"I'll let it pass."
"His friends are clearly a bunch of degenerate douchebags though. You'd think just one of them might have pointed out to him that he already had a girlfriend."
"Maybe they didn't know."
"Possibly." I nod. "Except he actually told me it wasn't a big deal. Said he was just blowing off steam and that I got to be his girlfriend. Like I should be honored I got top billing in a polygamous relationship I wasn't aware I was in." I snort.
"Huh," he murmurs.
"You don't hang out with guys like that, right?" I question.
"Not on purpose, no," he says, then adds, "Fuck him," as he pulls me off the stool I'm on and leads me back to the couch we had sex on before dinner. Then we talk and kiss and it's the best night of my life. He asks questions about my job and my roommates and what I miss about home and what I like most about the city.
He agrees my boss is a troll and listens to all of the ideas I would have liked to have implemented for Budget Bridal instead of walking around Times Square in a wedding dress today.
We just really hit it off, like we've known each other forever.
Later we go upstairs and Max gets that bedtime story.
"Once upon a time there was a girl named Lauren and her mouth was so, so wet," I purr into his ear as I slide my hand lower.
"Fuck," Max groans in response. He doesn't say much after that. After all, it's my story.
Chapter Eight
On Monday I smile my way through the entire day. I spent the weekend with Max, returning to my apartment only long enough to grab clean clothes on Saturday morning and not returning again until Sunday night. We played tourist all weekend, doing the things I imagined I'd do when I moved here. We saw a show on Broadway, something Brad had kept promising to do with me but never had. After, we walked through Times Square, which is insane twenty-four hours a day, but at night it's insane with a neon cherry on top. There's nothing like Manhattan at night. The lights, the sounds, the energy, the people.
We got gyros from a street vendor on Fifty-Third and Sixth that Max insisted would change my life and edible cookie dough from the new place in Greenwich Village that I contended would change the size of my ass. Max whispered some very filthy promises to me about how we'd burn the calories off while we waited in a line that snaked out the front door and down the block.
We even took one of those double-decker bus tours. Max said he'd never been on one either—and it was probably pretty repetitive for him to see a bunch of sites he's seen for years, but we went anyway. We took a night tour and I know it's silly because we were on a bus and surrounded by tourists, but it was romantic. Like stupid romantic. Max had his arm slung around me as I rested my head on his shoulder and enjoyed the tour. We drove past Rockefeller Center and Madison Square Garden. Past the Empire State Building illuminated in white light and the Flatiron Building, which the tour guide told us was mocked upon completion by critics believing the combination of the triangular shape and height would cause the building to fall down. Over a hundred years later it still stands and is considered one of the most photographed buildings in the world.
We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, which is stunning in the daylight and magic after dark, the lights running up the cables to the top of the stone towers and then back down again. On the Brooklyn side of the bridge the bus stopped long enough for picture-taking of the Manhattan skyline. Max took our picture with his phone, smiles on our faces and the city sparkling behind us. My heart beats a little faster and I suck my lip between my teeth just remembering it.
I'm so happy even my troll boss hasn't been able to get me down. She keeps looking at me suspiciously, likely trying to imagine what's making me happy so she can dream up ways to squash me, but whatever. It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter because I will find another job eventually. This job is just a blip on the radar of my career. I've already found two open positions within the company that I'm perfect for and applied. Maybe I'll get one of them, maybe I won't. But eventually I'll find something because I won't quit until I do.
It turns out I don't have to wait very long because on the following week I get asked to interview for one of the jobs I applied for and I have an offer by the end of the week.
It's to move to the social media team. A twenty percent increase in pay and, even better, it's a job I could be excited about doing. I really clicked with the supervisor I interviewed with. She's a blogger too and we spent most of the interview chatting about affiliate programs and algorithms. She blogs about living in small spaces and when I told her about my bunk bed living situation she asked if she could take some photos and feature my apartment on her blog. So, yeah, we totally hit it off and—dare I be too optimistic?—I think she's going to be more than a boss, I think she's going to be a friend too. She's already sent me links to several blogging conferences she wants me to attend and told me if there's any others I'm interested in to let her know, that as long as it's something I can use for work then we can find a way to justify sending me. It's a dream gig. I'll be using my skills instead of wearing a wedding dress in Times Square and I'll be getting paid to learn things that I'll also be able to apply to my personal blog.