Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
SAWYER
The wind is brisk when Fitz and I get off the subway on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge.
I looked up some touristy—but not too touristy—things to do in the city, and walking across the pedestrian footpath of the bridge was one suggestion I haven’t done myself yet.
Might as well cross off items on both our bucket lists.
We’re not the only ones with this idea, though, so it’s easy to follow the stream of people meandering toward the bridge.
“This is so cool!” Fitz is bright-eyed, smiling a mile wide.
His enthusiasm is contagious and I find myself laughing into the wind for no particular reason.
“Thanks for bringing me here. With all the moving, finding a place to live, getting everything sorted out at school, this is the first time I’ve actually done anything fun since I got to New York.”
“Really?” I bump him with my shoulder and wiggle my eyebrows. “You haven’t done anything fun?”
He shoots me a flirty, coy smile. “I haven’t done anything fun… outdoors.”
“That’s better,” I tease. “I have a fragile ego, you know. I need constant affirmation.”
“Ha! Fragile ego?” Fitz laughs out loud. “I don’t believe that for a second!”
“Hey! I can be sensitive.” I put a hand to my chest, acting offended.
Fitz loops his arm through mine and leans in to speak in a lowered voice. “I’ll just have to keep stroking your ego then.”
“You can definitely keep stroking something,” I respond quietly.
As we make our way up the inclined walkway to the pedestrian footpath, the wind picks up, blowing off the water.
It whips at our cheeks, our hair, our clothes, strong enough that we have to lean into it as we stumble along.
Despite the sun shining high in the sky, it’s still chilly, the perfect temperature to cuddle in close so we can keep each other warm.
When we get to the main boardwalk, Fitz finds an empty spot along the steel railing and leans over the wide beam to peer down at the cars below. “Whoa! We’re so close!”
I stand next to him and watch car after car roll by, almost close enough to touch.
Fitz turns to me with such joy in his smile.
His glasses magnify the gray-blue of his eyes, making them look even wider than they already are.
His dimple is on full display today, and I can’t help but reach out and cup his cheek.
I graze my thumb across the soft indent and Fitz turns his face into my palm.
He plants a quick kiss before taking my hand into his.
Together, we turn our faces up, letting the sun shine down on us while the wind washes over us. I’ve got goosebumps across both arms, but I don’t think it’s from the weather.
“Come on,” Fitz says after a minute, pulling me farther onto the bridge. “I need to take pictures for my folks!”
He hands me his phone and I snap a few shots of him with the tower of the Brooklyn Bridge behind him. He’s a natural on camera, striking poses and making cute faces. I don’t do anything but point the phone at him and tap the button, and even then, his image jumps off the screen.
“Do you want a picture with your boyfriend?” I turn to find an older woman with her hand extended, wearing a friendly smile. I’m about to correct her, to tell her that Fitz isn’t my boyfriend, but the words die on my tongue.
He isn’t my boyfriend, we’re nowhere near anything so official after a couple blowjobs and this sort-of date. But could he be? Maybe? One day? Logan’s words trickle through my brain. Is he the one? Am I even looking for the one?
“Sure,” I say, handing Fitz’s phone over. My musings about Fitz and what we could become are left unsaid in my mind, and instead, I join him to pose for the camera.
We stand with my arm around him while he hugs my waist. His head rests on my shoulder and my cheek rests on his head. When the woman returns the phone, we huddle together, blocking out the sun with our bodies to examine the photos she took.
We’re both smiling. We look happy, comfortable with each other, and intimate. We look like we’re in love, and the realization is jarring—I want that and it makes me feel guilty as hell.
Halfway between Manhattan and Brooklyn, the thick cables that hold the bridge together descend below the footpath, giving us uninterrupted views up and down the East River.
Fitz finds us another empty spot and we lean against the railing, gazing out on the rippling water, the towering buildings on the Manhattan side, and the slightly lower ones in Brooklyn.
Fitz’s arm is pressed against mine and a part of me wants to draw him closer into my side. It wants to hold him and kiss him and be the couple that the woman and the photo claim we are.
But another part of me, a deeper part, feels a little sick at the prospect. What about Preston? What about my love for him? My commitment to him? How can I claim to love him when I’m out on a sort-of date with someone else? When I’m contemplating a relationship with someone else?
How is it possible to want two conflicting things at the same time? I don’t know.
Fitz grabs the railing for leverage and leans away from it, tilting his head back to face the sky. “Whoa!” he shouts and the wind picks up the sound, carrying it away.
He’s so full of life, so vibrant. Quick to smile and always ready with a laugh.
I haven’t known him long, but I can’t deny how easy it is to be with him.
We have a similar sense of humor and similar interests, but we’re not so similar that it’s boring.
He’s smart, athletic, cute. He’s fun to be around and also considerate and thoughtful and kind. He’s a great catch.
I should be thrilled with Fitz, and I am… mostly. I should be eager to lock things down with him, and I am… somewhat. If only…
I shake my head. There’s no point in entertaining “if onlys”.
If things are going to happen between me and Preston, they would’ve happened by now.
But they haven’t, so I need to let go of the past and figure out what I want for my future.
If that future includes Fitz, then I should count myself lucky.
Fitz rights himself and smiles at me. An especially strong gust of wind blows up the river, pushing Fitz off his feet. I catch him with my whole body, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thighs to thighs. His mouth is an inch from mine and his breath is warm as he laughs out loud.
My gaze drops to his mouth and his tongue sneaks out to wet his lips. His chin inches upward and mine bows lower. When we make contact, Fitz sighs and relaxes into my embrace. His arms snake around my waist, holding us closer together, and my body responds, heat pooling in my groin.
When we pull apart, there’s some extra color on Fitz’s cheeks. His eyes are a tad darker and his breathing is a bit faster. His hands have slipped under the hem of my jacket, fisting my shirt at the small of my back. He smiles, dimple flashing, and I smile back.
This thing between us is good. It has potential. I want it—I think.
Fitz nestles his hand in mine as we continue across the bridge toward Brooklyn, walking closer than we were before. When a cyclist zooms by, I pull over, putting my hand on the small of his back to keep him out of the way. Then we fall into step again, side-by-side, hand-in-hand.
“I hear there’s a great ice cream place under the bridge,” Fitz says as we get to the downward-sloping path at the end.
“You did, did you?”
“You’re not the only one who can search the internet for things to do in New York.” He bumps my shoulder and swings our clasped hands.
“Okay, then, Mr. I-can-run-internet-searches. Take us to the ice cream place!”
In the park under the bridge, we each grab a cone—Rocky Road for Fitz, chocolate chip cookie dough for me. Then we wander the paths that wind along the water’s edge.
“The guys at Mars seem really cool,” Fitz says as we stroll.
“They are! Logan’s hilarious. He’s always falling in love and getting his heart broken. He just started seeing a new guy and he’s convinced they’re soulmates.” I lick a wide strip up my double-scooped cone.
“Soulmates, huh? Do you believe in those?” Fitz has taken a bite out of his ice cream, leaving a crater in the top scoop.
“I don’t know.” I shrug and suddenly it feels like I’m in the middle of a workout, my heart thudding in overdrive to keep up. “You?”
“It’s a nice idea,” Fitz says, seeming nowhere near as affected as I am. “But sounds too farfetched for me. What does it even mean to have a soulmate? What are the requirements? The qualifications? It’s not something you can put parameters around and test.”
I smile despite the tightening in my chest. That’s such a Preston thing to say I can actually hear it in his voice.
“On the other hand…”
I meet Fitz’s gaze.
“Just because there’s no way to test something doesn’t mean it’s not true. Science just hasn’t caught up yet.”
That’s not something Preston would say, but the sentiment doesn’t ease the constriction around my lungs. Instead, it makes me yearn for something I can’t have.
I lick another strip of ice cream, then clear my throat before speaking again.
“You’ve met Beau,” I continue, desperate to leave the subject of soulmates behind.
“He did my tour.” Fitz nods.
“Yup. He’s married to Gavin. They grew up together.”
“Aw, childhood sweethearts?”
I let out a choked laugh. “Not quite. Best friends, but Beau didn’t know he was into guys until after he got married and divorced.”
“Hmm.” Fitz flicks his eyes toward me. “The straight best friend, huh?”
I’m not so oblivious that I miss the insinuation in his voice. But again, not something I want to dwell on at the moment. “Then there’s Donnie and Connor. And Christian and Sebastian. Donnie’s our spin instructor and Christian’s a personal trainer. Connor and Sebastian are both members.”
“I see. So what you’re saying is Mars Fitness staff have a habit of falling for gym members.”
I force out a chuckle at Fitz’s teasing, though it’s getting increasingly difficult to draw a full breath. “Yeah, it appears we do.”
We’re at the north end of the park, where there’s a fancy carousel and benches with views of the Brooklyn and the Manhattan bridges. We take a seat on the bench, watching the carousel turn as the horses float up and down.
“Um…” Fitz breaks the silence after a moment, pointing at the ice cream cone in my hand.
“Oh shit.” I forgot I was still holding it and now it’s half melted with sticky sweetness running in rivers down my hand. I try to lick it up, but I only make more of a mess, getting ice cream all over my face. “How come yours didn’t do this?”
Fitz laughs. “I ate mine faster.”
He offers me his napkin, which is still pristine without a spot of ice cream on it. But it’s too little, too late. There’s too much liquid ice cream to mop up and I rush over to the nearest trash bin to toss what remains of the cone.
“Here.” With one hand holding my chin, Fitz dabs at my nose and my cheek with his clean napkin. Then he leans in and licks up the smears on my chin and my lips. “Mmm, delicious.”
It’s so cheesy and cute that we both dissolve into giggles and gradually the tightness in my chest floats away.
Fitz catches my gaze as the giggles fade. His eyes twinkle behind his glasses, their natural brightness made brighter by the mid-day sun. His cheeks are ruddy and his lips are sweet from the ice cream.
“I think I’m good with the bridge,” he says with a head tilt and an eyebrow raise. He trails his hand down my front and settles it on my hip. The unspoken question hovers between us.
Despite myself, my body reacts, dick stirring and limbs growing heavy at the prospect of getting off. There’s no reason for me to say no. There’s no reason to deny myself.
I bow my head and plant another quick kiss on his lips. Then I take his hand in mine. “Yeah, I’m done with the bridge too. How about I show you my place?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”