Chapter Twenty-Four
The sun is on its way down by the time the door across the hall opens and closes. It’s probably stalkery of me, but I can’t help listening to see whether Matt goes down the stairs or up to the roof. When I don’t hear him jogging down to the street, I know he’s gone up to enjoy the sunset.
Which is my cue.
I haven’t said a word to him since suggesting he drop dead a few weeks ago. It probably shouldn’t bother me so much—this silence between us. We went a whole year without talking before that fateful day in the hall after I raided the liquor store.
This silence is different. This is the sort of silence that comes from one person telling the other one to drop dead. Not my proudest moment, not by a long shot.
By the time I get up there, six-pack in hand, he’s setting up his folding chair. His glance my way earns me a smirk.
“I notice you have a chair up here now too,” he murmurs, positioning himself.
“It was a good idea.” I shrug, going to where my chair is tucked away. “Though it could’ve been anyone’s chair. It didn’t have to be mine.”
“Something told me the chair with unicorns and rainbows painted on the seat belonged to the girl across the hall. Call me psychic.” He watches me set up my chair with a bemused expression. “I guess I can’t expect a little peace and quiet up here ever again, can I?”
“We don’t have to talk. Look, I’ll take my chair and my icy-cold beer over here.”
I pick up the chair and start across the roof, but Matt shakes his head.
“No, not when beer is involved. You plan on sharing?”
“I brought it up to share. Consider it an olive branch.” I hand him the entire pack and accept one of the cans he pulls from the container. “Thanks.”
“I should be thanking you.” Yet he doesn’t.
I don’t expect him to either. I know him too well by now.
“And I’ve been wanting to say something too,” I croak. Why is this so hard? “I, um … you know … I shouldn’t have …”
“Don’t worry about it.” He grins. “No harm done. I was being a dick. I think we’re even now.”
What a relief. Conflict has always been easier for me on the page than it is in real life.
Plopping down in the chair, I crack open the can with a sigh. “Welp, my first smutty book is finished. My editor doesn’t think it’ll need much work, and there’s already a cover in mind for it. I guess this new phase in my career is a success. So far.”
“So far?” He snickers. “What, you have doubts?”
“How can I not? I’m always going to wonder whether I have what it takes, no matter how impressed my editor seems with the new book.” The beer doesn’t help ease my nerves, though it does bring a smile to my face. “This is good. I’m not usually a beer drinker.”
“Why did you buy it then?”
“I thought you might like it.”
“Aww.” He grins. “You bought beer with me in mind. I’m flattered.”
I regret this already. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. I’ll be checking all the trees on this block to see which one you carved our initials into.”
I have to laugh. It’s better to be friends than enemies after all.
He gets serious quickly though, his brows meeting over the bridge of his nose.
“I hate to tell you this, Kitty, but you’re not the only person in the world who’s ever had to question whether they’re right for their job.
Whether they have what it takes. You know what I mean.
Maybe you were past due for a reality check. No offense.”
Right. None taken or something. “So, what? You ask yourself if you have what it takes to do a good job?”
His eyes widen. “Duh. Yes. I do. All the time.”
“You’re serious?”
“Why would I lie? What, do you think I’m just trying to make you feel better?”
“Gee, why would I think that?” I mutter as he laughs like he just heard the funniest thing ever. “It’s like I gave you credit for being a decent person for half a second. I should have known better.”
“Come on,” he chides, still chuckling. “I was trying to have, you know, a sharing moment with you. Like, yeah, I can be vulnerable. I have feelings.” He bats his eyelashes, touching a hand to his chest.
“Okay, you were being serious. So, you feel shaky at your job sometimes? You wonder if you’re cut out for it?”
“At least once a week,” he admits, examining his can like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“It’s one of those things. The market fluctuates more than usual, and when it gets overwhelming, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
I mean, I’m investing somebody else’s money.
I have a big responsibility. Why do you think I’m up so early in the morning? ”
“Because you’re a freak who likes getting up early in the morning?”
“I don’t like it that much.”
“But you admit, you’re a freak.”
“Oh, no doubt.” He winks. “I’m up because I have to review my performance and adjust as needed. It’s stressful as hell sometimes. I think, What if I make a mistake? What if I end up losing a ton of money for my client? It’s not all fun and games and working from home.”
“The way people think my job is,” I muse, examining my can this time. “Like it’s so easy and romantic. Nothing could be further from the truth most of the time. When I’m on a deadline, I’m lucky if I remember to eat. Sometimes when I’m not even on a deadline.”
“Nobody has it easy.” He shrugs. “They’d call it play if it wasn’t work. But we’re both lucky to do what we do, where we do it. I remind myself of that all the time.”
“Me too,” I agree, nodding.
He’s looking at me from the corner of his eye. I can see it. “So … how’d it go with the flower guy? You two still dating now that the book is finished?”
“No, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the book. We aren’t a good fit.”
“It happens.”
My shoulders hunch up around my ears. “I know.”
“You’re upset about it though. I’m sorry.”
“I’m a little sad,” I admit. “But not upset. Like you said, it happens.”
“At least you got to see what it was like to be super rich, right?”
That earns him a laugh. “Yeah, and I know for sure that I’d never want to be that wealthy.”
“Liar.”
“No! It’s true! I couldn’t handle it. Always under a microscope, feeling like I have something to prove. There’s no end to it either. Like running in a hamster wheel and never getting anywhere.”
He mulls this over in silence, staring out at the sunset. “I know this is gonna sound snarky, but there’s a reason you’re a writer. You have a way of putting things.”
That’s probably as glowing a compliment I’ll ever get from him, so I accept it without a retort. “Thanks.”
“So”—his smile is wide, knowing—“what’s next? You dated your billionaire boss. Will you try a subway busker next?”
“Hush.”
“Trash collector?”
“What would be so bad about that?”
He can’t help but smirk, looking me up and down. “Could you make a hot romance out of dating a garbage collector?”
“I could make a hot romance out of dating anybody.”
“Ooh. Confident. I like that.” He cracks open another beer and then gestures to the rest with his brows lifted.
“Nah. We don’t need to tempt fate. You’ve already seen what happens when I drink too much.”
Though, if anything, that hideously embarrassing night broke down the walls that might have otherwise existed between us. I don’t have to be cool with him or distant or anything, and I don’t find his hotness intimidating now that I’ve smelled his morning breath.
“True story. I still need to replace my rug.”
“I’d be happy to do that for you.”
“Eh. Maybe I like having something to hold over your head. Check in with me some other time.”
“Anyway, like I was saying, I can write a hot story about any character—though I think my editor wants, you know, standard tropes. Cowboys and firefighters and bad guys.”
“Boring.”
“You should read my latest book when it comes out and see if you think it’s so boring,” I suggest. “Better yet, I could give you an advance copy when I get them.”
I’ve seen him look uncomfortable—the whole puking thing and whatnot—but this is a whole other level.
“Oh. Um … I …”
“It would mean a lot to me,” I murmur, eyes wide. “I trust your opinion so much.”
His mouth falls open in surprise—until he realizes I’m making fun. “Hilarious. Is there comedy in your books too? Because you’re so funny.”
“Seriously though, no pressure. I’d like to hear your opinion.”
“Feeling particularly masochistic today?”
“Nah. I think you’ll like it. I do!” I insist when he shoots me a skeptical look. “You could at least try. And then maybe I’ll watch you work sometime.”
“I don’t know who that would be less fun for.”
“Fine, fine. Whatever.” I take another sip of my beer and turn my face toward the setting sun.
The last few streaks of pure gold are starting to fade.
It’s so beautiful that there’s nothing to do but sigh.
“It’s a shame things like this go away. The sunset, I mean.
I wish I could freeze the sky just like that. ”
“If you could though, would you appreciate it half as much as you do now?”
“Good point.”
He sighs too. “Fine. I’ll read your book. I hope it’s not too raunchy. I don’t like that dirty stuff.”
I’m too pleased to make a nasty comment. I mean, the sounds coming from his apartment alone are practically enough to fuel my dirty writing.
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t offend you.”
“Though, I have to say, if there’s any marching band music involved, hard pass.”
I can’t help but giggle. “No marching band music.”
“Nice touch, by the way.” He lifts his beer, nodding.
“I thought so.”
“Don’t think I’m not cooking up a way to get back at you for that,” he warns.
I lift my beer, too, leaning over to touch my can to his. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t.”