She’s using the ledge as leverage to push herself onto me so hard that I have to hold onto her hips not to lose my balance.

“Say my name!” she shouts.

Okay, this is awkward.

“Come on,” she says. “I’m almost there again. I want everyone over there watching us to know who you’re fucking!”

I’ll be the first to admit that she’s a lot more hardcore than I am.

It’s not even a contest.

“I don’t—”

“I don’t know yours either!” she pants. “Just think of something!”

It’s not dignified and it’s not romantic.

I have no illusions there.

It is, however, surprising that the name that I call out as I feel that rising pull in my body is Leila.

It’s not that big a deal, I guess. She told me to call out a name and I called out a name. There’s no reason to read anything more into it than that.

“Oh, Wrigley!” she screams.

Wrigley? Really?

I guess it works for her, as I can feel the tense-and-release in her body as she grinds against me hard and that does it for me.

I come hard with an eager audience across the street.

I’m a little disappointed that I don’t see or hear applause, but as my body spasms in pleasure, that disappointment quickly dissipates.

“Woo!” she interjects. “That was perfect! I’ve never done that before.”

Once my orgasm fades away, I pull out and remove the condom, cleaning first her and then myself—for obvious reasons—with the towel from the ledge.

I’m naked and still hard as I turn to see the security guard standing in the doorway to the roof.

I tap my companion on the shoulder and she turns her head. She’s still leaning against the ledge, her arms fully outstretched.

“Wrigley!” the security guard shouts. “I told you to stop coming up here. You have any idea how many complaints we get when you pull this shit?”

I should probably feel more exposed or fearful, but I can’t help but laugh with the realization that the woman was calling out her own name from the top of a rooftop as she was having sex, basically in front of her neighbors.

This might just be true love.

Chapter Seven

Just another Day at the Office

Leila

Thus far, I’ve managed to avoid Mr. Kidman, so today’s a good day.

Good might be a bit liberal a phrase, but it hasn’t been completely soul crushing, so at least it’s a step in the right direction.

I’m having trouble concentrating, though. Annabeth is right: I do need someone in my life.

My last boyfriend, Chad—a jerk’s name if ever there was one—kind of did a number on me. Between his near-constant cheating and the way he would always find something wrong in anything I did, it’s been a bit difficult for me to find a measure of confidence in myself.

That’s why they do it.

That’s why men treat women like crap—it’s probably why women treat men like crap, too. It’s just a way to make the other person feel like less so that you can feel like more.

Even knowing this, knowing that Chad was just a coward, it doesn’t change anything. The damage is done, and I don’t even know where to start with finding a guy to get to know, to start dating. I’ve all but given up on finding anything resembling real love, but at this point, I’d be satisfied with a reasonable knockoff.

“Tyler!” that grating voice calls behind me.

“Mr. Kidman,” I say, turning around, “I’m really not in the mood.”

“Well, I think we both know that I am,” he says and licks his lips.

It’s not an attractive gesture.

“But listen, I did want to tell you that you’ve been doing great work around here, and if you’d like to knock off early one of these days, I’d be happy to approve it.”

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re a pathetic letch and you’d never say something like that unless there was some disturbing euphemism to accompany it.”

That’s what I want to say.

What I really say is, “You’d just approve it? No special favors or anything?”

“Not unless you’d like to show your gratitude by coming back to my office, and—you know what? I’m not really in the mood for this today, either,” he says. “My wife’s been on my case all week, asking me when I’m going to retire, and I don’t have anything to tell her. Anyway,” he breathes, “just thought I’d let you know that. Oh,” he says, “and if you see your friend Annabeth around, would you tell her that I know she’s been skipping out and her ass is about an inch from the chopping block.”

“I’ll let her know,” I say, smiling.

I’m not thrilled with what he said about Annabeth, but that was the closest thing to a mutually respectful conversation I’ve had with the man.

“One more thing…”

My joy may have been premature.

“I’ve been talking with the partners, and we think there might be a future for you here. I don’t know if you’ve received any other offers, but I do hope that you’ll consider staying on. We’ve really appreciated all the hard work you’ve been putting in.”

This is too good to be true, I’m sure, but my day just got a whole lot better.

“Thank you, sir,” I tell him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know there’s always a position open under me,” he says. “Huh. Look at that, I guess I am in the mood. Anyway,” he laughs, “keep up the good work.”

All right, he kind of marred it at the end there, but all-in-all, I’d say it was a pretty uplifting exchange.

Rackham Morris, one of the partners, passes me in the hall and right now, I’m not even bothered by the fact that he completely ignores my existence. Nothing is going to get me down today.

“Tyler!”

Why do I always tell myself that nothing is going to get me down? I know better than to jinx it like that.

“Yes?” I ask, turning to face Atkinson.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m going to need your help with a few projects. Are you busy?”

Come to think of it, I think I see a way out of this.

“Actually,” I tell him, “I’m just on my way out for the day, but Annabeth should be around here somewhere.”

That should keep him busy for a while, as I happen to know that Annabeth is at Reginald’s for a ridiculously extended lunch break.

I pop over to Mr. Kidman’s office to ask him if he needs anything else. He tells me to go and spread my wild oats. Yeah, he also tells me to take pictures of the oats-sewing, and I’m pretty sure he’s using the wrong expression given my gender, but it’s close enough to a nice moment that I walk back out of his office with a spring in my step.

I pull out my phone.

“Hey,” I write, “still at Reginald’s?”

I get to the elevator and wait in the lobby for a response before I do anything else.

“No,” Annabeth’s return message reads, “but if you’re up for skipping out, I’m getting some drinks with some guys down at the bar.”

With Annabeth, there is only one bar in New York. “I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

A minute or two later, I’m in a cab, telling the driver to step on it. He sighs and rolls his eyes at the cliché, but damn it, I’m having a wonderful day.

When the cab pulls up, I spot Annabeth standing outside the door, sucking down a cigarette.

She drops it when I step out of the cab.

“Ho-ly shit, girl!” she says. “I never thought you’d actually blow off work to come get drinks with me.”

I would tell her that I was actually offered an early day, but what’s the point?

“I had to see what you were up to one of these times, didn’t I?” I ask.

“Ooh, ooh,” she says, “you have got to meet these guys I’ve been talking with in there. I have a feeling your dry spell is about to experience unseasonable precipitation.”

She holds her hand above her head for a high five, but I can’t reward her for that comment. “You know I love you,” I tell her, “but can we not do the double-entendre thing. We’ve talked about this and decided that neither one of us is any good at it.”