Mind Games

by T. K. Leigh

  “It’s just…” She exhales, visibly flustered. I want to ask who this imposter is and what she’s done with my friend. The woman who doesn’t let anyone or anything get to her. “Every time I saw him…” Her expression softens as she shakes her head, her tone contemplative. Her eyes shine with weightlessness. “It was quiet.”

  “Quiet? What do you mean?”

  Setting her small cup on the coffee table between us, she angles toward me. “All the noise of my life…” Her voice is no louder than a whisper, as if worried someone she knows might overhear and announce to the world that underneath the hard outer shell is someone who wants the same thing we all do. “It was…gone.”

  I nod. Although Chloe and I aren’t as close as we once were, there’s something to be said about being around when the shit hits the fan, so to speak. And I was there when the shit hit the fan in Chloe’s life. When her parents divorced. When she left the quaint, upper middle-class neighborhood in Connecticut and started a new life in New Jersey with her mother. When she tried to hide the fact that her mother was an alcoholic.

  But I knew.

  Chloe can hide from a lot of people. But she can’t hide from me. I see through it all. Even the shit she doesn’t think anyone knows.

  “Sometimes you just need someone to quiet it for a minute,” I respond thoughtfully, giving her a reassuring smile.

  “Because of that, I didn’t think a name was necessary.”

  Our eyes lock, my expression relaying complete understanding. Then her lips turn into a devious grin. “You do have to admit, the entire scenario is kind of hot. Not knowing his name, anything about him…”

  “Kind of hot?” I giggle, fanning myself. “Try off the charts! I noticed the chemistry between you two right away, even if all he did was kiss your cheek. It was incredibly…sexy. I can’t imagine how it made you feel.”

  “Like I could let go. For once, I didn’t worry about the fact that we’re polar opposites. That he’s presumably this guy who has his shit together, whereas I’m lucky if I don’t lock myself out of my apartment on a daily basis. But each time I saw him, I didn’t think about any of that, didn’t try to distance myself because of how it would play out. It’s almost like we were in our own little bubble.”

  “Bubbles can be good,” I respond, knowing all too well what she’s going through. I felt the same way with Asher all evening. Like we were protected from the reality of who we were to each other, even if for a brief moment. “Especially a bubble that sexy.” My voice brightens, and I hope Chloe can’t see past my walls as easily as I can peer through hers.

  She stares at me for a split second with her analytical eyes. I hold my breath, waiting for her to pounce. Then she breaks into a laugh, and I follow, sending up a silent prayer. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to explain my night with Asher to anyone. I’m not sure I want to. I want to keep that memory mine. Hold it close and cherish it once I return to New York.

  “So, what do you think the girls are up to today?” she asks once our laughter dies down.

  “Knowing Bernadette, something cliché and inappropriate.”

  “If I ever get that lonely and desperate for attention, promise me you’ll smack some sense into me and tell me I don’t need to stay in a loveless marriage. That there’s better out there for me.”

  “You know I will,” I assure her just as a chiming echoes from her cell phone.

  She glances to where it sits on the table, and I steal a peek, seeing her mother’s name appear on the screen. With haste, she grabs the phone, firing off a quick text before placing it back down.

  “She doing okay?” I ask, a touch of hesitation in my voice.

  “Yeah.” She reaches for her espresso, finishing it. “She’s been dating this guy who works in the same building.” She looks past me, a smile pulling on her lips. So uncharacteristic. “It’s actually a sweet story. Somehow, they kept riding up to their floors in the same elevator. After about a week, he mentioned it to her. Said he couldn’t ignore it anymore, that it was a sign.”

  “Hmm… A sign?” My lips quirk up.

  “That’s not the same thing,” she snips back, fully aware I’m referring to her multiple encounters with her mystery man this weekend.

  The same could be said about my chance encounter with Asher. Maybe it was a sign that I shouldn’t have erased him from my life. But it’s harder to call one random meeting a sign.

  “Mom works in the same building as Aaron. There’s a decent likelihood of running into him again. This thing with me and…whoever he is, well… It’s different. I have a better chance of winning the lottery than seeing him again.”

  “You’re probably right, but what if you do?”

  “It’ll never happen,” she retorts. “I’m about to get on a flight back to New York. He was headed…” She waves her hand around, “wherever. So yeah. Not going to happen.”

  “But if it does?” I press, this time more out of curiosity. A part of me wants…needs to hear Chloe admit that maybe she’ll consider pursuing something, despite all the obstacles in her life, even if many of them are self-imposed. Then I won’t feel so mixed up about Asher. The way his fingers warmed my skin. The way his body felt against mine. The way his words filled me with hope.

  “It won’t,” she insists.

  “But if it does?”

  “It won’t.”

  “Yeah, but if it does?”

  She groans, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Fine. If by some miracle I do see him again, maybe I’ll admit there might be a reason for it all.”

  I nod, leaning back into my chair, content with her answer.

  “But it won’t happen,” she adds.

  I glare at her. “Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

  “Always.”

  Her phone dings once more, probably another text from her mother, and she grabs it. “Shit,” she mutters as my own phone chimes.

  “What is it?” I reach into my bag, retrieving my cell. A part of me hopes it’s a text from Asher. Instead, it’s an alert from the airline. “Dammit.”

  “Yup. Flight to JFK is canceled.”

  I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just how I want to spend my day. Stuck in the airport.” Normally, a canceled flight wouldn’t bother me. But I was looking forward to getting on that plane and catching up on my sleep. I hate the idea of sitting in this hellhole all day while we wait for another flight.

  “And not any airport.” She gestures in the direction of the terminal, past the doors of the serene lounge, the clanging of slot machines faint but still ever present. I have a feeling I’m going to hear that noise for the next few weeks. “McCarran Airport in fabulous Las Vegas. If the Strip is the tenth circle of hell, this place is purgatory.”

  “Glad to see all those literature classes paid off.”

  “What flight did they rebook you on?” She looks at her phone, and I do the same.

  “Red-eye. Eleven PM. And here’s the kicker. No seat assignment available.” I hold out my cell toward her.

  “Me, too.”

  “It looks like they’re cramming everyone onto that flight. What are the chances of us actually getting on?” I ask rhetorically.

  “I’d like to say they wouldn’t rebook us just to tell us no in ten hours.”

  “My mother used to work for an airline,” I remind her. “They absolutely would do such a thing. I’ll be right back.”

  Without giving her a chance to ask what I’m up to, I jump from my chair and walk with determined strides toward the front desk of the lounge, where it appears several other people on the same flight are attempting to rebook.

  As I wait, I come up with a plan. If we’re able to get seats, I’ll take that as a sign I’m supposed to leave my one night with Asher as just that — one night. But if we can’t, maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying we weren’t supposed to have left things the way we did. That we’re supposed to explore what I’m confident he felt, too. The con
nection. The electricity. The passion. God, I’ve missed having this kind of passion in my life.

  When it’s my turn, the agent waves me over with a smile. “Let me guess. You’re on the canceled flight to JFK.”

  “Yes. Both my friend and I were rebooked on the red-eye tonight without any seat assignment. What are the chances we’ll actually get on that flight?”

  “I’m sure—”

  “I know how these things work,” I interrupt. “My mother is a former airline employee. We suffered through all those standby employee trips for years. And I’d rather not have to do that again. So just tell me how far down the list we are. Unless you can get us seats now.”

  Blowing out a sigh, she taps at her keyboard for a moment. “What’s your name?”

  “Isabella Nolan. And my friend is Chloe Davenport.”

  She refocuses on the screen, a slight cringe crossing her expression. “It’s oversold,” she tells me, although I already knew that. “Doesn’t mean you won’t get on.”

  “But we’re pretty far down on the request list, right?”

  “Since you’re a displaced traveler, you do have priority.”

  “But there’s an entire flight of displaced travelers,” I argue back.

  “I can get you confirmed seats on the noon flight to JFK tomorrow if you’d prefer.”

  “Let me go check with my friend. I’ll be right back.”

  “Certainly.”

  I spin around, hurrying back to tell Chloe the news. “I can get us guaranteed seats on the noon flight tomorrow. The red-eye is oversold and they’ll most likely be forced to rebook again if they can’t get enough people with confirmed seats to give them up. You in? Guaranteed seats or take a risk on the red-eye?”

  She blows out a breath, rubbing her temples. It’s more than apparent she’s not too keen about being stuck in this town. Maybe I should have pushed harder to get us on the red-eye. But the truth remains. The instant I saw our flight was canceled, hope brimmed inside me. Grams always said, “With every new day we’re given a new chance.” Maybe this is my new chance. For what? I’m not quite sure, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s a bigger reason for this.

  “Guaranteed seats.”

  I brim with excitement, but do my best to hide it. “Give me your boarding pass and I’ll get you rebooked.” I hold out my hand. She places her phone into it, her boarding pass on the screen. “Thanks. Be right back.”

  I return to the desk and approach the same agent, handing her both our boarding passes. Within a few moments, we’re rebooked. As I turn to head back to Chloe, my phone dings. I figure it’s just my new flight information, but glance at the screen anyway. When I see Asher’s name, my heart ricochets into my throat. Speaking of signs…

  Safe travels today. Seeing you again was the highlight of my month. Hell, probably my year. I hope our paths cross again soon.

  I chew on my bottom lip as I read his text. I may regret what I’m about to do, may be trying to see something that’s not there, but some other force is pulling the strings.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I find Asher’s contact in my phone and press it, listening to it ring.

  “Izzy?” he answers almost immediately. All these years later and he still has the same number. Then again, so do I.

  “Hey, Ash.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I suppose…,” I respond in a drawn-out voice before blurting, “My flight was canceled. Chloe and I are stuck in Vegas for another night. And—”

  “Do you need a place to stay?” he offers without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re both more than welcome to come here.”

  “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you out. I know you’re trying to write.”

  “An old college buddy is visiting today, so I won’t get much writing done anyway.” He lowers his voice. “And I’d love to have more time with you. I hated leaving you this morning with the thought that another eight years would go by without seeing you. Now I get one more chance.”

  A shiver rolls through me at the huskiness in his tone. I try to tell myself he doesn’t mean anything by it, that his words don’t carry the double meaning my sex-starved brain attributes to them. He’s an old friend. Nothing more.

  “We’ll be there in about an hour,” I say, not responding to his comment. “Maybe sooner. Is that okay?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll text you the address and gate code. Come on up once you get here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Perfect.”

  I stay on the line, almost waiting for him to back out, tell me this isn’t a good idea. After the constant see-saw last night, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. But he doesn’t.

  “See you soon, Iz.”

  “See you soon, Ash.”

  I go to disconnect when he calls my name. “Izzy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m really glad your flight was canceled.”

  I exhale a tiny breath. “Me, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Queasiness settles deep in my stomach as our Uber makes the turn onto Asher’s street. My eyes are laser-focused out the window, avoiding Chloe’s inquisitive stare crawling along my skin from across the back seat of the car. She hasn’t pressed about this so-called “friend I knew in college” who we’d be crashing with. Now that we’re driving past large estates that rival the size of those on all those celebrity lifestyle shows, I can sense her curiosity grow. I don’t have to look at her to know her eyes are wide, her mouth agape, her brows pinched. It’s how I looked a few hours ago.

  “Right here,” I tell the driver when I see the familiar gate come into view. He slows to a stop in front of the sprawling house, and I inhale a calming breath. This isn’t a ludicrous idea, is it? God, I hope not. Only time will tell.

  “Where the hell are we? David Copperfield’s house?” Chloe quips.

  “No.” I make a show of collecting my purse and laptop bag. “But my sources say he lives around here somewhere.”

  “Sources? What sources? I’m your source for all things celebrity.”

  “Maybe there are some things about me you don’t know.”

  More than she realizes.

  My fingers on the handle, I pass her a conniving smile, then climb onto the sidewalk. It’s strange not to be met with a barrage of cars or slot machines, as would have happened had we stayed at a hotel on the Strip. How does that saying go? “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Well, we’re certainly not in the Las Vegas Chloe was probably expecting. We’ve flown over the rainbow. At least I have.

  I walk toward the trunk where our driver is retrieving our bags. When Chloe doesn’t immediately appear, I head to her side, rapping on the window before opening the door.

  “Are you coming? Or do you want to call Bernadette and see if you can crash with her tonight? Maybe stay up and do a makeover, then go to some Pure Romance party.”

  “I wouldn’t mind going to a Pure Romance party.” She scoots out of the car. “I’m all for women exploring their sexuality. But I’ll pass on the Bernadette makeover. With the amount of makeup she’d cake on my face and the revealing outfit she’d stuff me in, I’d come out of there looking like a blowup doll.” Collecting her bag from our driver, she smiles her thanks, then walks up to the gate with me.

  I retrieve my phone to verify the code Asher texted earlier and punch it into the security box. Once the gate slides open, I continue up the elaborate driveway. When I don’t sense Chloe following, I glance over my shoulder.

  “Are you coming?” I huff once more, this time with irritation for good measure.

  “I suppose…” She continues toward me with reluctant steps, neither one of us saying a word as she takes in the well-maintained grounds that make it appear as if a gardener comes daily.

  But the second we round the corner and Chloe is treated to her first glimpse of the house, that silence comes to an end. As I knew it would. I’m not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t have t
o tell her this “friend” is Asher York. I didn’t want her to talk me out of this, to remind me of all the reasons this is a bad idea. I have enough of those on my own without her adding to them.

  “Iz?” she says as we approach the front steps.

  I face her, albeit with reservation.

  “Who lives here?”

  “Just an old friend from my undergrad days.”

  “A…friend? Does this ‘friend’ happen to be of the male persuasion?”

  “Yes.” I straighten my spine, but still don’t look her directly in the eyes.

  “Call me crazy—”

  “You certainly are.”

  “But I get the feeling there’s more to the story than this guy being just a ‘friend’.”

  I worry my bottom lip. How do I explain I spent all night with my ex-fiancé’s brother without her throwing a yellow flag on the play?

  I can insist we’re only friends, that we ran into each other last night and caught up, which is the truth. If I’d run into anyone else from my college days, that would be the story I’d tell. But I felt it the first time I saw Asher perform, before I’d even heard the name Jessie York. I felt it last night when I heard his voice after so many years. And I felt it this morning when we said what I thought would be goodbye to each other.

  Asher will always be something more than simply a friend. He will always own a piece of my heart.

  “What is it?” She rests her hand on my bicep, giving me a reassuring smile. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I know that. But this…” I shake my head, staring into the distance, as if the answer is there. I doubt there will ever be a solution to this jumbled puzzle I’ve trapped myself in by accepting Asher’s invitation to stay at his house for the night. Drawing in a deep breath, I bring my eyes back to hers. “It’s Asher York.”

  Everything seems to stop now that the truth is out there. Time. The earth’s rotation. Hell, even the birds have grown silent, the breeze gone, everything still in the stagnant desert air.

  “Asher York? As in Jessie York’s older brother?” she asks calmly, her expression unreadable, which only heightens my edginess.