New York Nights: Shaken and Stirred. Kathleen O'Reilly
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no, you’d be wrong. Tessa wasn’t like other women. She had her own set of goals, her own strange focus in life, and men weren’t a part of it, which was why she was the only woman he’d ever consider as a roommate, and only because of said habit and veil. When you lived with Mother Teresa, it wasn’t hard to keep things platonic.
However, right now it was past midnight and Gabe had been the recipient of four pairs of panties, seventeen phone numbers and assorted sexual propositions and, okay, he was a little wired.
It always happened as the night wore on. No big deal.
Gabe mentally clothed Tessa back in the habit, ordered his hard-on back in the bag, and pasted an easy smile on his face.
“You guys didn’t say anything to Tessa, did you?”
“You’re kidding, right? She put down a bet.”
Oh, God. The habit and veil were slowly being peeled away, but Gabe kept that damned smile on his face. “Poor kid, I’ll have to let her down easy. How long did she think she’d last?”
“Hell Freezes Over. Last entry, right here.” Cain pointed to the board where HFO was neatly penned in black ink.
“She said that?”
“Her exact words weren’t ambiguous, but you got a fragile ego. So you gonna bet? The pot’s almost three grand.”
Gabe continued to break down boxes with an amazing amount of compressed energy. “I won’t encourage morally bankrupt games of chance in my bar.”
“What about the Super Bowl pool, March Madness, the Subway series and last month’s bet on which patron was most likely to get breast enhancements?”
That one lapse in judgment had cost Gabe a sweet thousand dollars. And who knew that the Yankees would actually choke in the bottom of the ninth? “Shut up, Cain.”
“I have to go upstairs. Lindy can’t cover the bars alone.”
“Tessa’s gone? I wanted to talk to her before she went home.”
Cain shrugged. “Her shift was over. She left. If you run, you could probably catch her before she hits the subway station.”
Gabe bit back a curse and headed out into the long, lonely darkness that was Manhattan at the midnight hour. The outside air was cool and crisp and felt marvelous after being cooped up in the bar for so long. He broke into a run simply because he needed to move.
Around the corner and down two flights of stairs was the station, occupied by the usual patrons. A group of late-night partygoers trying to find their way back to Jersey. A mediocre saxophone player blowing out what was supposed to be the blues. A few kids heading home. A set of foreign tourists taking pictures. And, yes, there was Tessa, standing alone, waiting for the train.
“Why do you always do this? You know that one of us is supposed to walk you down here.”
“I haven’t needed supervision after dark since Giuliani was mayor, Gabe. Besides, I got my mace. They know not to mess with me.”
“Still.”
“What are you really here for?” she asked him quite patiently. That was Tessa. Never out of sorts. His gaze skimmed over her, checking for some sort of weakness, but there wasn’t any, which for some reason always surprised him.
Not that she was hard. Oh, no, Tessa was all cotton and smiles, but she held herself back, one step between her and the rest of the male world. Gabe included.
However, there was something oddly vulnerable about the whacked brown hair that had never seen a decent cut juxtaposed against the model-sharp cheekbones that could cut glass. Like a painting half-done or a bridge half-built.
A work in progress. That was Tessa, too.
Her summer-green eyes look tired, but she was bouncing back and forth on the soles of her running shoes, still full of energy, going home to an apartment that would be gone in five days.
“I wanted to hammer out the details before you went home. I got Danny to cover for me all day on Monday, so I think we’re good to go.” He was actually there to see if the bet had unsettled her, but she didn’t look worried. So if she wasn’t worried, then he wasn’t worried either.
“You know this is only temporary.”
“As long as you need. I don’t use the room much anyway. I can put everything in storage tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare touch a thing. I won’t take up any space. Besides, this is short-term. Temporary, just like you said. I’m not going to cramp your style. It’s all about education for me, Gabe. I’ve got a few notices posted around the campus, and on craigslist, so hopefully something will pop soon and I’ll be out of your hair. Three weeks tops.”
“It doesn’t matter how long you stay. You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that, and you’re a sweet man, but I need to take care of myself.”
“I’m really not a sweet man, you know.”
“You gonna make me move in all by myself, Mr. Unsweetened Man?”
Gabe stuck his hands in his pockets. “How much furniture do you have?”
“A twin bed, a nightstand and some books,” she answered, with a remarkably sweet smile.
“Oh, yeah, that’ll take seven minutes to load up. I’ll borrow the truck from Cain and be there at ten.”
The lights of the train appeared in the tunnel and she stood on tiptoe, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek, “You really are a sweet man.”
“I’m not a sweet man.”
Tessa pointed up the tracks. “Look, that old lady—she’s getting mugged!”
Gabe took off running, but Tessa’s laughter stopped him in midstride.
“Busted!”
He walked back, whapped her on the arm. “I was going to clean up the place for you, but not anymore.”
The doors on the train slid open, and she waved before slipping inside.
Gabe didn’t bother to wave back. Sweet man, my ass.
2
MOVING DAY WAS A piece of cake. Of course, that’s the way of it when all your worldly possessions fit into three wooden packing crates. Except for the decrepit twin bed, which Gabe glared at, nostrils flaring in disdain—not a usual look for him. She didn’t like his judging her possessions—or lack thereof—and so Tessa protested a few minutes longer than she might have if he had remained glareless.
Janice, her former roommate, had already moved out, and the apartment was depressingly barren. Tessa ignored the equally depressing sensation in her gut. Moving in was always a new adventure. Moving out was another change-of-address form and another adventure squandered.
For once, Tessa wanted to know that when she changed her address it was because of something good, something positive, something that Tessa could be proud of.
Gabe, not sensing Tessa’s emotional turmoil (typical male), hovered over the thin metal frame and then poked a finger at the mattress. “This is your bed?”
It was stupid to get worked up over a mattress that belonged in a Dumpster, but seeing Gabe mentally inventorying her life reminded her of how far she still had to go.
“A featherweight mattress is easier to move.” She slung it over one shoulder to demonstrate. “See?”
He stood firm. “That’s not going into my place.”
“This is my bed. What am I supposed to sleep on?”
Gently Gabe disentangled her fingers from their death grip on the mattress. “I’ll buy you a futon.”