Elizabeth Maynor - Never Love a Naked P.I.

He gave a derisive snort. “Not in those days! I played the nerd with horn rims. Knew every line.”

“Now, no more nerd,” she noted, slyly. “You must have lived in the Village a long time.”

“Off and on. I grew up on the west side. Left the city. Came back. Left. Came back. Like a bad penny.”

“Are you here for good?”

“No. For good and bad: short-term lease.”

“I don’t think I’ll be going back to Pittsburgh. Not to stay.”

“Gonna take a chomp outta the Big Apple?”

With this handsome, secure man at her side, she could do anything. “Gonna try.”

“Good.” He held her hand tightly for a moment. Then let go. “There’s a terrific gym just around the corner.” He took up his tour guiding again. “They have great revues at that club with clever, original stuff!”

A group of loudly chattering teenagers with spiked hair, streaks of color emblazoned on their faces, wearing outfits that hadn’t yet been appropriated by scavenging designers and extolled in W, clattered by, obviously headed for the latest rave.

Amanda smiled indulgently. It hadn’t been that long ago.

It had been longer for the model. “Being cool. So very important.”

“It’s exciting to see kids experimenting, trying to find themselves, living such full lives.”

“Sometimes too full.” His look flattened, but almost instantaneously broke with a chuckle. “They’re probably on their way to a nostalgia party.”

The light from the store windows sent glints reflecting off his tumble of dark curls. What a surprising man, Amanda thought. Mercurial and obviously more complicated than she had at first thought. Everyone is more complicated. Even you…Ace.

“More than likely they’re from Jersey or the Island. I’m afraid most of us around here are just your standard-issue displaced souls trying to make sense of life and hopefully earn a buck or two in the process so we can pay the escalating rents.”

She certainly hadn’t thought of him as a displaced soul. He seemed as secure as a rock. He certainly looked as solid. She remembered his muscular naked body and warmed. But he didn’t seem to have the self-centeredness that she had always assumed a body-conscious man would have. He seemed completely at ease in his finely-shaped skin.

She looked around. “It truly is a small village, isn’t it?”

“Bunch of neighborhoods. Now, the West Village here is the quiet side, family-time, kids.”

“Do you have a family?” she asked.

“Oh God, no. Well, at least not a wife and kids, if that’s what you mean-at least not yet. How about you?”

She smiled. “No, no wife and kids, either.”

He guided her deftly around a sleeping lump on the narrow sidewalk. “Could be your famous ‘drunken sailor’ or a homeless genius. More than likely a little of both: a homeless, drunken genius.”

His accent became pure stand-up Noo Yawk. “Now you take your East Village.” His thumbs hooked the pockets of his jeans and his strong body slumped, his face mock serious. “Even scares me sometimes. I nevah go dere.”

She laughed and he shifted her portfolio’s strap that hung from his shoulder to gently slide his hand around her waist, his voice shifting easily to a professional instructive lilt. “Unless I feel like a really unusual meal, want to do some bizarre window shopping, or check out the latest in transsexual cross-dressing.”

“You really love it here, don’t you?”

“The Village pretty much let’s you be what you want to be.”

A group of flashily under-dressed girls clattered by gesturing and chattering among themselves with great abandon.

“They must be freezing,” Amanda noted.

“Guys usually have a higher metabolism than girls, plus the wigs keep their heads warm and the effort of trying to stay upright on those heels keeps their adrenaline pumping.”

“Oh.” She watched the retreating group. “I admire people who are determined to be themselves.” Even in Pittsburgh’s most wanton neighborhoods she had never seen quite so flamboyant a group. And the guys-girls-looked so striking.

“Also,” the head of dark curls tilted toward her and the edge of his beautiful mouth lifted, “there’s probably plenty of foam rubber to help keep away the cold.”

The slightest blush played over Amanda’s cheeks as she peeked up at the beautiful man on her arm. “Well, we know someone who obviously doesn’t need foam rubber to look good.”

He stopped and looked down at her, his deep eyes wide with pretended surprise. “Why, Ace, you almost make a guy want to take off his clothes in gratitude for your appreciation. Thanks.”

They were both quiet for a moment as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Amanda wondered if he was repressing the same naughty response that was running through her head. The model’s look of repressed amusement faded. His broad brow furrowed and his dark eyes clouded. With a purposeful press of his hand on her hip, he headed them up the street.

Another strange moment. More and more complex, she thought.

“Oh good, we’re here.” He was all enthusiastic charm again. “I’m starved. What about you?”

They had stopped in front of an unmarked door in a small row house. Amanda felt a surge of excitement. She had heard of special places to eat tucked secretly away in the depths of the Village, known only to their privileged clientele.

“It’s late.” His hand was on the doorknob, “but everybody knows me here…” Suddenly he hesitated.

“On second thought, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” He stepped away from the door, looking around. “Uh, the kitchen has probably stopped serving.” And he hurriedly propelled the disappointed Amanda away.

The dark figure following the couple watched in horror from a nearby doorway as the young man had reached for the door. A hand shot up in involuntary protest and an impetuous step was taken toward them but instantly, as they paused and then continued past the restaurant, the great-coated figure melted back into the shadows with a sigh of relief.

Finally, some sense. Surely he’s beginning to realize…

“Oh, I was hoping…” Before Amanda could began a feeble protest, they were around the corner and into another narrow street.

“There’s a beautiful courtyard in that apartment building, fountain and all.” His tour-guide voice again. He pulled her closer to him and instantly Amanda forgot her disappointment.

“And on your left, a fine old church that even I have been known to bend a knee in.”

Amanda was surprised to see it wasn’t a Catholic Church. She had expected, with his obvious Latin heritage…

“A naked heathen like you,” she teased.

“I have been known to pray,” he pontificated in mock solemnity and then turned to her, his voice quiet. “Sometimes…very hard.”

Amanda’s grip tightened on his arm.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“What about soup?” His voice changed the subject. “There’s a terrific soup and sandwich place right around the corner and I’m pretty sure it stays open late.”

But it didn’t. Taped to the inside of the glass was a scribbled note: “I can’t take this rotten weather any longer. When spring returns, so will I. In the meantime, there’s an Italian joint up the street that’ll probably be open no matter what.”

He grinned. “That’s what I love about this city. Let’s go for some steaming pasta.”

“AH, ANOTHER late-night S and S referral,” the young, dark-browed waiter noted as he seated them in a cozy, back, wooden booth. “Yeah, Rick said a couple of weeks ago he was gonna take off for the Keys until we drop him a postcard promising…” He broke into song, “Spring is here! I guess I should learn to do that In Italian,” he mused as he acknowledged the couple’s smiles and the man’s request for two glasses of burgundy. He looked at Antonio expectantly.