Chapter 16
Nicholas
Later that evening, I am riding up in an elevator to the penthouse. “Hey. Come on in,” Emily takes my hand as I come out of the lift, like we are dating, and leads me to the pool where eight of her friends are chilling.
I’m not going to comment on how she looks. I’d be asking for trouble.
“Everyone,” she hollers, “this is Nick” and on cue they all shout, “Hey Nick”. She then introduces everyone to me by name. Zoned out, I say, “nice to meet you” to each of them, forgetting their names instantly, except Isabella. Yup, you know why. No brainer there.
Emily and I naturally separate from the group, moving to the other end of the pool where it’s a bit quieter and sit facing each other around a small table.
“I was really really surprised to see you today. You lived with Lisa?” I ask curiously, resting my glass on the table. I’ve wanted to ask that question from the moment I found out earlier today.
“Ah. Um. It’s a long story. I doubt you’d want to hear it tonight,” she replies in an effort to deflect.
“Well, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to hear,” I say reassuringly.
“Um. Um. She and my mom were best friends. They were inseparable from high school. The summer before my freshman year, my mom got really sick. So, when she passed away, Lisa welcomed me into her home.” She is focussing earnestly at her drink on the table.
This is heavy. I really wasn’t ready for it. I pause for a moment, searching for the right words.
“Ahh. Um. I’m so sorry to hear that, Emily,” I say, disappointed in my response and wishing I had said something more comforting. But what do you say in moments like these?
Taking a sip of her drink, “It’s okay.”
“And may I ask… where was your dad in all of this?”
“Well, when my parents got divorced, he resented me for taking her side even though I was only ten at the time — I haven’t heard from him in years, up to today. I stumbled across his Facebook profile some years ago… and it seemed like he was doing fine.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s terrible. I am so sorry, Emily.”
“Yea, I’ve gotten over it a long time ago.”
“You know, in a way, I guess I kind of understand what you’ve been through,” I say, while drumming my fingers on the table.
Emily looks up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I lost my mother when I was young,” I tell her as the finger tapping intensifies.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, placing her hand on top of mine to quell the tapping. “And what about your father?”
“Well, he had a major gambling problem and refused to acknowledge it and get the necessary help. So, at one point, we lost everything, and my mom had to start over again. It was at that point she decided it was best to move on without him. And I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Nick.”
I look up and we look at each other — a tacit understanding between us both. Ours eyes are damp and for a while, we say nothing.
“Maybe we can finish this conversation some other time. You know, since tonight is supposed to be fun,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Yes, I’d really like that... And, yup, I could do with some fun. It was a stressful week… You know what. I’ll be right back. I’m going to change the playlist. Time to get everyone in a dancing mood,” before excusing herself to find her iPad.
Our alone time over, Emily and I are back among the group and so I ask, “So, tell me a little bit about yourself,” as I swirl the ice around in my glass. She is sitting beside me, our legs touching (this feels nice).
“Well, for work, I was recently promoted to CIO at Predict, the seventh largest Tech company in the world,” she tells me, playing with her hair, similar to what Lisa does when she’s nervous.
“That’s really impressive, Emily. I read an article about you in the New York Times, about your promotion to CIO and it stated that you’re the youngest executive at a top ten tech giant. That’s really cool.”
She pokes me on my arm, “Thanks… Wait, are you stalking me or something?”
“That’s funny, coming from the chick in New York who randomly sent me a friend request,” I say, winking.
“You’re such a jerk.”
“But yea, on a serious note though, I learned about your journey in that article and other articles. Very, very impressive.”
“Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate it.”
“Outside of work, what else is there to know about you?”
“Let’s see… I really love interior designing.
.. I’m always signing up to help Alex bring his properties to life and nagging my friends to make over their apartments.
At their cost, of course. You should check out my Interior Design IG page.
Um. What else? I really love to dance,” and she moves her shoulder and does a little jig.
“And I love going to the beach. And skiing, ye, I love that.”
Shifting the spotlight to me. “What about you?”
“Well, you’ve figured out what I do for work by now,” I answer, smiling. “On a serious note, though, my ambition is to become the CEO.”
“So, you want Lisa’s job, huh?” using the opportunity to touch my hand.
“Yea, something like that, but that’s our little secret.” I smile and place my index finger on my lips.
She mimics me, placing her finger on her mouth. And winks.
“And what are your interests outside of work?”
“Apart from work, let’s see. I’m big into track & field, basketball and football, soccer that is. I’m always at the beach or river with friends. And ah, I love to cook. And I may or may not be working on a novel.”
“No way, what genre? What’s it about? Tell me more. I want to read it,” reeling off the questions excitedly.
“I can’t tell you any more at this point,” I smile.
“Oh my God… You’re so lame.”
“Damn, I’ve been called lame before.”
She smiled, I smiled.
“So, are you working on anything as exciting as a romance book?” Emily persists cheekily. And when I answer with a half-smile, she goes on excitedly, “Are you kidding me. You have to tell me more. Are there any sex scenes?”
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” I reply mockingly.
“Oh God, you’re so annoying,” and playfully slaps my arm.
“Hear what… I’ll tell you more if you prove to be a good dancer. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Pinky swear?” I smile and hold out my pinky finger.
“Pinky swear.” We lock our pinky fingers together, formalizing our agreement.
“My best friend, Isabella, and I are launching a dating app next year. That’s the only thing remotely close to your fifty shades 2.0,” Emily says, laughing.
“Wow. No. That’s bigger than my fifty shades 2.0,” I let out a loud laugh. “Continue. You can’t just stop there. How is it different from the other dating apps?”
“How is it different from the other dating apps?” She repeats my question, closing her eyes and tilting her head backwards as if in deep thought.
“Um, it only works when you’re at the same event.
So, for example, let’s say I’m throwing my thirty-third birthday party at my apartment.
In the app, I would be the host and set up the event with parameters.
Single people, or at least I hope they’re single, can open the app, search and click on the link for Emily’s 33rd Birthday Party, once they’re within fifty metres of the pinned location.
In this case, my apartment. And um, the host can obviously adjust the distance as they see fit etc.
There will be a start and an end time, say, 9:00pm to 1:00am.
And that’s important, because you can only message someone while they are at the event, during the specified time.
Once they leave the fifty-metre radii, or the time expires, you can’t contact them again…
which means you’d have to exchange numbers while there.
It’s a lot to explain, but you kind of get the point. ”
“Wow, that’s game-changing, I’d love to hear —"
“Right here everyone!” Emily’s seven-footer friend commands as he slams a tray with shot glasses filled to the brim on a table on the other side of the pool.
The liquid spills due to the impact of the slam and so the glasses aren’t quite as full anymore.
I assume we are doing tequila shots, since lemon wedges that had been neatly piled up in a bowl are now scattered all over the place.
Following the orders of the buccaneer, we scramble to the table at once and grab a glass — one that is at least half full — and a wedge from somewhere.
I pick up one from the floor, the five-second rule in full effect.
Emily raises her hand, “To a great, fucking night” and like a cult in a dark basement with lanterns, we all raise our glasses and repeat, “To a great, fucking night” and drink it in one go.
Emily throws her lemon on the ground, comes over to me, so close she is practically touching me (this also feels nice), and makes her best attempt at “Wha a gwaan?” which sounds like “Wow a gone?”
“What. ah. gwaan” I repeat in my natural tongue, sounding almost unnatural as I say the phrase slowly. Weird.
“Did I say it right?” she asks, reverting to her New York accent.
“Yea, it was pretty good actually.” I lie so as not to make her feel bad. Nothing to read into here. Right?
“I love your Jamaican accent. I could listen to you all day.” She is now holding my hand.
“It’s time to roll out!” some guy shouts, saving me from losing it. Thanks, Bredda.
“One more shot for the road!” Emily yells, releasing my hand and running to the bar for another round.
◆◆◆
Welcome to New York. Hot gyal everywhere in the club. The R&B singers and rappers, especially the ones with the hits in the early 2000s, were right all along.
As we enter, my male instincts get the better of me and I hold Emily’s hand as we move through the crowd, her friends marching behind us, until we find a spot for the group.
One of her girls, clearly not Isabella, feeling nice from the shots at the apartment and whatever else she had before, cuffs her hands over my ears and shouts, “Emily really really really likes you!”
“No way. You think so?”, raising my eyebrows as I feign surprise.
“Yea, she keeps saying she loves your accent and shit, and that you’re intelligent and shit. You should definitely ask her out. She’s single,” she informs me without shouting directly into my ear. She then runs off to dance with some random guy who had flirted with her in the line outside.
“Sorry about Kate — one drink and she loses it … Did she say anything embarrassing?” Emily asks, as if she hadn’t heard everything. Kate is her name, got it.
“I really couldn’t hear much of what she was saying,” I shout and touch my earlobe to stress how loud the music is.
She smiled, I smiled.
With the pleasantries out of the way, I turn her around and pull her into me and she raises her hands in the air and shouts, “That’s my jam!”
“Yes!” “Whoa!” are some of the words her friends and random chicks scream in the background.
With my left hand on her hip, my right-hand swaying in the air with my cup, I chug the drink and throw the empty cup on the ground.
This frees up my hand so that I can firmly hold her hips between my hands to handle business on the dance floor.
Ninety-six percent of women believe they can tell if a man is good in bed by the way he dances.
I read that online somewhere and take it very seriously just in case its credible, like some of the information I swear by on Wikipedia.
As the songs change, my hands move around her body, and I can feel she is loving it from the way she leans into me. Without skipping a beat, she tilts her head backwards so that her cheek is resting against mine.
Slowly, my hands drift to her thighs and clasping my hands she moves them inward… where she wants them. This gets me hard.
R&B is now setting the mood and so I turn her around. Facing me, I inch closer and closer, removing what little space there is between us. With my hands around her lower back and her arms around my shoulders, we slow dance while looking into each other’s eyes.
A few songs later, she unbuttons my shirt, runs her fingers down my chest to my sixpack. Anticipating, she’d go there, I flex my abs. And in response to her sensual touch, my hands go lower and grip her ass.
There we were, in the middle of the dancefloor, in our own world, unfazed by everyone else in the club.
And then, like in the movies… we start kissing.