kids into it, either.
But that was then. Before Lucy. Before spending another decade in the world, and seeing it’s not all black and white. There are shades of gray; there’s room for nuance. Almost nothing is all good or all bad, except for that prim little accountant, who came straight down from heaven.
“Things change,” I say.
Leo grunts his disagreement. For the big boss up here in his steel and glass tower, nothing changes unless he gives his say-so.
But I try again. “There’s this girl in Accounts—”
“Then fuck her,” Leo cuts in. “Take her out a few times, and get her out of your system.” The sweet assistant’s muffled voice has gone silent outside the door. It’s quiet enough to hear every rustle of clothing and the wind moaning outside the windows, up here halfway to the clouds. “But don’t kid yourself, . You and me… we’re not meant for that shit. Remember? That’s for people who grew up with the white picket fence and half a clue about love. That’s for people who were wired right. Not us.”
Yeah. Okay.
I nod, a sickly feeling churning in my gut. Because Leo’s never wrong, and he’s not wrong about this either—if I ever got a chance with Lucy, I’d wreck it. Wreck her.
And I couldn’t bear that. Couldn’t live with myself if I hurt that sweet girl, but I’ve never seen a healthy relationship up close. Never had that modeled for me. I don’t have the first clue.
“You’re right.” My chest burns, but I straighten my wristwatch. “I’ll keep my distance.”