Page 116 of Boyfriend of the Hour
“Nathaniel! What is the matter with you?”
The sound of his mother’s peevish voice, the faint Virginian accent sliding over her vowels, was enough to yank him out of his fantasies. For now, anyway. At the moment, he wasn’t in a place to consider further self-immolation in the form of kissing Joni Zola, but in fact, he was about to have his second brunch in two weeks with his parents, who had just arrived in the city in anticipation of the Sinai Children’s benefit on Friday.
“Hello, Mom.” He greeted his mother with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek, then nodded to the man next to her before sittingdown at their table at BG Restaurant on the seventh floor of the Bergdorf’s department store. “Dad.”
“Nathan.” Radford mirrored the same abrupt gesture without lowering his newspaper.
Much like Nathan, his parents—especially his father—were creatures of habit. Radford Hunt had enjoyed the same breakfast, lunch, and dinner for most of his eighty-three years. His days followed the same routine no matter which of his houses he was occupying. And when he did divert from those routines, they were only to other well-established paths of travel.
Bergdorf’s was one of them and had been since before Nathan had even moved to the city as an intern. It didn’t matter if the eggs were sometimes rubbery or the coffee a bit weak. Radford liked to read theWall Street Journalwith a view of Central Park, and Lillian liked her single crab cake before meeting with Andrea, her favorite personal shopper, on the fourth floor.
“Nathan, where have you been? We were expecting you thirty minutes ago. And whatever are you wearing?” Lillian Hunt sniffed. “Is that patchouli?”
Nathan offered the grim smile his mother called his “mopey face” (whatever that meant). He was aware of the irregularities. Tardy when he was always on time. Dressed in last night’s wrinkled jeans and a dusty T-shirt instead of the tailored clothes his mother typically sent from Milan or Paris when she went. Reeking of the strange Brooklyn warehouse where he had spent the night on a stained floral sofa with Joni wrapped in his arms instead of alone in his three-thousand-thread-count sateen sheets.
The MDMA had been strong, and they hadn’t been able to stop touching each other once it had set in. Nothing more than that, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both knew it would violate some basic rule of consent. For some of the party-goers,the public space hadn’t stopped them from enjoying each other more thoroughly in the darker corners. Nathan, however, hadn’t minded keeping his hands over her clothes and his lips above her collarbone. He and Joni had remained fused on that dance floor, touching, dancing, twirling, and, yes, kissing, until they’d finally collapsed on a couch in the corner and drifted off to the sounds of that terrible band reinventing bossa nova as punk rock.
It was unequivocally the best night of his life.
And maybe one of the best mornings too. Nathan had woken with a half-asleep arm and a sore neck, the snoring of multiple people buzzing in his ears, and Joni’s face smashed on his chest. She hummed lightly in her sleep, a nondescript song that had no real melody; one hand curled into his shirt, her black lashes fluttering over opalescent eyes as she approached consciousness. Nathan swore he had known that song before he had ever heard it.
When she woke, she’d looked up at him, her typically bright, if slightly sad, green eyes full of something sweet and light. Something like hope. Something so indeliblyright.
And he hadn’t been able to breathe.
His lips, however, still tingled as if just the memory of her face set them alight all over again.
He still couldn’t make any sense of it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. And certainly not to the people sitting at this table.
Nathan perused the menu, which was written in blurry script that wasn’t helping his headache. He’d just order the same thing he always got. His parents were still staring as he removed his glasses and massaged his forehead.
Once again, those bright emerald-colored eyes flashed in his mind, her sly, slightly crooked smile curving under the multicolored lights strung across the exposed rafters of the warehouse. That perfectly proportioned mouth opening justunder his, back arched as his hands slid up her ribcage, daring to cup her impeccably petite, exquisitely round, utterly grabbable breasts?—
Nathan cleared his throat and replaced his glasses. His parents were staring at him like his skin had turned blue. Lillian was ignoring her mimosa while Radford had actually set down the financial section of theJournal.
“I had a long night,” Nathan said, realizing they were still waiting for an answer to his mother’s comments.
“At the hospital?” his mother wondered.
Nathan didn’t answer, and she seemed to take that as confirmation. His father’s shoulders relaxed a bit.
“Not sure how any son of mine ended up working a night shift,” grumbled Radford as he snapped the paper in front of his face again. “Absurd is what it is.”
“People have emergencies at night too, Raddie,” Lillian said. “Although they are running you ragged, Nathaniel. You know your father is good friends with the chairman of Georgetown’s board, and he has personally assured us that you would get to choose your hours at the hospital to fit your needs. It’s just a phone call away, honey.”
“I’m not looking for a different job,” Nathan said as he raised a hand toward a server.
His parents shared a glance. But before either of them could reply, the waitress arrived.
“Welcome to BG,” she said with a broad smile that revealed slightly too many teeth. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t Joni’s, whose smile—every iteration—was perfect. “My name is Emily, and I’ll be your server. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”
“Club soda and the salmon salad,” Nathan replied shortly.
“Are you sure?” Lillian pressed. “The specials did sound very good. Perhaps you should hear them.”
“Lillian, don’t pester the boy.” Radford’s voice was typically sharp. “He orders the same thing every time, just like we both do.” He flipped the paper back up while he spoke to the server. “He’ll have that salad like he always does. My wife will have the crab cake, and I’ll have the croque madame, no parsley.”
With one hand, he waved the server away. She stole an extra glance at Nathan, and after he nodded, she disappeared, leaving him and his parents in silence while the rest of the restaurant chattered.
