City Love(39)

“A girl who’s not high-maintenance. Gotta love it.”

“Throw me a pillow and I’m good.”

D moves a bit closer to me on the love seat. “Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?”

My face gets hot. Why does D even like me? He is so freaking gorgeous. A gorgeous man telling me I look beautiful is not something I can get used to. Not that I’m complaining. I just wish compliments like that didn’t make me feel like such an impostor. The only thing saving me from dissolving in a heap of insecurity is the new outfit I’m rocking courtesy of Darcy.

Darcy wasn’t hearing it when I told her I couldn’t accept her way-too-generous offer to enhance my wardrobe. She went and bought me a bunch of clothes I said I liked during our window shopping outing in Soho. How she remembered everything is beyond me. Of course I said I couldn’t keep any of the beautiful clothes and accessories. But Darcy insisted I keep it all. She even went as far as cutting the tags off and destroying the receipts so returning anything would be impossible. She said I could think of the new pieces as an early Christmas/birthday present if it made me feel better. I have no idea how I’ll ever repay her. But right now, sitting next to D in his polished designer ensemble among dozens of couples dressed the same way, I could not be more thankful for Darcy’s generosity.

Does D expect an answer to his question? Or when guys say things like that, is it more of a compliment disguised as a question? Because he hadn’t told me I looked beautiful before he asked, but I don’t want him to think I’m fishing for a compliment.

I decide to go with honesty. “I don’t think so,” I say.

“Well, you do. That dress is perfect for you.”

“Thanks.” What would he say if he knew my rich roommate bought it for me?

D looks at the city stretched out behind us, absorbing the view. “I love it up here. Good place to unwind. If it wasn’t for you, this week would have been unbearable.”

“Why?”

“Work stress. I love my internship, but it comes with a certain amount of bullshit.”

“But you love the whole Wall Street thing?”

“I really do.” I must look skeptical, because D says, “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. It’s just . . . have you ever thought about a job that’s more . . . emotionally satisfying? You might not make as much, but you could be making other people’s lives better.”

“I will be helping people. It is possible to make decent money and be happy doing it. My dad gives back to the community and I intend to do the same. He donates five percent of his income to various charities annually. Which is a lot for a seven-figure salary plus bonus.” D gives me a sad smile. “Are you worried I won’t be contributing enough?”

“As long as you’re happy and doing something meaningful with your life, it’s all good.”


D gently puts his hand over mine. Until he touched me, I hadn’t realized that I was snapping my thumb against my middle finger. It’s this nervous tic I’ve been trying to stop since it suddenly started happening last year. Get control of yourself. Stop being a weirdo.

“You have conviction, Rosanna Tranelli,” D says. “I admire you.”

The air takes on a crispy-potato-skins smell. My mouth waters in retaliation against my nervous stomach.

“Sorry if I sounded harsh,” I say. “But I think it’s important to make a difference in this world.”

“You’re a better person than I am. I just want to make a decent living. And if I can help other people do the same, that’s enough for me.”

Um . . . yeah. D and I really are in different worlds. I’m kind of wondering why I’m even here. But then he looks at me with his intense laser focus and I instantly melt. I never expected to feel this way about a boy. My crazy lust for him is so strong it makes the stupid things he says less irritating. Maybe I could try being like Darcy tonight—wild and free and living in the Now. I could see what happens if I let myself feel everything D makes me feel. Just one night to let the fire burn.

D asks me all about camp. He asks if I found out what Nasty Girl’s deal is. I’m hoping that was just a weirdo encounter I’ll never have to experience again. As we talk over two rounds of drinks (some sort of seasonal beer for him, a virgin strawberry minty cocktail for me), I lose myself in the kind of chemistry I’ve been fantasizing about for so long. My body is reacting to him in ways I’ve only read about up until now. And all we’re doing is sitting next to each other.

By the time D orders a third round, we’re pressed up against each other on the love seat. Partly because he’s been moving closer to me. Partly because I’ve been moving closer to him. There’s like this gravitational force pulling us together. D is so close to me now I can feel his heart beating.

“I want to show you Tribeca,” D says. “You’re going to love it.”

“Why do you love it?”

“Tons of reasons. Tribeca is known for its sick loft spaces. That’s why I wanted to live there. The neighborhood has changed a lot over the years, but it still has a raw essence I appreciate. My place is a few blocks from the river. Did I tell you I run?”

“No.”

“Are you a morning person or a night person?”