Happenstance(3)

I can’t help it. I’ll probably cringe about this for the rest of my life, but my attention drops to his crotch.

“That’s the on switch, love. Not the off one.”

Something slightly dangerous flashes in the Duke’s eyes, but before he can say anything, the third man clears his throat and stands up. And up. And up. He’s so tall, the top of his shaved head almost brushes the ceiling of the cable car. The word Hercules whispers through my head. That moniker wouldn’t be misplaced. His musclebound presence, however, is softened by a face that, once upon a time, was definitely a baby face. Until he did too much frowning, perhaps.

Hercules paces forward a step, his paint splattered boots scuffing along the floor—and he settles into a cross-armed position between me and British, No Trespassing written clearly across his rough features.

“It’s not polite to talk about your privates in front of a girl.”

I laugh a little in disbelief. What is happening? “Well this is definitely the most interesting ride of my life.”

“Ah…” replies British without missing a beat. “If only I had a nickel for every time a woman said those words to me…”

The other two men turn to face him, visibly done with his shit.

That’s when the cable car grinds to a halt.

The lights flicker and go out, leaving us in a dim evening haze.

What little heat was being pumped into the tram goes bye-bye.

Long seconds pass in silence while we wait for the conveyance to start moving again.

It doesn’t.

“This is not happening, right?” I say, looking down at the river below, unnerved by the sudden absence of the mechanical hum and watching in jealousy as boats move beneath us on the water toward civilization. “I mean, this thing freezes like once every four years. What are the odds?”

“Slim to almost none,” sighs the Duke, taking out his phone, thumb zipping across the screen. “Guess we’re just lucky.”

Hercules is still posted up between me and British, a furrow between his dark brows. He appears to still be coming up to speed on what exactly is happening.

“Wait,” says the big guy slowly. “It’s frozen?”

We answer him in a chorus of three yeses.

A voice comes over the speaker, but it’s really just a burst of static and unintelligible words, reminiscent of the subway. “Very reassuring.” I toss my purse down on the plastic bench and rub my arms vigorously. The heat has only been off for thirty seconds and I’m already shivering. “Just this morning, I said to my roommate ‘the train has never been more unreliable.’ Roosevelt Island tram? Hold my beer.”

Hercules watches me trying to warm myself from beneath his gathered brows, fingers twitching in the crook of his elbow. “Do you want my sweatshirt?”

He jerks his bearded chin downward at his navy blue hoodie, which is covered in paint and cement splatters, like the rest of him.

“No,” I say immediately. “But thanks.”

“How about my overcoat?” asks the Duke, very smoothly. Already taking it off.

Hercules hangs his head a little.

“No, thank you.” I have to lean sideways to answer the Duke, because Hercules is taking up my entire line of vision. For some stupid reason, I feel the need to add, “I…wasn’t turning down his sweatshirt because it’s dirty.”

“Why did you turn it down?” British wants to know. “You’re shaking. And I—”

“You’re an expert on shaking women,” I interrupt. “Yeah, we get it, dude.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Hercules’s mouth now and I don’t know why I feel relieved about that? Was I worried I hurt this stranger’s feelings by turning down his sweatshirt? I really do need that tequila faceplant.

“I like boundaries. They’re healthy and give me a sense of power in a world where I don’t have much,” I say, pulling up the internet browser on my phone, hoping to find a contact number for whichever city agency runs this godforsaken tram. “That’s why I turned down the sweatshirt and the overcoat. While I’m at it, I’m preemptively turning down whatever you’re going to offer me, too, British. I have a feeling it’s flesh colored and curves slightly to the right.”

He belts out a laugh. “I fucking knew you recognized me.”

I have raised the eyebrows of both Hercules and the Duke, but I ignore the slight burning sensation in my cheeks and continue my hunt for the right phone number. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve probably…been entertained by him, too. Maybe you were just more focused on his acting partner?”

“Ah, love. They never have to act.” British sticks out his hand toward the Duke. “Tobias Atwater. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“We’re dangling above the East River in a death trap,” says the Duke, very succinctly. “‘Pleased’ is not the word I would use. Quit the inappropriate bullshit. She’s not interested.”

They shake, despite the very clear fighting words, although they look like they’re trying to rip one another’s hands off, jaw muscles snapping formidably. “It’s obvious the woman can handle herself and doesn’t need you speaking for her,” Tobias responds with forced charm. “Although if you were speaking for her, your name would be…”