“Hey,” he says as I slide into a chair. “Another bad one? What was it this time?”
“He offered to help me get my porn career started.” I take a sip of my drink, watching as Geoff screws up his face.
“Ugh.”
“Yeah.” I give a hollow laugh. “It was a generous offer, but still…”
He chuckles, his green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Did Cory help you escape?”
“Actually,” I say, twirling my straw and picturing Myles’s cocky face, “there was a new bartender there tonight. He helped me out.”
“New?” Geoff regards me curiously over his glass of merlot. It’s always merlot. “Cute?”
“He was alright, I guess. He actually reminded me a bit of Mark.” My ex-husband’s face flashes into my mind and I wrinkle my nose, quickly pushing the image away.
“Speaking of, how are things there?”
I suck in a breath and force it out through pursed lips. “Same. Still showing up at the shop whenever he feels like it. Still pretending it’s his shop, too.”
This has been an on-going issue with me and Mark. He was a bartender when we met, but shortly after he moved into real estate, gradually acquiring a bunch of run-down commercial spaces in random locations across Manhattan and Brooklyn. One of those was renovated and became my shop, in the heart of the East Village—a few streets over from Tompkins Square Park. He still owns the space to this day, so we have this dysfunctional dynamic where he is both my ex-husband and my shop landlord. It mostly works in my favor because he hasn’t raised the rent in years, but it also means that he thinks he can drop by whenever he feels like it. I think he hangs around just to mess with me, because he’s annoyed that I got the apartment—a rent-controlled, first floor place in the gorgeous West Village. I fought tooth and nail for that in our divorce, and he’s pissed he lost it.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have cheated on me multiple times, then. But I digress.
“Have you given any more thought to how you might get out of there?” Geoff asks. This is a conversation we have periodically, where Geoff insists it’s not healthy for me to be under Mark’s thumb, and I always give the same response.
“You know I can’t, Geoff. I’ll never get a deal that good again.”
“But you know he’s only keeping the rent at that rate to manipulate you.”
I grind my molars. “Yes. I know. And you know I can’t afford to move.” I stir my drink aggressively. Talking—or thinking—about Mark always gets me worked up. I take a long sip of Diet Coke and, after a pause, I relax. “It’s not that bad. I have to see him a few times a week but otherwise it’s not really an issue.”
Geoff nods, saying nothing more. His gaze catches on something by the door and a grin splits his face. “I hope you don’t mind, I invited Alex too.”
“Of course!” I smile as she waves to us then heads to the bar. “I would have texted her, I just assumed…”
“She’d be with Sexy Michael?”
I laugh at Geoff’s nickname for the boyfriend of my ex-roommate, Alex. Michael is our upstairs neighbor and Alex developed a huge crush on him when she moved into the building after arriving from New Zealand, late last year.
She wasn’t the only one who had a crush on him but, unfortunately for Geoff, he doesn’t swing that way.
I elbow Geoff in the ribs. “You should probably stop calling him that.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He cringes, chuckling awkwardly. “I’d be horrified if he found out.”
“I’m sure Alex has told him by now.”
Glass of wine in hand, Alex settles in at our table. “Told who what?”
“That Geoff calls MichaelSexy Michael,” I say, watching Geoff’s face redden.
“Oh, totally.” Alex waves a hand. “I told him ages ago. He thinks it’s funny.”
Geoff huffs in exasperation. “Nothing is sacred,” he mutters.
She laughs, then turns her attention to me. “So, disaster date?” Her hazel eyes shimmer with compassion. “Geoff sent an SOS.”
“Yeah. Total bottom of the barrel.” I fill her in on Simon and she makes the appropriate disgusted face.
