Times Square(22)

"Shit, Lauren." He shakes his head like something's just occurred to him.

"What?"

"It's not even my birthday," he says softly. Then he winks and he's so freaking cute I'm about two seconds from handing him my panties on the sidewalk.

And then I'm not.

We should have turned left when we exited Rite Aid. We should have turned left and taken Tenth to Bleecker. Fuck it all to hell, why didn't we turn left?





Chapter Ten


 We turned right.

We turned right to take Charles to Bleecker.

We turned right, which took us past the Irish pub on the corner. And in only in New York fashion we bumped smack into my ex-fiancé, Brad. Eight million people in New York, one point six million people in Manhattan alone and who do we bump into? The last guy I'm interested in seeing.

I haven't seen him in the ten months since we broke up, not once. I always imagined I'd bump into him again, but in Iowa. We'd both be home for the holidays and run into each other at the Hy-Vee while picking up a last-minute ingredient for Christmas dinner. Or maybe at the airport, waiting for a flight back to New York. But in Manhattan, I assumed I was safe from any awkward encounters.

I see him before he sees me. He's directly in front of me but he's not facing my direction. He's looking behind him, reaching for someone's hand. A woman. She's pretty, I find myself noticing in a detached way. I feel flushed, the way you do when you're surprised by something, because I'm surprised to see him. But I'm not sure I feel anything else. I wait, expecting to feel a bite of pain or hurt, but it's not there. I find myself hoping he's grown up, if not for his own sake then for hers. Whoever she is.

Brad turns and recognition crosses his face—but he's not looking at me. He's looking at Max. "Hey, man," he's calling out a second before my brain registers what's happening. Before I realize they know each other. A heartbeat before I observe something in Max's expression that makes me realize that not only does he know Brad, he knows exactly who Brad is to me. That this is the Brad. This all happens in a moment but it feels like slow motion, my brain a step behind. It's not a New York minute, that's for sure. It's more of a microwave minute. You know? How a minute spent waiting for something to cook in the microwave feels like five? Sorta like that.

Then Brad's gaze moves from Max to me, to Max's hand around my shoulder, and a flash of surprise crosses his face at seeing us together.

"Hey, Lauren," Brad says, glancing between us again. "It's good to see you. I didn't realize you two knew each other."

I'm not sure what to say to that because I wasn't aware of this connection until just now, but before I need to respond he's introducing the woman by his side. He introduces her as his girlfriend and after a pause he mentions that they met a few months ago. I suppose this is for my benefit, some kindness he's bestowing on me so that I don't wonder if it's her underwear I found in the apartment I shared with him. I realize as he says it that I wasn't wondering. That it feels like forever ago. That I simply don't care.

Besides, I'm too busy wondering how my ex knows my current boyfriend. I'll be damned if I'm going to ask right now though.

Brad asks about my job and how I'm doing. If I've gotten my own place yet or if I'm still at the bunk bed apartment. I give him the generic answers you give to someone you don't know well enough to elaborate with.

"Babe," the girlfriend says with a slight tug to Brad's arm. I've already forgotten her name. She's pretty. Docile, would be my brief impression. "We're going to be late for the movie," she tells him.

He nods at her and tells me it was good to see me. To take care. He tells Max he'll see him on Monday. So that answers that. They work together.

I'm silent as I watch them walk away, but I slide out from under Max's arm. When they've crossed Charles I turn and look at him.

"I was going to tell you," he starts. Which is never a good way to start a conversation with a woman. How do men not know this? All men past the age of eighteen should know this. They should share this information with each other, pass it along while they do their bro hugs or add it to condom reviews they post online. Write it on bathroom walls if that's what it takes to get the message out.

"What the fuck, Max?"

"On a scale of one to breaking up with me, how mad are you?"

"I'm twenty-three, Max, not thirteen. We're going to have a conversation about this, not pick out a dramatic breakup song."

"Okay." He nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his forehead.

"So you and Brad work together?"

"Sorta," he says and when I raise an eyebrow he adds, "Technically, I'm his boss."

"For fuck’s sake," I say, throwing up my hands as I start walking towards his apartment. "So when exactly did you realize that?" I stop walking and look at him. "Did you always know? Because Brad"—I point in the direction he just walked—"clearly didn't know."