Well Hung (13 page)

B
efore I see Natalie
, I make a planned pit stop in Greenwich Village to see Chase.

I hold the yellow and black magnetic tool up to the wall in the apartment, scanning the plaster surface. “The problem is, this stud finder pretty much goes off constantly when I’m around,” I deadpan.

“Har, har, har,” Chase says as I search for the studs in the living room wall of the one-bedroom he’s considering leasing. “Think you’ll ever retire that joke?”

I shake my head as I rap my knuckles against the wall. “Some jokes never get old. Anyway, here are the studs, so we can set up shelves no problem. I know you want lots of them to show off to the ladies all the big books you’ve read. But you probably won’t even get any chickadees back to your pad, on account of you being so ugly.”

He sighs deeply. “You’re right. I won’t get them here. Because they won’t be able to wait to climb me like a tree. They’ll be all over me in the elevator.”

I drop the stud finder into my back pocket then make a persistent beeping noise. “Oh man, it won’t stop going off with me right here.”

“It’s finding me, obviously,” he says, leaning against the doorframe of his potential living room.

I point a finger at him. “See? Even you can’t resist. You cannot deny the power of the stud finder joke.”

He swings his gaze around the empty apartment. The leasing agent let him take a final look before he signs. He asked me to join him to make sure the place didn’t have any hidden structural issues. Not that he’d be on the hook for them, but we’ve both heard horror stories of renters moving into crumbling apartments and then battling landlords for repairs. Best to make sure the home is in solid shape beforehand, and this one looks good. That’s all the more remarkable since it’s an older building, and it’s on a great block with a cobbled sidewalk and cool restaurants.

Chase gestures to the naked floors and walls. “This place is a steal, huh?”

“Yeah, snap it up for sure.”

“Awesome. I think I’ll just go see the leasing agent now. When I asked her for the keys to check it out, all I had to do was flash my killer smile and she handed them over. She’s hot for me.” He bats his hazel eyes as he grins. “She gave me a discount on account of me being so handsome.”

I roll my eyes. “Dude, she did not give you a discount. One, you’re not Henry Cavill, or the shortstop for the New York Yankees. You don’t have that sort of pull. Second, it’s New York. No one gets a break on an apartment.”

“You’re just jealous of my amazing ability to land the ladies like that.” He snaps his fingers. Then, in an instant, his tone downshifts to serious. “So, what’s the deal with your wife?”

I lean against the kitchen doorway and sigh heavily. We both let go of the jokes. “Shit, man, I don’t know. I can’t figure out what the hell to do.” I tell him the latest so he knows the score—our annulment went AWOL, we fucked like bunnies on her desk, and afterward she became the Queen of Do-It-Yourself-Divorce.

With a frown, Chase scratches his head. “You got me. I’m stumped.”

“C’mon, Doctor Brain. You’re never stumped.”

“No, I mean I don’t get what the problem is.” He slams a fist against the other palm. “You could just bang her.”

I cringe. “That’s a little crass. Besides, it’s not like that.”

“No. It
is
like that.”

I shake my head. “It’s hard to separate all the stuff.”

“You mean you’ve never had sex without feelings?”

“Of course I have. I meant it’s hard to separate all the other . . . entanglements. Like the fact that I’m her employer.”

He taps the right side of his skull. “You put the sex in the sex portion of your head.” He raps the left side. “You put the work in the work portion.” He wipes one palm against the other. “Done.”

I shake my head, amused. “And my sister wonders why I call you a dog.”

His eyes light up, and his expression shifts from jaded playboy to eager beaver. “Your sister asks about me?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. Besides, after what you just said about different portions of your brain, you can stay the fuck away from my sister.”

“I’m just giving you a hard time. About all of this, including the banging.” Now he’s got his bedside manner in full swing. No teasing, no fucking around. “You know what you need to do. You care about this woman, like I said before. When that happens, there are no separate parts, so you’ve got to shut it down.” He slices his hands through the air. “She’s your employee, so you just can’t go there.”

That’s what I love about Chase. Half the shit he says is to get a rise out of me, and I respect the hell out of that kind of commitment to ribbing. But when it comes right down to it, the man gets that there are rules of the road, and I need to follow them.

“You’re right. I’ve got to keep the dick in the box.”

He mimes opening a gift box at his waist, and I nod in agreement then point to the hardwood floors. “And you and your different brain parts should definitely get this apartment. It’s a good deal.”

“I think I will. Thanks for checking it out. And hey, if you want a little practice session on how to behave around Natalie, you both should come over to Max’s next weekend. He wanted to throw me a little welcome-back-to-town dinner-thing,” Chase says, mentioning his brother.

“I’m in. And I’ll ask Natalie, too.”

He smacks his forehead. “Oh. Forgot to tell you. She’ll be there. Josie is planning it with Max, so she invited Natalie.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re always up to something.”

“That pretty much describes me perfectly. Oh, and good luck with that little problem of not being able to separate sex and feelings,” he says with an arched eyebrow as we leave.

“You got a pill for that, too, Doctor Dick?”

He gestures to his crotch. “Yeah it’s called Stud Finder.” He thrusts his pelvis once. “And it all points
here
for the ladies.”

The thing is Chase is all talk. He was madly in love with some girl during his residency, and, well, let’s just say it didn’t work out the way he wanted it to.

He’s right, though. There’s more at stake with Natalie than my white-hot desire to bang her brains out night and day. Or my wish to take her to Coney Island and ride the rollercoaster, or take her to a barbecue, or have her be the one by my side at Nick’s wedding.

What’s at stake is
her.

Natalie has a job that matters to her. The more we mess around, the more I risk putting her in an awkward employment situation. Obviously, I’d never fire her because of this, but I want her to feel comfortable at work. I’ve got to respect the woman’s ability to pay her own bills, and since I’m the one who signs her checks, I can’t let my dick, loyal prick that he is, call the shots.

That’s not the kind of man I want to be.

If I keep screwing her, where does that leave her when it all goes south? And it will go south. It’s inevitable. Relationships always do, especially when they start at the office.

N
atalie waits
for me at a coffee stand in the Union Square Farmer’s Market, with a bag of strawberries in one hand and a drink in the other. She waves hello, then gives me the beverage. “The way you like it,” she says, and her comment tugs at something in my chest.

Knowing someone’s coffee order isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of life, but making the effort to get the cup of joe just right is one of those little things that can make you smile.

However, smiling feels terribly out of place right now. We grab one of the little green tables set up by the edge of the market, surrounded by hipsters chowing down on falafels and drinking ginger sodas. I spin a chair around and park myself in it, resting my forearms over the back. I down a gulp of the coffee and thank her again.

Natalie tucks a strand of her blond hair behind her ear and flashes a quick grin as she sets the strawberries on the table. Dipping her hand into her purse, she grabs some papers. “I downloaded the packet yesterday for an uncontested divorce in New York. There are a ton of forms, and most don’t really apply, but we should go through them anyway. As I understand it, the whole process could take anywhere from six weeks to a few months.”

“Whoa. Why so long?”

“New York makes you jump through hoops.”

She shuffles through forms about division of marital property, liability for joint debts, child custody and support, spousal maintenance, insurance benefits, and a ton of other legal details that make my head spin
Exorcist
style. Oh, yeah—they also remind me I’m a complete douche for suggesting we get married that night. What was supposed to be fun and daring has turned into a helluva knot to untangle.

I shake my head. “Damn, this really makes me feel like a world-class idiot for proposing in the first place. I had no clue it would turn into such a clusterfuck,” I say through a heavy sigh.

“Me, neither. But what can you do but roll up your sleeves?” She slaps on a smile, and I’ve got to say, I’m impressed she’s rolling with the mess we made of being adults. Then she whispers conspiratorially, “It’s like we’re the naughty kids who snuck out late with the car. But rather than enjoy the thrill of a midnight joyride, we plowed down our neighbor’s mailbox, and now we’re doing extra chores to pay for it.”

I crack up. “Why do I have the feeling you’re speaking from experience?”

She points a thumb at herself. “This girl did that.”

“No shit?”

“Sixteen and far too dangerous for her own good.”

“Since we’re playing confessional,” I open with a drawl, “you’re looking in the mirror.”

Her jaw drops. “You, too?”

“We went to my uncle’s house during the summer, and I took out his Cadillac and accidentally drove over his neighbor’s rose bushes. He was not happy. I had to catch a train to Jersey every Saturday that summer to mow his lawn and trim the hedges to make up for the cost of the roses.”

She holds up a hand and we smack palms. “Does this make us the black sheep of our families?”

“Baa . . .” I say, imitating that animal.

Her eyes light up. “Can you make animal noises?”

“You want more?”

She nods excitedly. “Horse, please.”

I shake my head quickly and make a neighing sound.

Holding up a finger, she asks for one more. I decide to break out my seal bark, with a throaty
arf, arf, arf
that cracks her up.

“Encore, encore!”

I shake my head. “That’s all you get from Wyatt’s World of Animal Sounds for now. If you’re a good girl, I’ll show you the lion in my repertoire later.”

“I can’t wait.”

I rub my palms together. “Back to Adult Land.”

We return to the papers, reviewing them. The one that catches my attention like a house on fire is division of marital property. Narrowing my eyes, I stab the pages with my finger. “What’s this? Is that like my apartment or the business or something?”

She pats my hand gently. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make a claim on your business.”

I straighten. “Didn’t think you were,” I say in a testy tone and grab the coffee, but apparently bringing the cup to my lips is too daunting a process, and I succeed in spilling some on my jeans. “Fuck,” I curse, and Natalie grabs some napkins from her purse and hands them to me.

“Everything okay?” she asks as I wipe at the denim.

“Yeah.” I meet her eyes. “My ex from long ago tried to dig into my business. Seeing that paper just kind of . . .”

“Touched a nerve?” she supplies softly.

I nod. “Stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s how you feel. I’d probably be the same.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “You’re not like that. I shouldn’t even be thinking it.”

She rubs my arm. “You’re right. I’m not like that. But I get it. I swear I do.”

“You do?”

“It makes sense that you’d feel that way. And look, I’d be a little freaked, too, if I were you. You built a successful business. But you have my word, Wyatt. I’m not trying to get a piece of it. We didn’t have a real marriage. We just had a ridiculously fun one that was only ever supposed to last for twenty-four hours. I want this process to go as smoothly as possible, too.”

“Thanks for understanding. It was just one of those things I never saw coming,” I say, then share a few more details of Roxy.

“That’s crazy,” she says, shaking her head. “No wonder—”

I tilt my head when she breaks off. “No wonder what?”

She waves a hand in front of the pages. “No wonder it would touch a nerve, that’s all. If you want to get a lawyer to handle this, I understand.”

I scoff and hold up my hands. “No. I swear I don’t. I had more than enough of lawyers with Roxy’s antics. Same with someone who hacked my site several months ago. Had to get an attorney involved then, too. I don’t get why it’s so hard just to stick to the plan. Pretty sure the contract for the website didn’t call for her to hack into it at a later date,” I say, sarcastically. “I just want to put this all behind us.”

She flashes a too-bright smile. “Agreed. No sharks needed. Let’s keep moving forward.”

We spend the next twenty minutes reviewing paperwork and signing documents. When we’re done and she puts the pages away, I lift my cup. “Tell me something fun. Something to get the taste of divorce out of my mouth.”

She grabs a strawberry, twists off the leafy top, and pops it between her lips. “Strawberries taste good. But they’re not actually berries. Did you know that?”

“I did not. But I like where this is going. Do continue.”

“Thought you might like that little nugget, since you’re a collector of quirky facts.”

“What are they, if not berries? Just a regular fruit?”

She shakes her head and pops another one past her pretty red lips. After she eats, she answers, “A fleshy receptacle for seeds.”

I crinkle my nose. “That’s kind of gross. Where’d you learn that?”

“I looked it up the other day. I guess quirky facts were on my mind because of you.” She hands me a red berry. As I eat it, I can’t help but grin at something as simple as her researching life’s oddities for that reason. “Your turn,” she says. “Tell me something from Wyatt’s Encyclopedia of Quirky Animal Facts.”

“Do you know why cats can slide under a vanity cabinet in the bathroom like they’re boneless?” I begin, and there’s nothing quite like the old cats-have-no-collarbones factoid to take the sting out of divorcing the woman you fucked on her desk last week. In fact, collarboneless cats are pure gold when you need a conversational lubricant. I also work in a little tidbit about domesticated turkeys (they can’t fly), facts about elephants (with forty thousand muscles in their trunks, they can use them to pick up tiny objects including a small coin), and a bit of insight into fish (they drink water through osmosis rather than their mouths).

Natalie smiles and laughs through my
lesson,
as she calls it. “Your fascination with animal facts—where did that come from?”

“I used to read
National Geographic
as a kid. Which probably sounds weird, since everyone thinks Nick and Josie are the smart ones.”

She shoots me a quizzical look. “Who thinks that?”

I shrug. “Dunno. But probably everyone, I figure, since they
are
the smarter ones. Josie is great with books, and Nick is just . . . well, he’s Nick. The old noggin works really well on him. They did better in school than I did.”

“You already know where I stand on that front,” she says, and holds up a fist. “Black sheep united.”

I knock her curved fingers. “Seems we’ve got some things in common, the-almost-former-Mrs. Hammer.”

“Such a shame, since it’s a fun last name.”

“It is. By the way, I’m assuming the fact that we’re meeting at the farmer’s market, not the office, means we’re trying not to fuck like bunnies again?” I ask, aiming to make light of the situation.

She cracks up and gestures to the tents peddling asparagus, arugula, and artichokes. “What? You think I won’t tug you behind one of the veggie stands so we can get it on behind a box of portobellos?”

Immediately, I scan the market. “Where are those damn mushrooms?”

She swats me, and we make our way out of the market. “I do think we should try to be good boys and girls,” she says, her tone a touch more serious. “That work for you?”

I drape an arm over her shoulder. “Works for me. And it looks like we survived keeping our hands off each other, thanks to your mushroom strategy. Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed that there are no mushroom stands here today.”

She snaps her fingers in an “aw shucks” gesture. “You figured me out.” Her eyes drift to my hand on her shoulder, as if to say she’s caught me.

I hold out that hand, admitting my guilt. “I’m trying, woman. I’m trying to be a good guy.”

And I am. I’m trying so fucking hard not to hike her over my shoulder, carry her through the crowds, and kiss the hell out of her on top of the crates of berries, boxes of asparagus, or behind the bunches of bananas.

Because really, getting it on with her at a banana stand would absolutely be our style.

“Check out that banana stand,” I say with a tip of my forehead and a wiggle of my eyebrows.

She swats me. “You’re bad. We’re trying to be friends.”

I straighten and adopt a serious tone. “I meant as friends, of course. I want to be friendly with you behind the banana stand.”

She rolls her eyes. “Speaking of being friends, I’ll send you those videos later. I’m ready to show them to you.”

When I click on the email that evening, I vow to focus on helping her, not nailing her.

Because she needs the help.

These videos suck.