CHAPTER FOURTEEN RIGGS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RIGGS

Emmett: . . .

Riggs: It’s the middle of the night, Emmett. Don’t you have women to stalk?

Emmett: Send me a picture of you two together.

Riggs: My dick might be big enough to be its own entity, but the royal “we” is unnecessary.

Emmett: You and Desiree, smart ass.

Riggs: With or without clothes?

Emmett: . . .

Riggs: Pervert.

I woke up to the sound of the world ending.

There was screaming, crying, pounding, and doors slamming. If I had to guess, I’d say Duffy had decided to wrestle a bear in the living room. And was losing.

Cracking one eye open from my vantage point on the couch—I’d somehow gotten used to sleeping with my feet on the coffee table—I spotted my fiancée weeping over the sink, FaceTiming someone on her phone.

“Of course it’s the end of the world, Kieran!”

Shit.The apocalypse. I wondered if I had time for a quick booty call. It seemed wrong to depart without a last hurrah. Especially after the dry spell I’d had since fate chained me into a shoebox apartment with a snotty Brit who possessed the sex drive of a Coke can. My so-called Scandinavian friend I told Poppins about on her last day at work was a figment of my imagination. Designed to poke at her prudish senses.

“No, it’s not. If anything, it’s a good thing,” her brother piped up.

“How’s that a good thing?”

“Maybe your tosser ex-boyfriend will see this and finally get his head out of his arse.”

Poppins gulped, proceeding to wail even harder. “BJ! I hadn’t even thought of that. How could him finding out be a good thing?”

“Maybe he’d stop taking you for granted.”

Kieran was obviously more street smart than his twin.

“He doesn’t take me for granted.” Duffy slammed more cabinet doors, bulldozing around the kitchen with a towel and Lysol. She was stress cleaning. Last time she did that, the apartment smelled like someone was trying to cover up a murder. “You know, I’m sick and tired of everyone judging him. Give the man some grace.”

“In BJ’s case, he’d shag Grace too,” Kieran deadpanned.

I barked out a laugh.

She turned toward me, her eyes narrowing on me, like she was ready to shoot me with the Lysol.

“Ah. The arsehole is awake. I’ll call you later.”

Kieran perked. “Can I speak to him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t kill him, darkling. I’m getting rather attached here.”

“No promises. Bye.” She ended the call, then pinned me with red, bloodshot eyes. “I’m going to kill you.”

I sat up straight, digging the bases of my palms into my eye sockets.

“Can we fuck first?” I asked gruffly. “I’d like to go with a bang. All puns intended.”

“No.”

“Thought I’d try. What did I do this time?” I reached for my pants. I only slept in my briefs, which meant Poppins normally spent her mornings bumping into furniture while trying desperately to stare at the floor and avoid getting an eyeful of my morning wood.

Her thumbs flew across her phone screen now. She turned the device around and thrust it in my face, almost breaking my nose in the process. “This happened.”

I was looking at a YouTube video of our engagement scene in the subway from the day before. The resolution was crappy, but our faces were recognizable to anyone who knew us. The caption of the video read: Surprise Proposal on NYC Subway!

“So?” I shoved my legs into my faded Dickies. I tried to ignore the hangover-like headache that was hammering rusty nails into my brain.

“Look at the number of views, you wanker!”

Squinting, I could now see the reason for her rage.

“Six million.” I whistled. “Guess we’re a power couple now.”

“You know what it means?” She collapsed on the edge of the couch and sat closer to me than she normally would, a sure sign her guard was down. “My parents are going to see this!”

“Not necessarily. Boomers don’t do well with technology.”

“This was featured on two morning shows. My phone has blown up with TV people wanting us to give an interview.” She hit refresh. The view count turned to six point two. I patted the side of the couch, retrieved my phone, and frowned at it. There were two missed calls from Emmett. Bingo.

“Just tell them the truth.” I turned to Duffy.

“Mum and Tim are not even my biggest concern.” She shot up to her feet, then returned to her towels and Lysol for another round of scrubbing the counter. “What if BJ sees it?”

“Isn’t he on an electronic ban while in Nepal?” She’d mentioned something about that the other day, while I was knee deep in trying to tune her out.

She licked her lips, nodding. The thought must have encouraged her. “I suppose he is, but when he comes back—”

“When he comes back, he’ll be too busy begging for forgiveness to give a crap. It’s not like we shared a passionate kiss. I’ve gotten more action from my aunt during Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Ew, perv.”

“Just kidding. I don’t have a family.”

“Wait, what?” She paused, looking at me with her big purple eyes. “Are you serious?”

Yes.

“Point is, there’s nothing overtly incriminating in the video.”

“Ugh.”She poured bleach into the sink. The scent hit my nostrils, making me want to throw up. My headache was out of control this morning.

I got the idea to go viral when I saw how Duffy’s video with Gretchen had made waves on the internet. I thought it was a nice way to redeem her pride, and—let’s admit it—the quickest, most efficient way to show Emmett that I had a fiancée. Only I hadn’t taken into consideration how bad she was going to take it.

Because you’ve never considered anyone else in your entire life.

Also, because I wasn’t privy to her past scars. To being ridiculed by other students. Getting the wrong type of attention.

“Hey. Good luck with the interviews,” I told her retreating back.

She drifted out of the room, taking her Duffy scent and Duffy wit and Duffy everything with her.

Four Tylenols and a chain of curses later, I made a call to Christian. The man had a bevy of people at his disposal who knew how to get shit done. He’d hooked me up with a colleague of his, who assured me that for a suitable amount of money, I could get the video taken down from YouTube. Once he’d found the owner of the account, he was able to send them an offer they couldn’t refuse. And they didn’t.

The video was removed from the site an hour and a half after it was loaded. I had no intention of telling Duffy I was the reason her ass—and imaginary relationship with Cocksucker—had been saved. It would cost a normal person an arm and a leg to do what I’d done.

She sent me a text not even two minutes after the video was taken down.

Unknown: They took the video down.

Me: Who is this?

If I couldn’t fuck her, I could at least fuck with her.

Unknown: Duffy. Who else do you have a video with?

Me: See, this is why I asked you if you ever watched porn. I’m kind of a big deal.

Unknown: Hilarious. Program me into your device.

Me: Done.

Duffy: So? How do you think it happened?

Me: I clicked on your number, then info, then create new contact. I thought you youngsters knew all those things.

Duffy: I meant the video.

Me: IDK. Maybe the person realized it was an intimate moment.

Duffy: Or maybe it went against YouTube’s policy or something.

Or maybe I paid the YouTuber an entire annual salary to do it.

Duffy: Job hunting is going rubbish in case you were wondering.

Me: How come?

Duffy: I’m either overqualified or too nuclear after my viral showdown with Gretchen.

Me: You’ll figure it out.

I put my phone down and tended to the very important task of taking a shower and masturbating to a mental image of my fiancée. When I came back to the phone, there was a message waiting from Duffy.

Duffy: Would you like me to lick something when I get back today?

Me: Don’t play with my tender feelings. You were the one who said no hooking up.

Duffy: *pick.

Duffy: I meant food, you uncultured swine.

Me: More of your rainforest greens? Nah, I’m good.

Duffy: We could always eat something else.

Me: YES.

Duffy: I mean strictly food items.

Me:

Me: Pizza?

Duffy: No need to get carried away. Tacos can be nutritious and tasty without destroying my body.

Me: Now you’re just begging for another sexual innuendo.

Duffy: Goodbye, Riggs.

While Poppins spent her day running around town trying to find gainful employment, I invested my time in scratching my balls on her couch and staring at the clock. The few weeks’ sabbatical didn’t agree with me. I’d never stayed in in my entire life and didn’t like that my body was getting used to one time zone.

That was how I found myself sitting in front of Jerry Springer reruns on cable TV. I was one pack of bonbons away from being Peggy Bundy. How could people do this day in and day out? Stay home and do nothing?

A knock on the door snapped me out of an altercation between a man who’d come to the show to have a paternity test and his stepsister, who was also his baby mama.

After unplastering myself from the couch, I dragged my ass to the door, wondering who it could be. Duffy wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. A busy bee, more like.

“Who is it?” I called out.

“It’s Charlie.”

“Duffy’s not here.” In the time that had passed since I’d moved in, she and Charlie had met for drinks twice.

“I know.”

I swung the door open and leaned against the doorframe, eyeballing him.

“What’s up, Charles? Need a cup of sugar?”

“Sugar’s poison. You know it’s more addictive than crack, right?” He gave me an intense stare. I hadn’t seen him in a while. He had a weird pattern. Sometimes he was in the hallway twice a day, but then he’d disappear for days on end.

“Been out of town?” I probed. “It’s been a hot minute.”

He yawned, looking around disinterestedly. “Not really. Some days I’m just holed up in my cave, doing art shit.”

“So what brings you here?” I asked.

“I’m doing a freelance job for an urban magazine. I need to take some pictures of buildings and scenery in Spanish Harlem. Thought you’d wanna tag along.”

“And why would you think that?” I rolled myself a joint. His eyes halted on the thing, and he grimaced. That was a plot twist. I didn’t peg him for the stuck-up type.

Charlie was nice enough, but he was a little clingy for someone who had known me for exactly two seconds.

“Because I bet you have cabin fever,” he said easily. “I used to travel the world too. I still have the bug.”

Was he me in twenty years? Fuck, I hoped not. Something dark lurked behind his eyes. Like a washed-up child actor who’d grown out of his glory days.

“Actually, it’s nice to chill for a few days,” I drawled out.

“No, it’s not.” He smiled good naturedly.

He was right, but that still didn’t mean I wanted to spend time with this stranger. I was about to marry a random. No need to befriend the entire goddamn building.

Evidently seeing the doubt on my face, Charlie rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

“And lunch.” I really slipped into the poor-man role easily.

“On a budget.” Charlie jabbed a finger in my direction. “Or I’m gonna lose money on this assignment.”

“Fine, but I’m choosing the place.” I grabbed my backpack from the floor.

“You’re lucky I like to feed you.” Charlie was already taking the stairs down.

I made a note to tell Charlie I was very straight.

A half hour later, we were on Lexington Avenue. It was a mercilessly hot day. Too hot not to wonder if New York wasn’t, in fact, a section of hell. Charlie was taking pictures of children at play—faceless, or I’d have informed the authorities—small bodegas, and graffitied buildings with more character than I’d witnessed in all of Duffy’s WNT colleagues combined.

I brought my camera along and took some pictures too. When we were done, we walked across the street from a row of food stalls to a small café. We were almost at the door when someone burst open a fire hydrant.

Gallons of water sprayed everywhere, filling the street with gushing puddles. A flock of small children and teenagers ran toward it shirtless, splashing one another. Charlie and I exchanged looks. We were both thinking the same thing. This made for an epic picture. We took out our cameras at the same time and started working silently. Far enough away that they were just flashes of movement in the pictures. About a minute or two into taking the pictures, Charlie handed me his camera, a modest Nikon D5600.

“Hold this for me, will you?”

I tucked his camera into my backpack and watched this oldish, fully crazy man hightailing it toward the kids.

He ran into the thick circle of children, limping a little, like he carried an injury from when he was young, and started jumping over the puddles on the concrete floor, splashing them. They giggled and tugged him in different directions, luring him to play with them. Normally, I would look at this and think this should be illegal in all fifty states. But I couldn’t deny the innocence Charlie was oozing just then. At some point, one of the kids jumped on Charlie’s back. Charlie gave him a piggyback ride, running around the fire hydrant in circles while making siren noises.

“My turn, my turn!” the kid’s friend cried out.

Before I knew it, kids were jumping on his back in turns, using him as a human police car. Charlie didn’t skip one kid. Not even the one who looked like he weighed about the same as him. Even when his muscles gave up and I saw the exhaustion on his face.

After we wrapped things up, we went to a Dominican café and ate green bananas, longanizas, and cornbread. We downed two beers each before either of us spoke.

“You’re good with kids,” I said, finally. I didn’t know why, but the silence between us wasn’t awkward. Maybe because we were both used to being alone. Silence was my friend more often than not.

He waved a flippant hand. “Just as long as I don’t have to take care of them.”

“You don’t have kids of your own?” I took a lazy pull of my beer.

He leaned across the window, his eyes following a bunch of teenagers smoking cigarettes and laughing. “No.”

I frowned. “You sounded thoughtful. Is that your final answer?”

“I had a kid,” he said with a sad smile.

That could have meant any number of things, all of them tragic.

“She died when she was eight months old.”

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“What about you?” He turned to look at me. “Any little Riggses running around in different continents?”

I smiled ruefully. Arsène and Christian always speculated that I’d sired a kid or twelve during my travels, but condoms were my religion and pulling out while wearing them was my temple. Better to be safe than (incredibly) sorry.

“None that I’m aware of.”

“I think you should try it. You’ll make a good dad.” Charlie tipped his beer in my direction. The sun dipped behind the buildings over his shoulder, washing the rooftops in orange and yellow hues. New York was beautiful in the summer. I’d almost forgotten.

You forget a lot of things about a place when you never stick around long enough to appreciate it.

“A kid would cramp my style. Besides, I haven’t had the best family life, so I wouldn’t know the first thing about raising one.”

“I think it’s precisely the people who don’t come from perfect families who create the best ones.” Charlie fixed his gaze on my face. “It’s like kids of divorced parents always try extra hard to make their marriage work. Experience shapes you, and heartbreak defines you.”

“With all due respect, divorce is a walk in the goddamn park in comparison to my childhood. I’d eat divorce for breakfast if I could, with a side of poverty.”

“Tell me about it.” He shoved cheese bread into his mouth.

I didn’t share my life story, not with anyone, and I wasn’t going to make an exception with this nice yet oddly clingy stranger.

“Just take my word for it. I’m not father material.” I waved a hand. I wouldn’t trust me with a fucking houseplant. “What about a wife? Ever had one of those?”

“Almost.” He scratched the damp beer label off his bottle.

“Your baby mama?” I asked.

He nodded. “What about you?”

I thought about Duffy. It seemed insane to count her as anything other than a headache. But that was exactly what she was about to become. Though I wasn’t going to divulge any more information about our lives without her consent after my little stunt in the subway yesterday.

“Never been married,” I said finally.

Charlie balled the damp beer label into a wad. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Talk about depressing shit?” I took out my rolling kit, and he gave me a funny look again.

“Do projects together,” he explained. “Gotta keep busy.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about. I had a great time watching Jamie Spinner.”

“Jerry Springer.”

Maybe he did have a point.