Chapter 14
14
Andrew
“There’s no shame in my ice cream game.”
That was the last thing Juni said before she left me standing with a melting rocky road cone in one hand and her sweater in the other while she perused the counter for the next fifteen minutes.
After spending ample time debating each of the nineteen flavors, she looks back at me with her bottom lip tucked under her teeth, and then asks, “Maybe I’m in the mood for sorbet?”
“Ice cream,” I reply, getting her back on track with this mission.
With her eyes locked on the prize, she proudly walks up to the counter, and orders, “Raspberry chocolate chip, please,” like she won’t ever get another opportunity to eat ice cream again.
I didn’t realize this was going to be an event. Had I known, I would have mentally prepared better. But I have a feeling that I’ll never be fully prepared for an adventure that involves Juni.
She insisted on paying. I argued but realized I wouldn’t win that battle. I’m taking my last bite when she walks up. With her head tilted to the side, she drags her tongue along the deep pink cream. I lower my arm that has her sweater draped over it and clear my throat. “We should get out of here. It’s getting crowded, especially for being almost midnight on a weekday.”
“You’re here,” she says, as if that proves her point.
Blocked from opening the door properly, I stand on the opposite side and use my height to hold it open high above her head. She happily ducks under to exit, reminding me how small she is. She can’t be more than five-two or three. “Late night, sweet treat.”
I could call her the same. I don’t. But I could.
We move out of the entrance and start strolling back toward my building. I say, “I haven’t had ice cream in a long time.”
“It’s good, right?” Eager anticipation colors her expression, as does a chocolate chip above the right corner of her mouth. I subtly lick the corner of mine. Without acknowledging the act, her tongue dips out and sweeps the chocolate away.
“It was. I’m glad I came out.”
Joy surges through her spine, causing a little wiggle, and she looks down at her feet. When I’m granted the beauty of her hazel eyes again, she whispers, “Me too.”
I’m quick to pull her close when a boisterous group of teenagers hoards most of the sidewalk, leaving little room for others. She doesn’t appear to mind my arm wrapped around her waist as though it belongs there.
I don’t either.
Removing it is the right thing to do among friends. So, I do.
She asks, “How long has it been since you went out for ice cream?”
It’s odd how that question hits sideways in my gut. Probably because it brings some truth to the surface. “I don’t remember.”
Although she had just taken a bite, which should bring pleasure, sympathy wriggles into her eyes. “I’m glad we’re remedying that.”
The moment passes, but I won’t complain that the focus is off me. I prefer to be the one behind the scenes instead of in the spotlight. We continue walking. Her eyes are momentarily hidden behind closed lids as she savors the sweet flavor. When she reopens them, she catches me staring. Touching the side of her lips, she asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, then why are you looking at me like that?”
Chuckling, I reply, “I like how much you’re enjoying that ice cream.”
“See?” she says, confident the universe has her back. I have a strong suspicion it does. “We’ve gotten two likes out of you. Rocky road and me.” She giggles. “Well, not me specifically, but . . .” She bumps into my side and taps her head to my arm in a nudge. “You’re having fun, and that’s what this is all about.”
“I am. Thanks for insisting I join you.”
“I didn’t really have to twist your arm. You didn’t waste a second getting downstairs.”
Running is a good way to clear my mind, and lifting weights helps maintain my muscle mass, but I rarely combine them. Yet getting down seventeen flights of stairs to beat her clock was worth the soreness I’ll feel tomorrow. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shrug. “It was no big deal.”
We approach the coffee shop where we met last week. It’s closed at this hour, but we still stop to take a peek. It’s become a regular stop when I need something better than what’s served at the office. She sits on the bridge ledge of the windowsill as she comes to the end of her cone.
“I shouldn’t probably admit how boring my life is, but it’s nice being out of the apartment.” She sits, contentedly listening as I continue rambling. “I miss having an outdoor space, a patio to spread out on, or a short drive to the beach.”
“Have you always only lived in Los Angeles?”
Nodding, I look down the street and then back at her again. “I spent a few months in Seattle before I moved to New York.”
“The other CWM office,” she says, filling in the blanks. “The other night, you said you were here for two years. What is that deadline?”
“Imaginary. It’s just a mental note I keep.”
“Because it’s that bad living here?”
“No, because I left everything in LA, and some days, I get homesick. That doesn’t sound very mature—” I turn to face the sidewalk to block her gaze that’s determined to read me like a book.
“Being homesick isn’t about maturity. It’s about where your heart longs to be.” Popping to her feet, she takes her sweater from me and puts it back on. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Heading toward my place again, I look around at all the apartment buildings in the area, curious where she lives. “What about you? Is your heart in the city?”
“I’m open to change, but there’s no reason to right now.”
My curiosity getting the better of me, I finally ask, “Where do you live?” She raises an eyebrow along with one side of her mouth but doesn’t say anything. I add, “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. I’m just guessing it must be close, considering how fast you got to my building.”
“I’m close enough.” I leave it at that, knowing I don’t have a right to more than she’s willing to give. “Does anybody call you Andy?”
Annnnd that comes out of left field. Entertained by how her mind works, I reply, “No.”
“Did they ever?”
“Sure, when I was young and played baseball. Andy Christiansen sounded like a much cooler name to me at the time. My grandparents also called me that.”
“When did it change?”
Each step I take has me slowing while searching for a thoughtful response until I stop. I glance at her. “You know, I don’t remember. It wasn’t something that I chose. It just sort of happened.”
Nodding, she takes in my answer for a long moment, and then she says, “Andrew’s a tricky name.”
I laugh. It feels good to be kept on my toes. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
Without missing a beat, she walks quicker, matching the pace of her words. “Andrew is so grown up, but Andy is more like a kid’s name. Where do you fall in the scheme of things? And what do you feel about that?”
“I guess I’m somewhere in between. And . . .” My name is currently the last of my concerns. Do I care? All I know is that I’m falling into bed alone. Where on earth did that thought come from? But right now, I’m not so lonely with her.
She says, “And?”
“And nothing.” She chuckles as I continue wondering how my name changed without me noticing.
“If you could have any nickname, what would you choose?”
“I thought nicknames were something other people gave you?”
“I like Drew. I mean, oddly enough, I like the formal name, too. It’s a win-win. Andrew is reliable, the guy you’d trust with not only your money but also your life. So, I think you’re golden with either name you choose.”
I’m drawn to the one she chose. “I like Drew.”
“Next question,” she announces with more pep to her step.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Why’d you want to be CEO?” A few people—my brother, an ex-girlfriend, and a disgruntled employee, to be precise—think I only like to talk about myself. That’s not accurate. I’m not a narcissist, but I am confident in who I am and what I have to offer. Although with Juni, the last thing I want to do is hear myself speak. I prefer to listen to her much more. “Why so many questions?”
“You ask a lot as well,” she replies with a quick pop of the shoulders. “So I figured you were down with the get-to-know-you-stage of our friendship.”
“I’m down with twenty questions, but all is fair?—”
“This isn’t love, and it’s definitely not war.”
I revert to my comfort zone and do what I’m accused of. I ask, “Then what is it?”
“I’m not sure, actually.” She hooks her arm with mine, and we continue walking.
I could fill in the quiet air hanging around between us, but why? I like the sound of traffic and the bustling streets, when we talk and when neither feels the need. I like so much about her that she has me believing that eventually, I might like this city. Instead of doing anything else, I walk in the present with her on my arm.
We stop in front of my building, not close enough to have Gil jumping up, but where there’s plenty of light drifting onto the street. I ask, “You’re not going to let me walk you home?”
“No. How do I know if you’re a stalker or not?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Easily, but if you can’t tell, you’re just going to have to take the risk to find out.”
Stepping back, she crosses her arms and begins tapping her fingers. “Did you know there are only two plants in the entire office? And one’s an aloe, so officially, it doesn’t count since it’s a genus of flowering succulents.”
Her mind fascinates me. Her knowledge of plants is a very obscure party trick, or she’s really into gardening. She probably has a garden covering her balcony or a fire escape jam-packed with plants. “Aloe doesn’t count as a plant?”
“No, it definitely counts as a plant, but a succulent is—” She waves her hands, erasing the air. “Forget that. It doesn’t matter to the actual point I’m making.”
“Okay, what’s your point?”
“That the other one is a faux philodendron that was shoved on top of the refrigerator in the break room like that’s its natural habitat.” Leaning in and lowering her voice, she whispers, “I have a theory.”
“Do tell,” I say, playing along.
“I think someone actually discarded it.” I hear the offense in her voice when she covers her mouth, as if she can’t bear the thought of it. An unrecognizable emotion flashes through her expression as she looks at the night sky. “Probably that asshat Justin.” The conviction is gone, replaced by a quieter version of the woman I know.
Remembering what Nick told me about Justin crossing a line with Juni, though, has me calling him an asshole under my breath. I don’t even know what happened, but I know I’m safe in the assumption. I could ask her, but is that a line I shouldn’t cross? Should I talk to HR or keep out of it as I’ve always done?
With her continuing to stare up like she’s waiting for a sign from above, I’m starting to wonder if she’s purposely avoiding eye contact with me. I ask, “What happened with Justin?” I cross that line like it never existed.
That draws her attention immediately. “We should probably leave work at the office.” I’m not granted a smile or a wink, no laughter, or even the sense of who Juni normally is with me.
It’s then that I realize it’s not the emotion that’s unrecognizable. It’s her. “Talk to me.”
Moving farther away, she keeps her arms crossed when she turns her back to me, her stiffened body language keeping me at bay. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to talk to me as your friend.”
It takes a minute, but when she looks at me over her shoulder, her body eventually follows. “As my friend, you’ll keep this between us and not be CEO Andrew right now?”
“I’m always CEO Andrew, but what you tell me in private stays between us.”
“He didn’t say anything I can’t handle.” When her arms loosen and fall to her sides, her expression tempers. “Let’s not ruin the night. I felt like I was just getting to know the Ice Cream Drew ,” she says with an emerging grin. “But there will always be a special place in my heart for bossy CEO Andrew.”
I can get bossy if that’s what she’s into, but we’re supposed to be platonic. I run my hand over my hair, not sure what to say. Everything that comes to mind is inappropriate. Fuck. Who knew ice cream could lead to thoughts that veer toward the gutter?
I probably did if I thought about it. “I’m not always the Boy Scout you think I am. Despite the tie I put on each morning, I’m a man with flaws. I’ve gotten in more than my fair share of trouble, but there came a time when I had to choose between instant gratification and long-term satisfaction.”
Her expression is kind when she says, “I hate that you felt you had to be one or the other. You’re so much more than a prestigious title.” She starts backing away, but adds, “I can’t wait to watch you unravel.”
What would be considered an insult coming from any other person is a compliment from her. “Hey, where are you going?”
“We have work in the morning. I don’t want to give my boss a bad impression.”
Angling my head to watch her walk away, I rub my thumb over my lip, but then say, “You couldn’t if you tried, babe.”
A giggle escapes her, and she says, “I’ll see you in the morning. Babe .”
There’s so much more I want to tell her. That’s a sign to walk away before things turn from platonic to erotic. “Want me to walk you home?”
With her back to me, she waves over her head. “Good night, Drew.”
Drew. It’s hard to repress my smile. Why do I like hearing her say my name so much?
I turn to Gil, who’s holding the door open, and sigh. Two guys standing alone, one just witnessing the other getting shot down. “We’re just friends.”
He tips his head. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Christiansen.”
I will.