Chapter 22
Lior
What. Was. I. Doing?
Flirting, apparently. Even though I didn’t flirt.
That wasn’t me. I never gave men an opportunity to know I was interested, because that would mean giving up information, and I liked to keep my information private.
“Don’t show your cards too soon… or ever,” was another one of my mother’s mottos.
It had served me well over the years when it came to men and friends who really weren’t friends.
And yet here I was, going against my own rulebook with Graham Hot-as-Fuck Forrester.
Dear floor, please open up and swallow me whole. I have lost my damn mind.
What was it about this guy? A half hour ago I’d been pissed at him.
Sure, his explanation tracked. And sure, he was gorgeous, but I’d been around tons of gorgeous men.
It was a byproduct of my career. Maybe it was because he was a writer.
Maybe I somehow felt like I knew him. Like I’d seen into his soul through his beautiful prose and all-consuming stories.
Or was it because of the time we’d spent together lately, and seeing him as an actual human being had endeared him to me?
Was it all of those things combined and seeing him here today, in my environment, dressed and undressed, sexily unkempt and then shaven and cropped, had unhinged something I’d kept carefully locked down for years?
Fuckity fuck. Where was Addie when I needed her.
No, on second thought she’d be no help. She’d be rooting for this.
“Jerk,” I mumbled to myself.
But oh… the sight of his body had done something to me.
The feel of his skin against mine… My insides squeezed deliciously and I involuntarily tightened everything – primal need shooting through me like the lightning I’d been dressed as earlier.
I hadn’t had sex in a long time, despite what the public thought.
If not for my trusty vibrator, I’d probably have closed up shop down there.
And while my small arsenal of sexual toys had gotten me through, there really wasn’t anything like human touch.
I pictured Graham’s hands… his long, capable looking fingers and—
“Lior?”
Fuck’s sake, get a grip.
I took in a deep breath in an effort to clear my mind. Graham was outside my dressing room calling me and I was still only in my sports bra.
“Yup?” I said casually, poking my head out.
As bummed as I was that they’d sheared him, he looked like a god all clean shaven, his hair cut short around the ears and nape, the front swept casually to one side.
“Do you have plans after this or do you maybe want to go get a bite to eat?”
He was asking a lot of me. I’d just gone through the spectrum of emotions, capped off by spending hours seeing his body in all forms of undress – except completely undressed – and now he wanted me to sit across from him and pretend I hadn’t and wasn’t thinking naughty thoughts?
“As long as we go somewhere sweatpants acceptable,” I said while inwardly berating my lack of resolve.
“Deal.”
He disappeared again and I wanted to kick myself for showing up for the shoot dressed like a slob like I normally did.
He looked gorgeous in faded jeans and a fitted black t-shirt.
Maybe I’d keep some of the makeup on to offset my unkempt aesthetic?
Or would anyone notice if I stole some clothes?
I’m sure I wouldn’t look strange walking the streets in tulle and chains – this was Manhattan after all.
Though Daniela might mind her designs getting ketchup dripped on them.
Finally dressed, I moved to the vanity and began wiping at my face, removing the shimmer and foundation and swapping white mascara for black.
I added a touch of lip gloss, grabbed my purse and hurried out the curtain door to find Graham standing off to the side waiting for me. My breath caught at the sight of him.
As soon as we left the Vogue offices, hunger hit me hard. I’d snacked sparingly on nuts while shooting, too afraid I’d end up with food in my teeth. I needed to eat.
“Do you mind?” I pointed to the hot dog vendor on the corner. “I haven’t eaten all day except for a few handfuls of almonds.”
He stared at me for a moment and then started to laugh.
“How do you look like that and eat donut holes and hot dogs?” he asked.
“It’s the official model diet. Didn’t you know?”
“This explains so much. Okay. Let’s get a couple of dogs and walk,” he said.
And so we did, meandering north and talking in-between bites. When we finished, we popped into a corner bodega, each of us grabbing bottles of water before continuing on our way.
It was nice, just walking and talking with nowhere to be. No time limit. No one rushing the other. No agendas. And no paparazzi – my baseball hat, sunglasses, and baggy attire doing their usual camouflage act.
He told me about growing up in Oregon, his parent’s divorce, his relationship with his mom, and how her death had knocked him sideways.
“She was my best friend,” he said. “My dad is great. We’re very close and always have been.
But my mom was a special soul. She saw me like others didn’t and always gave it to me straight rather than trying to hide things from me.
All my friends loved her too. She was like our Yoda.
If you had a problem, you came and talked to Carole. ”
I smiled. “She sounds a lot like Addie’s mom, who was more a mom to me than my own was. Though, going to her for advice could be a crapshoot.” I laughed, remembering the feisty opinions Mel had given us over the years. Most of it not to be repeated.
“What was your relationship like with your dad?” Graham asked.
“Amazing. He was just good. Decent. Kind and witty and quiet. He had this magnetism to him that made people gravitate to him. Including me. If he was in the house, I wanted to be in the same room, even if we weren’t talking.
His presence was large and soft and safe.
After my parent’s split, I wanted to live solely with him, but of course my mother wouldn’t have it.
” I rolled my eyes. “The optics. And my father knew I’d benefit from living with us both.
” I made a face. “I’m still on the fence about that actually. ”
Graham laughed, but a moment later he sobered. “And when he died?”
We had just made it to Central Park and I motioned to Graham to follow me, finding a spot in the shade of a tree to take a seat in the grass. I thought about his question, pulling a blade of grass from the ground and sliding it between my fingers over and over.
“I was devastated,” I finally said, my voice quiet.
“He was the one I went to with questions, problems… all my crazy ideas. When I was at my mom’s house, I would call him late at night and he’d just sit on the phone with me for however long I needed – even though he had to be up early for work.
His death took my legs out from under me. ”
I grew quiet, remembering.
“When we found out he’d left the house to me, my mom wanted to sell it. I nearly launched myself at her. If Cal hadn’t been there, she might’ve lost her fake eyelashes.”
I grinned and Graham laughed quietly before reaching over and taking my hand, the warmth of his sending heat through my entire body.
“I’m sorry. I know it was a long time ago now, but I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, my eyes filling with tears, and tightened my fingers around his.
“I’m sorry too.”
We sat there quietly then, holding hands in the park, watching a myriad of people wandering, jogging, laughing, talking.
After a while we made our way out of the park and stood on the sidewalk contemplating dinner options and restaurants that wouldn’t blink an eye at my outfit.
We settled on tacos and margaritas, making our way to Vida Verde where we were seated on the colorful rooftop at one of their aqua-colored tables, surrounded by beautiful murals and plants.
We immediately ordered chips and their trio of guacamole, a peach margarita for me, and a blue coconut margarita for him.
“You’re going to have a blue tongue,” I said.
“Why do you think I got it?”
We ordered three different kinds of tacos and shared, tried one another’s drinks and swapped, and pondered for far too long if we should get dessert there or on our way back to Brooklyn.
“I made more cookies last night,” I said.
“What kind?”
“Snickerdoodle.”
“Hm,” he said. “Tempting. I have Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer.”
“Flavor?”
“Flavors,” he said, stressing the plural.
“Are you rich?” I whispered, my eyes wide.
“Terribly.”
We giggled, finished off our second round of margaritas, and went outside to hail a cab.
“Ben and Jerry’s?” Graham asked when we got in. “I should actually check in on Bronte. I’ve been gone a while.”
“Ice cream and Bronte sounds perfect,” I said.
He rattled off an address and we were on our way.
We could hear Bronte snuffling at the door as we stood on the front porch, Graham digging his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door but didn’t open it.
“For the record,” he said. “It was not my idea.”
“What?” I asked, frowning in confusion.
And then he opened the door.
“Oh,” I said, stepping inside, my eyes wide as I took it in.
“Oh Graham. No.” I slapped a hand over my mouth and started to laugh as I slipped off my shoes and walked deeper inside, Bronte beside me.
I knelt beside her, scratching behind an ear.
“Is it… a mausoleum?” I whispered to her.
“Is someone famous buried here? Is it a museum?” I stood and touched a finger to a small sculpture of. .. “Is this a boob?”
Graham snicked and waved a hand. “Have at it.”
I did. Each room was white on white on white.
It was bright. Glaringly so. Glass and acrylic and white stone and ceramic.
I ran my hand over the back of a mid-century style white patent leather sofa, poked at a lamp shade that looked like was made of bubbles, and shivered from the cold white tiles under my feet.
“Did she hate color?” I asked. “Where do you find comfort?”
He looked amused as I moved on to the kitchen, poking my head into a powder room on the way. Bronte had curled up in her bed next to the acrylic kitchen table once she’d gotten a hello from me. Her space was the only comfortable looking spot I’d seen so far.
White dishes, white cups, crystal glasses, silverware with white handles…
“Graham,” I said, my voice filled with… awe? Horror?
“I spilled spaghetti sauce in here once,” he said. “That’s the night I learned we don’t cook red in here.”
“You don’t cook… red?”
“That’s what she told me.”
I pursed my lips, trying not to burst out laughing.
“It’s… soulless,” I said. “And you’re so…”
“I’m so what?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine.
I took in a breath and let it out slowly. “You’re so not.”
The second floor wasn’t much better, though Graham had clearly reclaimed some of the space since his ex had left.
There were small white hand-weights piled in the corner of the home gym, new black weight plates and bars stacked on a black rack, and hand towels in shades of blue and beige folded on a shelf.
Her office across the hall, which was mostly cleaned out, save for a mirrored desk and fuzzy white chair, looked like a showroom for futuristic meetings.
The next door down housed his office.
“This and the bedroom are the only rooms I’ve really touched since she left,” he said as I stepped inside.
“I dropped all the furniture she chose at a local donation site and got mine from the storage unit I’d had to get.
The only thing I haven’t touched is the paint.
But I’ll get to it eventually. If I don’t just up and move. ”
“I knew you had to be in here somewhere,” I said as I walked around, touching books, plant pots and a beautiful fountain pen.
The walls were a green that somehow managed to be more cold than welcoming.
But, beyond that, there was a beautiful old, weathered desk with a burgundy leather inlay that sat by the window, looking out over the street.
On the white-washed wood flooring that covered the whole of the second floor, was a thick rug with a taupe on cream design.
And there were books everywhere. On shelves, stacked on his desk, and piled on the floor.
On one wall was a bulletin board covered in notes, quotes, and photos. On the other walls were framed prints of men reading, writing, and typing on vintage typewriters.
“You love what you do, don’t you,” I said. It wasn’t a question. It was clear to me as soon as I stepped into this room.
“I do,” he said. “I’ve had stories in my head since I was kid. Making a living out of it is a dream come true, and I don’t take one day of it for granted. I know there are so many people out there just trying to get that first deal. I’m very lucky.”
“You’re very talented. Don’t downplay that.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Thank you. It’s not always easy. It definitely makes me crazy some days, and I sometimes worry the ideas will stop coming. But I never want to stop. It truly is my dream job.”
“Well, I hope you never do. I love your words.”
We stood there smiling softly at one another for a long moment, something heated passing between us.
I could feel my heartbeat, my body responding to being in such close proximity to his, moments from our photo shoot coming back to me.
His skin against mine, his breath in my hair…
We hadn’t gone to the third floor yet where the master bedroom must be, and I had a feeling it was best we didn’t.
I liked him. I didn’t want to ruin this tentative friendship.
“Ice cream?” I said.
He took in a long breath and nodded.
“Ice cream,” he said.
And with that, we went back downstairs to raid the freezer and cool off.