by JB Heller
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: No can do …
Sadie-not-Sadie,
I’m afraid that’s not going to work for me.
You see, I’ve been very aware of you since the first day we shared the elevator over six months ago. So, pretending you don’t exist is not an option for me.
I really do think getting together in order for me to properly apologize is the best course of action if we’re going to avoid any unwanted awkwardness in the future. We’re bound to run into each other at some point—we do live in the same building, after all.
Just let me know when is a good time for you, and I’ll make it work.
Also, if you’d be so kind as to tell me your real name, I’d really like to stop referring to you as Sadie-not-Sadie.
Looking forward to hearing from you,
Atticus
Settling back against my pillow, a massive smile plays on my face. Despite having a good time tonight, I couldn’t shake the image of Atticus staring at me as I was leaving with Callum.
I type out an appropriate response. And by appropriate, I mean I leave out the part about his admission of his ‘awareness of me’ making me feel all tingly and a little giddy.
I re-read what I’ve written before hitting send. Switching over to my Audible app, I set the sleep timer and hit play on Aleatha Romig’s Plus One, then return my phone to my bedside table and settle down to sleep.
Surprise surges through me when my phone chimes, indicating a new e-mail has just landed in my inbox, and the preview shows it’s from Sadie-not-Sadie.
I read it immediately, unable to leave it until morning despite it being near midnight. I’ve been waiting to hear from her all week.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Stalky McStalkerpants
Mr. Blaine,
You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me of your non-stalker status right now. So, again, I must decline your offer to apologize in person.
I don’t think there will be any more awkward run-ins as I have successfully avoided you, with the exception of this evening, for almost two weeks. I’m sure I can continue to do so. Don’t underestimate my desire to avoid further humiliation.
Moving forward, I believe it would be best for both of us if you developed selective blindness should you happen to see me, and I will do the same.
Also, I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to—or think of—me at all. In any way. Ever again. Therefore, my name is inconsequential.
Sadie
I grin and shake my head. She thinks I’m going to let it go that easily? Not a chance. I’m even more entranced by her now than I was before. I don’t simply want to apologize; I want to get to know her. Unwrap her layer by layer until I’ve got her figured out.
Saturday morning, I wake right in the middle of an epically sexy dream starring Kylo Ren from Star Wars, which immediately puts me in a bad mood. I’m so sexually frustrated it’s not funny. Lately, I’ve been waking up right before the good stuff goes down, every single time.
Reaching into the top drawer of my bedside table, I dig around until my fingers curl around my mini bullet. Grabbing my cell, I go to pull up some porn on my phone but get sidetracked by my e-mail app. For some ridiculous reason, I click on the icon.
There’s a response from Atticus …
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Still not a stalker
Sadie-not-Sadie,
Just because I find you incredibly attractive does not, in any way, make me a stalker. I don’t even know what apartment you live in. If I am, in fact, stalking you, I’m doing a pretty shoddy job of it, if I do say so myself. I know very little about you, except that you live on the seventh floor and like to sideline as an erotic cleaner.
I have so many questions. So many. Not the least of which is what your real name is.
You are extremely intriguing. I would never in a million years have guessed that you, the woman I shared the elevator with, and Miss Sadie are the same person had I not seen that tattoo.
In no way do I wish to humiliate or embarrass you. I would, however, like to get to know you. So, I’m going to go ahead and ignore your selective blindness suggestion.
I suspected you had been avoiding me, but thank you for the confirmation. I will now go out of my way to change my schedule in hopes of foiling your avoidance attempts.
See you soon,
Atticus
Holy shitballs.
I’m not sure what part to fixate on first. I mean, there’s just so much to take in.
He finds me ‘incredibly attractive.’ He wants to ‘get to know me.’ He thinks I’m ‘extremely intriguing.’
What am I supposed to say to all that? I have no freaking idea! It’s time to call in back-up.
I execute a ninja-like roll out of bed, land on my feet, then dash down the hall to Lennon’s room, banging my fist on Emory’s door on my way past.
Throwing myself on top of Len’s mountain of blankets, I yell, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” like a child trying to wake their parents.
She blindly swats at me. “Go away. It’s Saturday.”
Emory pokes her head in. “What’s going on? You better have a really good reason for waking me up before lunch on the weekend,” she says, coming to lie on the bed beside me.
“I do,” I promise. I hand her my phone with the e-mail thread displayed on the screen.
“Holy crap, what the hell, Kins? You’ve been holding out on us again?” Em accuses, sitting up against Lennon’s headboard, eyes on the screen.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Not really. I told you guys he e-mailed me at the start of the week. Those others I got when I went to bed last night and this morning. What do I even say to all that?”
Lennon sits up and snatches my phone from Emory.
“Hey, I was reading that!” Em complains.
Len shuffles over so they’re squished side by side then holds the phone between them so they can read the e-mails together.
A few minutes pass with me getting more and more nervous. Em’s expression morphs from concentration to dreamy, and a wicked smile curves Len’s lips.
“So …” I ask.
Lennon is the first to speak. “Oh, it is so on.”
Emory nods. “Like Donkey Kong, girl.”
“What does that even mean?” I whine then wave my hand at my phone. “What am I supposed to do with all that?”
After talking it out with my girls, I come up with a solid response to Atticus’s e-mail. At least, I think it’s solid. I’m still not one hundred percent sold on it, but Emory and Lennon assure me this is the way to go.
So, with a deep breath and a silent prayer that this is the best thing to do, I hit send.
Saturday morning drags by as I wait for a response to my rather forward e-mail last night.
Noon comes and goes, and still, I get nothing.
Was I too up-front? Have I scared her off? Jesus, I hope not. But if I have, I can course correct. I think.
Fuck. This woman has me all twisted up, and I don’t even know her goddamn name.
Running a frustrated hand through my hair, I stalk into the kitchen and retrieve a beer. As I twist off the cap and throw it in the trash, my phone rings from the lounge room.
Arlo picks it up and reads the display. “It’s Sam,” he says, passing the phone over as I approach.
“Hey, man, what’s happening?” I ask in greeting.
Before he speaks, I hear my other cousin, Tom, in the background, telling Sam to say hello for him.
“Hey,” Sam says. “You busy tonight?”
“Just hanging out with the kid,” I tell him.
“Come and have a couple of drinks with us. You haven’t been to Tom’s club. It’s pretty fucking cool, and we haven’t caught up
in a while.”
I do enjoy spending time with my cousins, and it has been a long time since we hung out. “Give me a sec,” I tell Sam. Then I glance at Arlo and ask him, “You mind entertaining yourself tonight?”
He smirks. “I’m sure I can manage.”
“Sure, what time?” I ask Sam as I shake my head at Arlo pulling his cell from his back pocket, no doubt texting some girl.
Sam and I make arrangements, then I end the call. And, just to be a dick, I snatch my son’s phone from his hand and read the message he’s typed out on the screen while holding him back with my free hand as he attempts to retrieve his cell.
He’s written three letters, all in caps—DTF.
I look him in the eye then shake my head. “Really? Such a sweet talker, you are.”
“What? It’s effective and efficient. I don’t need to be sweet,” he retorts.
“Wow,” I say. “I’ve raised an asshole.”
His smile grows, and he finally manages to steal his cell back. “What can I say? The ladies like it. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.”
All I do is shake my head. “As long as you treat them right when it counts,” I say, leveling him with a serious look, making sure he knows I mean what I’m saying.
He straightens and drops the cocky pretense. “Of course. I’m not a prick. I know how to treat a girl right, and I do, I swear. I’ve never had any complaints.”
I nod. “That’s my boy.” I don’t expect him to be a saint; I certainly wasn’t at his age. I’m not so out of touch that I don’t know what the youth of today are like. I have a hormone-driven sixteen-year-old in my house, for goodness’ sake. And just because he doesn’t have a mother doesn’t mean I’m going to let him grow up to be a selfish son of a bitch when it comes to women.
We go back to watching TV when his cell vibrates, and a wicked grin spreads across his face.
He lifts it so I can see the screen. It’s from the girl he just texted, and sure enough, she’s more than happy to oblige my son.
“See?” he says. “Remember this moment next time you turn down my expertise in this department.”
I snort and shove his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure the same thing works on grown-ass women.”
With a shrug, he shifts his focus back to his cell and types out his response. “Suit yourself.” He chuckles.
Walking up to the entrance of The Aquarium, I give the doorman my name, and he lets me straight through. I’m met by a woman just inside the door who pulls back a thick, deep-blue velvet curtain, revealing a glass tunnel.
My heart rate skyrockets as my eyes widen at the sight of a goddamn shark swimming right over my head. A fucking shark.
I take my time wandering through, admiring a colorful school of fish that twists and turns at rapid pace in perfect unison. Tom did good investing in this place.
I’m met by another hostess at the end of the tunnel as I step into a huge dome-like space in the middle of an actual aquarium.
The woman smiles at me, a seductive glint in her heavily made-up eyes. “How may I help you tonight, sir?” she coos.
“I’m meeting Tom English, if you can just point me in his direction,” I tell her, not at all interested in the way her eyes practically undress me.
“Certainly. Mr. English is in his personal booth this evening. Just up those stairs,” she says, pointing to the left of the dome. “Second curtain on the right,” she instructs.
I nod. “Thank you.”
Following the hostess’s instructions, I make my way across the busy room, climb the stairs, and push through the curtain sectioning off Tom’s booth. Both Sam and Tom are sitting in plush, deep-blue velvet armchairs like a pair of uptight, pretentious bastards, and I grin.
They turn to face me as I approach, grins matching my own in place. Pushing to their feet, we bro hug and greet each other.
“How’s it hanging? Haven’t seen you in months,” Tom says, his signature, shit-eating grin in place.
I settle on a bench seat against the aquarium wall, hunching forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I know, I know. I’ve been busy. Some of us have to work for a living, you know?” I joke.
“Fuck off.” Tom laughs. “You don’t have to work any more than we do, asshole.”
Sam rolls his eyes. This is an old song and dance between us. Our family is old money, and I have lived off family money in the past. I took full advantage of it to bankroll my education while Arlo was a baby so I could spend what little free time I had with him. But I no longer dip into the family fortune. I’m self-funded these days, even though I partnered with another of our cousins on the English side.
“Nice suit, by the way,” I say, gesturing to the purple atrocity Tom’s wearing.
He smirks. “You’re just jealous you couldn’t pull it off.” He waggles his brows.
I burst out laughing, and Sam joins me.
“Right?” Sam says. “It’s horrendous.”
“Fuck both you dickbags,” Tom says, flipping us off.
I’ve missed this—the cheap, harmless ribbing only family can get away with. I really should make more time for these guys. If I’m not in the office, I’m with Arlo, but I could do with a little more non-work-related adult time.
A waitress pushes the curtain aside, asks for our drink order, then disappears again. I tell Tom, “This place is pretty damn cool.”
“I know,” he says, pride emanating from him. “Oh, check it out,” he says, tipping his chin to the glass behind me. “It’s Sam’s lady.”
“What?” I ask, turning to see a woman in scuba gear swimming alongside one of the biggest sharks I’ve ever seen. Spinning back to Sam, I ask, “That’s your girlfriend? She’s fucking nuts. What’s she doing?”
Sam stands, approaches the glass, and presses his hand against it, smiling. “You bet your ass it is,” he says as the woman waves at him on her way past us. Once she’s out of sight, he returns to his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee. “She works here, and that shark is her baby, Tina.”
I blink at him in shock and disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘baby’?”
Sam chuckles, and the waitress returns with all our drinks and a tray of finger food.
“You talking about Hannah and her babies again?” the waitress asks, a soft smile on her face. “I just saw her swimming by with Tina.”
“Sure were,” Sam confirms.
“Sometimes I think she’s crazy, but you can’t deny, it does look kinda fun,” she goes on.
I snort. “You clearly have a different definition of the word fun than I do.”
She laughs then asks if there’s anything else we need before she leaves again.
“So, that’s really your girlfriend in there? How’d that happen?” I ask, curious to know how uptight, all-business Sam ended up with a chick who swims with sharks for a living. It’s not a match I would have predicted in a million years.
His smile is more genuine than I’ve ever seen it. He sips his whiskey then says, “It’s a long story, but it was the best decision I’ve made in my whole damn life. On paper, we don’t make much sense, but she makes life interesting. She makes me want to get out of the office and live a little, and I think we can all agree I need that.”
“Fuck yes, you do!” Tom agrees, laughing. “They kinda broke up for a minute there, but Aimz and I fixed it. He turned into a pathetic little bitch without her.”
“Oh?” I ask. “And who is Aimz?”
Tom kicks back in his armchair, extends his legs, and crosses his ankles. “My lady, that’s who. What about you? You find someone to play momma to Arlo yet?”
Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. “I’ve been too busy. But there is someone …”
Tom’s eyes light with interest. “Continue,” he urges.
So, I tell them about the whole sordid thing. From accusing Sadie-not-Sadie of seducing Arlo to our e-mail exchanges. My cousins listen intently, and when I’m finished, Sam is grinning like a madman.
> “What?” I snap.
“You’ve got it bad, and you don’t even know her name.” He chuckles. “I cannot wait to see how this pans out. I haven’t seen you interested in a woman in years. Mariah really did a number on you, but I’m glad it sounds like you might finally be ready to let someone in again.”
My eyes narrow at the mention of Arlo’s absent mother. My jaw tightens as memories of her assault me. I don’t let her take up real estate in my thoughts anymore. The woman is a selfish, conceited bitch.
I down the rest of my whiskey then crack my neck, desperate to relieve some of the tension this conversation has created in my body.
“Hey, man,” Tom says. “This is a good thing. Don’t fixate on the past; that bitch is history, and you got a fuckin’ awesome kid out of it. Arlo is the shit. Speaking of, what’s the little bastard up to these days?”
“Smooth subject change,” I mutter then grin. Talking about my son never fails to improve my mood. “He’s with some girl tonight. He literally texted her when I was on the phone to Sam, and all he wrote was DTF. That’s it, and she was putty in his hands.”
“Arlo, the lady-killer. He must take after me,” Tom says, dusting imaginary lint off his dress shirt.
I laugh and shake my head. I didn’t know how much I needed this night until right now. Tom’s always been a riot.
I feel lighter now than I have in a long fucking time.
