My mind, not very imaginative beyond the realm of legalese, is now running wild with crazy ideas.
“Come on in,” she says with a grin as she opens the door. “I at least owe you one.”
If this box is any indication, I’ll take a pass. I don’t need champagne muddling my mind today of all days. Still, I can’t very well come all this way just to leave it at her front door.
What I see when I enter is surprising, in more ways than one.
I should have expected the pink.
Everything.
It’s all pink, from the rounded, plush sofa to the gauzy, floor-to-ceiling curtains in front of the generic roll-down shades that come standard with the apartment.
I feel like I’ve stepped into Marylin Monroe’s personal boudoir.
But the large bookcase overflowing with books is even more of a surprise. It sticks out mostly because it’s a sharp contrast with the frivolity that seems to be the theme of the rest of the apartment.
The spines I can read from here indicate serious dedication to reading on a variety of topics. Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. Gore Vidal’s Lincoln. Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man. Stephen King’s IT. Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which, sitting right next to several suggestive books by someone named Colette, and just above a white, leather-bound copy of the Holy Bible, certainly causes me to raise an eyebrow.
I never took my neighbor for a complete airhead, despite all the pink and her showy ways. Still, she’s obviously more intellectual than she lets on.
“This way, Jesse,” she says luring me in further toward the kitchen.
For some reason, I find myself preferring her usual “neighbor” to “Jesse,” especially in her voice, which makes it sound somewhat titillating.
I set the case on the counter that looks out into the open area.
“My hero,” she sighs, actually batting her eyelashes.
On anyone else it would seem like a cheap affectation.
On her it’s…disorienting.
She lifts up the empty coffee cup and laughs. “I forgot to get my coffee.”
“The morning is still young,” I say, wondering how to disentangle myself as quickly as possible.
“Young enough to get me into trouble,” she replies, arching one eyebrow.
I stare at her for one brief moment before laughing.
“So he has a sense of humor after all,” Honey says, one side of her mouth ticking up into a coy smile.
“I can appreciate a woman with a quick wit,” I confess.
No lie there.
She’s…something else. Certainly not what I expected.
Then again, I’ve never said more than five words to her since our first introduction.
“In which case you should see me once the morning has gone officially through puberty.”
Another one that makes me laugh, this time with less restraint. It eases some of the resistance I’ve built up as a wall between us.
Suddenly, I’m not sure what to think of her anymore.
“And he likes it dirty,” she says, smiling with encouragement at my reaction.
“Only when the morning is old enough to make it a martini.”
We stare at each other with slightly widened eyes before both of us laugh.
I’m just as surprised at the wisecrack as she is.
I don’t do banter, at least not the flirtatious kind. I can definitely spar with the slickest of assholes. My neck of New Jersey may not have produced a lot of other summa cum laudes but we knew how to give our words a good bite.
“I suppose you never grow out of defying your Catholic upbringing,” I say with a wry smile.
“It seems we both have a devilish sense of humor,” she says assessing me with a conspiratorial grin.
This is…refreshing.
I’m so used to censoring myself in polite society, tethered by the knowledge that one social misstep could unravel everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish. Being with a woman who is so uncensored and, more importantly, allows me to be just as uncensored, lowers my guard to a level I haven’t set it in a long time.
Honey’s eyes fall to the box of champagne then flash up to me with mischief coloring them. “Care to lubricate that sense of humor with a wicked splash of champagne?”
I stupidly find myself considering the idea before coming to my senses.
Now, I understand how Adam could have been so easily swayed by Eve.
Original sin indeed.
That de-lapses the part of my Catholicism that has control of my guilt. Unleashed, it comes storming out the gate with the force of a rabid dog, reminding me of everything I’d be putting at risk. Work. Making partner. Keeping up my image.
Emily.
I cough and stand up straighter.
“I absolutely should not.” My indignation makes it sound ridiculous.
I knew coming up here was going to be trouble.
Honey laughs in that tinkling way of hers, probably doing more damage to my brain cells than any glass of champagne would.
“Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to be bad for the both of us.”
“I should really get going.”
“Oh no you don’t!” she exclaims, startling me into paralysis. “Not until you agree to attend the party I’m throwing tonight. I have to repay your heroically chivalrous act somehow.”
A party?
On a Monday?
“I’ll probably have to work late.” Close enough to the truth at least. Just as I’m often first in at ABC, I’m usually last to leave.
“Well, it’s a good thing it’s going to run late. Just pop in whenever.” Her eyes scan the suit I chose because it looks best on me. “The dress code is certainly in your favor.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I’ve never before entertained the idea of going to one of the parties I hear wafting through her door on occasion. I’m certainly not about to do so on a Monday night.
“Do I at least get a last name? Something to put on the impromptu invitation?”
“Castiglione,” I say curtly out after a long pause.
“How absolutely divine!” She says it with such wonder, my immediate instinct is to assume she’s teasing. “What an absolutely fantastic last name.”
The flash of anger I felt quickly fades as I realize the compliment is genuine.
“At any rate, thanks for
