“So,” Bram says while I try and hold together one part of the frame while he connects another. “What do you remember about last night?”

I groan, not wanting to relive this. “Everything. At least the last half of the night.”

“You said you made out with some Giants fan. Almost had sex with him.”

I swallow uneasily and glance at him. His face is almost as neutral as his tone, though I can see this dark intensity in his eyes that betrays him.

“Almost,” I remind him.

“Are you sure you didn’t earlier and you just don’t remember?”

“Oh, come on,” I hiss and then lower my voice. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t blackout, blackout. Things just got fuzzy.” I inhale deeply. “Hey, look, I’m sorry I came home such a wreck and I’m sorry you had to take care of me.”

“I wanted to,” he says simply and puts the drill on pause and stares right at me, his arms resting on the frame. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well.” I look away, embarrassed. “Thank you for that. But I’m sorry you had to see me in such a state. I went looking for you today and when you weren’t home, I figured maybe you were keeping your distance because you thought I was such a wreck.”

He slowly shakes his head, an awed smile spreading across his face. “Are you kidding? That’s what you thought. Sweetheart, first of all, I have some stories to share with you. Only I won’t, because then you’ll probably want to keep your distance from me. And I can’t have any more of that, you already hold me at arm’s length. Second of all, Nicola…as much as you hate how you were last night, as much as you’re paying for it now, you were real. You were wild. Maybe you got a little carried away and in the wrong direction, I mean that could have been my tongue wrapped around yours. But you were true and honest and I’m glad you told me everything you did. Now I know why you have such a giant stick shoved up your arse. Babe, there are better things to stick up there.”

So many things to ponder, I don’t even know where to begin. I guess the main thing is he doesn’t think any less of me, even if I do. The other things are the mention of his tongue wrapped around mine and the idea of him sticking anything up my ass. Both of those flood my head and body with a crazy kind of yearning.

I push it aside.

“Then we’re cool?” I say slowly.

“We’re cool,” he says and he stares down at his hands for a moment. “And for future reference, you don’t need to pound back the shots or whatever you gals drank, in order to feel wild and free. Believe me, I know this. I lost many years of my life never remembering the nights, all in an attempt to escape, to forget, to be something else. It never amounted to anything except guilt and regret, the very things I was trying to escape. It just doesn’t work that way. Whatever you hope to drown, the booze only feeds it, makes it stronger. It has gills you see. Not to say I don’t have my fun, but there’s a line and I left it in New York City. I hope you learn to leave your line at last night.”

I nod, impressed by this wise version of Bram. I never thought he’d regretted his party life on the east coast, I thought he had to give all of that up on account of his parents or something like that. I didn’t think it was a conscious choice, nor one that he was glad to make.

“Is that why you moved out here?” I ask him. “To put it all behind you.”

“One of the reasons. I just wanted to start over, really. And when Linden was hurt, I thought I might as well be close to the only person on earth I’m actually close to.” He laughs to himself. “The funny thing is, Linden and I aren’t even that close. But compared to my parents, he’s the one who has been there through it all.”

“I thought you were close with your parents and Linden was the one who wasn’t?”

“Nah,” he says with a shake of his head. “As you know, my father was a diplomat and my mother was all high society. What they really wanted was for me to follow in his footsteps. Not even make a name for myself in something else, but follow in his footsteps exactly. Any other achievement was ignored, maybe even looked down upon. At least, that’s the impression he gave off…actually, still gives off. You’d think that maybe owning this building and investing my money would have brought him some kind of pride for his son, but no.”

I’ve never heard him talk so frankly about his family. I want him to go on and on. Selfishly it makes me feel so much better to know that even the rich and powerful have problems. I also want to learn as much about him as possible, storing away each fact and revelation to draw upon later. It reminds me when I was in grade school and there was a kid I liked called Joey. Every little thing I learned about him – that he drank Pepsi instead of Coke, that his mother’s name was Beth – I held onto like gold.

“I guess I’m kind of screwing up your investment though,” I tell him.

“You’re not,” he says. He bites his lip for a moment and I want to do the same. It’s amazing that I’m able to think or feel anything sexual at the moment, given what happened last night and my current, foggy state of mind, but the whole handyman thing really has me wanting it. Hell, at this point, I think I’d want him no matter what.

But as long as he stays on that side of the couch, as long as our relationship never diverts from being good neighbors, then I have nothing to worry about.

So, why am I afraid?

He eventually releases his lip, brows bent in thought. “Can I tell you something and you promise not to laugh?” He catches himself. “All right, well you can laugh but just don’t laugh long.”

“What?” I ask eagerly.

“Well, everyone thinks – assumes – that I bought the building in order to make more money in the end, to have as an investment. But that’s not exactly true. It’s what I want them to think but I have bigger plans.” I stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “You know Richard Branson?”

“The bajillionaire?”

“Yes. That is the correct term, I believe.”

“What about him? Oh my God, are you going into space?”

He laughs. “No. Bloody hell. Space is terrifying.”

“Agreed.” I add, “No one can hear you scream.”

“Right,” he says. “Anyway, Richard Branson, when he was only twenty, set-up a mail order record business. By twenty-two, he had Virgin Records. We all know what happens after that. He invests, he makes smart decisions, he never stops trying new things or learning something new. Nothing is impossible for this guy, not even space apparently.”

“So you want to become the next Richard Branson,” I say. “That’s a great goal but it’s not exactly a strange one.”

“It’s not just that.” He licks his lips and looks off into some imaginary future. “Branson has said, there is no point in starting your own business unless you do it out of a sense of frustration. I bought this building out of frustration but not because I saw an opportunity for myself but because I saw an opportunity for others, one that wasn’t there before.” He looks at me and his eyes are bright sparks of grey and blue. “There is a distinct lack of affordable housing here in the city, especially for those in need. I’ve never seen it so bad before. Normal people can’t even afford to live here, so what about the poor, the ones struggling with families, those that have lost their jobs, their savings, their everything? Where do they go? The Tenderloin? To live on the streets with the crackheads, to share shelters with thieves and addicts? I don’t think so.”

He’s starting to sound worked up and he takes in a deep breath. “I wanted to make a difference. It’s a really long process because you need support from the city. You need investments from people who want to help a charity-type cause. You need a lot of things. But I’m here, I have the building and nothing but time.”

“What happens to the people already living here?”