The Space Between (6 page)

“Patrick!”

Startled by the fist slamming on my desk, I shook my head and looked up from my laptop. Matt smirked before sitting across from me.

“I’ve been talking for five minutes.”

“Mustn’t have been very interesting,” I murmured, rubbing my forehead. “Long week.”

“They’re the only kind. So…I’ve talked to the rest of the tribe, and we’ve decided to do this shit at eight thirty. That work for you?”

I glanced at the calendar on my screen, searching for an appointment. “Do what shit?”

Matt typed a message on his phone while he spoke. “The will. And the prerequisite drunkenness to read said will.”

Shit
. That was the last thing I wanted to do, and my subconscious helped me forget all about it until Matt banged my head back to reality.

My Friday night was going to feature a long run followed by quite a few beers, some red meat, and catching up on my industry reading while watching Premier League games.

I would
not
spend my Friday night thinking about Andy, trying to guess what Andy was wearing under her black pants and black sweaters, or inventing challenges for Andy to tackle so we could talk over lunch. There was no way in hell I was spending my night picturing Andy’s hair draped across my pillows or her naked skin on my sheets.

Yeah, that was a complete and total lie. I’d be lucky if I remembered to eat between my Andy fantasies.

“Right,” I groaned, standing and stretching my arms over my head.

We demoed a delicate Dutch Colonial today, one I wanted to do myself, and I was feeling it in my back. My shirt pulled free from my low-slung jeans and rode up my stomach. I reached higher, waiting to hear my joints pop while I arched back to stretch the tight muscles between my shoulders.

Andy walked into my office, hundreds of pages of new design plans rolled under her arms. She stopped, her eyes paused on my torso before lifting to my face. Her eyebrow arched and I noticed a subtle smile curling the corners of her lips.

Miss Asani was checking me out. The satisfaction I gained from knowing she liked my body was more than enough incentive to let Matt continue kicking my ass on the marathon training circuit.

If Andy liked what she saw enough for an eyebrow and a smile, maybe—

“Patrick!”

I lost it. I wanted this moment without Matt’s involvement, and I just lost it. “Jesus Christ, Matthew, do you not have an office of your own? What the fuck are you doing here? Do I honestly need to be talking to you right now, or can you bother RISD with this shit? If it was important enough for me to hear, I’d be listening!”

“Play nice, Optimus.” I nearly jumped over my desk to throttle him. Shifting to face her, he asked, “How’d it go this week, Andy?”

She offered Matt a warm smile, and I scowled. She never smiled at me like that. I considered any reaction from her a victory. What would it take for her to look at me that way?

“Really good. I learned more in five days than the past few years. I think we figured out some interesting things.”

Our eyes met over Matt’s head, and she lifted her shoulders, asking for my confirmation.

“Lots of interesting things, Asani.”

Though I was certain she was referring to the projects on deck, I started to catalog everything I learned about her this week.

She loved talking about food and it was one of my new missions in life to keep those conversations going. Eating with her daily was another mission.

Her water always had stuff in it. Mint leaves, cucumber slices, dried hibiscus flowers. I assumed it wasn’t simply decorative.

She could produce measuring tape, Sharpies, and flashlights in the blink of an eye. I don’t know where she hid them, but she whipped them out before I could ask.

She made nerve-wrenchingly sexy sounds when eating anything particularly delicious. I spent the better part of Wednesday afternoon at half-mast because she enjoyed the hell out of some pho and kimchi.

She wore a lot of black but it suited her. It was the ideal contrast to her rich olive skin and dark hair. She seemed altogether too serious for pink or yellow.

She was addicted to lip balm. She stored a quarter-sized pot of balm that smelled like cherries in her pocket, and retrieved it throughout the day. It was her most hypnotic ritual by far.

The tip of her finger would swirl over the pot before swiping her lips, and tasting the balm on her lips became another one of my life missions. Every time she did it, I spent at least five minutes reminding myself that sucking her lip into my mouth would probably result in a knee to my balls.

She always kept small glass jars filled with the most random shit in her Timbuk2 bag. Some days she’d have walnuts or figs. Other days it would be grape tomatoes or dried mushrooms.

I didn’t even know dried mushrooms were a thing, or that anyone would choose to eat them.

“We need to take you out for a drink. Anyone who survives a week with this guy deserves a drink on me,” Matt said. “Not tonight, but you need an official welcome to this madhouse, and to Boston. Next week for sure.”

“I look forward to it.” She gifted him with another smile.

My teeth ground together as I stared at Matt in irritation. He needed to stop bothering Andy and get back to his own office.

“You can meet my fiancée, too.”

“Sounds great.”

I wasn’t sure what she’d make of Lauren Halsted, although I’d guess Lauren would happily embrace Andy. Everything about them was different, and imagining curvy, blonde Lauren with willowy, dark Andy bordered on comedic. Where Lauren was warm and sweet, and people tripped over themselves to make her happy—my brother especially—Andy was cool and calm, and more self-possessed than any other woman I’d ever met.

I spent a gratuitous amount of time theorizing how
I
could possess her.

“Eight thirty. My place.” Matt stood, pointing a finger at me.

“Get the hell out of my office. Go text your fiancée. See if you can get your balls back for a few minutes.”

I loved Lauren as much as I loved Shannon and Erin, but someone needed to knock the grin off Matt’s face every now and then.

Matt laughed and leaned over Andy’s drafting table to catch her eye. “Andy, you’re welcome to hang in my office with me and RISD when Optimus is being a pain in the ass.”

The door closed behind Matt before I could call after him, and Andy’s eyes were on me again. “You wouldn’t like his office.”

Another eyebrow lifted. “Why is that?”

“I can promise you’d want to beat the shit out of Riley inside five minutes. He isn’t smart enough for you.” I shrugged unapologetically. “Matt is, but his solution to most things is steel and that would drive you crazy.”

“Hm.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself.

I scowled. “What?”

She shook her head, shutting down my question as only Andy could.

I was tempted to stretch again, if for no other reason than seeing her reaction. I knew it was a terrible idea. Completely fucked up and begging for disaster. But the temptation was too powerful, and I craved her minute reactions. Even after a week spent in close quarters with Andy, I had no more insight into her thoughts than I did when I first met her.

If systemically stripping got a reaction, it would be worth it. I’d live to regret it, but I’d do it anyway. Those reactions, however small, were worth every consequence.

Staring at Andy, I bent my arm behind my head and pulled my elbow, and I felt cool air against my exposed waist. I waited for her eyes to dip from my face, the seconds ticking by in my head.

After holding my gaze for approximately five years, she blinked and dropped her attention to my skin. Her eyes barely widened before she resumed her study of the plans on the table—but they widened.

PATRICK

“A
nd then he
says, ‘I’ve read all of John Lennon’s work! I find it really interesting. Researching the political uprising and October Revolution put the sixties into a whole new perspective for me!’” Matt wrapped his arm around Lauren’s shoulders, laughing.

“Riley, you are dumber than a sack of sand. What’d she say?” Sam asked.

Riley stared at his plate, an indignant smirk on his face. “I’m glad you find this so funny.”

“Listen. I like pastrami as much as the next guy, but when it comes with a side of hot blonde doctoral student, there is no detail too minor. What did she say to your little synopsis?” Sam repeated.

Riley pursed his lips and continued gazing at his plate. “I hate you all. You’re assholes. Every single one of you, except for you.” He smiled at Lauren. “You know you like me better than this old man. Just look at him. He’ll be bald in a month and I know about the erectile dysfunction.”

“Don’t even start,” she chided. “You are too young for me.”

I scratched my chin and estimated Andy’s age. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five yet she existed with confidence and maturity far beyond that. Andy wasn’t preoccupied with figuring herself out or learning how to be an adult; she was already there.

“Tell us! When did she tell you about her…preferences?” Shannon banged her hands on the table.

Sighing, Riley rolled his eyes. “She said something about an honest mix-up of John Lennon and Vladimir Lenin, and the Bolsheviks and the Beatles, and she’d fuck me if she could tie me up and gag me.”

“And naturally, they’ve been hanging out for three weeks,” Matt laughed.

“This all went down in front of you?” I asked Matt.

“Yeah, they started talking while we were eating. I stepped away to take a call, and I came back to Sgt. Pepper and the Soviet Socialists with a side of bondage and submission.”

“For your sake, I hope you have a safe word,” I said. Riley shook his head, flipping me off.

“Amazing,” Shannon breathed, brushing tears away from her eyes. “I had no idea you could find a dominatrix—one busy getting her doctorate in Russian history—at a deli. I just assumed it was more complex than ordering the same sandwich. Like a secret portal on eHarmony.”

“Let me ask you something,” Sam said, his laughter barely restrained. “In that kind of relationship, does she provide the strap-on, or do you have to get it yourself? And are you responsible for cleaning it, too?”

“Fucking asshat,” Riley murmured while the table erupted into another round of laughter.

“I’m fascinated. Truly. I’m not ragging on you. Does she have her own ball gags, or does she just cram your boxers in your mouth?” Sam asked.

“You all think you’re so fucking funny,” Riley seethed.

“You’re precious, RISD,” Shannon said. “I can’t wait to meet this chick.”

“You can bet your balls that isn’t happening, Shannon,” he said.

“Think of it this way, Riley,” Sam said. “They used to do this to me.”

“And the difference between you and me,” Riley retorted, waving his hands between him and Sam. “Is that you deserve it.”

“All right…” Shannon pulled an envelope from her bag. “With that delightful story on the books, it’s time to open these bad boys.”

“Should we call Erin and put her on speaker, or try to Skype?” I asked.

Shannon sat back and twisted her lips into an angry snarl.

“Yeah…about that. Erin emailed me last night. She’s back in the Azores and collecting samples of soil or rocks or something. There are a lot of volcanoes but not so much cell service,” Matt said. “She said we should go ahead without her.”

“Like I said,” Shannon muttered. “If it was important to her…”

The humor lighting the room dissolved, and everyone looked remarkably more sober. Sensing the gravity of the moment, Lauren stood and refilled the wine glasses. I noticed full bottles of whiskey in their kitchen, and knew we’d at least have liquor to soften the blows.

Yeah, that sounded about as healthy and well adjusted as it felt.

Lauren shifted to leave the table, but Matt shook his head, his arm wrapping around her waist while he hauled her into his lap. “Stay.”

“Ready?” Shannon asked, her fingers primed on the envelope. We nodded in agreement, and the whistling rip of the paper punctuated the silence. Shannon glanced at the cover sheet before holding up six smaller envelopes. “We each get a copy. The last page requires a signature acknowledging you read and understood the enclosed documents, and they have to be filed within thirty days of receipt.”

Once the envelopes were distributed, we continued to stare at each other, no one wanting to open first.

Sam tossed his envelope to the center of the table, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed. In the two months since he and Angus had it out, he was no better at concealing his fury than he was in November. I studied him from across the table. This could be the night he cracked. It was going to happen. Sooner or later, Sam was going to unhinge.

All his life, Sam was a few degrees left of center. My mother said he’d be a late bloomer, and we all needed to look out for him, and she was right.

He was frequently sick and never strayed far from my mother’s side. He was smaller than kids his own age, and was often mistaken as Riley’s fraternal twin despite the two years between them.

He never fit in at school, and struggled with anxiety and crippling panic attacks after her death. He was a prime target for teasing, and kids loved to call him gay. He skipped a grade to avoid being stranded in middle school without Matt, but that only meant he wasn’t bullied in front of Matt.

Kids can be evil, and they terrorized him.

Angus knew all of this, and he knew exactly which buttons to push that day in November.

First he attacked Sam’s belief system: sustainability. To Angus, green design was a cheap fad attracting people who didn’t have the chops to do the real work of preservation. Angus saw it as a parody of the craft, a mockery, and he ripped into Sam on that count.

Next he went for the sore spot: Sam’s sexuality. Angus knew how much those taunts devastated Sam, and he exploited it. He went after Sam’s attachment to Mom, his size, his health, his clothing. He was merciless, and it cut Sam to the bone.