Chapter 12
12
YOU LOOK MORE LIKE A HOMELESS SURFER DUDE
I take in everything about his place. His black leather sectional, big enough to seat a family of ten, compared to my cream fabric. An impressive eighty-five-inch tv mounted flush to the wall taking up all the space in lieu of any décor.
Where I have photos of me and my friends on end tables, he has plain wooden coasters and lamps with sharp edges. His place is the dark contrast to my light. Every piece in this place has a purpose, whereas I decorate for mostly comfort.
It’s very masculine . Has it always been this way? Or had he done a complete overhaul when his ex-girlfriend moved out? The thought of his ex living here suddenly makes me want to follow through with my threat of punching her in the throat from earlier. I don’t like the thought of another woman, especially someone as vile as his ex, sharing the same space as this man.
What the hell.
I do not need to become some violent threat to society because Riley has an ex.
He isn't even mine.
We aren’t even on a date.
I made sure of that at lunch. Plus, I don’t need to have all the experience in the world with men to know that if I were to ever give myself over to Riley and if he were to ever leave, my world would be broken so irrevocably I’m not sure if I would ever be able to rebuild the parts of me that make up who I am. A risk that I don’t think I can ever take even if the reward would be life altering in the best possible ways imaginable for however many moments we had together.
So, this, him, in this capacity, as my friend, my fortuitous confidant, would need to be enough.
I have to pull myself from my thoughts, violent or otherwise. I hear Riley emerge from his bedroom. The sight of him in just his swimming trunks practically melts any reserve I had about not giving myself fully to this man. Up until this point, everything that was hidden by his clothes, were conjured up images of my mind’s eye, but none of it held a candle to Riley in real life.
Shirtless.
Exposed.
Am I drooling?
He strolls into the living room and into the open kitchen completely unaware of the effect he has on me. And probably the entire female population. I try to look away but my eyes are drawn to him. The men I had been with before had been boys compared to Riley. They didn’t have the defined chest, the sculpted stomach showing the lack of carb intake, or the two lines forming a V that disappear beneath the start of his waistband.
They are described perfectly in Two Broke Girls, “I don’t know what those ar e called but they make smart girls stupid.” I didn’t know what they truly meant until now.
“Do I need to pack any drinks or food for this unexplained adventure?” I’m thankful for the mental intrusion. I need to start getting a grip on my thoughts before they turn my life upside down.
“Um,” I stutter, trying to answer his question while the Riley induced fog dissipates from my mind. “No, I have everything covered, plus we have a stop to make along the way.”
“I feel extremely under prepared with just swimming trunks but OK.”
I laugh, “I mean, we are walking back to my place on very public streets. I’d recommend a shirt and some shoes,” Riley dips his head in agreement and walks towards his bedroom, “oh and sweats for after!” I bellow towards the empty doorway.
It takes Riley all of two minutes to gather his belongings, walk back into the living room with a shirt on, and a backpack slung over his shoulders with what I assume are the articles of loose clothing I suggested. He goes to the coat closet, slips on some leather flip flops, fishes out some aviators, and then we are off to my place.
“Are you going to tell me why I’m dressed like an Abercrombie model strolling down the street on a Thursday?” Riley asks as we walk the two blocks to my building. “I’m feeling extremely underdressed compared to the men and women dressed in typical business attire for this time of day. Even you’re dressed for an office!” He exclaims.
“Don’t flatter yourself, you look more like a homeless surfer dude, lose the shirt and maybe you’d pass for an Abercrombie model,” I tease, knowing damn well he could pass as an Abercrombie model in a garbage bag. I eye him up and down from his fitted t-shirt, trunks, and flip flops.
I stop at the convenience store at the corner of my block to grab a few essentials. Riley, still unsure of the plans, notes the basket I’m filling with enough limes, margarita mix, various chips, and desserts to host a super bowl party. “How many people are joining?” he asks curiously while grabbing the basket from me.
“Just us. Why?”
Riley’s eyes pop from his sockets in surprise. “Who eats like this?!”
I chuckle humorously, “we do,” and continue to the register.
“A bad day, Ms. Amelia?” asks the older gentleman with peppered gray hair and thick spectacles behind the counter.
Offering him a smile, “the worst ,” I exaggerate.
Clearly showing that this is not the first time I had met this man and definitely not the first time I’ve bought this combination of groceries from his store.
While I’m rummaging for my wallet, Riley hands over his card to pay for the total.
“Hey!” I squeal. “This was supposed to be my treat!”
“I don’t know how many times I need to say it…”
“Yeah yeah, I get it. Chivalry isn’t dead,” I interrupt. “Fine! BUT,” I emphasize with my pointer finger in the air, “I take care of everything else for the rest of the day. Monetary and otherwise!”
Riley scrunches his lips together, eyebrows raised, and nods his head insinuating a false promise to comply. We thank the man behind the register. Riley grabs the two hefty bags filled with m y chosen sinful delights, and we walk the remaining half block to my front door.
Upon arrival at my building, Anthony lets out a small laugh, noticing I’m in a cheerful mood despite my choice of groceries visible through the sheer bags in Riley’s hands and greets us with sarcasm. “One of those days huh, Ms. Amelia?”
“You have no idea !” I exaggerate the words again with my response as I smile at him.
“Sir,” Anthony greets Riley with weary respect.
“Riley, please,” he urges the use of non-formalities.
Anthony holds the door open and ushers us into the air conditioning. We walk across the wide-open lobby.
White marble covers the expanse of the floor and up the fifteen-foot walls. One wall, opposite the entrance with floor to ceiling glass, is accented with gold sconces between three large nine-foot brushed gold mirrors. Another wall houses the waterfall concierge counter made of a white lacquered material that a set of employees sit behind. The ceiling is speckled with resplendent chandeliers illuminating the entrance with a soft warm glow, unlike most high rises that lean towards stark white lights, this building chose an ambiance resembling that of a spa.
Which is why I chose this building over any other. I feel immediately relaxed walking inside.
I lead Riley towards the triple elevator bank located along the final wall. When we step into the large metal lift, I swipe my keys across the sensor below the collection of buttons and when the light flashes green, I press the top most silver button to my floor.