I'm here.
Alex
Full report. That's an order. Suck some cock, that's also an order.
He is so twisted...
I look out the window.
We are in Park Slope, I think, or Prospect Park, I always get the two mixed up since I don't tend to venture into this green-leafed part of Brooklyn.
I look out the window at the tall rows of beautiful brownstones.
I don't know what I was expecting... some expansive estate?
But that is hard to do in New York. Oh, I know they exist without heading to Long Island, the Rockaways, Jamaica, or Canarsie, and so on. Even here, there are properties.
But this close to Manhattan, most people like the convenience and use terraces, small yards in the back, and decks and balconies as outdoor space and live upwards with floors of living space.
I'm sure there are multi-million-dollar homes here, old renovated mansions. I bet the brownstones here are worth millions, even with their small yards that are little more than some bushes and a place for bins and access to the basement levels.
"Is this...?" I half-ask the driver.
Did Enzo even tell me which number?
"Yes. Forty-two."
"The answer to life, the universe, everything," I say, and the driver totally fails to laugh.
I get out, my legs shaky, and I push open the black-painted wrought iron gate.
And it is like he has been waiting for me.
Except this is the Enzo I used to know. All grown up, but in a black T-shirt and expensive denim jeans.
His feet are bare, and his dark hair is tousled, like his hand has been raking through it.
Those dark eyes are locked on me, like he knows what I was doing in the car. Like he wants me.
I grab the gate as my legs threaten to give way, and his expression is hungry, intense, but not unfriendly.
"Lola."
There are only nine stone steps, but it feels like I'm climbing up Everest. And at the top, the air is thin, oxygen scarce, and I'm lightheaded.
Or maybe it is his close proximity to me.
"Hi, Enzo. Sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing."
His mouth turns into a half-smile. "I wasn't on a date if that's what you're thinking."
My cheeks burn. "No."
He pushes open the door and ushers me in, and it smells clean and fresh, like lemon and a hint of leather.
From somewhere below is the aroma of coffee.
"Is everything okay?" he asks.
