Chapter 14

Jazz found herself staring at Nick Coyle’s ass.

As asses went, it wasn’t bad. Nick wasn’t a model or a weightlifter or someone who would have any reason to develop finely-chiseled glutes, but he was a healthy young man who kept himself in good shape. His pants fit, too - and that was really half the battle.

Besides, she wasn’t staring at his ass for its aesthetic value or more prurient reasons. She was staring because it was sticking out from under a leather recliner, currently in the fully reclining position. Jazz was afraid if she spoke or made any sound that would alert him to her presence, he would jump and bang his head.

Eventually, he must have figured out she was there. Without emerging, he said, “Something I can help you with, Jazz?”

“I just wanted to do a brain dump from the party,” said Jazz. “Is whatever you’re doing down there something I can help with?”

“One of the kittens escaped from the game room and is under here. I tried to tilt the chair back, but it reclined instead.” Nick grunted. “I was afraid I hurt the little bastard, but he’s right here, staring at me just out of reach.”

“Have you tried bribing it with food?” Tiffany asked from behind Jazz’s back. Jazz gave a start. She hadn’t heard the singer approach.

Apparently, Nick hadn’t heard her either because he jumped and banged his head. With a muttered profanity, he pulled himself out from under the chair and sat with his back to a nearby sofa.

“Sorry.” Tiffany offered him a hand up. “I seem to be surprising you every time we meet.”

Nick waved her hand away. “I’m good on the floor for a bit. If he runs, I might be able to grab him before he winds up under something else.”

Tiffany crouched down next to him. “Well, I just wanted to say thank you for the room last night. It was very generous of you to let me use it. I’m heading out.”

Nick extended a hand to shake and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before whispering something in his ear that Jazz failed to hear despite her best efforts. Whatever it was, Nick blushed. Once Tiffany was in the elevator, Jazz asked, “What did she say to you?”

“She said I’m cute when I’m flustered,” said Nick.

“Is that because she propositioned you last night?” asked Jazz. When Nick gave her a look, she added, “Tiff and I are old friends. We were at Riverwalk together. She tells me everything.”

Nick sighed. “Did she tell you what I said?”

“It involved the word ‘generous.’ Right?” Jazz asked.

“It did. I said, ‘Thank you. That’s very generous.’” said Nick. “I was surprised. It was the first time anyone ever point-blank propositioned me.”

Jazz laughed and sat on the couch he was leaning against. “It won’t be the last, I bet.”

Nick turned his head to face her - or more precisely, her knee. “It already isn’t. She got here early. What do I need to know about the party? Was it a success?”

“No arrests, no fistfights, and the EMTs had an easy night,” said Jazz. “So, not a complete success, but people seemed to have a good time. Plenty of compliments on the food and the music. The most common complaint was from people who heard a rumor you had a hot tub.”

“I don’t know if I’m a hot tub guy,” said Nick. “How did people like the video?”

“Comments were universally positive, but they usually are at a premier party. I heard the girls’ social media is blowing up. Yours probably is too, but you’ll have to check with Emily on that.”

“Good blowing up or bad blowing up?” asked Nick.

“The usual mix, maybe a few more trolls and creeps,” said Jazz.

“Nick, what are you doing on the floor?” Dennis asked, coming in from the game room.

“Escaped kitten under the chair,” said Nick. “Do you think you and Lev could pick this up so I can get it out of there?”

“Sure.” Dennis reversed direction.

Nick turned to Jazz. “What else do I need to know?”

“All the vendor bills are piled neatly on the desk in your office,” said Jazz. “And I got a handshake agreement to distribute IBJ in Japan.”

“Congratulations.” Nick beamed. “Not that I understand how good that is or isn’t, but you said it like it was a very good thing.”

“It is. Japanese girls love lingerie and I’ve been wooing this distributor for like a year,” said Jazz. “I think getting him into this party sealed the deal. So, I owe you one.”

Nick laughed. “I thought handling this party was supposed to be repaying a favor, not incurring another one.”

Jazz had wondered if he would notice or mention that. Nick had been pretty unhappy with her over injuring Emily, maybe even as unhappy as she’d been with herself. Paying for Emily’s downtime and putting Jazz’s name on the settlement had been a fairly enormous favor. IBJ was still spending more money than it made in an attempt to expand worldwide and any other resolution of Emily’s situation might have knocked the wheels off the cart. Even the threat of a pending lawsuit could scare investors away.

“Letting me run the party wasn’t really going to be that anyway,” Jazz admitted. “You let me fill over half the guest list with people I wanted to impress. It was like a marketing event for IBJ. I think I just owe you favors on top of favors.”

Nick looked up at her and something in his gaze made her shiver. “Are you sure you want to count favors with me like that, Jazz? You could end up owing me quite a bit.”

Jazz didn’t answer because Nick’s friends were in the room now. He explained the situation and the precarious nature of the chair, which they lifted straight up. Nick was ready to pounce if the kitten ran. But, the kitten was curled up in a little ball of fluff, its paw and the tip of its tail over its nose. It had fallen asleep. Nick scooped it up and it just blinked at him sleepily.

Jazz was inquisitive by nature. Less charitable people might go so far as to call her nosy. Whatever it was, she observed people and asked a lot of questions. She knew that Nick formed the hypotenuse of a romantic triangle with Lev and arguably another with Dennis, but had lost out or stepped aside in both. In spite of that and in spite of the clear power differential among them, there was an easy camaraderie as they worked together. They bent their backs to the work Nick asked of them, but teased him for his inability to do it himself. Jazz liked Nick, but she was a little afraid of him. Dennis and Lev weren’t afraid of him at all.

The kitten also was apparently unafraid of Nick. It had curled up and fallen asleep under the chair. It blinked sleepily as Nick scooped it up, yawned, and went back to sleep cradled in his arm.

After Nick’s friends had left the room, she considered him as he settled on the couch, absentmindedly stroking the kitten. His hands were so gentle with the tiny creature. Before he could say anything, Jazz said, “Maybe we shouldn’t count favors between us. You’ve been very generous with me and I don’t think I can keep up. I only have so much you might want.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but Jazz just met his eyes. “Maybe you should just assume I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Max was surprised to find anyone in the loft’s basement gym. Everyone who lived in the building had been upstairs in the game room or the lounge, so he jumped a little when Connie Carlyle emerged from the locker rooms, dressed to work out.

“Max, hi,” she waved to him and came over, straddling the weight bench next to the one he was setting up. “Do you lift?”

“I wanted to start,” Max considered the bar and debated putting more weight on it. “I did a little last week, but then I got sore and had to take a few days off. Do you ... work out here?”

“I’m training Emily to work out around her injury ... and Kiki when I can drag her down here,” said Connie. “That’s most of what I do for my girls now.”

“Could you give me some advice?” Max asked. “I’ve tried to do some research, but what I read seems to be all over the map. Like - there are a million strategies for starting to lift weights. I have no idea which one I’m supposed to follow.”

Connie tilted her head to look him over. Max sucked in his gut. She asked, “Are you going for toning, muscle building, weight loss, or general health?”

“Uh ... general health,” Max hedged.

“You should probably start with weight loss,” said Connie. “Do you know your BMI?”

Max was taken aback. Had Connie Carlyle just called him fat? “I don’t know.”

“Height and weight?” Connie asked.

“Six foot even and two oh five,” said Max.

“So, you’re the same height as Emily.” Connie did some mental math. “I don’t remember the tables for men, but you have a broad frame. You probably don’t want to lose more than twenty to forty pounds, then you could start lifting.”

“Can’t I lift while I lose weight?” Max asked.

Connie shook her head, then launched into an explanation of how weight lifting added mass, how exercising tended to make you want to eat more, and how hard weight loss was. She finished with, “You should start with core exercises. Those I’m good at. I could help you with a schedule.”

Max said weakly, “Yeah. That would be great.”

Connie tilted her head at him. “You look a bit overwhelmed.”

“A lot of this is new to me. I should have taken notes.” Max admitted.

Connie smacked her forehead. “Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I’ve been training for years, but I train models. I’m probably terrible for you to talk to. I help my girls train for an incredible amount of scrutiny on every inch of their body in an industry that is unbelievably cruel to anything they consider wrong with you. Unless you want a fashion model’s neuroses, you shouldn’t listen to a word I say.”

Max sighed and considered the weight plates on his bar again. “So, it’s back to square one then?”

“Well, not weight training.” Connie patted the bench in front of her. “Have a seat and I’ll try to remember that I’m talking to a normal person who isn’t going to be blown up to fifty feet tall in his underwear in Herald Square.”

At Connie’s direction, he sat on the bench facing away from her. To his surprise, Connie started to massage his shoulders. Once he realized what was happening, he relaxed into it. She said, “Don’t lift weights. Work on your core. Eat better than you did yesterday. Keep track of what you eat. You’re a young man and your body is resilient. If you do all that and the weight doesn’t start to come off in a month or two, talk to somebody about nutrition.”

Max groaned as she found a knot with her thumb. “Does massage help? I could definitely do this part regularly.”

“Probably not.” Connie laughed. “Massage might be your reward for doing the rest of it, but this one is an apology for almost putting you on the path of a lifetime of pointless body shame. Do you forgive me?”

Max didn’t say anything right away. It felt like Connie was flirting with him, but that had to be his imagination running away with him. He said, “You didn’t say anything I haven’t heard inside my own head. How do I start working on my core?”

“Ah...” Connie continued to work his back. “I could give you a list of exercises, but it’s probably best to start with learning the forms. Could I convince you to start coming down in the mornings at 9:30 when I work with Emily and sometimes Kiki?”

Max had a sudden, clear image of himself starting each day as the only guy in the room with Emily, Kiki, and Connie. If anything could motivate him to keep working out, he imagined that could. “Uh, yeah. I think I could do that.”

As Emily rose from the breakfast table to go downstairs for her workout, she spotted Nick carrying a little blue-gray ball of fluff. She grinned to see it. “Ah. You found the little devil. Did you?”

Nick laughed. “I followed him to hell and back - or under the recliner in the theater area. They kind of look alike.” He held the kitten out for Emily to pet. “I don’t suppose you want to adopt him.”

Emily picked up her crutches. “I would love to, but our house has a no pets policy and my roommates are already breaking it with one cat the landlord doesn’t know about.”

The smile on Nick’s face faded a little. “Right. You still live out on Staten Island. I’ve started to think you live here.”

Emily felt a little chill. Had Nick decided to get rid of her because she was showing an interest in Dennis? That didn’t sound like him, but she’d only known him a little over a week. She started to walk towards the elevator. “Coney Island, actually. I haven’t been back since I sprained my ankle. Maybe I should think about heading home.”

Nick asked, “You’re getting around better on the crutches?” and Emily’s heart sank again, but she nodded.

“Yeah. I could probably make the commute if I had to,” she said quietly.

Nick didn’t say anything until they were at the elevator. “I wish you’d stay.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

Nick nodded. “You’re the only one without a lease on your apartment. Do you want one? It’s year-to-year, but the plan is to renew them automatically for as long as we live here.”

God, how Emily wanted to say yes. But, she said, “Nick, I can’t. I’m already taking advantage of you as it is. You have to stop giving me things.”

“I don’t, actually.” Nick smirked. “Unless you refuse, I can give you whatever I want to. You’re not taking advantage of me. I’m giving you advantage. I can’t do this for everyone, but I can do it for my friends and I want us to be friends.”

The elevator had arrived and opened, but both of them ignored it and the door closed again. Emily said quietly, “Did you know that Dennis and I have a date to go out for dinner tonight?”

Nick’s smile was broad and immediate. “I didn’t, but I’ve seen the way you two are together with each other. And we should all make a habit of getting out of the loft more. We’re starting to step on each other’s ... uh, toes.” He laid a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you guys. Dennis is the nicest one of us by far.”

Emily looked around before leaning in to say quietly. “Don’t tell him, but I think I’d enjoy having sex with him.”

Nick laughed. “Well, if a girl is uncertain she wants to have sex, Dennis is probably the man to convince her she does.”

Emily was surprised to find that she was disappointed in how easily Nick was handling the idea of her in his friend’s bed. She didn’t want him to try to stop them, but a little bit of angst might be nice. “So, you’re okay with this?”

Nick gestured her into the elevator and followed her in, then pressed the button for the basement level. “You know I want you for myself, Em. But, I also want you to be happy. I want Dennis to be happy. If you two have something and it lasts, no one will be happier for you than me.”

“And if it doesn’t last?” Emily pressed the button to keep the door from opening once they reached the cellar.

Nick looked her up and down. “If it doesn’t last, try not to break each other’s hearts. I like having you both around.”

When Arwen found Cat in the game room, the artist had her MacBook open and a sketchpad in hand. She looked up and smiled. “I was just looking at butterfly wings for you. I got your e-mail.”

“I ... asked about fairy wings,” Arwen said, confused.

“There are more to fairy wings than Tinkerbell’s impractical little dragonfly number,” said Cat. “I was thinking yours should be stronger, a warrior princess like your namesake.”

Arwen sat across from her. “We’re not getting too far from the original vision. Are we?”

Cat looked up from her screen. “Do you think Nick had a specific vision in mind or do you think he commissioned this because he wanted me to create something you would be happy with?”

“I’m sure he wants me to be happy with it, but I want him to be happy with it, too,” said Arwen. “And the fairy wings were Lev’s idea. I love them, but I don’t want to change them too much. Is there room to make us all happy?”

Cat tilted her head, her corkscrew-tight black curls cascading over her shoulder. “I never try to guess what’s going to make another person happy. We could pull them in here for a consultation once we have some preliminary sketches.”

“Maybe.” Nick and Lev arguing over what kind of wings Arwen should have would be funny, but awkward as hell. “Your butterfly queen is awesome.”

“She was supposed to be Casey, but I’m terrible at working from memory. There’s something kind of otherworldly in the face that I like, but it didn’t come from the original,” said Cat. “You saw it on DeviantArt, I assume. Did anything else catch your eye?”

Cat laughed. “A lot of it caught my eye. Some of it was really deviant.”

“Thank you,” said Cat. “But, that’s really my tamer stuff. If you like, I can send you a link to the account I don’t put my real name on.”

“Something dirtier than ‘Gay Elf Interrogation?’” Arwen asked. “I’m not sure I want to see it.”

“I don’t have to send you the link,” said Cat. “Some of it can be kind of triggery.”

Arwen’s curiosity was piqued. “No, send it. I’ve got to see it now.”

“That’s the spirit.” Cat smiled. “Do you want to come look at butterfly wings with me?”

They sat on the couch together, looking at pictures of butterfly wings, then butterflies, then other artist’s renditions of fairies with butterfly wings. Arwen pointed out a few she liked and Cat broke down the elements, asking which appealed to her subject. Together, they built the idea of Fairy Arwen - a warrior, strong and beautiful, an archer by training, poised and ready.

“So, maybe she’s at a party - the Midsummer Gala at the Seelie Court, off-duty but watchful. The moment we capture is seconds into an ambush.” Cat wove the image. “She doesn’t have her bow with her, but she has a warrior heart and she’s never really unarmed. She’s scanning the room for the most likely weapon among the party decorations, planning a path through the attackers - a centerpiece to take a knife, a knife to take a dagger, a dagger for a sword, and then on to the commander.”

Arwen could see it in her mind’s eye. “She sounds like a real action hero ... or heroine, I guess.”

“Hero is fine,” said Cat. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” said Arwen, closing her eyes and savoring the scene, but there was still something not quite right. “How practical are butterfly wings for her? If the fairies have different kinds of wings, why would they choose warriors with these big...” She sighed and opened her eyes. “I’m being difficult. Aren’t I?”

Cat smiled and shook her head. “Not at all. You’re making it very easy for me. I wish all my subjects revealed themselves like this. What kind of wings does Warrior Fairy Arwen have?”

Arwen sighed. “Something low and slung back - like raptors have, I guess, but once you put bird feathers on them, she starts to look like an angel. Warrior Fairy Arwen isn’t an angel. She’s been down in the trenches with the other warriors and she can swear to make a redcap blush.”

“She sounds magnificent,” Cat reached for the keyboard to type in a search term. “Maybe moth wings.”

Arwen winced. “Is it terrible that I still want her to be pretty?”

Cat looked up. “She’d still be beautiful. The wings don’t make the fairy.”

Arwen felt a lump form in her throat and looked away. When she didn’t look back, Cat said, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“I ... no,” Arwen looked back up at her. “I just ... you take some getting used to. If a guy calls me beautiful, I know what it means.”

“And if a straight girl calls you beautiful, it means something different,” Cat gave an understanding smile.

“Probably. I don’t really have any girl friends. I’ve always been the weird girl.” Arwen gestured to the loft as a whole. “These guys are my best friends.”

“Ah. It’s my girlness that’s throwing you off then.” Cat smiled and typed on her computers. “Usually, when I have this talk, it’s because a friend thinks I’m flirting with her.”

Arwen blushed and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “You wouldn’t do that ... flirt with me.”

The look Cat gave Arwen suggested she would. “I’m actually a shameless flirt. If I find someone attractive, I rarely see the point in not acknowledging it. Fortunately, the people I find most attractive tend to understand the difference between desire and intent.”

Arwen struggled to find an answer that would even begin to explain what a broken kaleidescope her own desires were right now - all bright colors with no discernable pattern among them. Cat said, “If you don’t like me flirting with you, I can reign it in. I am a professional when I need to be.”