Page 74 of Good Boy

Pick Your Poison

Jess

When I arrive at a certain sleek condo tower by the waterfront, the doorman waves me in. But instead of getting off on Jamie’s floor, I ride the elevator farther up, to Blake’s. I’ve never been to his apartment before, and I’m not sure what to expect. There are only four doors in his hallway. I knock on the one that has a doormat depicting a Saint Bernard with a hockey stick.

Behind the door, I hear the muted sounds of TV, then the thump of footsteps. Blake opens the door wearing a cuddly-looking flannel shirt—unbuttoned to reveal his fabulous chest—and a pair of well-worn jeans that hug his sculpted thighs. In other words, he looks scrumptious. But then I check his face, and I see that something is wrong. His expression is pinched in a way that’s completely unfamiliar on him.

“Hey, Jess,” he says softly. “How are you?” He shuffles backward to let me in.

How am I? Totally weirded out. That’s how.

“I’ve had better days,” I admit. “But I brought ice cream and wine. I would have brought a chick flick too, but you’re not a chick.”

I step past him and take a closer look at the apartment. I’d expected it to look about the same as my brother’s, but it’s not the same at all. Blake’s pad is huge, and his kitchen must have been designed by a Swedish architect named Torvald. Everything is sleek wood or gleaming white. A thick wool rug pads the floor under my feet. Gentle light washes over all the surfaces from hidden fixtures near the ceiling. And there are sliding glass doors on the far wall leading to what must be a kick-ass terrace.

“Wow,” I say stupidly. “Fancy.”

He shrugs. “What kind of ice cream?”

“I have dark mocha and also coconut. Pick your poison.” I carry my goods toward his kitchen, but Blake takes the bag from me and unpacks it himself.

“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, tucking the ice cream cartons into the freezer.

“Not exactly,” I hedge. “But that’s okay.”

Blake clucks his tongue. “How about we order some Chinese? You probably haven’t eaten all that well if you’ve been studying.” His green eyes bore into mine.

“Okay, thanks,” I say quietly. “I like chicken and broccoli. Actually, I like most anything.”

One warm hand cups the back of my head for a second. Just as I register how nice it feels, it’s gone again.

Blake orders our food while I locate a pair of wineglasses on a shelf over the countertop. But a corkscrew remains elusive. I can’t figure out how to open his kitchen drawers because there aren’t any handles. Out of frustration, I give one a little push, and it slides open with a hushed click that reminds me of a high-tech device. Blake’s kitchen drawers are like something you’d find on a space shuttle.

I pour carefully because I don’t know if red wine is capable of staining his immaculate marble countertops. Then I carry our glasses over to the generous leather sofa, where Blake is just finishing up his call.

“To shitty days that end with wine,” I announce when he’s ready to toast with me.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says as we touch glasses.

We hold each other’s gaze as we sip, and it feels weirdly intimate. Although maybe I should stop finding it weird, right? How many times have I gotten naked with this guy?

Let’s not count.

“This isn’t bad,” I say of the wine. I went above my usual price point, splurging on a twenty-dollar bottle. “Let’s drink every drop. Otherwise, I’ve squandered my last twenty bucks.”

Blake cocks his head like a puppy. “Money troubles?”

“Always. I came to Toronto because nursing school cost only thirty-five grand a year instead of fifty. My parents kicked in ten. I took out loans for ten. And the last fifteen are from a scholarship that I have to reapply for every year. If I don’t get at least a C-plus on today’s exam, I probably won’t be eligible next year.” Ugh. The wine sours in my stomach. I shouldn’t be worrying about this until my grades come back, but it’s hard not to. “If I don’t get the scholarship, I won’t be able to continue.”

And then where will I be? I’ll owe back the money I borrowed from the bank. And my parents will be out ten grand for another one of my failures. I’ll be back in Cali living in my old bedroom, in debt and looking for a job.

Shoot me.

Blake puts a hand on my knee. “I’ll bet you aced your test.”

I shake my head. Hard. “I didn’t, though. Whatever my superpower is, pathophysiology isn’t it.”

“You’re still awesome, Jessie. I refuse to believe that you won’t make it in nursing school.”

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