“Alright nerd girl, hop along then.” I grinned. “Good luck. Be safe.”
“Will do!” she waved while skipping down the hall and out the front door.At least she remembered to close it behind her.
Rayna suppressed a grin, shaking her head. “She’s gone over him, isn’t she?”
I did a combo laugh-snort. “What gave it away?”
Her expression grew somber. “Yeah, well listen, the cab company contacted the driver. He checked the cab, but your purse wasn’t in there.”
“Yeah, it’s already been hours. I really appreciate you trying though.” I rested my head in the palms of my hands, elbows on my knees.
“Lo siento, chiquita,” Rayna said. “I’ve gotta go,” she turned her attention to my sister. “Lock the door behind me.”
Caroline got up to follow her, answering her cell phone along the way. Meanwhile, I grabbed some paper and tried to list all the credit cards and other personal information that could’ve been in my lost wallet.
It didn’t take long.
I had two credit cards (one maxed out), my school ID and my North Carolina-issued driver’s license, which I hadn’t had a chance to change over yet. Oh, and an almost full punch card from Red Cat Burger. What’s sad is I was more upset about losing the card for a free burger than the cards.
“Um, Alls?” my sister was back, holding the phone to her ear with her hand over the mouthpiece. I’ve told her a dozen times about a revolutionary feature called the mute button, but it just doesn’t stick.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“There’s some guy calling for you on my cell, saying he needs to speak with you directly.”
My brows knitted, until I remembered. “I put you down as my emergency contact at school. Maybe someone turned in my bag and figured you’re the way to let me know?”
“Or maybe it’s that freaktard professor of yours.”
Even though I was taking five classes this term, I already knew she meant Professor Bails.
“Don’t start now,” I told her. “He’s a huge deal. I’m lucky he took a first year into his seminar.”
“Whatever, if you ask me, that man’s completely under the weather upstairs,” she said, tapping her finger to her temple. “Don’t let him piss all over you and convince you it’s raining, okay?”
“Fine, fine, just give me the phone already,” I snatched her cell out of her hand. “You’ve got Alice here.”
I heard a low-throttle, sexy chuckle on the other end of the line. I knew that sounds weird—a ‘sexy’ chuckle—but the stranger on the other end of the line had it.
Definitely not Professor Bails. He had more of a death-rattle smoker’s cough.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“I’m the guy who found your bag.”
A rush of relief flooded my body and I felt all the tension drain right out of me. “Oh thank God! I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to do without it.”
“Yeah, I bet. You carry a lot of crap with you.”
My eyes turned to slits. Not that he could tell, but still. “My stuff is not crap.”
I heard him laugh again and that’s when it hit me—I was talking to the guy who kicked me out of my cab. The one with the lumberjack beard and delicious man scent.
Hey, don’t judge. That’s totally a thing.
“My theory is you subconsciously left your bag behind because it was too much of a burden. It was your mind’s way of doing some much needed housekeeping.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” He sounded so sure of himself.
Arrogant prick.
“Are you a therapist of some kind?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said with a smile in his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I’m just giving it to you straight.”
Unbelievable. “Well, thank you kindly for bestowing your gifts upon me. You know, I bet you think the sun comes up every morning just to hear you crow.”
He let out a laugh, not the kind that mocked you, but a rich and soulful one, the type that filled up empty spaces you didn’t know you had. I pushed the feeling aside.
I shouldn’t have asked the next question, but I couldn’t help myself. “Uh . . . how much did you ransack through my personal belongings?”
Silence. Heavy, weighted silence hung in the air for several seconds. “Well, I’ll tell you . . . usually I would have just tossed it on my assistant’s desk and had her contact you. But once I saw what you had in that velvet pouch, I had to talk to you myself.”
He was talking about my battery-operated-boyfriend (B.O.B.), Eduardo.
“I bet you did,” I huffed. “Alright, so you found my vibrator. Here’s a twenty-first century newsflash: women own sex toys. We use them and we make no apologies for it. So if you’re expecting me to get all discomfited because you discovered I’m a wholly evolved, sexual being, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Discomfited?”
“Embarrassed,” I clarified.
“I know what discomfited means,” he answered. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use it in casual conversation before.”
“Well, then you need to reach beyond your raisin’,” I said. “Aim higher.”
“I should’ve assumed a woman pursuing her doctorate degree in human sexuality studies wasn’t going to get all tongue tied over a rocket tucked in the side pocket.”
“Wow, you really plundered through every nook and cranny, didn’t you there?”
“Now, don’t get in a snit. I really was just searching for a way to get in touch with you. Your driver license is still from below the Mason Dixon line. Good thing I found your school ID.”
“Mmhmm,” I said, unconvinced. “How did you get my sister’s cell number? Why didn’t you just contact the university and have them handle it?”
“My assistant’s a bloodhound and can find anyone. Once I found your name, the rest was easy. And I wasn’t going to leave your stuff with a stranger at your school.”
“So why am I talking to you and not your assistant?”
That question was met with silence on the other end for several beats.
“Hello?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Alice.”
An electric thrill ran through me, especially hearing him say my name.
“You know, City, I never got your name earlier.”
“Ah, so you recognize my voice?” He seemed pleased, which gave me a jolt of happy. Gawd, I was such a girl sometimes. Why should I care what he thinks?
“Dare,” he said.
“What dare? What are you talking about?”
“No, I mean my name is Dare.”
“Dare? Your name is Dare? What the heck, did you parents lose a bet or something?”
Caroline started giggling but had enough manners to cover her mouth while she was doing it. Frankly, until she made a sound, I had forgotten she was even in the room with me.
“Uh no, far from it,” he reassured me, surprisingly not offended at all by my snide remark. “It’s an old family name.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, tasting something sour in my mouth. The only people who ever used family names for their progeny came from money. “So, you’re one of those.”
“One of those what, Ms. Leighton? Enlighten me.”
I was being incredibly rude, but nothing I said seemed to rattle him. If anything, he seemed to be getting off on it. The calmer he was, the more he was pushing my buttons.
“You’re high cotton,” I mumbled under my breath. Caroline glanced up, meeting my gaze as she shook her head, which totally said it all: if neither of us ever dealt with another entitled douche-a-saurus for the rest of our days, it still would be a day too soon.
“Do you always make a shit-ton of assumptions about people before you’ve even had a chance to get to know them?”
I sighed into the phone. “I’d like to say I don’t, but now that you bring it up, I’m thinking I do, like all the time. I should
work on that.”
“Hold back the reins now,” he teased, imitating my accent, or at least trying to. “Is that an apology I’m hearing? Am I hallucinating right now?”
“Alright, alright, I deserve that,” I said. “Let’s move it along now.”
“Well, why don’t we meet so you can see if your hunch about me is right? And bonus, you’ll get your precious cargo back.”
Oh dear Lord, I had forgotten all about my bag. Where was my head at?
I knew exactly where it was at: wondering if that beard of his felt as deliciously rough between my legs as his voice did between my ears.
Gawd!
I needed to cut this off at the knees. Now.
“Okay, so we’re both busy people. Tell me where you work and I’ll pick up my bag from your assistant.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he countered. “Why don’t you give me your address and I’ll bring it to you?”
“If you got my sister’s cell number, then I’m thinking you know where I live already.”
He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“Well, thank you for not just showing up and scaring the stuffing out of me.”
That one earned me another chuckle. “Alright, so why don’t you come pick it up at my apartment?”
“Uh no—and if any woman agreed to that it means her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor, if you understand my meaning.”
“I know what it means, Dixie. I’m just wondering how many Southern colloquialisms I’m going to be on the receiving end of in one conversation.”
“Well, I’d count those up for you, City, but I’m too busy with all the different nicknames you’ve got rolling off your tongue to be of any real help.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I heard a low moan. “Alright, come to my studio instead. I’ve got people around, so you’ll be safe.”
“City, did you forget? You have my wallet.”
“Then, I’ll send a car for you. Ten sharp.”
“That’s four hours from now. What am I supposed to do until—?”
“Gotta go Dixie.”
“Gawd! Are you always this, this—?”
“Assertive? Charming? Irresistible? Why yes . . . yes, I am actually.”
I emitted something between a growl and a groan.
“Oh and Alice?”
“Yes, Dare,” I snapped.
“Don’t even think of sending someone else. Because I’m not giving your bag to anyone but you.”
And then, wouldn’t you know it? The son-of-a-bitch hung up on me.
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.”
“I don’t much care where–”
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Dare
“We’re going to this lit club below Houston.”
“Just an FYI, we’re a really open couple.”
“Want a bump?”
That last comment from the strangers across the table from me earned them my exit. Typical star-fuckers. I had a feeling they were less interested in a commission than they claimed, but I had still taken the meeting. I knew plenty of other artists who thought I was crazy for still taking on commissioned work, because it was, almost always, a pain in the ass.
But once you’ve been broke, you don’t squander one second of your shot to ensure you stay in the black. When I got into this, I knew I was aiming for something more elusive than a fucking unicorn sighting in Central Park—to be able to live off what I made as an artist. None of us signed a magical lifetime contract stating that people were going to continue to buy our work. The art world is a fickle mistress.
I tossed enough cash out to cover the bill and got the hell out of there. I never touched drugs and I didn’t hang with those who did. I hardly drank either. I was also especially particular where I dipped my dick.
It wasn’t entirely their fault for assuming what they did about me. Many years back, I did an interview. To say it was a good write up would be an understatement; my mother couldn’t have written a better one. But the reporter utilized some colorful analogies, and let’s just say, I’d had to fend off my share of wife swappers and cocaine cowboys ever since.
I usually didn’t give a fuck. If dealing with a handful of fame whores was the price I paid for a life almost completely of my own creation, I was good with that. I understood my public image was based, in large part, on other people’s fantasies of the New York art world. I considered my role like theater, a revolving performance art piece.
I walked back to the studio where I was going to meet up with Alice. It was the first Thursday of the month, which meant we were open to the public, so by the time I arrived, the place was already buzzing.
The whole ground floor was open space with whitewashed brick and exposed pipes. Ingrid kept paintings, drawings, and mixed media work on one side and photography on the other. I positioned myself off to the side, in front of a storage closet that had ascending steps. I stood at the top stair, so I could purview the whole of the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
A labyrinth of bodies of every color and size swirled and swayed between the smatterings of support beams throughout the square footage, instinctually moving towards and away from one another in a hypnotic rhythm. There was a DJ perched in the center of the room, spinning vinyl, holding the cans around her head.
It wasn’t my birthday or anything, but it sure felt like it every time we invited the outside world inside Grangeworth Gallery & Studios. I had to admit, one of my favorite things was having someone come in convinced art wasn’t for them, only to have a piece of their consciousness awaken as they found something here that turned their souls inside out. Bearing witness to that was like getting a present. And I swear, I didn’t even care if it was one of my works, although I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I got a shot of adrenalin when it turned out something I made was the catalyst for someone to experience the world in a different way.
I stood perusing the expanse of faces and bodies, broad movements and loud sounds, enjoying a room that had always been larger than life for me. That is, until that second when I finally spotted all five feet nothing of her, so small and far away. Even with her curves, she was still a wisp of a woman. And yet, there was something about her, as if she was lit from the inside out.
Without thinking, my feet moved forward. I was caught in her magnetic field, pulled by a force stronger than my natural inclination to stand back and observe.
I was weightless, hovering in the space between before and afters. I did and did not know this woman. I had no clue what was going to happen. All I knew was that instead of being pulled into a black hole, an endless abyss I had known for way too long, I saw a sliver of light in the shape of a bourbon-haired girl with a spine made of steel.
Maybe nothing would come of this feeling. Maybe it had nothing to do with Alice Elizabeth Leighton. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. What I did know was, in seconds lasting as long as seasons, I was just grateful as fuck to feel . . . well, anything.
Then I remembered. She thought I was an asshole.
She was right, of course, but I wanted in there anyway.
“I don’t care how famous he is,” I could hear her sister talking above the music. Alice had her back to me, her lustrous hair cascading down her back, curling at the ends. “I think he’s a dirty old coot and it’s totally weird what he’s asking of you.”
“It’s not just me. Everyone who signed up had to make the same commitment. Frankly, I was lucky to get a spot.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“It’s just . . . just . . . so personal!” Her sister gulped down the rest of her wine. “Can’t you just make something up? How’s he going to know the difference anyway? Wait, he doesn’t expect you to video yourself having sex, does he?”
Ah, hell no. Tha
t was it. “Dixie, you’re in New York for, what, five minutes and already you’ve got some perv trying to take advantage of you?”
Alice turned around and, for a flash of a second, I saw it: her eyes going wide, her pupils dilating, those bow-shaped lips gaping. Her gaze racked over me, as real as any touch.
That is, until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to like me. Then she scrunched up that cute-as-hell, pixie nose while giving her most vicious, evil stink-eye.
It was adorable as fuck.
“It’s not like that,” she said, coming right up to me and pointing her finger into my chest. “And you have no say whatsoever in what I do or don’t do.”
She may not have liked me, but she sure as hell was attracted to me. That’s fine, I thought. I don’t need much else.
But I made the mistake of showing that her reaction pleased me and I felt all of Alice shut down, hiding behind a perturbed expression. She folded her arms across her breasts as she jutted her chin up.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek in order not to laugh because I was sure this was her being a badass. And I had already pissed her off enough. It was time to get on her good side.
That said, I was still me, which meant I had to be, well, a smart-ass.
“See anything you like?”
She let out a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Why is it that everything coming out of your mouth sounds like a come on?”
I took a step closer, my hands deep in my pockets so I wouldn’t reach out and touch her, something I really wanted to do. “Don’t worry. It’s not a habit. I only sound like that when I see something I like.”
“Oh dear Lord, first you’re yelling at me to get a move-on and now you’re all up in my space, letting your flirty beast out.”
I stroked the side of my beard, shaking my head. “I promise you, sweet Alice, I’ve got one hell of a beast for you, but he doesn’t flirt. He conquers.”
She rocked a half step back. It was like we were doing the waltz in reverse.
“Well, maybe some kingdoms aren’t looking to be conquered. Maybe they’re looking for someone who appreciates the treasure already possessed within their walls.”
“That’s the difference between a prince and a king,” I said, not doing a good job of hiding the smile I was sporting.
The Wonder of You Page 3
