Page 34 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

I swallow. I’m here, and I can’t quit now. I don’t want him to know how embarrassed I feel about this entire situation. But at the same time, I don’t want to be here. In the cold light of day, without the blare of bad microphones and canned alcohol, I feel ridiculous.

I step out of the elevator. “I’m fine.”

Ben grins. “It’s going to be great. I’m excellent company.”

“And modest too, which is nice.” I follow him inside, deliberately focusing on the walls of Ben’s apartment and not his tight ass.

“These are great shots,” I say, as I nod to the black-and-white photographs of iconic Manhattan landmarks that line the hallway.

He roots around in the brass bowl on the table and pulls out a key. “Thanks. I took them when I first moved in here.”

“Are you serious?” I say, taking in the shots more closely. They’re really good. Grainy and taken from angles you don’t normally see. Except…they’re not New York landmarks. There’s no sign of the Brooklyn Bridge or the Empire State Building. These are all shots of Grand Central Station, I realize. The outside, the inside, the trains, the tracks.

I glance across at him and he meets my gaze. I want to ask him what the station obsession is about, but he’s dangling a key in his fingers.

“Yours,” he says. “So you can come and go as you please.”

I want to go! Please! I don’t say.

“Thanks,” I say instead, holding my palm underneath the key so he can drop it in.

He leads me to a bedroom, which I’m relieved isn’t his bedroom. There’s a Neiman Marcus bag on the bed, which I assume contains the gym clothes he’s picked out. Is it weird that I kind of like the fact that I get a gift out of this whole debacle?

“I’ll give you ten minutes to get settled. You want me to help you unpack?”

“No, thank you,” I say.

“You want a drink? Orgasm?”

I tilt my head to one side. “Get out of here.”

“Just want you to feel relaxed and at home.” He chuckles and heads out, leaving me alone. Then I remember him saying how he’d never had a woman stay over in his apartment before. Maybe he was bullshitting, but honestly, doesn’t he feel weird having me move in for the week? We’re basically strangers who’ve seen each other naked.

After putting my things away and admiring the ridiculously good views uptown from my windows, I peer into the bag on my bed but all I can see is tissue paper. I give in and empty everything out onto the bed. If I’m going out in public, I need to make some kind of effort.

I don’t know if Ben just has a really good assistant, but the haul he managed is impressive. He’s covered the full spectrum of workout clothes, from ultra-covered-up jogging bottoms, yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirts, to running shorts and cropped tank tops. It’s a smart move from him, because I don’t have to cover up and I don’t have to show any skin and every option in between.

I opt for leggings and a tight-fitting long tank top. It feels like it’s something I would wear if I actually went to the gym. I quickly get changed, brush my hair into a ponytail, and emerge to find Ben waiting for me.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I say. “But I have earbuds and my phone so I can sit in the smoothie bar while you work out.”

He smiles but doesn’t argue, and we head out.

“These sneakers are very bouncy,” I say, as we go out into the cold February air. I pull my coat around me and try to keep up with Ben. He’s not intentionally walking quickly, it’s just he has such long legs, I have to do two steps to his every one.

I spot a bundle of white fur on the ground, shivering against Ben’s building. “Oh sweetie,” I say, bending down to check on the cat. “Did someone in your building lose their cat?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Never seen her before, but I’m not generally scanning the ground for cats either.”

“She’s cold,” I say. The furbaby nuzzles at my knee. I know touching random animals isn’t advised, but this cute little munchkin is too adorable to resist.

“She’s literally wearing a fur coat,” Ben replies.

“Hey, it’s New York in February. Everyone’s cold. Even the pigeons.”

Ben rolls his eyes, scoops up the small cat, and marches back into the building. I scamper after him. What’s he going to do? Stuff it in the trash?