Free Boston by Alexis Alvarez Page B

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then gestures to the couch. “Sit with me.”
    So we sit together and my heart is in my mouth. Everything I ever said to Liesl was a lie, all those things about not wanting a one-night stand, not wanting him if he just wants a quickie because no one else is around. The truth is that when I’m with him like this, our bodies close, the attraction is so powerful that nothing of that matters. All I can think about is the need in my body, the urge to devour him rising in me with such ferocity that I almost wail with frustration at each missed touch, each lost opportunity. So help me God, if he kissed me right now, I’d lie down and do whatever he asked. Over and over again.
    But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he asks me, “So you do this full time, Abby? The writing?”
    “Yes.” My voice is soft. “I used to be an accountant, shared an office with my friend. Well, I still am one, but I don’t work at that anymore. I wrote part time, but then my books really took off, and I decided to try doing it for real, you know? I figure I have the other skills and I can always go back if I need to. But I hope I don’t need to. I love this. How about you?”
    He puts his beer onto the coffee table and then his hand is next to me on the couch, and I can’t breathe because it’s so close to my thigh. One inch closer, just one inch. Touch me. Please.
    “I had a rough start, Abby. I’m not like you and your—Erik, all with your advanced degrees and happy families and shit. I barely graduated high school. My family—well, I was pretty much on my own. Workin’ out was the only thing I was good at, so I did it all the time. And then I decided, what the hell, why not try to make a livin’ at it, you know? So I got into bodybuilding and fitness. Started modeling. Did well. But that shit gets old. And it’s pretty much a young man’s game, so I figure I gotta come up with another way to pay the bills.”
    “You’re still young!” The words burst out, but he is, really—what is he, early thirties?
    He gives a short laugh, then grabs his beer for another swig. “You hit thirty, you’re on the way out as a model. I like teaching, but I wanted something more profitable than being a trainer full time. So one day I used the last of my savings and bought a fancy camera. Didn’t know jack about how to use it or anything, Abby. I was freakin’ out, but I made myself read that damn manual cover to cover. Seven times. Seven fuckin’ times until I figured out how to work the thing. Then I started practicing. And I got good.”
    His voice evens out and gains strength, fluency. “Then I started takin’ pictures of other models, and reaching out to authors for cover pictures. It’s going well so far. It turns out I like being behind the camera. A lot. I still model too, but I think in the future, you know? This is going to be my thing. Like, my real thing. My job. My life.”
    I trace the mouth of the beer bottle with my index finger, mesmerized with the motion and the smooth feel to the cool glass.
    “So we’re not that different after all, Boston.” My voice is low. “We both jumped into something new and gave it our all, hoping it would work. Something artistic and free and open and crazy. Don’t you think so?” I lift my eyes up and meet his.
    I think he’s about to agree, but then his phone trills and the moment is broken. He answers, and his face breaks into a grin. “Annalise! Babe. You comin’ ovah?”
    My stomach turns. I stand up and put my beer on the table and wipe my hand on my jeans.
    “Great. See you soon.” He slides the phone onto the table and frowns at my stance; I have “going to leave now” written into my posture, into the way I’m leaning toward the door.
    “I guess I should get going. Thanks for the beer.” I smile, trying not to act crushed.
    “You wanna stay and meet Annalise?” He raises one eyebrow.
    “Well, I have to get back. I need to, um,