A Really Bad Idea Page 6

  “Nothing.” He lifts his glass and drinks through the thin red straw.

  Christian pops up behind me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Can I take your coat?”

  I unbutton my trench, and Christian slides it off my shoulders, whistling through his teeth. “Nice dress.”

  I look down at the strapless navy dress I bought at J.Crew years ago. It has a sweetheart neckline and a jacquard print, making it one of those outfits you can dress up or down, depending on where you’re going.

  As I take my seat, I thank Christian, who is holding my chair, and notice a beautiful woman with short hair and catlike eyes standing right behind him. She has on a latex-looking dress that hugs her body so tight that I can see the definition of her hoo-ha through the thin fabric.

  She must know I’m staring because she weaves a hand around Christian and holds it out in front of my eyes. “I’m Natasha.”

  “Sexy Nurse Natasha!” I shout and then raise a hand over my mouth, realizing I probably shouldn’t have said her nickname out loud.

  Angela giggles from her seat as Natasha looks at me with a tilted glare. Christian just shakes his head at me like I’m a ten-year-old who just made a fart joke.

  Sorry, I mouth.

  He lifts his arm up and over Natasha’s shoulders, pulling her to his side and properly into my view.

  “Natasha, this is my Meadow.”

  “Hi, Christian’s Meadow. I’m Christian’s Natasha,” she purrs with her oversize glossy lips puckered. It makes me wonder if she has injections, or maybe she uses one of those lip plumpers.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” For some reason, my words come out almost pouty.

  “I love your eyelashes,” she compliments.

  “Thank you. I love your face.”

  Yes, I just said that, and it seems even a woman like Natasha, who must get flattery by the bucketful, is a little thrown off by my overt admiration.

  “Seriously, Meadow?” Brian quips from his seat.

  I lift my glass and hold it up to my lips. “What? She looks like a Sports Illustrated model.” I take a sip and hug the glass to my chest as Christian pulls Natasha’s seat out for her and sits down after she’s comfortably in place.

  The Loeb Boathouse has great food. I haven’t been here in years, but every time, the meal has been enjoyable. Christian went ahead and preordered appetizers of grilled octopus, creamy burrata, and crab cakes for the table. As the waitress lays the dishes in the center of the table, everyone serves themselves.

  I place a piece of the octopus on my plate, and Christian rests a lemon wedge next to it because he knows I like to squeeze lemon juice on my seafood.

  The pepper shaker is to my left, so I grab it and move it to my right where Christian is looking around the table for the pepper, which I know from years of dining with him.

  “I’m a huge fan of your blog!” Marissa is practically falling into her food as she gushes over Beth. “Your thread about the best kitten heel for size ten and above saved my wardrobe!”

  Beth thanks her in the most gracious way. The two women talk shoes, and Angela is quick to jump in. Of course, she has to ask about the Yves Saint Laurent boots we adore. Marissa is looking at Beth like she’s a rock star, and it’s totally warranted.

  “Wait! You’re Spikes and the City?” Natasha asks excitedly.

  “What’s Spikes and the City?” Denny asks.

  “Her shoe blog. Cute, right?” Angela explains, and Denny looks confused.

  “Beth was a buyer for Nordstrom when she decided to be a stay-at-home mom after our first son was born. After a few years, she found herself bored and started a blog about her first love—shoes,” Brian explains in a businesslike manner as he rests a hand on his wife’s thigh.

  She tilts her head at him with a smile.

  Angela turns to Denny and further explains, “It’s not just pictures of her pretty heels in her fancy shoe closet—which, by the way, is amazing! She rates the shoes and pairs them with different outfits. She goes in search of complementary styles at lower price points and shares them on her blog and even demos how to cobble your own broken heel.”

  “You can cobble shoes?” Denny turns to Beth, impressed, but Angela snaps him back to attention.

  “This woman is a megastar! It didn’t take long for her readership to skyrocket, and designers took notice, asking if they could send her styles. Big luxury brands have been vying for a spot on Spikes and the City. The thing that makes her blog so successful is, she buys her own shoes, so she doesn’t owe favors, and her opinions are authentic.” When Angela’s rambling is over, she notices our eyes glued to her.

  Beth is the first to speak, “Damn, girl. I should fire my publicist and have you promote me!”

  Angela bows her head in mock bashfulness. “Sorry. I just really love your blog—or vlog, I should say. Your videos are awesome. But, on the real, if you want me to work for you, I will give my two weeks notice like this.” She makes a poof sound as she explodes her fingers.

  “Good to know.” Christian, being her boss’s son, laughs, and the rest of us follow.

  Salads are served, and conversation flows beautifully. As we wait for entrees, I get up and move around to talk to my friends. Christian and Brian get into a heated discussion about the Yankees, and the girls at the hospital gossip with Natasha at the other end of the table.

  When dinner arrives, we lean back as servers place everything on the table. I ordered the cedar plank salmon, which looks delicious with golden beets, carrots, and baby kale.

  “Do you think these are organically sourced?” Denny asks from his side of the table.

  “You must be a farmers market kinda guy,” Christian says as he leans over my plate and steals a carrot.

  “I get all my produce from a farm stand on Bleeker. You’ve probably never heard of it,” Denny says, followed by, “I make my own Sriracha. Would you like some?” He dips a hand into his satchel hanging from his chair and pulls out a glass jar.

  We shake our heads in refusal.

  “So, Denny, you said you play the bass. Are you in a band?” I ask, cutting my salmon in half and placing it on Christian’s plate.

  “My music is my art. I’m not ready for it to be shared with the masses,” Denny says as he eyes my hand with a scowl while I also spoon the rest of my carrots onto Christian’s plate.

  “I heard him play once,” Angela chimes in, grabbing on to Denny’s arm and looking at him, punch-drunk. “He’s fantastic.”

  “How does a bass player who doesn’t play make money while you wait to open your bike shop in Amsterdam?” Brian asks.

  If there is one thing Brian doesn’t understand, it’s how people don’t work themselves to the bone and save every dime along the way. He’s overly practical that way.

  Christian moves a handful of his potatoes to my plate.

  “I’m an environmental attorney,” Denny replies.

  “You’d give up a career in environmental law to fix bikes in Amsterdam?” Brian quips.

  “How I earn my money and what I do to feed my soul are two very different things.” Denny’s Gandhi-like aura is oddly refreshing. He looks back at my plate where Christian is now placing a piece of his beef. “Do you two do that all the time?”

  “Do what?” I ask with a forkful of salmon in my mouth.

  Denny motions with his knife back and forth between my and Christian’s plates. “Share food.”

  Our plates are now a mishmash of what we originally ordered, divvied up between the two of us.

  “He won’t eat more than a palm size of meat,” I explain with a swallow.

  “She hates carrots,” he replies before taking a bite off his own fork.

  “He always says he doesn’t want fish and then steals some anyway.”

  “Rosemary is her favorite herb, and the potatoes are smothered in them.”

  Denny’s right brow shoots up, and now, I totally get why Angela thinks he’s so sexy. “But you’re not a couple?
”

  “Nope,” I say. “They are.” I thumb over toward Natasha and Christian, who quickly adds, “We’re not a couple either. We’re just dating.”

  I can’t see Natasha’s face, but from Angela’s wide-eyed, chin-dropping expression, I think the verdict is that Natasha is not pleased.

  “Meadow and I are just friends,” Christian clarifies.

  Denny looks at us for a beat and then states, “You’d make a cute couple.”

  I pause mid-bite and glance over at Christian, who is giving me a side-eye, like, Is this guy for real? I shrug my shoulders and take my bite.

  Angela chimes in, “I’ve said the same thing. They won’t listen.”

  “Me, too!” Beth shouts beside me.

  I scrunch my brows at her. From further inspection of the empty glass in front of her—her third drink from what I can tell—I conclude she is buzzed.

  “Their babies would be gorgeous!” she adds.

  “Christian’s eyes with Meadow’s lips,” Angela says to Beth with her own glass in hand.

  Beth is extra invigorated. “Christian’s thick hair but with Meadow’s rich color. It’s natural; did you know that?”

  “No shit. I always assumed she dyed it.” Angela is now staring at my head.

  I blink a few times.

  “I’d have kids with Meadow,” Christian declares.

  With two hands placed on the table, I lean back and give him a what the hell are you talking about glare.

  He just shrugs and points toward Beth and Angela. “They’re right. Our kids would be fucking cute.”

  Natasha makes an audible squeak. This conversation got awkward and fast.

  “Meadow, do you want kids?” my friend Marissa cuts into the conversation, her pink nails under her chin as she leans forward in interest.

  Suddenly, four pairs of eyes are on me as Angela, Denny, Marissa, and Beth are staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  I lift my water glass, take a gulp, and gently place it on the table. “I do. Actually, I just made an appointment to inquire about freezing my eggs.”

  Angela’s mouth drops, as does Beth’s forehead.

  Brian’s fork falls to his plate with a loud thunk. “You what?”

  Christian leans into my side, pulling my attention away from their confused expressions. “When did you make this decision?”

  “I haven’t made any decisions, but I’ve spent some time researching the benefits of egg cryopreservation, and I think it could be a good option for me,” I explain.

  Brian lets out a loud gruff as Beth twists her body toward me.

  “You’re so young. You can easily meet someone tomorrow,” she says.

  “I could, but I don’t want to rush into being with someone just because I want to start a family. And who knows? Maybe, in a few years, I’ll decide to do it on my own. Hell, maybe I’ll decide to just say fuck it and do it on my own now.”

  Angela rests both hands under her chin. “That’s so badass.”

  “I like your friends. They’re really weird,” Denny says to Angela.

  We all laugh. Well, everyone but Brian and Christian.

  I ignore the intensity radiating off of Christian and lift my glass with the rest of my friends. Christian leans into me, about to speak, when Natasha clears her throat.

  “Can I have a word?” she says to Christian, and he gets up to speak to her, away from the table.

  Angela raises a glass in a toast. “To Meadow. May this next year be full of new adventures, good sex, and plenty of whiskey!”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Beth is next to raise her drink, and I follow suit along with everyone else.

  The rest of the dinner goes great. They serve sorbet for dessert. Then, a cake comes out, and the entire restaurant seems to chime in to sing. As I’m about to blow out my candles on the New York–style cheesecake, I gaze at my family and friends and settle an eye right on Christian, who is now standing behind Angela and Denny, holding out his iPhone and taking a video.

  I close my eyes and make a wish.

  I wish …

  After dinner, the office girls and my college friends leave, and the rest of us mosey over to the bar for more drinking, laughing, and talking.

  “I’m going to go home,” I hear Natasha drawl behind me.

  Stupidly, I turn in her direction. She looks just as polished as she did three hours ago. I, on the other hand, probably have eyeliner smudge, and my red lipstick is gone.

  I’m about to thank her for coming when I notice her fingers walking up Christian’s chest.

  “You’re welcome to join me,” she invitingly says to him.

  His eyes meet mine over her head, and I quickly look away as Beth struts over.

  “Come on.” He motions to Natasha and walks her out the front door.

  “This was really sweet of him.” Beth climbs on a stool beside me. Her cheeks are flush from all the wine she’s been drinking.

  I’ve been neatly sipping my drinks all night, careful not to be a drunken mess. “He can be a good guy every once in a while.”

  “That man loves you.”

  “Like a sister. And a work wife.”

  “Fuck that. Brian has never thrown me a surprise party.” She nods toward her husband, who is leaning against the wall, thumbing away on his iPhone.

  “Brian’s not really the surprise kinda guy,” I explain.

  “Except in the bedroom. Last month, he bought me a swing.” She waggles her brows.

  “TMI, Beth. That’s my brother!” I have to shake the mental image of Brian having kinky sex, but curiosity gets the best of me. “So, when you say swing, you mean, a sex swing, right?”

  She nods enthusiastically, swaying to the side. Yes, Beth has definitely had way too much to drink tonight.

  I grin into my glass. “How does that work exactly?”

  She doesn’t hold back her delight to tell all, but she’s interrupted when Brian appears between the two of us and places a hand on her back.

  “Okay, you. That’s enough for tonight.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun.” She pouts and leans an arm behind him. From the way he arches forward, I’m pretty sure she just squeezed his ass.

  Brian helps her stand up straight and places her coat over her shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

  “Hotel?” I’m impressed and shocked at my brother’s splurge.

  “We have a room at The Carlyle. See, he can be very surprising.” Beth leans into me, bracing her weight on the bar. “Hotel sex is the best.”

  I shake my head with a laugh and kiss them both good-bye. As they head out, Christian is walking back in. It must be the excitement of the entire evening because my breath hitches at the sight of him—hair tousled and that cool, casual style of the unbuttoned shirt under a dark suit. I watch his broad shoulders and lean figure stroll in, making him look like a cross between a male model and a CEO.

  “What’s the face for?” he asks as he walks up and rests an elbow on the bar top, angling his body toward me.

  “You’re back,” I breathe.

  “Where did you think I went?”

  “I thought you left with Sexy Nurse Natasha.”

  His chuckles deep and rubs a hand over his chiseled jaw. “Will you stop calling her that?”

  “She is a nurse.” I point my finger in explanation.

  He nods in agreement. “That she is.”

  I lean into him with a low hum. “And she is sexy.”

  He bends in even further, and his voice drops, like he has a secret to tell me. “So are you, so should I call you Sexy Nurse Meadow?”

  “No.”

  I look away, but he rests his forehead against the side of mine and breathes into my ear, “Let’s take a walk.”

  He helps me with my coat as we say good-bye to Angela and Denny and then head out.

  The streetlights provide an amber hue as we stroll the paved pathway around the lake toward the bi-level arcade of Bethesda Terrace. It’s one of
those places you see in the movies yet can’t understand just how gorgeous it is unless you’re standing there.

  The stone structure comprises both an upper and lower terrace, connected by two grand staircases and a smaller one leading to the fountain. The Romanesque arches overlooking the lake complete the iconic New York scene, one that is both overwhelming and comforting at the same time.

  Much like the man walking beside me.

  I secure the belt on my trench as the cool evening air rushes in.

  Christian has his hands in his pockets, strolling casually, as if he owned the park.

  “Thank you for my birthday dinner,” I say. “I’ve never had a surprise party before.”

  “I’m honored to be your first.” He smiles.

  When we reach the fountain, I stop and gaze up at the angel with the lily in her hand and listen to the water cascade from the tiers. I turn around and see Christian, his outline in silhouette. His presence holds so much power that it stands out in the shadows.

  “Dance with me,” he says.

  I look around, confused. “Here?”

  His steps are steady as he walks up and stops mere inches away. He lifts my hand, and I revel in the feeling of his smooth palm holding mine in a way that’s both delicate and protective. His other arm snakes around my waist, and I take a tentative step into him and place my hand on his shoulder.

  His fingers play with the thin gold chain of my wishbone necklace. I never take it off, so it’s easy to forget I have it on.

  “I can’t believe you still wear this.”

  “It’s from you. It’s my favorite thing in the world.”

  He elegantly sways to the side, pulling me in with each step. There’s no music, yet with each motion, I feel like I’m lulled into the melody. My head falls to his shoulder, and I inhale the fine thread of his suit, mixed with his woodsy scent pouring off his skin.

  “Natasha’s nice.”

  His head rests against mine. “Angela invited her. She saw us in Starbucks and assumed I was bringing her. It got awkward, so I just told her to come.”

  “You should have gone home with her.”

  He lets out a deep breath. “That relationship has run its course.”

  I lift my head and appraise him. “Why are you punishing yourself by putting your life on pause?”