21. Top Ten Billy Joel Songs

TWENTY-ONE

#1 New York Stat of Mind Just The Way You Are

"What about this one?" I asked as I strode into the living room for what was probably the sixth time on Monday evening.

"Hold on."

I waited while Nathan finished typing something into his computer. Probably something called "charting," whatever that was. I knew he had to do it every night after he got home, and that it was something to do with his job.

He looked absurdly handsome in his preferred at-home clothes: glasses, of course, a soft heather-gray tee that did nothing to hide his muscled arms and the chest I'd blissfully slept on in a Brooklyn warehouse, black joggers that made me sneak glances at his butt more than I wanted to admit, and socks with pictures of Einstein sticking out his tongue on them. He had surprised me tonight by wearing a baseball hat too, completely unaware of how the sight of it pulled backward turned me feral.

I smiled and made a mental note to write a new list.

Things that Surprise Me about Nathan Hunt

He's a terrible cook. Maybe even worse than me. Which is shocking because he seems really good at everything else.

He's a Dune dork. Apparently, he's read the series five times. He reads a little every night before he goes to sleep. A lullaby of giant sand worms.

He has a thing for weird socks. So far, I've seen crazy scientists, raccoons, and Sasquatch.

We made a surprisingly domestic fake couple, spending the rest of the weekend recovering from the party together despite not having an audience or any real reason to be. We worked out together in the top floor gym, made dinner (which mostly consisted of me watching from the kitchen island while Nathan heated up premade meals), and lounged in the living room, Nathan reading a book while I watched Netflix on my tablet or scrolled on my phone. Once, we took advantage of a break in the wintry weather to walk up Riverside Drive. Outside, Nathan held my hand just because. I didn't stop him.

I just liked being around him. The stark differences between us didn't seem to matter. Nathan didn't care that I wasn't up to speed on Nobel Prize-winning novels or that I indulged in scanning celebrity gossip sites while I drank my coffee, and I didn't care that he barely knew who Taylor Swift was or why people were so obsessed with her love life.

Sometimes, we talked, and sometimes we didn't. I didn't have to figure out how to sound extra charming to make him forget I wasn't that smart. And I thought he felt some of the same relief in not having to paste on that awkward smile he wore throughout most of the dinner with his colleagues.

We could just be.

And it was really, really nice.

Nathan finished his notes, but when he looked up at me, he jolted and barely caught his computer from slipping off his lap.

I grinned. "That good, huh?"

I twirled around in a red satin dress that barely went past my butt. It was one of the many pieces from Bergdorf's, and I'd put it on just to see that look on Nathan's face.

Mission accomplished.

Nathan set his computer aside, and I watched with satisfaction as the muscles in his neck fluttered while he swallowed.

"I—do you know what black tie means?" he asked, though he wasn't quite able to tear his gaze away from my bare legs.

"It means you have to wear a black tie, right?" I quipped as I twirled around, enjoying the way he didn't blink. Not once. "I figure this will make a splash. You want people to know I'm there. Arriving in something shorter than an ice-skating costume will do it, don't you think?"

I was playing with fire, I knew. I had no right to flirt with this man like this, especially when he didn't seem to pick up on half the cues anyway.

But I couldn't help it. I already liked it when people looked at me. But Nathan's dark-eyed smolder seemed to matter more than most.

Finally, he managed to close his mouth. "You're joking. This is a joke."

"Yes, you dork, it's a joke." I flopped onto the sofa next to him and set my feet on the coffee table. "Can you imagine what people would say if I showed up in this? I think it might actually be lingerie. They'd probably think I was a call girl."

Nathan looked more than a little uncomfortable with that idea but didn't say anything.

"And for the record, I know what black tie means. I had a prom too."

I nudged him in the shoulder. He didn't move away.

There had been a lot of that over the weekend. "Accidental" touching. In the hall. The kitchen. Brushing arms when we reached for a mug or getting caught in a doorway together when no one moved first.

Maybe I wasn't the only one walking a fine line between real-life flirting and this pretend play.

"Hey, how about some music?" I asked as I got up to try on another dress. "Or would that disturb your work?" I looked around. "Is there a speaker in here?"

"There's a Bluetooth one on the bookshelf," Nathan said, already pulling out his phone. "I'll put something on while you change."

When I returned in another dress—a long yellow one this time with an almost indecent slit nearly to my hip—Nathan was nodding in time to the tunes.

He brightened when he took in the dress. "That one's nice." His gaze dropped again to my bared leg, and I could see his Adam's apple move when he swallowed. "Very nice."

"I think it's a little too ‘Leg or breast'? Plus, I sort of feel like Big Bird. I think I should look a little more sophisticated when I make my debut as your lady friend." I perked my head at the familiar piano riff. "Is this Billy Joel?"

"Would you prefer something else? I can change it."

I shook my head. "No, it's fine. I like him too. I was just…surprised."

Nathan cocked his head. "Why? He's a very popular artist."

I giggled. "No shit, Sherlock. He's one of the bestselling musicians of all time. Just a little before our time, wouldn't you say?"

His big shoulders shrugged. "Maybe yours. I was born a bit before you. And my parents listened to these albums a lot, so I suppose I find them familiar."

At that, I softened and went to sit next to him on the couch, taking his phone so I could look through the playlist. He stiffened as our shoulders touched again, but then relaxed, almost as if he welcomed the warmth.

I swiped through all the albums available on his streaming service.

"I like Billy Joel too," I said. "It reminds me of my dad, even though I never knew him. He had all these albums. We used to play them on Nonna's record player." I pointed to The Stranger. "That one is my favorite."

"Sometimes music provides a way to connect that still feels… safe, I think."

A chill traveled down my back. Such a simple statement, but too true.

I wondered what he used music to avoid in his relationship with his parents.

Nathan narrowed his eyes as if studying the black-and-white album cover would tell him something critical about my choice. "Why that one?"

I just shrugged. "Have you ever heard the way he writes about the women he loves? They're full of flaws but perfect to him. Who wouldn't want to be adored like that?"

Nathan didn't reply, just tipped his head in that way he did when he was listening really hard, watching me like I was this hard puzzle he was trying to sort out. I didn't know why. I wasn't complicated or anything. Just a little girl who wished she knew her daddy and wanted someone to love her.

"Even though I never knew my dad, when I was lonely, I'd put these songs on and imagine he was there hugging me," I went on, closing my eyes as the opening chords to "She's Always a Woman to Me" came on. "And that was him telling me all those things I wanted to hear." I tipped my head back at Nathan. "Who doesn't want to be told ‘I love you just the way you are'?"

Just like it always did, the mention of Leandro Zola made my gut squeeze a little. And something prick at my eyes. I only knew him through pictures, most of them from before I was born. A dark-haired twin of my brother who often wore a Yankees hat, always had a drink in his hand, and had a smile like the sun. My older siblings said he had a much darker side, mostly brought out by alcohol, but I chose to think of him more like the version in my head. The dad I'd always wanted but never got to have.

I shook the memories away before they made me cry in this pretty dress. "It's weird, huh? Missing someone you never knew?"

"How old were you when he died?"

"Nine months. So, obviously, I don't remember him at all. But I do miss him." I shook my head. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

Nathan frowned, causing that adorable divot to appear between his brows and the skin around his jaw to tighten. I wanted to kiss that divot. I wanted to smooth out the lines.

No, Joni. You're roommates. Just his pretend girlfriend. That's all this is.

"Did you know that cells have memories?" Nathan asked.

I blinked out of my thoughts. "Huh?" It was such a random thing to say at this particular moment.

He kept going. "Our cells are actually incredibly intelligent. There's a lot of research on the matter. They've shown, for instance, that stem cells in the skin actually keep track of previous inflammation to better aid healing. Skin cells that have already been scarred actually heal two point five times faster than skin that has never been hurt before because they already know what to do. Or T-lymphocytes—that's a type of white blood cell—will actually impart memories of previous infections to daughter cells that last up to ten years, which helps fight similar infections should they return. But they have daughters, and they have daughter cells, and so really, we don't know how long those memories actually last, but they probably exist on some level for the rest of our lives, even if they weaken with time—" He looked up suddenly, cutting himself off. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go on like that. Some people find it annoying when I don't provide breaks in a conversation."

I smiled. He said it was annoying, but honestly, Nathan's tendency to go off for a while about random bits of information was already one of my favorite things about him. He knew so much about so much. It was kind of like hanging out with Frankie or maybe one of my teachers, but he didn't care that I didn't know as much as him. There were no judgmental looks or bad grades on quizzes. It was like living with a really nice encyclopedia. He made learning fun.

It also turned me on. A lot.

"You don't ever have to apologize for teaching me things," I told him. "I like it. Although I'm not sure what cell memories have to do with Billy Joel and my dad."

Again, that crooked smile made an appearance—the one that revealed the dimple in his left cheek.

God, he was gorgeous. So, so gorgeous. And he really had no idea.

"I—well—um—" For once, he didn't seem to know what to say. Then he pushed his glasses up his nose and tugged at the backward brim of his cap. "Science hasn't really pointed to it one way or another, and I'm not saying it's supported by any legitimate research at this point—" He cut himself off again as if he realized he was starting to go on another tangent. He took a deep breath, then continued. "I just mean to say, maybe some parts of you do remember your dad. Even if it's just in your skin. Or your cells. So it's not ridiculous that you miss him. Not at all."

When our eyes met again, this time, I was the one to look away first. His eyes were just so brown. And with this lovely music and the idea that maybe my fantasies weren't just fantasies after all…

How could this person who barely knew me manage to tell me exactly what I needed to hear?

"Did I upset you?"

I looked back, this time with my vision clouded a bit by more tears. I laughed and wiped them away. "No, no. These are happy tears."

Again, Nathan's head cocked. Again, he was just so freaking cute. "Ah. Happy tears."

I nodded. "Happy tears," I confirmed. "Cell memory. I like it. Thank you for telling me about it."

Again, that shy smile made an appearance. "You're welcome."

"So, what about me?" I pressed, suddenly eager to change the subject. "Do I get a fashion show too?"

He shook his head as he rested an arm behind me on the couch. I leaned back against it, and once again, he didn't move it away.

"I own a tuxedo that's adequate," Nathan was saying as his fingers brushed my shoulder.

I nodded. "I bet renting would be tough. Big arms and all." I gave his biceps a squeeze for good measure. It didn't even squish a little. "Why do you look like this? You don't see a lot of doctors that could play for the NFL."

Nathan adorably peered down each of his arms as if they had only just grown from his body. "I played baseball, not football."

I gawped. "You did?" That explained the hat.

He tugged on the brim. "In college, not professionally. Although my coach wanted me to go to the Combine instead of medical school."

Despite his size, the idea seemed absurd. Nathan was the opposite of what I imagined a typical jock to be. He was generally quiet, shy, and a total brain—not like the loud, shouty meatheads that traipsed the halls of Belmont Prep. Granted, our school wasn't exactly known for producing baseball players, but there was always that contingent.

He shrugged. "I played for Duke. It was a good way to get out of Virginia." His mouth tugged into an impish half-smile. "My father attended Georgetown, and we were all expected to go too—he wouldn't pay for anywhere else. Spencer and Carrick went, but I…did not."

I grinned. "I never knew you were such a rebel."

"Never on purpose," came his wry mutter.

We watched each other a moment more: the closeted rebel and the consummate flirt. Nathan's eyes dropped to my lips, and I found myself leaning in. Maybe we could share a kiss that was just for us. Maybe it didn't have to be all for show.

His lips were maybe an inch from mine when we were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

Both of us flew to opposite sides of the couch.

"Expecting company?" I wondered.

Nathan frowned as we both stood. "No."

"Nate!" Several more loud knocks shook the door. "Nate, you little shit. I know you're home. Open the damn door before I make a scene for the neighbors."

"Fuck," Nathan muttered as he checked his phone, which had several messages left unanswered. He'd had the ringer turned off. Apparently, he'd been more absorbed with his work than he'd realized.

I didn't dare think that maybe he'd wanted to shut out the world as much as I did.

"Who is that, the IRS?" I joked as Nathan went to open the door.

"No." He turned to me with apology in his eyes. "It's my brother."