21. Dani
DANI
Graham’s jaw is clenched so tight I see the muscle jumping. His teeth grind. Then, without warning, he wrenches the steering wheel hard.
I scream as the car skids off the road, the tires sliding uselessly over snow, before it jerks to a stop.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, lying to me?” His hand slams against the back of my seat, the sound sharp and violent.
“Lying to you about what?”
“About Kraig. You’re fucking in love with him,” he snarls.
Lulu whines from the back seat.
“I don’t even know him.”
“He’s your work crush,” he spits out. “You obviously know him enough to bake cookies for him.”
“I’m just trying to be nice,” I shoot back. “Because that’s what normal people do. They’re nice to security guards. I make cookies for the doormen too. Are you going to scream at me about that?”
He doesn’t answer. He just breathes—heavy, uneven—leaning over me.
“I’m the only person who’s nice to your stepbrother,” I add, quieter but no less angry. “Everyone else just ignores the help.”
“I don’t want you talking to him. I saw the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.”
“I’m not—”
His hand slams on the back of my seat again. “You’re my girlfriend, you understand? Mine. Stay the fuck away from my stepbrother.”
“I’m not your girlfriend. Isn’t that what you keep telling me?” My chest burns. My throat tightens. I’m not crying because of this asshole.
“I don’t want you to have a work crush.”
“‘Work crush,’” I repeat bitterly, making air quotes. “Also, what do you care?” I shout. “You don’t even think I’m that attractive. I had to blackmail you into pretending to be my boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t.”
The words are so quiet I almost miss them.
“What? What was that?”
He looks away. “Nothing.”
He floors the car. The tires squeal, then we’re back on the road. I stare out the window at the falling snow, trying to blink back the tears, trying not to hate that I can’t pretend that we’re ever going to fall in love.
“I tried to be good around his family.” I pace in the living room in my parents’ house, eating a croque monsieur. “Sure, I got a little drunk, but I thought they liked me.”
“You were really drunk,” Piper reminds me.
“I was nervous! I’ve never dated before. Ever. I don’t know what to do! I mean, most mothers automatically hate whatever woman their son brings home, right? And Graham is so protective of his mom. If she hates me, then he’s going to dump me.”
“You’re not actually really dating this guy…” Piper grimaces.
“I know. I know that. He keeps reminding me that he doesn’t like me, he doesn’t think I’m attractive, he’d never want a girl like me on his arm—and certainly not in his bed.”
Piper snorts. “All right, Ms. Eighties Romance Novel. ‘In his bed’? What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know, I’m a—you know. I don’t know how any of this works. You’d think the only perk of getting kidnapped would be that you don’t have to worry about losing your virginity.”
“It sounds like Kraig is into you, though. I bet he’d be down.”
“Yeah, but, like, how would that even go?”
Piper shrugs. “Tell him you want to hook up with him at two thirty a.m. in the 56th-floor bathroom tomorrow and to please make sure he’s washed and has a condom.”
“Tomorrow!” I squeak. “I’ve never even been kissed.”
“Wait, what? I thought Michael Goodwin kissed you in eighth grade.”
“No, I lied.”
“Dude.” Piper’s mouth drops open. “I defended you!”
“I know!”
“I mean, I’d do it again, but you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.” Piper crossed her arms.
“You’re right. People stay virgins into their late middle age and beyond, even. If I were a princess and not married, people would think I’m the pinnacle of womanhood.”
“The pinnacle of womanhood is dripping mustard all over her sweater.”
“Shoot.” I dab at my clothes. “The problem is that I never should have thought that it was going to be a great love story. It’s literally never happened before. I need to refocus on my real dream. The happy-aesthetic single-girl life.”
“You refuse to wait by yourself inside a restaurant if I’m even a little bit late. You’re not cut out for that single-girl life.”
“One day I’ll be secure enough to go to a restaurant by myself,” I promise her. “I’m not there yet. I’m slowly working on giving up gracefully. Slowly. I’ve followed a lot of influencers to help me embrace single life.”
“You get paid enough. You could move out. Like, tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I want a nice place,” I protest. “Also, my mom isn’t going to like it if I live alone.”
“I’ll be there too,” Piper reminds me. “I’m a secretary. I’m not making single-in-NYC money, and I’m sure as shit not staying here. Gran brought home two men last night.”
“Well, Ronaldo’s pretty cool, though. He makes a mean croque monsieur. Maybe I should go that route and just find a guy who’s hot and mildly employed…” I sigh.
“Which brings us back to Kraig.”
I shiver. “I think Graham’s going to be really upset if I do anything with Kraig. He…” I trail off.
“He what?” Piper breathes.
“Stop. It’s not that deep. He ran us off the road when I told him I made Kraig cookies.”
Piper inhales her wine. “What the hell? Dani!”
“I don’t think he was actually trying to hurt me. I mean, Lulu was in the car, and he likes Lulu.”
“No, dude. This guy is into you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Men who go violent and ragey when you so much as look at another man? He’s into you.”
“Or maybe he just hates his stepbrother.”
“Okay, so he’ll fuck you just to get back at his brother. Either way, you get your cherry popped.” She grabs my hand and drags me up off the couch. “Trust your cousin. You’ll see.”
“You’re making him penis cookies?”
“No, Gran! They’re supposed to be dogs.”
“I tell them to chill the dough.” Ronaldo turns up his nose. “The girls, they do not listen.”
We peer at the cookies in the oven.
“See, that’s the dog’s head.”
“That dog has some of the biggest balls I’ve ever seen.” Gran blows the chef a kiss. “Aside from yours, Ronaldo.”
“I will not cook for your granddaughters and then be insulted.” Ronaldo starts packing up the pasta he made.
“No, no! Don’t take the leftovers!”
“Dammit, girls, I thought he might be the one!” Gran stomps back in. Her other boy toy is sitting at the kitchen table with us while I try to take photos of the cookies.
“You need to light the cookies.” He’s chastising us. “Don’t you have a nice plate?”
“Here, let’s add maybe, like, a plant or something. You have to fill the frame. Fill the frame!”
“Fine, you do it.”
“No. Don’t give him your phone.” Gran slaps my hand and turns on the aging hipster. “I just got a notice that someone used my credit card to make a purchase.”
“How dare you accuse me!”
“It’s not even shipping to this address,” Gran rails.
“I was buying a present for you!” The hipster waves his arms.
“Out! Get out!”
“Gran, don’t throw that cookie at him.”
The hipster curses when a penis cookie hits the side of his face.
“Crazy old bat!”
The front door slams.
“Used to be, you could trust a man you picked up in an alleyway.” Gran dusts off her hands. “Whatever. They needed to be gone before your mom got back, anyway. She’s menopausal.”
Piper flips through the photos. “They do look better. Send him this one.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to test Graham.”
“We’re just revving the engine.”
“He warned me not to,” I whisper.
“He can’t hear you through the phone.” Piper pokes me. “Just send the photo.”
“Maybe I should just take them to him. In person.”
“No. You need to breadcrumb him.”
“Didn’t Hansel and Gretel get eaten by a witch when they tried breadcrumbs?”
Piper glares at me.
“You’re just trying to find excuses to flunk this relationship. I’m sending the photo.”
“‘Made these for Kraig, do you want some?’” she says as she types.
“Nooo!”
“Sent.”
“Crap.”
We sit there and stare at it. Waiting. Waiting...
“Why isn’t he responding?”
It’s been twenty-four hours and still no response from Graham.
Not during dinner, when my mom launched a Cold War-level interrogation on what happened at the party. “And you drank how much, Dani?”
Not when I was trying to get ten minutes alone in the shower.
Not when I’m lying here in the dark on the dining room rug under a pile of blankets, mindlessly scrolling Instagram.
I need to be getting caught up on emails, need to be mentally prepping for another stressful, dazed day at work. But all I can think about is Graham.
Does he really not want me? Why isn’t he responding? Why would you kidnap someone and then completely lose interest in her? Why would you go off on her about making your stepbrother cookies then just ghost her when she sends you a photo of said cookies?
I’m antsy and anxious as I sit at my desk at Svensson Investment the next day and try to work on my financial models, nervously eat the snacks I have at my desk and worrying about the V-card that I may never lose.
When night rolls around and Kraig shows up for his shift, I wonder if maybe he is the best I’m going to do. Maybe Piper’s right, and I need to man up and get it over with, I wonder as I stare at my computer and pretend I’m working.
I mean, Kraig’s not that bad-looking, right? I pull up his photo on the company website. He’s definitely squarely within my league. Sure, he’s a little bit balding, has a pot belly, and could use some beard oil, but your first time isn’t supposed to be spectacular.
“Hi, Dani.”
“Oh! I just—” I slam my laptop closed and lean on my elbow on it. “Hi, Kraig. Did you recover from the weekend?”
“Barely, after those margaritas you made. Don’t think I’ve ever had a holiday margarita.”
“We just have leftover Christmas mix. Gotta use it up.” I clear my throat. “I made you some cookies. Sorry they look like—”
Kraig’s mouth peels into a smile.
“Er, ding-dongs. New recipe.”
“I’m sure they’re delicious. Your cookies are always good. You’ll make a good wife.”
“Ha! We’ll see how that goes.”
His face grows serious. “So you’re not actually gonna marry Graham?”
“It’s not like he’s proposed or that we’ve talked about it.”
“So he doesn’t have you under his spell?”
“His spell?”