A/N: Just in case you're wondering, Eric lives in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. And no, that's not where I live... you stalkers! *shakes head*
It's a good neighborhood though. It's where Walt Whitman lived, and where 'Leaves of Grass' was first printed. The Walt Whitman Residences aka projects, now stand where the print shop was on Myrtle Ave... lol. Biggie Smalls was from the neighborhood right next door. Good stuff. *starts singing* "No, no, Notorious... "
Plus, it has a nice eclectic feel. It's not too expensive (then again, this is NY, not too expensive for us, is a raped-outta-the-ass for any sane person), and not too gentrified. It's got a lot of spice and flavor to it, but not too much bite. It's also blissfully free of hipsters for the most part.
I think Eric would approve. Speaking of Eric....
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Eric
I slumped in my chair sleepily, watching the sun rise up above the many gridded blocks of brownstones and row houses; turning their sienna brick tones into brilliant oranges and pinks. The sun casted a yellow haze over the morning smog of the borough, making its once dull gray, beautiful and golden. I had come up to the roof only about ten minutes prior. I did this a lot when I couldn't sleep. I'd wait till I saw the sky lighten outside my windows and either drive down to the water or climb up to my roof to watch it rise, depending on how spent I was. The time right before sunrise was when New York was at its calmest; and as I sat in an old lawn chair someone thoughtfully put up on the roof, watching it rise up over Brooklyn, I couldn't help but feel calmer. At ease. Better.
That was the point of this whole pseudo meditation thing I did. I mean, I didn't get down on all fours and do Downward Facing Dog or anything. I didn't try and stand on one leg and actually attempt a Sun Salutation, I wasn't that Metro. But I did love the serenity it brought me. Being up there on my roof, letting the morning rays wake me up. It helped me regroup and think more clearly. And I had a lot of regrouping to do.
Last night was a breakthrough for me, as Pam had stated in the car ride home. Apparently I had "broken through" my wall. At least, that's what Pam called it. The thick facade I had built up over the years. I silently chided myself for letting her know me so well. Then again, I guess she couldn't help it. She was the only person I let in. The only person I really talked to, or dared to have a drink with on an evening off. The only person I dared to even care about. I had to after all, she was my business partner, and probably my only confidant.
Of course, I wasn't a complete shut in. I did do things around the city. Our chef at the bar catered galas now and again, and I was always present. Making sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to. Watching over them like a hawk.
Plus, the elite of New York did seem to love inviting me to their decadent parties. Though, I saw right through all of the half-assed invitations. The trophy wives of the rich bastards who put up the money for such gatherings were the ones who wanted me there. To drool and ogle, and to slip their numbers and room keys into my back pocket, while coping a feel in the process. It disgusted me. I was a fucking wine bar owner, not a god damned gigolo. Did I look like Patrick Swayze or Richard Gere? I don't fucking think so. No matter, a few smiles and curt apologies about being busy with "the help" kept them off of me. Usually.
Sometimes I did give in. I wasn't a god damned monk after all. I did get lonely, as much as I hate to admit that. But not recently. I had put a stop to that sickening pattern about two years ago. Fucking rich women drenched in Chanel, on their 800 thread count sheets can only sate you up to a point. None of it felt right anyway, and no one replaced what I was looking for, so I just ended it. All of it.
I became a workaholic. Johnnie Walker was my best friend and only indulgence. If I was feeling particularly nostalgic on an off day, Jack Daniels would be my bed mate. That was all.
Until her.
Shit.
How can one person be so effected by someone who slams into you out of the blue? Literally. I had been thinking it through. I didn't have much time to think it through, considering this happened only two days ago, but still, it called for some deep ass thought. And I was giving it just that.
I decided what she had, wasn't any of the things that could, and did excite my libido. Her silky hair, her delicate smell that reminded me of fabric softener and coconut, or her soft skin that burned under my touch. Nor her blue eyes, or the fact that our hair was practically the same color. For some reason that did it for me.
None of that. Those things didn't add up to why she was so enticing.
The thing with her was that she got me. I could see it. She'd hold my stare and she wouldn't look away. No one else could. No one else did.
Ever.
But she did. And man was it a turn on. In so many ways. She turned me on, surely, but she also woke me back up. I wasn't kidding when I thought that any other girl who had stormed into my life like she had, would merely piss me off to no end. They would. But her? No. She excited me, and I knew it immediately.
I didn't need to have stupid small talk with her over wine, or awkward polite conversations walking to and from a coffee shop, to prove it either. The preliminary stuff would be wasted on us. We were already connected in a deeper way than that.
At least I hoped we were. I certainly was.
At that thought, I was brought back to the present. The sun was now well above the horizon line of the metropolis and I hoped that she wasn't awake yet. I didn't want her to be scared waking up in a strange apartment with no one there. So I climbed back down the fire escape and onto my terrace, that was really a back porch. I just happened to be two stories off the ground. I opened up the sliding glass door and walked into my living room.
I went into the kitchen, and straight towards the coffee maker to pour out two cups of the fresh jo, that had been brewing while I was getting all philosophical on the roof. I carried one with me back to my spare bedroom. I was glad someone finally got to use it. 2 bedrooms, plus an office, and a terrace in Brooklyn with a view of Manhattan is prime real estate. That shit doesn't come cheap.
Sookie had fallen asleep in my arms the previous night. She was sitting up on the trunk of a car, slumped into my chest, I could feel her breathing against me, it was an amazing sensation. Pam and I had opted to stay until the fire had been completely put out. Not that I had anything to do, I just held Sookie against me, watching the firefighters spray gallons of water onto what was once, half of mine.
I was fine where I was though. I never wanted to let Sookie go It seemed, even though that slightly disturbed me, I didn't think too much of it. I just enjoyed her company. Even if she was slightly drooling against my chest. She must have been so spent from doing the voodoo mind reading thing she apparently did. My mystery girl from Louisiana could read minds. Un-fucking-expected indeed.
She had saved a woman's life. A woman who probably had a family, probably had friends, and now those people would not need to worry about the safety of their kin. She had been saved by Sookie. If anything could have put Sookie up higher on my list of things to be amazed with, that would have been it.
I knew that she knew. Her gasp in front of me after Pam almost let slip what had happened four years ago confirmed it. Pam didn't know that Sookie could read other people's thoughts, but I did. She had probably heard the whole story, straight from a first hand viewer of the scene. I wasn't angry though, I wanted her to know on some level. Of course, our relationship - yes I said "our relationship" - was on a fast track, so I didn't have any time to tell her myself, but it was better that she knew now. It would allow her to understand part of my admiration for her. Not only was she unexpected, she was noble.
Girl of my dreams? Check.
When I walked into the spare bedroom I couldn't help but snicker a bit. Sookie was all over the queen sized bed. One arm flung out across two pillows, another curled up above her head. Her left leg dangled off one side of the bed and the other was tangled up in the large down comforter. Her long blonde hair was wild and tangled, laying across the pillows in a wavy mess of frizz and shine. She looked amazing.
Suddenly I froze. I didn't know what to do. There was no particular protocol pamphlet on how to wake up the person you're pretty sure is your soul mate but you only met her two days ago. I couldn't plug that into google and get an answer. Nope. So instead I stood, rooted to my spot, the steaming cup of coffee still in hand, wondering how in god's name was I supposed to proceed.
Serendipity must have bought stock in my love life or something, because the next second my dog's booming bark issued out through the apartment. I jumped slightly and the coffee mug went tumbling out of my hands spilling down my jeans, clanging to the floor, and burning me in the process.
"Shit!" I cursed, and immediately told Johnnie to hush up. Yes, I named my dog after my drink of choice. Alcoholic? No. Bar owner? Hell yes. Is it obvious for a bar owner to have a pet named after liquor? Of course. Do I care? No.
Johnnie came strutting up the hallway, looking up at me with expecting eyes. He was hungry and probably needed to pee. I was pissed and definitely needed to get out of my jeans. I told Johnny "out" and pointed back down the hallway. If that damn dog needed to pee so badly he could do it out on the terrace. I'd clean it up later.
I quickly let the dog out on the terrace and ran back to my bedroom to get out of my jeans, that now had scalding hot coffee seeping into them, and therefore my skin.
As for Sookie? Surely the clang from the coffee mug hitting the floor, the booming bark of my idiotic dog, or my own cursing should have woken her up? I didn't worry about it just then. I was on a one-track-mind thought process at that moment.
Jeans. Off. Now.
As I bounced up and down, trying to get the dampened leg of my jeans free from my scaled skin I heard a gasp behind me. I closed my eyes and cursed internally this time. It was a bad day to forget underwear.
"Wow," was all I heard. I turned my head slightly towards the door. Sookie was blatantly staring at my ass. Her eyes were slightly puffy and my shirt that she was wearing as a nightgown, swam on her. I had to smile. She still looked downright edible, even in her just-woken-up-ogling state.
"Do you mind?" I asked, arching an eyebrow, my smile still on my face.
"Oh! Sorry...." she jumped up and down slightly for a moment, looking from side to side before running back into her room. I heard the bounce of the mattress springs and assumed she jumped right back into bed, probably burying her face under the pillows in the process. I couldn't help it; I laughed.
It's not that I cared that she saw my ass, I'm Scandinavian dammit. We love being naked. It was her reaction that was utterly priceless. She was too cute for words.
Well, I thought, as I threw on a pair of black PJ pants after toweling off, at least she's awake now.
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A/N: Eric's dog by the way, is a black n' white Great Dane. I toyed with naming him Alex, so that he could be, "Alexander the Great... Dane" but alas that would be disrespectful, and not a very good pun. So Johnnie Walker it is. :-)
p.s. I tried to make it as clear as possible but I just know I'm gonna get PM's about this... no, Sookie did not sleep with Eric. He was a gentlemen and let her stay in his spare bedroom. He's just chill like that.
