The evident frustration in his voice makes me giggle, and I twist my face to the side and present my cheek to him. He mumbles, “That won’t be enough,” but still bends down to kiss me there, wrapping an arm around me to hold me close. I should have expected it, but it still surprises me when his lips slowly travel from my cheek to that tender spot behind my ear, then down my neck, dropping eager and amorous kisses on my shivering skin.
Ripping himself away from me, he gives me one last longing look before saying, “Alright, let’s go before I start undressing you in the middle of the street to kiss your other set of lips.”
Like a proper gentleman, he opens the passenger door for me and takes my overnight bag. “This is quite the car,” I say, admiring the beautiful design of the vehicle.
“I know. Ever heard of an old show called Stingray?”
“Never,” I admit as I lower into the car, helped by his steady hand.
Once I’m safely tucked in, he closes the door and walks around the car. He sits down on his side and twists around to set my bag behind us. “When I was a kid, I became obsessed with this obscure TV show from the eighties. This guy called Ray was some kind of shady but good guy,” he explains before turning the engine on. The sound of it is just as vintage as the look. “He was a badass who drove a 1965 Corvette Sting Ray.”
“Same as this one?”
“Yeah, but black.”
I chuckle, amused by how sentimental he is sometimes. He easily drives out of the parking spot and puts us on our way to whatever he planned for tonight. “You used to watch a lot of weird stuff as a child, didn’t you? I checked out what Mulligrubs is, and dear God…”
His lopsided smirk isn’t lost on me. “I’d blame it on Australia’s TV network, but I think I actively looked for that shit. Mum worked a lot, and TV was an easy and cheap babysitter. I don’t blame her for it though. Those weird shows made me who I am, in a way.”
“I definitely appreciate them for that.”
The not-so-subtle compliment and evident appreciation of his mind earn me a quick look, as well as one of his signature smirks. His hand comes over to my thigh, resting on the lace of my dress, and his thumb mindlessly grazes back and forth.
“Did you have a good day at work?”
“Eh, things have been tense on my floor since I demanded that the gossip stop. And I think my boss is annoyed that I keep skipping the Friday after-work drinks.”
“Shit. Maybe we should start relocating our time together to Saturdays or Thursdays.”
“No way. I want you on Thursday evenings, Friday evenings,andSaturday evenings.”
“Greedy, are we?” he says with a chuckle.
“With you? Always.”
Because I really don’t want to talk about my work and bring the mood down, I ask him about his day instead. Some über-famous soccer player—whose name doesn’t ring a bell because I know next to nothing about sports—wants a tattoo from him, so Jake has been sketching a lot all week, trying to find the perfect idea. I’m so distracted by the conversation, entranced by the passion I can hear in his voice, that I pay barely any attention to the streets outside. It’s only when he stops in front of the wide door of an underground garage that I look around.
“Wait,” I start, confused, “isn’t this your building?”
“It is.” The door is now open, so he drives in.
“Are we having a date at your place?” I genuinely don’t mind if that’s the plan, but he told me it would be something special, so I didn’t expect this.
“Not exactly.”
The garage has a few more cars, and I spot his bike, as well as a couple others. He parks the car in a wide and free spot and then cuts the engine. I’m still a little confused when he makes his way out with my bag and comes around to open my door. His hand helps me out, and he guides me toward a flight of stairs. It leads to the hallway of his building, which I’m familiar with by now. I’m still not sure what he has in mind when we step into the old elevator and ride it up to his floor.
“Let me just put your bag in the flat, and we’ll be back on track,” he explains.
I wait, standing by the elevator as he does so, taking slightly longer than I expected.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he says once he’s back, taking my hand in his warm one, “stairs again, and then our evening can start.”
It’s only when he leads me to the staircase and up that I understand. I know the roof has some accommodations because he’s mentioned it in the past. I’ve never been up there though, so I have no idea what to expect. There’s a heavy metal door at the end of the stairs, and he lets go of my hand to open it. We step outside, and I take in the space he has created there while he uses a latch on the wall to secure the door open.
A sense of wonder washes over me, and my eyes widen at the beautiful setting. The early evening sun casts a warm, golden glow across the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. There’s just one building higher than Jake’s, giving me an unobstructed and splendid view of Brooklyn’s beauty.
What truly captivates me is the lush, verdant paradise that surrounds us. Dozens of plants of various sizes and species create a miniature forest that fills the rooftop with life and vibrancy. It’s like a hidden oasis in the heart of the city. Garden furniture is arranged—a lounge area, sunbathing chairs, and a sumptuous round bed that looks like something from a dream. A hot tub is nestled in a cozy corner, and on our left, a small outdoor kitchen area. In the middle of this haven, a table is set for two beneath a pergola adorned with fairy lights. This must have taken hours, and I can’t help but be filled with excitement and gratitude for his efforts.
