9. Reasons I Avoid The Upper West Side

NINE

#1 Cant think of any but I def dont beLong hear

"This is the service elevator. The co-op requires that all major deliveries go in and out of there, which would include your furniture if you take the room."

Approximately ninety minutes after I'd nearly face-planted off the platform at Opal, I limped after Nathan as he continued his tour around the lobby of 60 Riverside Drive, calmly pointing out things like mailboxes and doormen while I kept looking around, waiting for my one-night stand to pop out of one of the corners like a Jack-in-the-Box.

I had changed out of the silver hot pants back into my regular jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. My knee was throbbing but had improved after I'd swallowed a bunch of ibuprofen.

"All right?" Nathan asked when he realized I was lagging behind him on his way to the main elevator.

I nodded and slung the duffel bag full of Rochelle's clothes over my shoulder. "Just a little slow. I need to ice again, I think."

Nathan frowned at my knee, then took the bag without asking. "Let's go upstairs. I have some cold packs in the freezer you can use while we discuss the rental agreement."

I barely paid attention to the quiet luxuries of the building as we walked back through the lobby to the main residents' elevator. And why would I? I'd been here only a week before.

Even so, I hadn't really paid attention then either. Had there always been two doormen to protect residents, plus two other men to operate the elevators? Were the prewar penny tiles in the lobby always as shiny as new coins? Or maybe it was only without a roaring hangover that I could appreciate the smear-free mirrors that circled the lobby or the refurbished art deco chandeliers hanging every ten feet or so. Everything screamed quiet, well-maintained opulence.

It was a far cry from my shabby old house in Belmont.

"So, why does a rich guy like you need a roommate anyway?" I asked as I followed Nathan into the elevator. "What's the catch?"

Nathan glanced at the operator, who acted like a piece of furniture. "No catch."

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't believe you."

Nathan shrugged. "Maybe I'm just making up for the fact that I offended you multiple times."

The elevator operator didn't even twitch. Talk about professional.

"By offering me a place to live?" I pressed. "That's a crazy way to say you're sorry."

"By doing you a favor," Nathan clarified. "I assume you'll want your own place eventually, so this wouldn't be permanent. I have a spare room that needs to be filled. When you find a better job that you actually want, you can save up and move out, and my conscience will be clean. Everyone wins."

I watched him as the elevator continued upward, looking for any indication of deceit. A twitching eyelid, a shifty gaze.

But Nathan only watched me right back until the elevator stopped, and the operator opened it onto the ninth floor.

"Come on," he said. "There are a few more amenities up on the general tour."

I stepped out, expecting to find a hallway like the one where I'd made my escape only days before. Instead, I found myself staring through several glass walls, each marking the boundaries of a few different exercise rooms available for residents.

It was the last thing I'd expected to see in a prewar building in New York.

The place had its own gym. Its own pool. A barbecue patio. A squash court.

It wasn't an apartment building. It was a freaking resort.

"There's a weight room and some cardio machines." Nathan ticked off the different areas as we walked down the hall. "A sauna down the hall and a pool on the deck that's open in the summer. And down there is a studio I thought you might be interested in."

I hobbled toward one of the glass doors. "A studio?"

Through the glass was a room lined with mirrors on both sides, a ballet bar affixed to them, with some various gym equipment and heavy bags stashed at the end.

It was a dance studio. Which Nathan had chosen to show to me. Tonight.

"I, um, thought you might want to use it sometime," he said. "To…practice."

"On my crappy knee? Doubtful." I eyed the mats in the corner. "I could do some Pilates and barre work, though."

Nathan dropped my bag on the floor, then leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, which made his muscles bulge distractingly, even in his pea coat. "It's none of my business if you continue dancing or not, but it seems like you want to. I'd assume you should keep up your strength as best you can. If you're not interested?—"

"Oh, I am," I said quickly. "I—" I sighed. "Sorry, I'm just overwhelmed, and it makes me snappy. I haven't actually been inside a studio in months. The last time I did was after I was cleared by my PT. I fell even worse than when you caught me."

My cheeks heated at the memory—not of falling in front of half the New York dance community months ago, but of tonight and how it felt being carried around in Nathan's arms like I weighed literally nothing. The broad refuge of his chest and the brightness in his eyes when he'd offered to take me here.

Now, however, he was all business.

"Well, it's available if you want it."

Nathan paused, forehead crinkling with thought. Then he shook his head, and I found myself dying to know whatever he'd been thinking.

Or maybe I didn't want to know. Maybe it was the same as everyone else—that I was an idiot for even having that dream in the first place.

"I thought it might make up for…" Nathan straightened and rubbed his palms together. "The other misunderstandings between us. Moving in here will solve both our problems."

"Except for the one about how we don't even like each other?" I joked.

Nathan blinked rapidly. "We don't like each other?"

I mirrored his confusion. "We do?"

Nathan shuffled on his feet. "I—I'm sorry. I had no idea you didn't like me, Joni."

I coughed. "Nathan, I literally told you to fuck off. What did you think that meant?"

His hands pulled at each other, almost like he was cracking his knuckles, but with a more frenetic energy than I'd seen from him before. "That you were angry. I didn't—Jesus. I said I was sorry—what else?—"

It was the first time I'd ever seen him this confused. And upset by it. Like he honestly didn't know what was happening.

"Hey." I set a hand on his shoulder, urging him to calm down. My touch seemed to help. "I'm sorry, man."

"No, I'm sorry. I had no idea I'd offended you so badly that you hated me."

"I don't hate you." I shrugged. "Or even dislike you. Anymore. Honestly, I don't really know you. But if it's any consolation, something has changed in the last hour. You went from being a stiff jerk to just kind of socially awkward." I glanced at the dance studio. "And nice. I have a feeling that underneath the weirdly direct questions lives a genuinely thoughtful person."

A warmth entered Nathan's eyes, and his mouth quirked, suggestive of a shy smile that I had a feeling would melt me into a puddle if I ever saw it emerge. "So, now that I've appropriately apologized, how do you feel about me now?"

That you're so…odd, I thought to myself as the list formed itself in my head.

How I Feel About Nathan Hunt

That by some miracle, he has no freaking idea how handsome he is.

That he's a walking bag of oxymorons: kind yet cold, warm yet clinical.

That he's really smart about some things and completely oblivious to others. Just like me.

"I don't know," I said finally. "But I think you might be a good person after all."

That hint of a smile deepened into a full-on suggestion, turning the dimple in his left cheek into more than just a hint. "Well, that's good. Especially since I'm not the easiest person to live with."

I sighed. Now, we were getting to the truth.

"I'll stay out of your hair," I told him. "Keep my mess to my room, leave my shoes at the door, and I will not touch any of your food or kitchen appliances without your consent. I promise."

Nathan huffed. "I—well, yes, all of that would be ideal, but that's not what I meant."

My brows popped up. "More house rules?"

He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose. It seemed to be a tell of his—almost like he was uncertain. Nothing about his face, his posture, or anything else would have told me that. But I was starting to notice that he pushed at his glasses whenever he was about to say something he wasn't sure about.

"Hey." I reached out and pinched his cheek lightly.

He started at the touch but didn't move away.

I pulled back my hand and offered a smile. "I know we got off to a rough start. But honestly, it doesn't matter what the rules are. You want me to scrub the floors every Tuesday with a toothbrush? Fine. I'll do it. You like to walk around naked after nine? You do you, man. The fact that you are offering me a place to stay at all is a godsend, so as long as you aren't a serial killer, I'll deal with whatever you need."

Nathan coughed. "I don't mean about the house rules. I meant…me. I've been told I can be sharp sometimes. Or unfeeling."

I snorted. "Nathan, I already knew that. Been there, told you off for it, remember?"

For that, I was rewarded with something that almost looked like the start of a smile. And for the first time, I wondered what it would look like if I got the rest of it. Just like I also wondered why I'd never seen it before either.

"I just want you to know that I don't intend it that way," he said. "And if I am, please tell me. Otherwise, I thought maybe things like the studio would make up for it. Because I am also…appreciative. That you're considering this, I mean."

I looked around the room with a new understanding of what it was. A gift. A sign that, for some crazy reason, Nathan Hunt feared deep down that he wasn't worthy.

I didn't know how or why that was possible. But that insecurity was there.

And that was something I completely understood.

Without stopping to think, I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed. Slowly, his hands found my waist, then slid up my back and returned the embrace.

I tried to ignore how good it felt as I lay my cheek on his big shoulder. How warm his skin was. How good he smelled.

"Thank you," I said, then pulled away before I wasn't able to anymore. "I appreciate it too. More than you know. Now, let's go back to the apartment. I want to get a look at my room before I sign my life away."

I was struck with another wave of déjà vu when we stepped out of the stairwell on the eighth floor.

Well, of course, I was. I didn't remember the number of the apartment I'd snuck out of last week, but all the floors probably looked the same in this building. Maybe one floor down? Or one door over? Arden—Anders?—and Nathan were friends, or at least friendly enough that Nathan recognized the couch.

God, I hope I don't run into my shaggy one-night stand.

Nathan stopped outside a dark green door with a shiny brass 8F on the front and handed me a keychain with a little I Love NY fob dangling from the end.

"Try it," he said. "I just changed the locks, so you should make sure your key works. It's the same for the deadbolt and the bottom."

We stood close as I unlocked the door, trying and failing to ignore the scent of sandalwood and soap next to me. When he'd come downstairs to introduce me to the doorman, Nathan had looked as prim as ever in his glasses and just as sexy in a light blue T-shirt and gray joggers that hugged his legs perfectly. Even in scrubs at nearly one in the morning, the guy still looked like the teacher in an SAT prep ad in the subway—and it was embarrassing how stupidly hot I found that whole vibe. It wasn't fair, especially when I probably had raccoon eyes from all the stage makeup and was hobbling around like Tiny Tim.

The door opened easily, and Nathan held it open before following me inside and dropping my bag in the entry.

I didn't make it very far. Just past a shoe rack with two pairs of Hokas under a coat rack currently only bearing a rain jacket and Nathan's navy pea coat, then past a small round table in the foyer holding a familiar-looking fern and a bowl for keys. To the left, I stopped short at the living room entrance.

This was beyond déjà vu. I knew those windows and the view of the Hudson. I knew the painting over the fireplace and the photographs of classic New York buildings and Central Park on the opposite walls. Most of all, I knew that couch, the gray one with buttons and a neat row of Harper's magazines spread on the elegant glass coffee table.

This wasn't just a similar apartment. It was the same apartment.

I whirled around. Nathan stood by the foyer table, arms crossed, while he watched me with open curiosity. And expectation.

"I believe you've been here before," he said quietly.

I gawped. "This was your apartment the whole time?"

Nathan nodded. "I found the bra in my living room. When you mentioned the couch, I knew it was yours."

I whirled around, ready for the lurking ghost of Beardy One Nighter to pop out of one of the bedrooms and shout "gotcha!" at me.

"Aiden moved out. He couldn't live here anymore."

There was something more to that statement, but he didn't offer any more detail.

Jesus. I'd heard of men ghosting their dates, but I'd never heard of someone literally moving to avoid seeing me again.

Still, it was some relief to know I wouldn't run into him in the halls.

Then another thought curdled my blood. "Oh my God, you didn't, um, hear us?"

Nathan looked utterly confused. "When would I have heard you?"

My face blazed. "I, uh, well, I've been told I can be kind of loud."

Nathan continued to blink.

"While doing it," I elaborated.

Still no response.

"The deed. Sex. Fuck-ing." Lord, I really couldn't help myself.

Recognition finally flashed through those chocolatey browns. "Oh." His cheeks flushed along with the tip of his nose, and I was rewarded with what it looked like to finally perturb Dr. Nathan Hunt.

He would have looked adorable if I wasn't mortified myself.

"I—no," he said finally. "I wasn't home that night. I worked late and went to the gym early, so I didn't return until you…woke up, I suppose."

It should have helped, knowing he wasn't here to listen in on the drunken, almost-sex I'd had with his former roommate. But somehow, it didn't. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the entire memory away.

"Well, Arvin?—"

"Aiden," Nathan corrected me, like he almost couldn't help it.

"Is an idiot," I completed. "This apartment is amazing."

That almost-smile returned. "I'm glad you like it. Would you like me to show you the rest of it, or did you?—"

"Please," I interrupted. "I, um, didn't see much last time."

Nathan blinked as my cheeks heated all over again. In the mirror, I had turned the color of a very ripe tomato.

"Okay," Nathan said as if I'd only commented on the weather that day. "Well, follow me."

It wasn't a long tour. I followed him past the living room and the eat-in kitchen, then through a formal dining room with the same river-front views. From there, the hallway split between two bedrooms, a luxe bathroom in the middle that was bigger than my entire bedroom at Nonna's.

"Eventually, I'll find a way to add a second bathroom, but for now, we'll have to share," Nathan told me.

"Oh, I'm very good at sharing a bathroom," I said as I explored the not-so-small space. The free-standing bathtub looked like a giant egg, and there was enough room that I could walk all the way around it before peeking into the two-person shower. "We only had one between six kids when I was growing up, and I always got the last of the hot water. I take the shortest showers in human history. You won't even know I'm in here."

"I doubt that." When I turned, Nathan looked visibly uncomfortable, keeping his eyes everywhere but on me. "And there is plenty of hot water. You can take however long you need."

It was a far cry from the shabby little house where I'd grown up or the bedroom I'd shared with Marie for almost twenty years. Nor did it in any way resemble the sardine-can situations so many of my friends had with two, three, or four roommates.

It was a grown-up's apartment. Tastefully decorated with classic furniture and shades of green, taupe, and white that was like a modernized take on the building's twenties vibe. It had things like a laundry room and linen closets and rugs that fit the rooms properly. A real home with stuff that wasn't purchased off Marketplace or dragged off a curb.

"Does it meet your standards?" Nathan asked when I followed him back to the bedrooms. "Have everything you need?"

"Are you kidding? It's giving Gatsby. The Baz Luhrmann version, but without all the gold. It's gorge."

Nathan tipped his head. "You do know that was originally a book, right?"

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed. Frankie was the reader in the family, not me.

"Well, this is your room." Nathan gestured toward the open door next to us.

I peeked into the bedroom where I'd slept literally one week earlier. Unlike the rest of the apartment, it was completely empty, painted white, with two windows that looked out onto the corner of West Seventh-Sixth Street and Riverside Drive. Nathan's room—the only room I hadn't seen yet—probably looked out to the river.

"You don't think it's kind of weird?" I said without thinking. "I was literally here a week ago doing…you know."

Nathan leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms in a way that made his biceps bulge again. It was very distracting. "Do you think it's kind of weird?"

"Maybe a little." I crossed the room to look out one of the windows down to the sidewalk. The people looked a bit like ants from up here. Everything was quiet.

"It doesn't have to be. You slept with my former roommate. Sex happens."

I giggled. I couldn't help it. "Sex happens? You make it sound like a bill I forgot to pay. Or something you stepped in on your way to the subway."

That brow arched again. It was impossibly sexy. "Was it something special? Should I ask Aiden to come back? Maybe that will help you to remember his name."

His tone was still even, but Nathan was joking with me. Again.

Out of sheer joy, I grinned.

And for the first time, Nathan grinned back.

And ho-ly-shit. The guy had a smile bright enough to fuel all of New York. I almost fainted right then and there.

"I can think of more important things to remember," I somehow managed to say. "Like saying thank you. For letting me stay here."

Nathan clasped his hands together and nodded his acknowledgment. The movement was so immediate and bashful, he reminded me of a little boy for a moment. It was endearing.

"Any other house rules I should be aware of?" I set my bra on the window sill, ignoring the way Nathan's eyes darted in that direction. "Chores you want me to do? I'm really good at washing windows when I play loud music, but horrible at mopping floors. And counters are my nemesis, but I'll do my best when I have kitchen duty."

Nathan shrugged. "That won't be necessary. I have a housekeeper that comes in twice a week. I am a fairly neat person, so I'd appreciate it if you could make an effort to keep shared spaces picked up. That's about all, though."

A housekeeper. For a river-view apartment. That he apparently owned if he was planning renovations.

Something wasn't matching up. Men who had things like this didn't "need" roommates like me.

But when the lights of the city twinkled at me through my new bedroom window, I decided not to question my good luck. Don't look a gift horse in the…eye? Face? Whatever the saying was, I wasn't going to do it.

"Well, cool," I said. "And that's included in the rent too?" I dug into my purse for the wrinkled envelope of cash Frankie had handed me before she'd left. The one I'd carried with me everywhere all week in the event I finally found someplace to land.

Nathan nodded. "It is."

"Well, here. That should cover first and last. I think."

I crossed the room and held out the envelope. Nathan took it and thumbed through the cash, looking skeptical.

"Count it and let me know if it's enough. I should have the rest within two weeks. Hopefully sooner if I can find a second job."

Nathan still looked doubtful. A few seconds later, he handed the envelope back. "That won't be necessary."

I held it in my hand. What was happening? "What do you mean?"

He was staring at the money like it was going to burst into flames. "I can't take that, Joni. That would be unethical."

I swallowed. "But…that's what we discussed at the bar. At least, I think it is. I'll be honest, I'm pretty bad at math, but my sister said she gave me enough for two months in most places."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I knew this was too good to be true. I shouldn't have brought up the fact that I didn't have that job yet. Now, he was thinking I wouldn't be able to come up with rent and wanted me out. The whole arrangement was over before it started.

"No, I just mean, I don't need the money," Nathan said. "I'll wait until you can find another job and get yourself more secure. It's fine."

I stared at him, then at the money, then back at him. Was he for real?

"I can't do that," I said, holding the money back out. "It wouldn't be right. I won't—listen, I don't want to put myself in a position where I feel like I owe you something, but also, I can't take advantage of you that way either. If you won't take this, I can just look for somewhere else."

"Don't do that."

I opened my mouth to argue again, but Nathan wasn't listening. He removed his glasses and rubbed his face, almost like he was trying to get rid of a migraine. When he put them back on, I was still holding out the envelope. And he still didn't take it.

"What if…what if you paid me back another way?" he said.

Immediately, I straightened. It wasn't like I'd never heard that kind of proposition before. I was cute, often strapped for cash, and plenty of people in this city were willing to take advantage of that. More than once, I'd been offered parts by way of the casting couch.

I'd never accepted any of them, and I wasn't going to start now.

Goddammit. I knew it. I knew there had to be a catch. A dumb, dirty, totally predictable one. Were all men just shit? Was that the bottom line?

"Look, I know I went home with your roommate and have some rough plans to work in a strip club, but I'm really not that kind of girl," I said. "I'm sorry you got the wrong idea."

I started toward the door with the intention of pushing past him. Nathan, however, stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"That kind of—what are you talking—oh! Joni, no, that's not what I meant."

I crossed my arms and stared at the hand on my shoulder. "Oh, really? Look, I know I kissed you in Tom's office and everything, but that was a moment of weakness, not an offer to trade."

Nathan snatched it away like it was burned. "Jesus, of course it wasn't. I wasn't insinuating that you could trade sex for housing. I would never, ever suggest that."

"Well, then, what was that offer?" I demanded. "Because it sure sounded that way."

He sighed, leaned back against the doorframe, and shoved his hands through his hair. It made the curls bounce, and I resisted the urge to put my fingers in them too. I loved his hair, and secretly, I hoped he never tamed it with gel or wax or whatever else men used. It was the only thing about him that was at all messy. And annoyingly, it made him that much more perfect.

"Just say it," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

"Say what?" I prodded.

He sighed. "I—I need help with something too."

"Oh, and what's that? Getting your dick sucked?"

He reared like he'd been slapped. "Jesus, no. I need help with my social skills. As you've pointed out, they are fucking terrible."

After spitting out the words, Nathan grimaced like he'd tasted something bad. It was the first truly intense expression I'd seen besides the grin. And all of that had happened within an hour. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"I've been diagnosed with social pragmatic communication disorder," he said quickly.

I frowned. "What is that? I've never heard of it."

"Most people haven't. It's sort of a cousin to autism. It only made the DSM-5 when I was just out of medical school. Prior to that, my family believed I had Asperger's Syndrome."

"And that's a type of autism, right?"

Nathan nodded. "But I don't have a lot of the qualities that would qualify me for an ASD diagnosis. So, they changed mine when Asperger's was removed from the DSM-5, and SPCD was put in." He shook his head. "Honestly, the label itself isn't as important as what it means. I struggle with social communication. I often miss basic social cues, jokes, idioms, or tone of voice. It stymies a lot of my relationships and sometimes makes socializing difficult."

"So, when you said you couldn't insinuate…you really meant it?" I wondered.

Nathan nodded. "That's correct. Or at least not without considerable forethought."

"No wonder you talk like a textbook."

He didn't laugh.

I tipped my head. "That was a joke."

Nathan just blinked. "I gathered."

"Then you should laugh."

He shrugged. "I only laugh when I think things are funny. When I was younger, I used to do it when I thought it was appropriate, but it seemed to make people even more uncomfortable. It's better this way."

Curious. Most people would laugh, even if it was just out of awkwardness. Oddly, I kind of liked that Nathan didn't. It was honest and open. More than most people.

"Fair enough," I said. "So, what does that have to do with rent?"

He sighed again. "I have an arrangement. With my family. I'd prefer not to go into it. But my parents worry about my socialization when I live alone, so I've promised them that I would always have a roommate while I live in New York. Or until I have a significant other to fill that void."

"So, you want me to, what, fill the void?" I asked.

How fucked up was it that even mad at him again, I still wondered what it would take to fill the "significant other" void in Nathan's life instead of the roommate one?

What kind of person charmed a man like Nathan Hunt? What kind got to go to bed with Nathan Hunt?

Down, girl. Not the time.

Nathan shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. You can live here. And if you want, provide instruction on how to be better. With people."

"Why do you think I can do that?" I was dumbfounded. Of all the things I thought he would ask, this hadn't even occurred to me.

"You're terrible at making drinks, Joni. Genuinely awful. It took you three full weeks to get my drink order correct consistently, and I only ever get scotch neat."

"Gee, thanks," I said. "And that was sarcasm, in case you missed it."

Nathan just kept going like I hadn't spoken. "But no one ever seems to mind because you're so friendly—or maybe just charming. Your boss doesn't care, none of the bar patrons ever ask you to redo their beverages, and you still earn excellent tips despite the poor service. It's obviously because you're very good with people."

I perked up. "That's true. I am good with people." It was one of the few skills I could still claim.

"Well, maybe we help each other, then." Nathan's brown eyes softened on the other side of his lenses. "I can help you with a place to live. You can help me fulfill my promise to my family. Everyone gets what they want."

"They call that a win-win," I told him.

He offered another smile that did funny things to my stomach. "Yes, I know that."

I beamed. "Good. That's lesson one, then. It's a…a…what did you call it?"

"An idiom?

I grinned further. "Yeah, that."

Nathan's dimple appeared again. He looked like he wanted to laugh but wasn't sure how. I wanted to hug him.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll take notes."

We stood together in the doorway of my soon-to-be bedroom, like both of us were waiting for the other to speak.

I stuck out a hand for want of something better to do. "All right. Bedroom for friendship lessons. It's a deal, sir."

Nathan examined my hand for a moment, then stood up straight and took it in one of his. His paw practically swallowed mine, but his touch was gentle. Especially when his thumb brushed over my knuckles, tracing the bones within.

"It's a deal," he repeated softly.

I shivered and moved closer, almost like being tugged on a string.

Nathan's eyes dropped to my mouth.

Unconsciously, I licked my lips.

Slowly, I started to lean in, but before anything else happened, Nathan cleared his throat and stepped away.

God.

"When would you like to move in?" he asked.

I thought about the breakroom waiting for me. If I played my cards right, I would only have to spend a few more nights there. "Does this weekend work?"

Nathan nodded. "I have to work tomorrow, but on Saturday, I can help you bring things up."

I nodded. "Sounds good to me. I won't have much, and my family will probably help too." I grinned, considering one more thing. "Get ready for your second lesson, Dr. Hunt. With the Zolas, it's all about trial by fire. And unfortunately for you, my sisters take no prisoners."