The Offer (10 page)

Steph gives
her a dirty look. “Things change when you get married.”

“And that’s
why I cancelled my wedding,” Kayla says. “I wasn’t ready for that.
But you and Linden are. And don’t worry, I’m not going to go near
Bram.” She looks at me. “He’s all yours.”

“Mine?” First
of all, Bram isn’t anything of mine except for a landlord now, and
second of all…I dunno. I don’t exactly appreciate being told I can
have something as if I wouldn’t have had a chance with Bram if
Kayla went after him.

I can feel
Steph’s eyes dart between me and the road. “Nuh uh,” Steph says.
“Nicola needs a nice guy. And while Bram is generous – I mean, he’s
really stepped up his game lately as we all know – he’d chew her up
and spit her out.”

“Might be fun
to be chewed up, though,” Kayla says.

I wish that
thought hadn’t already crossed my mind.

Finally we
arrive at the apartment building and everything is so surreal. I
realize it has in no way sunk in that I’ve moved to this place. I
mean, the building isn’t anything special. It’s two stories with
bump-out windows typical of the city and this pinkish taupe color
that Bram says he’s going to have painted cobalt blue in a few
weeks. But even though it’s on the old side, it’s clean and
renovated. The small lobby has art deco-style tiles. There are no
bars on the doors. People have doormats outside their doors and
there are vivid watercolor paintings of the city in the halls.

My apartment
is even better. It’s on the second floor and it’s a two-bedroom.
Both of the bedrooms are barely big enough for a bed, but still, it
means Ava can have her own space, something I know would make her
really excited. I can’t wait until later tonight when my mom drops
her off and she gets to see the place. We hadn’t had the time to
check it out until now.

The kitchen is
darling as well with white subway tiles and gleaming appliances and
a window over the sink that looks down into the palm trees in the
backyard that runs the length of the property. The city skyline
stretches in the background, from the Transamerica Pyramid to the
Top of the Mark. There are hardwood floors in all room and crown
moldings on the walls. It’s absolutely gorgeous and perfectly
me.

However, the
moving in and unpacking seems to take longer than moving out, maybe
because now that I’m here I am so damn excited that I can’t wait to
start decorating and get everything in its perfect place. My
furniture looks kind of shabby, and no longer in that chic way, so
maybe when I get some money I can head up to IKEA as well.

Everyone is
exhausted after the move and I wish I could buy them beer and pizza
but Kayla is shunning carbs at the moment and Steph won’t let me
spend my money. Bram disappears into his apartment – right next
door, the corner unit – and comes out with a bottle of champagne
and a six-pack. We all pull up a box and sit around, talking,
drinking and stretching our aching muscles.

Eventually,
Steph and Linden are the last to leave. It’s just me and Bram in my
apartment now, which I guess is his apartment, and it’s at least
another hour until my mom and Ava get here.

“So,” he says,
folding his arms across his wide chest and standing, his legs
askance. He surveys the living room, which is a disaster zone of
boxes and furniture. “This is going to be your home.”

“Until I get
back on my feet,” I quickly remind him as I lean back against the
kitchen counter.

“Well, I was
under the impression that you’d pay rent as soon as you get on your
feet. Doesn’t mean you have to leave. I mean, you like it here,
don’t you?”

“I just got
here.”

He eyes me
suspiciously. “You’re having a hard time with this, aren’t
you?”

“What?” I ask,
hoping my face looks surprised.

He gestures to
the room. “This whole arrangement. I really wish you’d learn to
trust me.”

“I do trust
you,” I say, then correct myself. “I think. But I barely know
you.”

He takes
a few steps forward and I find myself inching up against the
counter. There’s a heated look in his eyes that makes me worried.
“Well, don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re going to get to know me
pretty well, whether you like it or not. We’re neighbors now, above
anything else. You need a cup of sugar for your baking, come knock
on my door. You need a roll of toilet paper, come knock on my door.
You get caught up with some knob in the heat of the moment and you
need a condom, come knock on my door. I have plenty.” He squints at
me. “You do
have
sex
, don’t
you?”

I swallow hard
and curse the heat that’s coming to my cheeks. Why the hell did I
have to have that wine when I know it makes my face extra hot? “Of
course I have sex,” I snap. “But neighbors don’t need to know about
each other’s sex lives.”

“You’ve got
that look again,” he says, his voice lower now, as he peers down at
me and takes another step forward until there’s just a foot between
us. “The way your cheeks are pink. Do you remember what I’d said
about that?”

I did. That
I’d look the same when I had an orgasm. “No and please don’t remind
me.”

He licks his
lips and nods. “All right.” He turns around and heads to the door.
“I’m going out for the evening.” He glances at me over his
shoulder. “I hope you enjoy your first night here. Say hello to the
little one from me.”

Then he’s gone
and I’m alone in my apartment for the first time.

If all of our
interactions are going to be a mix of overt generosity and him
being, well, him, I’m not sure what the next one is going to
bring.

All I know is
that it’s definitely going to keep me on my toes.

“
Mommy?”
Ava asks me, puttering into the kitchen and dragging her Snuffy
animal behind her as I’m unloading the dishwasher.

“Yes, angel?”
I say, peering at one of the glasses against the morning light,
checking for water spots.

“How come you
don’t have to stick yourself with an ouchie?”

Ah, shit.

It’s
been two weeks since I’ve moved into the new apartment and about
three weeks of giving Ava her insulin shot. She doesn’t mind the
finger prick from the glucose monitor as much because she thinks
it’s like in
Sleeping Beauty
when Beauty gets pricked on the spindle – I think Ava
thinks her Prince Phillip might show up. But the shot is something
else. She doesn’t always cry but I can tell it hurts her and it
doesn’t seem to matter where I put it. I guess it doesn’t help that
she calls it her “ouchie.”

I put the
glass on the table and crouch down to her level. I brush her hair
back behind her ears. “I don’t stick myself with the ouchie because
I’m all grown up. You need the medicine to make sure you’ll be
grown up and big, just like your mother. But not every child gets
this medicine. Only the special ones. You’re one of the special
ones, angel.”

Ava pouts over
that but then nods. “Okay.” Then she runs into the living room with
Snuffy at her side. My heart expands inside me. Being a mother is
such a curse sometimes, discovering that ability to love so much
more than you thought possible and then being tied to that love
forever, no matter how old they get, no matter how much you can’t
protect them anymore.

I sigh and
finish putting away the rest of the dishes. It’s Saturday morning
and I know I’ve forgotten to get yesterday’s newspaper from the
mailbox. I’ve been applying to every job I can find, at least all
somewhat related to my field, but I’ve only gotten one interview.
That was for a clothing store as a sales clerk and it was one week
ago. I’m no longer holding my breath. Even though I know most of
the ads are online these days, I’m taking no chances and checking
the classifieds as well.

“Ava, mommy’s
going to get the paper from downstairs, okay?” I tell her as I head
for the door. “Stay where you are, I’ll be right back.”

She nods,
engrossed with the cartoon on TV. I look down at what I’m wearing –
pajama bottoms, slippers and a tank top but at least I’ve put a bra
on. I know who my neighbor is and the last thing I want is for my
nipples to have a staring contest with Bram.

I’d seen Bram
come and go over the last two weeks and he’s checked in on me a few
times. He has that perpetual smirk on all the time, like he’s just
about to throw a zinger or some comment my way, but so far he
hasn’t. I don’t know if he’s trying to be on his best behaviour or
he’s just gotten bored with bugging me.

What I do know
is that the guy likes to get laid. A lot. A ridiculous amount. I’m
surprised his dick hasn’t broken off at this point. My bedroom is
next to his and I can hear him when I’m in the living room, which
makes things a little uncomfortable when Ava is up and about. So
far she hasn’t seemed to notice but that might be because I
immediately put music on or turn the TV up when I hear him. He’s
pretty loud and the girl he’s with is even louder. That’s assuming
there is just one girl he’s screwing and I’m not too sure about
that. It’s definitely not Astrid. Last time he was with this
cocoa-skinned model with a booty that had even me staring at it,
hypnotized.

I also can
tell the girls aren’t faking it, which means Bram is pretty damn
good at what he does. Their cries in the heat of passion all sound
surprised, like they can’t believe such pleasure could happen to
them. I guess the mottos about him are true – one night in his bed
and your legs are forever spread.

Meanwhile
there’s me, who isn’t seeing anyone and the last time I got off was
in the shower a few days ago with my BOB, my Battery Operated
Boyfriend. He’s the closest thing to a sexual relationship I’ve got
at the moment and I’m starting to like his dependability.

I get the
paper from the mailbox in the lobby and then head back upstairs.
While I’m approaching my apartment, I see the door to Bram’s open.
My heart stills for a moment – I don’t know why – but then I see a
girl with a dramatic bob exit. She’s wearing a black leather
miniskirt that I can tell is faux leather, a crop top that looks
like the glitter fairy vomited all over it and is carrying her
Valentino knock-offs in her hands. She’s got day-old mascara under
her eyes.

Good ol’ walk
of shame.

She sees me
and smiles sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I say
to her as I open my door. “I like your shoes.” I mean, that’s not
entirely true, but I do like the real versions.

“Oh.” She eyes
them, flustered. “Thanks.”

I watch as she
walks quickly down the hall and disappears into the stairwell, as
if she’s fleeing the scene of a crime.

Suddenly
Bram’s door reopens and he pokes his head out, his dark hair
tussled, the definition of bedhead. He’s looking down the empty
hall and then he notices me and gives me a cocksure smile. “Is she
gone?”

“Yes,” I tell
him. “Like a bat out of hell.”

“Excellent
album,” he says. Then adds, “Meatloaf. The singer.”

“I know who
Meatloaf is,” I tell him, moving to go inside my own apartment.

“Hey,” he says
quickly, and steps out from behind his door. He’s just wearing a
t-shirt and his boxer briefs. They are grey. They are David
Beckham’s. They are that close that I can read the label. And they
seem a size too small for all the junk he’s packing in there.

“Oh my God,” I
say, covering my eyes and turning away. “Can you please put on some
pants?”

“Prude,” he
says with a sniff. “There’s nothing obscene about underwear.”

Maybe not for the average man, but for you, yeah there
is
, I think. But don’t
dare say that, lest I add to his already over-inflated ego. I can’t
help but think what both Steph and Kayla had said about Linden
being well-hung and I can deduce that it certainly runs in the
family.

“I just wanted
to ask you something,” he goes on and he sounds just serious enough
that I turn around and look at him, keeping my eyes trained up
there and nowhere else. I’m not even sure if I’m blinking. “Two
things actually.”

“What?” I
sound impatient. I just want to go back inside.

“I hope we
weren’t too loud,” he says. “You know, I never asked the previous
tenants if they could hear my, erm, antics in the bedroom. And
every room. You know how it goes. But I can ask you.”

“What makes
you think you can ask me that?”

He
shrugs. “I’m going to assume now that you
can
hear me.”

“I use
earplugs,” I tell him. Which is true. I use them every night and
shove them so far down I’m pretty sure they might come out my nose
one day. As soon as I get more money, I think I’m going to take
stock in an earplug company.

“Too bad,
you’re missing quite the show.”

I give him a
dirty look. “Did anyone ever tell you how inappropriate you
are?”

“Yes, many
times.” He jerks his chin at me. “But knowing your wall is just as
thin, don’t feel like you have to be quiet when – if – you ever
bring a man over. I don’t mind. I like to listen.”

I shake my
head in disbelief. “Why is it so hard for you to stay decent?”

“Must be in my
genes,” he muses, leaning against the doorframe, jutting out his
pelvis just so. I refuse to look even though I agree with his
statement.

“Do I dare ask
what the other thing is?” I say. I don’t even know why I’m humoring
him and not shutting the door in his face. I’d hate to think I find
something fun and amusing about our little interactions. He’s kind
of like the kid in grade school who used to pull your hair.

“Ah, yes,” he
says with a wicked grin. “Given the lack of sexual activity in your
apartment and your refusal to take even one peek at my knickers,
I’m curious if you’ve ever had sex before. I mean, I know you have
a daughter but you hear about these virgin births all the
time.”