Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Holden

Holden: How’s the party girl doing this morning?

It was almost noon, and I hadn’t heard a peep from next door. I was pretty certain Lala wasn’t a big drinker, so I suspected the four vodka crans she’d knocked back last night might be taking their toll on her today. It took about ten minutes, but my phone finally buzzed with a response.

Lala: In case I forget to mention it, I appreciate how clean the bathroom floor is in this apartment. And how cold…

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

Holden: Rough morning?

Lala: Rough eight hours. As soon as I closed my eyes and got into bed, the room started spinning. So I came to the bathroom, just in case I got sick. I’ve been here on the floor ever since.

Oh man. Been there, done that. It sucked.

Holden: I’m heading out to get a smoothie. You want one?

Lala: If it comes with Motrin, sure.

I laughed.

Holden: I’ll be there in fifteen minutes with your cure. Hang tight.

Lala: Okay. But can you please let yourself in? I don’t think I can lift my head or walk to the door to open it.

Holden: Sure thing.

A little while later, I used my master key to bring Lala what I’d dubbed the love your liver smoothie. Her apartment was quiet, so I lightly knocked on the bathroom door.

“Come in.”

I creaked open the door to find Lala in exactly the position she’d described: lying on the bathroom floor. She had a towel wrapped around her like a blanket, and last night’s eye makeup stained her cheeks.

I sat down next to her, peeled the wrapper off the straw, and popped it into the top of her smoothie.

“Head up, sweetheart. This will help. I promise. It’s loaded with vitamin C, wheatgrass, ginger, and echinacea. But you won’t taste any of that because the peanut butter and banana hide it all.”

She lifted her head with a groan and used both hands to push herself upright.

I smiled. “You’re a bit of a lightweight, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes and sucked from the straw. “I was overserved.”

“The last two drinks were just cranberry and lime. You only drank two with alcohol in them.”

“Apparently that was enough. And please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing. Last night is kind of fuzzy.”

“Nah, your voice isn’t that bad.”

She started to choke on the smoothie. “Wha—what?”

“You don’t remember getting up on stage?”

Her eyes widened. She looked pretty horrified, and I felt a pang of guilt for screwing with her while she was in this condition, yet I didn’t let her off the hook.

“Oh my God, no. What did I sing?”

“‘Call Me’, by Blondie. You held your cell phone up to your ear while singing and acting it out. It was really funny.”

“Holden, how could you let me do that? I’m a terrible singer!”

I nodded. “That’s what the brunette said, the one you punched in the ladies’ room.”

“Oh my God. Please tell me you’re joking!”

I grinned. “I’m joking.”

“Are you really?”

I chuckled. “Of course. I wouldn’t let you get up on stage. I’ve heard you sing. The point of a gig is to bring people into the club, not chase them out.”

She smacked my arm. “You’re a jerk.”

“But a hot one you want to see naked—you told me that yourself last night.”

Lala turned beet red. “Really?”

“Nah.” I laughed and pointed to her face. “But Jesus, you’re as red as an apple. It goes really nice with the black streaks down your cheeks.”

Lala reached up and touched her face. “I must look like a disaster.”

Her curly hair was wild, she had makeup smeared all over her face, and she’d slept in her clothes, yet she was still gorgeous to me. “Maybe. But you’re one beautiful disaster, Laney Ellison.” I climbed to my feet and extended a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this bathroom.”

Twenty minutes later, she slurped the last of the smoothie from her cup with her straw.

“Feeling any better?” I asked.

She nodded. “Actually, I am.”

“Sounds like you’re ready for phase two then.”

“What’s phase two?”

I plucked the empty smoothie cup from her hand and tapped it to the top of her head. “Coffee. For both of us.”

While I made us two cups of joe in the kitchen, Lala went into the bedroom. When she came back, her face was washed, hair tied into a big, messy bun on the top of her head, and she had on new clothes.

“Look at you,” I said, passing her a steaming mug. “Good as new.”

She tucked her feet under her on the couch and sipped her coffee. “Am I keeping you from doing something? You look like you’re all showered and ready to go somewhere.”

“I have an appointment with Billie in a half hour. I get pretty sweaty playing the drums, so I figured she’d appreciate it if I washed after last night’s gig.”

“Colby’s wife Billie?”

I nodded. “One and the same. I’m getting a tattoo finished. The outline is done. Today she’s going to fill in the color.”

“What’s it of?”

“An owl.”

“Can I see it?”

“Absolutely.” I stood and grabbed my zipper. “It’s on my ass.”

Lala’s eyes widened.

I chuckled and sat back down, lifting the hem of my shirt. “I’m kidding. For a smart lady, you’re pretty gullible. It’s on my ribs, right here.”

Lala checked out the owl outline, but then her eyes took a little detour. They dipped down to my abs and lingered for a few seconds before returning to the outline. Three seconds later, the same thing happened, only this time her tongue peeked out and ran along her lower lip.

Fuck me. She’s checking me out.

I knew I should do the right thing and lower my shirt, but I couldn’t get enough of the way she was looking at me. “You want to see the others?”

She nodded and swallowed.

And because I was a giant dick, I took off my shirt completely.

“This was my first one,” I said, pointing to two drumsticks. “I think the meaning is self-explanatory.” Next I pointed to the one over my heart, a bunch of numbers in a straight line. “The night before I moved out, my mom got really upset. She cried and told me I’d better not forget where she lives and to come visit a lot. The next day I got the coordinates of my parents’ house tattooed here so she would know I could never forget how to get home.”

“Aww… That’s so sweet.”

For the next ten minutes, I gave Lala a tour of the ink on my body. When I got to the cross with the date tattooed below it, I didn’t have to say a thing. It was the date Ryan died. Lala reached out and traced her finger over the outline of the cross. Goose bumps prickled all over my skin.

“I’ve always wanted to get something for him,” she said. “But I’m a big chicken. Does it hurt getting one?”

“A little at the beginning, but it goes numb after a while. Then it’s more tender than painful.”

“Is the skin more sensitive with a tattoo on it?”

“Right after, but not after a few weeks, if that’s what you mean.”

“So this doesn’t hurt any more than it does on regular skin?” She scraped one fingernail down the edge of the cross, and my mind immediately imagined what it would be like to feel her nails do that on my back.

My voice was hoarse. “I’m not sure. Do that again. Harder.”

She dug her nail in a little deeper the second time, and my dick twitched to life.

Fuck. What was I doing? I needed to nip this shit in the bud before I embarrassed myself. Abruptly, I grabbed my shirt, yanked it back on, and stood. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late to my appointment with Billie. You know, in case she’s ready early.”

Smooth, Catalano. Really smooth.

“Oh, okay.” Lala set down her coffee and walked me to the door.

“If you feel up to it, stop down and you can watch Billie work. Maybe it will help you feel more comfortable about getting the one you want for Ryan.”

“Alright. Maybe. Thanks again for the smoothie, Holden.”

I winked. “I’m here to serve.”

Since it really was almost time for my appointment, I went directly downstairs to Billie’s shop. After a five-minute wait, I was lying in her chair.

“What’s new with you, pretty boy?” she asked. “Did you stay in last night or something? You look pretty good for this early on a Saturday.”

I shook my head. “I actually had a gig.”

“Ummm… Last time you were in here the day after a gig, I had to spritz you with cologne because I couldn’t take the smell of the alcohol wafting from your pores.”

“I only had one drink last night. Thought it was a good idea to keep sober.”

“Were you driving?”

“No.”

“So why was it a good idea to keep sober?”

“Lala came out with us. She came to see the band play.”

“And you can’t drink around her for some reason?”

I definitely couldn’t drink around her last night, not with how smokin’ hot she looked. I was too afraid I’d say something—or worse, do something—stupid. But I wasn’t about to get into that with Billie. So I shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t feel like drinking a lot.”

Billie narrowed her eyes. “The apartment she’s staying in is right next to yours, right?”

“Yep.”

“Do you ever go over there?”

“Sometimes.” I shrugged. “If she needs help or something.”

“What kind of help does she need?”

Damn, Billie was like a dog following a scent. So I decided to redirect our convo. “I don’t know, fixing things around the apartment and whatnot. Which reminds me, how’s your dishwasher doing? Colby said the door pops open mid cycle sometimes.”

“It does, and it’s driving me damn nuts because I can’t figure out why. I’ve taken it apart twice.”

“I’ll try to stop over later when Colby gets home and take a look.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Just when I’d finally gotten Billie off the subject of Lala, none other than the woman herself walked into the shop. Billie set her needle down and gave her a hug.

“Hey, Lala,” she said. “It’s so good to see you!”

“You, too, Billie. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. Holden suggested I come since I’d like to get over my fear of getting a tattoo. I’ve never watched anyone get one.”

“Of course not. Pull up a chair. I’ll make sure I push the color extra deep, so we can watch pretty boy here wince.”

Lala smiled. “Pretty boy?”

Billie shrugged. “It’s a fitting name, isn’t it?”

Lala’s eyes washed over my face. “I suppose it is.”

“So you’d like to get a tattoo? Do you have something particular in mind?”

Lala nodded. “I’d like to get one in memory of my brother.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I think something similar to what Holden has for Ryan—a cross, but a lot smaller and a little more feminine.”

Billie’s eyes moved to mine. “Matching tattoos, huh?”

“I think Lala meant a cross, not that it had to match mine,” I said.

“Uh-huh…” Billie grinned. She picked up the tattoo needle and pressed the pedal on the floor with her foot. “Your real name is Laney, right?”

Lala nodded.

“So how did Lala come about?”

Lala smiled and pointed to me. “Pretty boy made it up. When I was eleven, my brother and all of his friends were thirteen and fourteen. Colby, Owen, Brayden, and Holden practically lived at our house. And they talked about girls nonstop—kissing, feeling them up… They had no shame. They didn’t even care if I was in the room. A couple of years makes a big difference at that age, so I still thought it was all gross. A few times when they were bragging about their conquests, I stuck my fingers in my ears. Of course, that only made them talk louder. One afternoon, they were particularly obnoxious with their stories, and I wound up running out of the room with my fingers in my ears, yelling La La La La La. Holden called me Lala the next day, and the name just stuck.”

Billie snort-laughed. “That’s hysterical.”

“Ugh, the five of them were horn dogs. That’s all they talked about.”

“And all you talked about was physics and astronomy,” I said.

“Well, those subjects are a lot more fascinating than the conversations you had.” Lala looked at Billie. “It’s no wonder I didn’t date much growing up. I had to listen to them talk about accidentally farting while getting a blowjob.”

“Oh my God. Please tell me it wasn’t my husband who did that.”

“It wasn’t,” Lala said. “It was Owen.”

For the next hour, Lala and I told stories about when we were kids. We kept Billie laughing the entire time. At one point, Lala’s phone buzzed. She didn’t answer, and I couldn’t see who it was, but her face changed, so I suspected I knew. Right after that, she stood.

“I should really get going into work. I’m hoping to spend a few hours catching up today while it’s quiet since I didn’t get to everything I needed to accomplish this week.”

“Stop down and visit anytime, Lala,” Billie said. “I’m always game for collecting new ammunition to rank on the fab four.”

Lala laughed. “I have plenty of that.” She looked to me. “Thanks again for this morning, Holden.”

I winked. “No problem. Have a good afternoon.”

After Lala left, Billie pounced. “Spill, pretty boy. What’s the deal with you two?”

“What do you mean?”

“There was so much chemistry sparking in here, I could have used it to run my tattoo machine. Did you have a thing together once or something?”

I sighed. “Not like you’re thinking.”

“Then what?”

“I had a big crush on her growing up.”

“And…”

“And that’s it. She’s Ryan’s little sister. Plus, she’s super smart and not into guys like me.”

“What does that mean, guys like you?”

“Lala’s a researcher, and her fiancé is trying to cure cancer. A woman like that doesn’t want to date a musician, especially not one whose most stimulating conversation recently has been debating whether I would chop off a finger for a million bucks. Brayden and I don’t agree, by the way.”

Billie put her needle into its holder. “While I think it’s smart for you to keep your distance, because she’s engaged and there’s clearly a spark between you, you shouldn’t put yourself or Lala in boxes like that. Look how different Colby and I are. He designs buildings, and I used to get chased by the police for spray painting them. Just because people are different doesn’t mean it can’t work. Why would you want someone similar to you anyway? You’d never learn anything new.”

She had a point. But still…

At home later that night, I was still replaying the conversation I’d had with Billie. One way or another, I hadn’t thought about much except Lala since she came to the City for her interview. As fucked up as it was, I put my ear against the wall in my bedroom to see if I could hear whether she’d gotten home from work yet. It wasn’t like I was going to go over if she had; I just needed to know. But the only thing I heard was silence, so I was glad when my phone buzzed with a distraction.

Sienna: Hey. Are you around to hang out tonight?

I’d hung out with Sienna a few times before. She was really nice, not to mention sexually adventurous and no commitment required. A few weeks ago, I would’ve jumped on the offer, but I just wasn’t into it tonight. So I lied.

Holden: Sorry. Plans with the guys tonight.

Her response was quick.

Sienna: If you change your mind, I’ll be at the bar where we met last time, the one around the corner from your place. And just in case you need a little incentive…

A sexy-as-shit cleavage selfie followed. I hung my head, hating myself for still not wanting to go. I had no desire for a hookup because of a certain engaged Goldilocks next door.

I wound up lying on the couch and flipping through channels on the TV, but I couldn’t stop berating myself for being such a piece of shit and thinking about Lala.

You live in a city with four-million women—why are you obsessing over the one you can’t have?

She’s getting married.

She’s Ryan’s little sister, for Christ’s sake.

After a while, I dragged my ass off the couch and got dressed, forcing myself to head to the bar. My intention had been to go meet Sienna, but one block out, I took a detour and walked into a local old-man’s bar instead. I needed a minute to get my head screwed on straight.

There were only three guys sitting at the bar, each one alone, and all looking as miserable as I felt at the moment. The bartender took one look at me and pointed over his shoulder. “Bathroom is in the back right corner.”

I walked to a stool and sat down. “I don’t need to use the bathroom. Came in for a drink.”

“Oh. Sorry. You don’t look like my usual crowd.” He tossed a cardboard coaster onto the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Jack and Coke, please.”

He rapped his knuckles against the top of the bar. “Coming right up.”

When he returned with my drink, he extended his hand. “Evan.”

“Holden. Good to meet ya.”

“You from out of town?”

I shook my head and sipped my drink. “Nope. Live a block away.”

“You meeting a woman here on the sly?”

“Nope.”

Evan leaned an elbow on the bar. “Okay, I give. Why are you here in this shithole?”

I chuckled. “Do you really want to hear it?”

He pointed to the other patrons. “That’s Fred, Ken, and Walt. I’ve heard their stories five hundred times. So yeah, why not? It’s not like I have better options.”

“How about a shot first? Yours is on me, too.”

“Alright. What would you like?”

“Your choice.”

Evan came back with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. He filled them both to the brim. “We don’t do salt or lime or any of that fancy shit here.”

I picked up the shot and sucked it back. “That’s fine with me.” It burned going down, but I liked it.

“So what’s your story? You look like you belong on one of them Abercrosley ads in Times Square. So it can’t be about a woman.”

I smiled. “It’s Abercrombie, and yeah, it’s about a woman. Isn’t it always?”

“You got a point. She married or something?”

“Engaged.”

“Oh boy.” The bartender refilled our shot glasses. “This one’s on me.” He held it out to clink, and we sucked our second tequilas back.

Then I filled my new friend Evan in on Lala—starting from my school-age crush and ending with her currently living in the apartment next door.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention that I’m currently hiding out here instead of meeting a free-spirited woman at the bar a block away, a woman who wants nothing more than a fuck from me.”

Evan shook his head. “You got it bad for this Lala, huh?”

I gulped the rest of my Jack and Coke. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“There’s only one thing you can do, my friend.”

“Go meet Sienna and forget anyone else exists for a few hours?”

“Nah. That never works. You’ll just hate yourself after.”

“Sit here and get loaded then?”

“Nope. You gotta try to break up that engagement, Abercrosley.”

I shook my head, not bothering to correct him this time. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Trust me, you’ll get over the guilt of stealing some other guy’s girl. But you’ll never get over letting the woman you love slip through your fingers.”

I wasn’t in love with Lala, though, was I? Then again, how the hell would I even know if I was? The only person I’d ever been capable of being committed to was me.

“Let me tell you a little story,” the bartender said. “When I was twenty, I met a woman. Her name was Elizabeth, and as stupid as it sounds, I knew in the first hour that she was the woman I was supposed to marry. There was just one problem.”

“What was that?”

“She was my best friend’s girl.”

“Oh, man.”

Evan nodded. “I had just joined the military. My buddy Phil met Elizabeth while I was at boot camp. They were going to college together. After about a year, I went to visit Phil while I was on leave. He worked and went to class, so I spent a lot of my visit hanging out with his girl. I fell head over heels, and she felt something, too. But she was my buddy’s girl, so I wasn’t going there. Fast forward four years. I married Catherine, and Phil and Elizabeth got married the following summer. It took me five more years in a miserable marriage to realize I’d married a woman I wasn’t in love with. Because when your heart belongs to someone else, it’s not available to give to anyone, even when you want to.”

“What happened with Phil and Elizabeth?”

“They were having marital trouble, too. But Phil and Liz moved out to Long Island, and we lost touch. I hadn’t seen them in a few years. Long story short, they got divorced, and six years later I ran into her. The chemistry had never dulled, even after all that time. We wound up getting together, and I was happier than I’d ever been. So was my Lizzy. Then one day, she goes for a routine exam at the doctor, and they find a lump in her breast. Six months later, she was gone. Metastatic breast cancer. She was only thirty-three.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But you know what I’m most sorry about?”

“What?”

“Losing the ten years we could’ve been together but weren’t. Life’s shorter than you think.”

I slammed back two more Jack and Cokes and decided not to go meet Sienna after all. Instead, I walked home with a nice buzz and a lot to think about, courtesy of my new bartender friend. My head was all fucked up from the story he’d told me, but I knew for certain that I needed to keep away from women for a while—all women.

But when I got into the elevator and turned around to push the button on the panel for my floor, that vow flew out the window faster than Sienna’s clothes would have come off.

Lala.

She’d just walked through the front door. I put my hand on the elevator doors to stop them from closing while my heart sprinted off in a gallop.

“You’re not just getting home from work now, are you?”

Lala nodded. “I am. I had so much to do and lost track of time.” She stepped into the elevator. “And where are you coming from?”

“I was just at a bar down the block.”

“How can that be?” She flashed a cheeky smile and looked around the elevator car. “You’re all alone.”

“Cute.” I pushed the button to our floor. “You know I’m not half the manwhore you think I am.” At least not lately.

When the elevator doors slid open on three, I held my hand out for her to exit first. Then I tried my best not to look down at her ass, but failed miserably.

“You staying in for the rest of the evening?” she asked as she took out her keys.

“Yeah. You?”

She nodded. “One wild weekend night is enough for me.”

I smiled. “You want to come over for a glass of wine?”

Lala chewed on that pouty bottom lip of hers. It looked like she was about to say no, so I threw out an alternative that sounded less suggestive than inviting her over to my place.

“How about a fire escape nightcap? You on yours, me on mine, like the other night?”

She smiled. “Okay. That sounds good. Just let me get changed.”

Inside, I opened a bottle of white and grabbed two glasses before climbing out onto the fire escape. Lala joined me a few minutes later, wearing a T-shirt and leggings. I poured us each a glass and passed her one through the balusters.

“So tell me, what’s a day at the office like for Dr. Lala Ellison?”

She sipped her wine. “Well, today I went through the rest of the applications for my study and finalized the candidates who are going to participate.”

“They all have Alzheimer’s?”

She nodded. “It’s a controlled study, so I picked people who live in assisted-living facilities within a twenty-five-mile radius. And they all have the same ADAS Cog score—it’s a scale that grades the level of cognitive dysfunction.”

I smiled. “I always knew you’d do something big.”

“Thanks. Though I haven’t done anything big quite yet.”

A light breeze blew, and Lala rubbed her arms. “It’s chillier than I thought,” she said.

“The night air gets chilly this early in May. I’ll grab you a sweatshirt.”

“It’s okay.”

But I stood and climbed through my window anyway. I came back with a sweatshirt and passed it over the railing to her.

“Thanks.” She pulled it over her head. “So I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo all day.”

“Thinking about getting a tattoo or thinking about all of mine?”

“Uh...”

I chuckled. “I’m teasing. So you’re really gonna get one?”

“I want to. I think I’d like to get a small cross on my wrist. The cross would be in the center, and I’d put the date Ryan died on the side.”

“That’ll look awesome. You should make an appointment with Billie.”

“Yeah…maybe. I’m just not positive yet.”

“What’s holding you back? The pain?”

“That and, well, I’ve mentioned it to Warren before, and he was sort of against it.”

My jaw clenched. “Does he have a problem with tattoos?”

“He doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to get one where anyone can see it. He thinks it looks unprofessional and will hurt my credibility.”

“I think his view is pretty outdated, Lala.”

She sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I said, too.”

“Will he give you shit if you get one anyway?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but...” She trailed off as her cell started to buzz. Just like the last time we sat out here, her face fell.

Dr. Douchebag is a judgmental fuck, but he certainly has good timing.

Only Lala didn’t say she had to go this time. Instead, she pushed the button on the side of her phone and stopped it from buzzing.

“Speak of the devil.” She smiled. “It’s Warren. I’ll just call him back later.”

As meaningless as it probably was, I took it as a win. Lala had the choice to talk to him or me, and this time, she’d picked me. Progress.

We talked for another half hour, and then I made the mistake of asking her if she wanted a refill.

“I should probably get to bed. I can’t even believe I drank one glass with how I was feeling earlier today.”

I would’ve stayed out here all night with her, but I nodded. “Yeah, I should get some shut-eye, too.”

Lala got up and handed me her empty glass. “Thanks for the wine. Goodnight, Holden.”

“’Night, Lala.”

She ducked to climb in her window, then stopped and stood straight again. “Hang on a second.” She reached for the hem of the sweatshirt she’d been wearing and pulled it over her head. “Thank you for the loaner.”

“No problem.” It would really be fine for you to keep it.

Back inside, I set both wine glasses in the sink. I was pretty damn proud of myself for putting the one with her lip marks down so easily tonight. But then I looked at what I’d thrown over my arm: the sweatshirt.

No, you’re not.

Definitely not.

No way, Catalano.

Listening to my conscience for a change, I tossed the damn sweatshirt on the couch and rushed out of the room like it had something contagious. But five minutes later, I found myself back in the living room, staring down at the goddamned thing.

This is getting ridiculous.

I really need to get laid.

I scooped the sweatshirt from the couch.

Or jerk off while wearing this…