2. He Knows How to Work a Pipe
“C ream, no sugar. Right?” I asked, remembering his coffee preference from the previous times he’d visited over the year.
“If it’s not a bother.” He cleared his throat, admiring my bright teal living room, my fake banana palms, and bohemian throws. “Love that you always keep those up.” He nodded to the white string lights draped above my yellow couch.
“I’m thinking about keeping them up all year round! They really brighten up the place, right?”
“I’m not sure it could get any brighter. It’s very cozy.”
“Well, it’s taken a while, but it’s finally starting to feel like home… sorta.” I shrugged, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe my face clean.
I walked into the kitchen, hiding my ruined package in the pink cabinet next to a box of fruity pebbles. Hopefully, Nick wouldn’t ask about it.
How could I explain that I was assigned my first paying gig with one of the biggest magazines in the world— New York Prestige —running a countdown list of the hottest sex toys of the season? Twelve Days of Sex-Mas had been as exhausting as it was thrilling, spending the last week getting off with various vibrators, Ben Wa balls, and butt plugs. I was surprised I was even walking straight at this point, and somehow calmly pouring Nick’s cup of coffee.
“Honestly, I like the whole tropical vibe in here.” Nick removed his denim jacket before lying down under the sink, chomping on a flashlight. His dark brown waves fell carelessly to his brows, his nose dimpled at the tip, mirroring the groove of his strong, peppered chin. “Marty won’t even go outside to piss anymore… not without mittens. I’m ready to pack up and leave.”
“Just don’t go too far, who knows what else will break in this place? I need you.”
“Who’s to say I wouldn’t take you with me? I’m sure you know all the best places for the warmest weather.”
“Warmest beaches, too…” I inadvertently sipped his coffee, watching as his shirt lifted from his waist.
I tried really hard not to stare, fighting, resisting, struggling with the temptation to gawk as he revealed a trail of trimmed hair on his firm torso. He cranked something underneath the sink, his arms tensing as he grunted.
“Name one for me.”
“Name what?”
“A beach. Which one’s your favorite?”
“Ah, Playa Flamenco . It’s off the main island where I lived, but totally worth the trip if you can get a boat out there.”
Nick hummed to himself.
“Playa Flamenco,” he repeated my words. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear him smile. “How blue is the water?”
“Turquoise-clear… plenty of white sand, and warm sunlight.”
Nick grew quiet, clanking a metal pipe.
“Sounds nice. But sounds even better coming from you.” He noted my accent, my slight Caribbean-Spanish hitch. I combed a curl behind my ear, blushing. “Shit…”
“You ok?”
“Yes… it’s just… the damn part I brought doesn’t work.”
“Again?”
“I’m so sorry, Elena.” Nick lifted himself from the sink. “These pre-war buildings have some strange characteristics, and the plumbing is old as hell.” He took the mug from my hand, taking a long sip of his coffee. I didn’t mention I already drank from it and felt kinda guilty, but the way his broad shoulders dropped in relaxation was so rewarding. “I think I know what I need, but it will be about a week until it gets in. I was able to fix the leak, but it’s only temporary.”
He smiled.
I smiled back.
Everything grew quiet as I brushed my hair off to the side, twisting its ends with my red-painted nails. Nick tapped his mug before taking the last sip of coffee.
“Did you enjoy it?” I asked, desiring his praise.
“It hit the spot. Always does.”
“If you liked that, then you’d love coquito. It’s more of a holiday drink, though.”
“Does it have chocolate?”
“Noooo,” I waved away, taking his mug to rinse in the sink. I could feel him behind me, watching as I rambled on. “It’s sorta like eggnog, but with condensed milk, cream of coconut, cinnamon…” I tried not to list everything, but then got excited, “Oh! And rum. Lots and lots of rum.”
“Never heard of it.”
I turned and huffed a curl out of my face, unable to hide my grin. “It’s more of a Puerto Rican thing. My family and I make it for Christmas every year, and believe me, after midnight mass in a very old, very stuffy church, a stiff drink was just what we needed. Unless, of course, you’re my uncle Mateo. He’s a priest.”
“No booze for Father Mateo?” Nick leaned his elbow on the counter, making himself comfortable.
“Does the blood of Christ count?” I asked. “If so, then his cup runneth over. Besides that, I do recall him accidentally getting drunk from coquito one year while dipping his cup into a rum filled bowl at my family Christmas party. Everyone was gifted with extra blessings that night.”
Nick cracked a smile as I ironically made the sign of the cross. He was always interested in my life back in Puerto Rico, enjoying the chaotic stories about my family with his uninterrupted gaze and attentive nod.
“They sound like a lot of fun.” Nick shook his head, his hardy laugh rumbling from his chest. I loved that I could get that reaction from him, creased cheeks and eyes.
“They’re the best. A little heavy on tradition. Marriage. Babies. Religious stuff… but I think their intentions are good.”
We got quiet for a moment while I imagined a much worse scenario of my mamí finding my sex toy as opposed to Nick. The shame would’ve been completely unbearable. That was one thing I didn’t share with anyone—how the topic of sex was completely forbidden, a taboo of taboos that left my family in the dark over the countdown I was working on. They barely knew what I did for a living, my job description reduced to ‘professional typist’ for my abuelita to better understand.
Nick looked over at Marty, who sniffed under my empty Christmas tree. Not a single gift was placed beneath it, but the smell of pine wafted in our direction, not the least bit subdued by the smothering of lights and silver tinsel. Photos of my family decorated the branches, along with little colorful ornaments that I’d brought with me when I left home.
“And are you visiting your family for the holidays?”
Ugh. Please don’t ask .
I was about to escape the purgatory of being an intern at New York Prestige, and this sex toy countdown I was working on meant my chances of being promoted to an associate editor were riding on this one silly assignment. I had no money to travel, let alone the desire to bring vibrators along to my very Catholic family gathering. Still, the fact that I couldn’t go (that I couldn’t make coquito on Nochebuena—the biggest family event of the year), broke my heart.
“I, uh, decided to stay in New York this year.” I kept it short. “You?”
“My sister in Jersey invited me over for dinner tonight.”
“Fun!”
“Yeah, not really… it’s nothing like your family parties, and between my nephews and the cousins involved, things tend to get a little overwhelming. Then there’s my sister's ex-husband.”
“He shows up, too?”
“Eh, yeah. They’re cordial for the kids, but the tension is always suffocating,” Nick mocked, wrapping his hand around his neck, his large, light eyes bright and hilariously worried. I giggled. “If there’s anything I learned from those two, it’s to never mix business with pleasure. She got involved with someone she worked with, and now they hate each other.”
There was no hiding the look of dread on Nick’s adorable, scruffy face. One Christmas was enough to last him an entire year, and had he been in Puerto Rico with his own family, he’d probably hang himself with garland at some point.
Christmas wasn’t just a day back on the island.
No.
It was La Navidad!
Or as I saw it: a pants-tightening, food-devouring, forty-five day musical marathon with roasted pork.
Could Nick even fathom an entire month and a half filled with family gatherings and parrandas?
Wait.
Did they do parrandas here in the city? I think it’s called ‘caroling’ in New York. I cringed, picturing how horrified Nick would look if his ex-brother-in-law lugged him around the middle of Times Square, caroling and strumming a guitar.
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
“Fun is doing your taxes. I’m looking for any excuse not to go.” Nick’s eyes wandered around again, following his brief silence. He focused down at a stack of New York Prestige magazines, their pages noted with colorful sticky tabs. “Fan of the magazine?”
“For work,” I shrugged, organizing the various pamphlets from my favorite Chinese restaurant. He picked up the menu, reading its red logo— Sichuan Garden.
“You work for New York Prestige?”
“Currently. Just something small for now but trying to move up.”
Nick placed the menu back down on the counter, nodding his classic little approval that I adored. “Lots of pretty girls there,” he said, staring into my eyes, but I diverted away to the gorgeous model on the cover.
Yes, lots of pretty girls—girls who didn’t look like me, because honestly, since working there not many people did. I wasn’t the tall, five-foot-eleven blonde, with large breasts and designer handbags. Instead, I was petite, built with a small waist, large hips, and an ass like a peach; some compact woman with long, black, curly hair and small breasts. According to the magazines I wasn’t the pretty girl, and since coming here, I started to believe it.
“ Yeah… lots ,” I parroted.
“Well, I have particular taste in women.” Nick flipped the magazine over, placing its cover face down. “I hope I didn’t take too long. I’m sure you have plans tonight. You look like you’re getting ready for something.”
God! I was getting ready, and suddenly I felt so shy about why. Going to my holiday office party wasn’t a big deal, though the fact that I had a plus-one ticket to give away was. Nick was essentially begging for an excuse to leave his family gathering, and here I had the perfect solution to solve his problem.
I watched Marty, who undoubtedly sniffed around for the dildo, waiting patiently below the cabinet I stored it in.
I tried not to clench my teeth and scream.
The truth was I was nowhere near Nick’s league. He was a ten, a solid—muscle-wrapped, Calvin Klein model—ten. And I… I was the epitome of an unpolished shrew. Despite working for New York Prestige, I wasn’t your typical New York Prestige girl, and I certainly lacked the confidence of one. Regardless, there was still one absolute truth that I held close to my heart: that I could survive the constant awkward moments I shared with Nick, but in turn, would never be able to survive his rejection. It would kill me.
I froze.
“No plans tonight… just pulling an all-nighter for a deadline I have. Work, work, work,” I snorted, trying not to flail my arms, stewing in the awful lie I told to an otherwise disappointed Nick Stafford.