Chapter Twenty-Five
Untitled
Skye
"Oh my gosh. I'm so full," I say as I rub my stomach.
Kingston and I leave the French restaurant, and I look up at him with a small smile.
"Thank you so much. Delicious dinner, and those profiteroles were to die for."
"I'm glad you enjoyed them." He grins. "Thank you for sharing.”
"You're welcome." I feel a lightness in my step that I haven't felt in a long while. "So what's next?"
"Would you believe me if I said we're off to the airport?"
"Say what?" I say through narrowed eyes.
"No, no," he says, laughing. "Sorry. Bad joke."
"Oh, no worries. I didn't actually think we were off to the airport."
Disappointment floods through me, and I look away. I don't want him to think that I'm that gullible.
"Hey," he says. "I do have something really fun planned though. It's a surprise. I hope you'll enjoy it."
"I'm sure I will," I say, nodding. "And also, thanks for being a great listener at dinner. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," he says. "I just want you to know that lots of us experiment in life with sex, with drugs, with rock and roll.
" He chuckles. "And it's okay. It's a phase we go through.
Some of us do it in our twenties, and some of us do it as teens.
Shit, some of us wait until we're geriatrics and realize we haven't experienced life.
I just want you to know that if there's anything that you want to experiment with, I'm a safe place.
You can confide in me anything, ask to do anything, and I will see if I can make it happen. "
Is this really Kingston Chase, the most infuriating, annoying man I've ever met in my life, telling me that he'd be my safe place? What is happening in the universe?
”You look shocked," he says.
"I just don't know what to say. That's really touching. Thank you." I nod. "To be honest, I've never wanted to experiment with drugs, and sex is something I am enjoying with someone I know right now," I say, and then I groan. "Okay, that came out really awkwardly."
"It's okay. I think I know what you mean. You up for a walk?"
I nod vigorously. "Yeah. Depending on how long, but I could sure walk off that steak and those profiteroles."
"It should only be about twenty minutes."
"Sounds good," I say.
We walk down the streets of New York and watch the traffic pass us by. A gaggle of girls walks past us, giggling and laughing about some restaurant they just dined and dashed in. Kingston and I share amused glances. Then comes a group of three guys, talking about starting a band and hitting it big.
"My uncle says he knows a manager," a skinny kid with spiky hair says. "And he can get us signed. This time next year, we'll be millionaires."
"Sounds rad, dude," another guy with purple hair says. They high-five, and Kingston and I share another amused glance.
Then comes an elderly woman muttering to herself. "Three eggs, a loaf of bread, jam. Three eggs, a loaf of bread, jam." She looks up at us. "Grocery list." She smiles. "Three eggs, a loaf of bread…" She pauses. "Oh gosh, darn it. I've forgotten it."
"Jam," I say with a smile.
"That's it. Thank you, dearie. Three eggs, loaf of bread, jam," she continues.
I look up at Kingston, and he's watching me with an inscrutable expression on his face. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
"You know something, Skye?"
"No. What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking that you're such a pleasure and a blessing to people. You're always so helpful."
"Thanks, I think. That's not your way of telling me you want me to do more work tonight, right?"
"No," he says, laughing. "Though, maybe."
"Oh my gosh. I do not want to go through any more folders or files." I groan.
"I don't mean the legal work."
"Then what sort of work do you mean?"
"I mean on top work.”
“What?" Then it dawns on me what he means. "Oh, you want me to be on top?"
"If you'd like to ride."
"I'm a pretty good rider."
"Well, then this horsey can't wait to be ridden."
"Oh my gosh. That sounded gross."
"I know. It didn't sound as cool as I thought it was going to."
We turn onto Third Avenue, and he grabs my hand.
It feels nice holding hands and walking down the street, but surprisingly, it feels like we're a couple.
I don't know if I should mention that to him.
I don't think it's a good idea for friends with benefits to be holding hands, walking down the street on a Saturday night.
But at this moment, I don't want to think about the do's and the don'ts and the cans and the cannots of this arrangement. I just want to enjoy it.
"Do you know something I'm scared of?" he asks out of the blue.
"Spiders, I guess."
"No."
"Snakes?"
"No. Actually, I quite like snakes."
"You like snakes? Oh my gosh, you're disgusting. Who likes snakes?"
"I think they're kind of cool creatures. They can be so long, and they can eat things so humongous."
"They can eat you," I say, and he chuckles.
"But no, not snakes. I'll give you a couple more guesses."
"Um, alligators?"
"I don't like alligators, but I'm not scared of them," he says.
"Losing cases in court." My face lights up as he wrinkles his nose.
"I don't like losing cases in court, but I'm not scared of that, either."
"I give up. What are you scared of?"
"Going through tunnels," he says.
"Going through tunnels?" I look at him in confusion.
"Yeah, driving through long tunnels. It triggers me. It activates a deep-seated fear inside of me."
"What do you think is going to happen in a tunnel?"
"I feel like it might collapse, and the earth and the cement and the concrete will cave in on me, and cars will crash and pile up, and I'll be stuck.
"Oh, wow. Why do you have that fear? Is it something that's happened to someone you know?”
He looks at me for a few seconds and shakes his head. "No, it's because I was a stupid kid."
“You were? Tell me more.”
"When I was younger, there was this movie, and my parents told me not to watch it, but of course, I watched it.
And there was a scene where some miners went underground, and they were traveling to a different part of the mine in a little train in a tunnel, and it caved in.
They were stuck there for, I think, a few days, and they ended up all dying from lack of oxygen, lack of water, and lack of food.
I've never been able to forget that movie or that scene.”
"Oh, that sounds traumatic."
He nods. "If I'd listened to my parents, I wouldn't have watched the movie, but I did, and now every time I drive through a tunnel, I think to myself, what would I do if it caved in?"
"Oh, man." I stare at him. "Do you drive through a lot of tunnels?"
"No, not anymore." He shakes his head. "So what about you? Any fears?"
" I hate spiders. I hate snakes. I hate cockroaches." I shudder. "Oh, boy, do I hate cockroaches."
"That sounds like you've had an experience. Want to tell?"
"Well, my grandparents used to live in Florida, and I remember one summer we went to visit, and I was lying in bed, and I was feeling comfortable and smiling and laughing."
"Smiling and laughing?" he says.
"Yeah, I was speaking to my cousin. We were talking about the previous day when we were at Disney."
"Oh, okay. Disney's fun."
"Yeah, it's a lot of fun. Anyway, we were joking around, and then I started to fall asleep.
Then I felt something tickling me, and I was like, 'Lucy, stop.
' But no one responded, and she continued tickling me.
So I was like, 'Lucy, stop.' And then she wakes up, and she's all groggy, and she's like, 'What?
' I'm like, 'Stop tickling me, Lucy.' And she was like, 'What are you talking about?
I was sleeping.' So, I turn on the light…
" I shudder. "And there was a big-ass cockroach running across my body.
" I almost scream again. "Oh, the memory of it, it makes me want to die. "
His lip twitches. "That does sound traumatic."
"It's not funny. It was awful."
"I'm sure it was."
"That's why I say I could never live in Florida."
"Oh?"
"Because the cockroaches, they love that heat. They don't love cold places."
"You know we have cockroaches in New York as well."
"I know. Don't remind me." I wrinkle my nose. "But yeah, I hate them. I hate them so much."
"Well, I can certainly understand that." He stops suddenly and squeezes my hand. "Wait here."
I look up, and I see we're outside a laundromat. "We're getting your laundry?" I ask him in confusion.
"No, silly," he says, shaking his head as he pushes the door open.
I see a big, bulky guy standing to the side. "Got any laundry tonight?" he asks.
"Three loads," Kingston says, and I stare at him.
"You have three loads of laundry that you're picking up? Oh my gosh. Do I have to carry this laundry back to your apartment? How far away is—"
"No, silly," he says, shaking his head.
The bulky guy looks at Kingston, then looks at me. "Three loads, huh?"
Kingston nods. "Yes, sir."
"Any dry cleaning?"
"Yep. two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth."
"Sounds good, sir."
The guy steps to the side, grabs something from behind him, and hands it to Kingston, who hands it to me. It's a ticket that looks like it's to pick up dry cleaning.
"Um, we're picking up your dry cleaning as well?"
"No, goof. We're at a speakeasy. This is just a front."
"Oh my gosh. This is a speakeasy?" I say excitedly. "Disguised as a laundromat?"
"Yep, but you have to put that little ticket over here, and the door will open."
"Oh, this is so cool." I beam at him. "Because you know I was going to kill you if you brought me to a laundromat to pick up your laundry."
"I wouldn't do that," he says, laughing.
"Yeah, well, you never know with some guys."
"Oh? It sounds like you speak from experience."