You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(63)

Work is a drag and a blast all at once. I have a girlfriend and I am a boyfriend, and the bookstore is a beautiful place, a happy place where I say things like My girlfriend loves that book and My girlfriend and I ate there last night and I’m so good with people, telling this customer dude that you too have a tattoo…for my eyes only. He laughs like we’re bros—we are Red Bull and Jim Henson—and the greatest part about saying these things now is that they’re true. I think. I mean, of course you’re my girlfriend. Right?

“Joseph!”

Ugh. Mooney. I know what you’d say, Vail. It’s time to leave that jerk and find a new job. A boss who respects you! Mooney’s been good to me, but I don’t need anyone barking at me, treating me like a little bitch. Yesterday, he asked about the last great book I read. I told him about ’Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy. He sneered at my “descent into drivel,” and yeah, it is kind of true. I really don’t read anymore. But I think you’re right. Life is seasonal, like a tourist trap island or those old couples in diners with nothing to say to each other. How could I read a book when all I wanna read is you?

Mooney eyes the door. Shut it. I shut it.

“Sit.”

I sit. Something’s off. His glasses are on the desk. His shirt’s a little damp.

“You okay, Mr. Mooney?”

“Have you found a new home?”

“I’m seeing something later. Vail’s got a lead.”

“That’s one,” he says, and I don’t get it. One what? “Where is this abode, Joseph?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Vail has the address. She found it on Craigslist.”

He grins and holds up two fingers, and I get it now. He doesn’t like it when I say your fucking name. “Joseph,” he says. “I am happy that you appear to be content.”

Only Mooney would put it that way, and I laugh. Content. “I know you’re not a fan, Mr. Mooney, but she really is a great girl.”

“Irrelevant,” he says. “That you’d choose that caped little Philistine over a tits-out broad like Virginia…Bygones. In any case, you’ve been doing well these past few days.”

“I’ve been feeling it. I mean, I just sold that Bukowski that’s been in the window for years.”

He nods like he already knew this and he slaps a check on the desk. A check made out to me. My first bonus. I don’t know when it happened, but in the jizz-soaked haze of the last few days, I learned to fucking whistle. Kind of. Almost.

“Whoa,” I say. “This is five hundred bucks.”

“You’ve earned it. And you’ll need a deposit for your new quarters. As in, don’t spend it on anyone with an extra hole.” He shudders, because he just has to be a dick. “Be careful with that one, Joseph. Beware the women who go by the name of a place. Dangerous as the men with two first names or, the worst of all men, the ones with three first names.”

Whatever and I’m outta there.



* * *



—

Later in the day, you ask me to meet up on one of those SoHo blocks that makes you know the city is slowly turning into a mall. I show up to find you standing there like a goddess. Scratch that. You are God. No ess.

You beam at me. The sinking living room rises every time I see you and God, if you ever leave me…Stop it, Joe. Stop it.

I kiss you. You kiss me. You squeeze. “You ready to be blown away?”

I like the way you said that, and you wave a set of keys. “Barry for the win!”

You are proud. Puffed.

You found me a home, a SoHo fucking home. I normally don’t even look at apartments around here because they’re all so fucking expensive. Alas, you told The Others at work about me and Barry knew someone who knew someone and that has to mean that I’m your boyfriend. I kiss you. On the way up the stairs you are bubbling. You told everyone I need to move, and Barry thought I’d like this place because of the bookshelves—you’re my girlfriend, you are—and of course there are disclaimers. It’s only temporary and you’re worried that I won’t like the wide open space, the art gallery meets warehouse feel of it.

“Vail,” I say. “I can tell you right now, it’s perfect.”

You hand me the keys. “You first. I mean, it is your home.”

You have to say stuff like that—it’s too soon for you to ask to move in—and I know it before I know it. I know it the way you know about a melon. This is home, Vail. I carry you across the threshold and deliver you to the giant couch where I kiss your face all over and tell you I love the couch.

You run your hands along my head how I like. “Technically, it’s a sectional. But the best thing is behind this white curtain.”

You leap up to pull a white curtain and yes. Yes! It’s a big fat California king. Just like Mr. Big’s.

We christen the bed and the sectional—you are always teaching me, always—and we order Chinese and loaf around until we have the energy to go again. We christen the shower and we christen the kitchen and it’s too good to be true and you pull your hair into a ponytail.

“Okay, it kind of is too good to be true.”

The first scratch on the CD in a long fucking time, but I don’t panic. I pull my sweater on. I make like Mr. Big. “Speak.”