8. Brooke
Brooke
Janine stares at me with her beautiful brown eyes practically bugging out of her head. She's sitting there, stunned, after I recounted every sordid detail of the conference table's defiling. It's probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in that room, to be honest, but I just feel so guilty. Even though I'm craving it again.
"Sorry, I think I went temporarily deaf. You did what?" Janine shrieks.
I cringe. "I… fucked my high school ex-boyfriend on the conference table?"
"Jesus God, Brooke! Go you!" Janine holds her hand up for a high five and I slap her palm, more out of habit than anything.
"I mean, no! Not go me! I can't—we can't do that again. We could both get fired. I could lose everything… again." I spin the wine bottle's twist-off cap and flick it away. There's no need for glasses tonight. Raising the cold bottle to my mouth, I chug down several gulps and grimace at the dry taste. "Ugh. What is this? It's not ro sé."
"It's pinot grigio, you bumpkin. It's not supposed to be sweet like your sugar wine." Janine sniffs. "Give it here if you don't want it."
"Sure, fine," I grumble. "Maybe one of your ex-roomies left some white zin behind."
"No need," Janine mumbles as she whips out her phone. Her thumb flies across the screen before she clicks it off again. "Done. Four bottles of your sugar wine will be here in twenty—maybe thirty—minutes."
"God, you're amazing." I laugh and allow myself to settle deeper into Janine's sofa.
"I know I am, love. But seriously, why can't you do it again? Keep it outside of the office. You could, I dunno, go out on the town? End up back at your place? Maybe his?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
"Because it's Dustin! I hadn't thought about him in years. And, uh, I kind of dumped him via snail mail letter in college. I was… not nice," I mumble and chew my lower lip.
"Okay… okay. Snail mail letter? Jesus, when did you go to college—the 1800s? Never mind that—he's obviously game, girl. He blew your back out literally today ." Her phone vibrates, and she checks the screen. "Oh, good. The wine is on the way."
"That's the best news I've heard all day," I grumble. "Gimme the gross wine. I'm too sober for this. "
"You're such a child," Janine laughs and hands over the bottle.
"I'm not a child. I just like my drinks to taste good, that's all." I take another hefty swig and wince again. "Oh, how's the roommate search coming along?"
"Could be worse. I'm kind of enjoying the place to myself for now, but that's not sustainable." She sighs. "Even with the rent stabilization, it's too much for one person to afford. I had to ask my aunt for a loan this month."
"Yeesh. I'm sorry, babe. You know I'd move in in a heartbeat if I didn't have to pay a sublet break fee."
"I know."
Janine's door buzzer sounds out, and we both flinch. I shake myself and force a laugh. "Jesus, that's loud. I'll get it."
Three bottles later, I feel great . Better than great. I feel fucking awesome. Janine's playlist is the perfect showcase of all the late 90s and early 2000s hits. Have I always been this good of a dancer? It's a fucking crime that people haven't seen this.
It's a crying shame Dustin can't see this .
"Hey!" I spin around and wobble, catching myself on the back of Janine's sofa. "I should call Dustin . It's only… what time is it?"
"The night is young, girl!" Janine cackles. "Call that boy! Let him know what he's missing!"
"Yeah! Oh.…" I trail off, sadness leaking into my bones. "I don't have his phone number."
"What about his email?" Janine raises a finger. "Guys love it when you email them after midnight. It's very sexy."
"You're so right, babe." I pull out my phone and type in the passcode. Or, I try to. Did it always have that many numbers? That's dumb. Who would want to get into my phone? After a couple of tries, it finally lets me in. Pulling up my work email, I find our thread and tap on it.
Jackpot .
"Janine, you're never gonna believe this," I announce with a smile. "He's got his personal phone number in his signature ."
"Perfection! Give him a little ol' ring-a-ding-ding, if you know what I mean, toots!" She morphs into an old-timey transatlantic accent and mimes smoking a cigarette.
Phones are great. I just tap on the number in his signature, and it asks me if I want to call him. Why yes, yes I do. As it rings, I tap the speakerphone button, and Janine huddles in close. Neither of us can contain our giggles. After the third—or maybe fifth?—ring, he finally picks up.
"Dustin Sanders, Atmosphere," he says groggily.
"Ooh, how fancy," Janine gasps.
"Heeeey, Dus-dus. It's me!" I squeal. "Ya know… me?"
"Girl, he can't see you winking. You're on a phone ." Janine yanks my phone away from me and scuttles to the other side of her living room. "Dustin, this is Janine—Brooke's very best friend in the whole wild world. I heard you blew her back out. Would you like to do that again?"
I gasp. "No! He's not supposed to! He's just supposed to see me dance ." I throw my hands in the air because I truly do not care and swivel my hips around.
"Oh, my god." Dustin's voice crackles over the speaker, and I hear something that sounds like rustling. "Are you ladies drunk?"
"Why yes, yes we are!" Janine happily announces. "And Brooke is just the best dancer. Did you know that?"
"I… did not," he mumbles.
"Come over and see!" My very best friend in the world is the best wingwoman. Ever. I'm getting her a trophy. "I'll text you the address. Toodles!"
"Wait, wha—"
Beep .
"Am I good, or am I good?" Janine takes a bow.
"Truly the best," I agree. "Now how do we send him the address? Side note: is this still a good idea?"
"Oh, darling dear. This is the best idea." She nods solemnly. "You can tell because we both agree. Also, I texted him. Yay!"
We jump around and squeal like we're back in college together. And the best song of my youth rings out over her speaker system. We gasp and flail around, trying to imitate Lady Gaga's moves from the music video before falling all over each other. Yep, I'm the very best dancer in the world.
Glancing at the clock, I see that it's just about two in the morning. Janine was right—the night is young. You know, if smaller numbers meant younger nights. Or whatever. Is Dustin really gonna show up here? I don't know where he's staying in the city. But Janine's Manhattan apartment is much more central to pretty much everything, as opposed to my Brooklyn bedroom.
Time escapes us as we dance the night away, paying no mind to anything outside of these four walls. I feel incredible. My life is great. I'm free from my ex-husband, I have a good job, I have the best friend in the world. On the planet. Forever and ever, amen. Thoughts of anything else in the world slip away from my mind until the door buzzer goes off again, scaring the hell out of both of us.
"God, that thing is so loud!" I complain and stalk over to the button on the wall. "Hellooo? "
"Brooke? Let me in," a muffled voice sounds out, staticky and hazy.
"Who is this?" I demand. A crackly sigh echoes through the room as Janine turns down her speakers.
"It's Dustin. Can you please open the door."
Dustin? Here? He must have heard the siren call of my amazing dance moves. "Of course!"
Janine guides me to the correct button to unlock the building's door. I'm sure I look stunned, but Janine just smiles broadly and gives me two big thumbs up. "Here's to getting backshots twice in a day, babe."
I quickly pull the hair tie out of my ponytail and fluff my waves. I'm still wearing my work clothes, but that didn't stop him earlier. Oh! Maybe Janine has a silk robe I can borrow? I quickly turn to her to ask, but a gentle knock sounds at the door. Shit.
"Janine!" I hiss. "Can I borrow a robe? And can you get that?"
Her eyes light up. "Yes! Perfect! Check the bathroom—I'll handle the door!"
I scurry—and stumble—to Janine's bathroom and find her hot pink silk robe. I'm thicker than she is, but she's taller, so it'll probably fit. I hope. Dropping my work clothes to the floor, I kick them into her laundry pile and shimmy into the robe. It's delightfully cold against my alcohol-flushed skin. And it just barely covers all my bits and pieces. Giving myself a wobbly thumbs-up in the mirror, I return to the living room where Dustin is rubbing his eyes and scowling.
"Well, hello ." I lean against the hallway doorframe—kind of. I miss on my first try, but I don't think he noticed. Smooth as hell.
"Jesus, Brooke," he hisses as his eyes sweep up and down my frame. "Are you okay? I mean, you were pretty flustered when you left the office—I was too—but, god, what is going on?"
"She's the best dancer in the world, that's what," Janine announces. "And you just have to see."
"Oh, god," he groans. "Alright, ladies, I think you've had a very eventful evening. Let's get you both to bed, okay?"
"Both of us?" I gasp. "Wow, you've really changed. Well, if you're sure… Janine?"
"Oh! Well, I haven't shaved in a while—you know how it goes, right—but… I'm game?" She flutters her lashes at Dustin, who doesn't look as excited as I would expect for a man who's about to bone two exceptionally gorgeous women.
He heaves out a weary sigh. "No. You both need to go to bed and go to sleep ."
I'd like to say we put up some great arguments against his direction, but we don't. His authoritative commands make any rebellion wither in my mouth and I just bow my head and shuffle off to Janine's delightfully soft king-size bed and curl up with one of her pillows. She follows right behind me and flops into bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Good night, Mister Tall, Pale, and Bossy." She sticks her tongue out at him and I shake the bed with my raucous giggles.
"Good night, ladies."
Honking cars and muffled yelling floats through the air, rousing me from my sleep. Morning sunlight softly illuminates the bedroom, filtered by the delicate white curtains. It's objectively pretty, but all I want to do is burrow into the sheets and hibernate until the hangover from hell dissipates.
Unfortunately, nature calls. With a grunt, I hoist myself out of bed and shuffle toward the bathroom with bleary eyes. My foot hits something hard and warm, and the something yelps.
"Ugh," a masculine-sounding voice groans.
My heart stops, and adrenaline floods my system. Fuck! There's a man here? In Janine's apartment? Shit, did he break in? I leap back to the bed and land half-on Janine.
"Jesus!" she yelps. "What's wrong? What's happening? "
"There's a man on your floor," I stage-whisper. "Where's your bat?"
"Please, no bats," the man grumbles. "God, I never should have come here. I'm an idiot."
Recognition clicks in my exceptionally fuzzy brain. "Holy shit, Dustin?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you here?" I hiss.
"Please, take it somewhere else," Janine moans and yanks the blanket away from me. "Tryin' to sleep."
My cheeks are on fire. Dustin rolls over and pushes himself off of the floor, returning a pillow to Janine's bed with whispered thanks. Oh, my god. Why is he here? What happened last night?
Dustin cocks his head towards the bedroom door and motions for me to follow him. Mortification burns through my body as I sullenly follow him. Is it just me, or is Janine's apartment more breezy than I remember? The heat of my embarrassment battles with the chilly air, and goosebumps win. Looking down, my heart stops— again —and I quickly wrap the silk robe around myself and triple-knot the sash.
"Does your friend have a coffee machine?" Dustin asks softly and I nod. He grunts his acknowledgment and busies himself in the tiny but well-appointed kitchen.
I curl up on the sofa and tuck my feet under myself. Can the earth open and swallow me up? Is that possible? I'd really, really like that. I'm not sure what happened last night, but Dustin's here—after he fucked my brains out in the office.
"Oh, no," I whisper. What's wrong with me? How did I get here? Am I so touch-starved that I let my high school ex hit it on the conference table? I'm nearly thirty-two; these kinds of shenanigans should be well behind me. This is absurd. I'm absurd. But why the hell is he here?
"Yep," Dustin says as he reappears and hands me a cup of coffee. "You had a bit of a wild night, B."
"Can we skip the lecture?" I groan and take a long sip. Huh. He remembers how I like my coffee? He added the perfect amount of brown sugar—I can taste the little hint of it along with the oat milk. "I'm sorry."
Dustin sighs and sips from his own cup. "Truce?"
"Truce." I can't help but sneak a peek at him. His chestnut hair is pushed up on one side, probably from where he slept on the floor. The lace from the pillow cover left pink imprints on his cheek.
"We still have to work together," he begins slowly, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. "And, um, we got the tension out of our systems."
"That we did," I agree.
"And… I'm sorry." He slurps another gulp of his coffee. "For stealing your stupid cupcake."
"Thanks. "
A tense silence falls between us. How did he get here? Why did he come here? What did I do? What did I say?
"Um—" I start, but he raises a hand.
"Nothing happened, uh, after the office. You and your friend called me around… oh, I don't know, sometime after midnight? I was asleep. Your friend—Janine—informed me that you're the best dancer on the face of the planet and that I had to come see." A smile flits across his face, but he quickly schools himself into a neutral expression. "You both sounded, um, pretty far gone. And I was going to fall back asleep and pretend it never happened, but you sounded really out of it. And I got a little worried."
Jesus. I slap a hand to my eyes and groan loudly. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't. You obviously had a handle on everything. Do you… drink this much very often?"
"No!" I quickly eject. "No. Like, quarterly. Maybe. If I've had a rough week at work. I was just mad—because of your after-hours meeting, honestly. And then confused because of how the, uh, meeting turned out."
"That's my fault," he grunts. "I'm sorry. Really."
"Apology accepted." I quickly chug the rest of my coffee and lumber to my feet to pour another cup. A stabbing pain slices behind my eyes, and I wince. Maybe I can double-fist coffee and water. Oh, or ibuprofen—I know Janine has a bottle somewhere.
"Hey, Brooke?" Dustin calls from the couch. "It's really nice to see you again."
I nearly drop my coffee mug into Janine's sink. Is he serious? Nice? We've been at each other's throats the whole time he's been here. And it's only been three days.
"Uh—you, too."