“Oh my God,” I gasped, my heart racing. It had all happened so fast, I couldn’t even be sure of what I had just experienced. I looked behind me and felt a flash of embarrassment mix with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The man who had pulled me back was now sitting on the pavement, my butt in his lap, his hands still gripping my shoulders tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried, trying to right myself. “What a stupid idiot I am, you could have gotten hurt!”
He grinned at me, rather dazed, and said, “You were the one that could have gotten hurt. That truck would have flattened you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “God, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I realized that he had not let go of me yet. My back was still leaning against his shoulder, and he felt strong and solid below me. I looked up into his eyes and realized with a jolt that he was totally gorgeous.
“Sorry,” I said again, pulling back so I could try to stand. With one swift motion, he pulled me up as he found his own feet. He turned me slightly so I was facing him full on; only then did he release my shoulders.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, beginning to brush off his pants, which I could now tell were an expensive wool. Under his black overcoat, I could just make out a suit jacket and tie. His outfit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. He smiled down at me. “It’s not every day you get to save a pretty girl from getting squashed by a truck.”
“You did save me,” I said, looking up into his face. He really was very handsome. And it wasn’t often that I met a man who towered over me like he did. It made me feel feminine, somehow, even though I was sure I looked like a wet mess. “How can I thank you?”
“Please don’t worry about it,” he said. I noticed that his hair was getting positively soaked in the rain. Up on the curb, there was an open umbrella lying on the pavement. He must have thrown it aside when he saw me step in front of the truck.
“You’re getting wet,” I told him.
“We both are,” he agreed, then he put a hand on the small of my back, pulling me with him as he stepped out of the street. He opened his umbrella and held it up over both of our heads. “Now, do you think you’re all right? Does anything hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I told him. “Just embarrassed. I don’t even know what I was thinking, not looking before I crossed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, smiling down at me. Under the umbrella, he was standing very close to me. I could practically feel the body heat radiating off him. “The rain makes us all do stupid things.”
Something about his tone made my stomach lurch in a pleasant sort of way. Was he flirting with me?
“Like save silly girls from getting flattened,” I asked, smiling back.
“Yeah, like that,” he agreed.
“Look, I really do owe you one.” I felt another flash of embarrassment as I realized again how dumb I had been. “You’ll need to get those dry cleaned.” I pointed down at his pants, which were clearly wet and muddy. “Let me pay for them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”
“I’m very grateful,” I pressed. “I’d like to pay you back.”
“Well, if you insist,” he said, taking a tiny little step closer to me. “Why don’t you buy me a drink sometime?”
“Yeah?” I said, surprised. Why would someone like him want to spend any more time with someone like me? He must think I was some silly, stupid ditz after watching me walk blindly in front of a moving truck.
“If you don’t object,” he said. “I know I would enjoy it.” I felt a blush rush to my cheeks, which only seemed to make his grin wider. “What do you say?”
“That would be great,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though my stomach was now squirming. “Do you have a card or something? I could call you.”
“What’s your number?” he asked, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. “And your name, for that matter.”
I laughed. “I’m Emily.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Emily,” he said, smiling down at me again. “My name is Greg.”
I told him my number, and he dialed. I heard my phone ring in my pocket. “There,” he said, snapping his phone shut. “Now you have my number, and I have yours. If you haven’t called me by tomorrow night, I’ll call you to demand my drink.” He winked at me as he put the phone back in his pocket, and I felt the butterflies in my stomach multiply.
“Now,” he said. “Where were you heading? I think I’d better walk you there, make sure no other rogue trucks attack you.”
I heard myself giggle, an unfamiliar girlish sound, as I pointed toward my car. “Right over there.”
He put his hand on the small of my back once more and led me back to the street. After making a big show of looking both ways (I giggled again—what was I doing?), he gently maneuvered me across the street to my car.
“Here you go,” he said, leading me right to the driver’s side door. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said, pulling out my keys. I looked up at his dark eyes. “Thank you, Greg. I really, really appreciate it.”
He smiled in return. “It was my pleasure.” Then he pulled the door open behind me and held it while I climbed into my seat. “I hope to hear from you soon.” With one last smile he shut the door and stepped away from the car.
I took a deep breath, feeling giddy and exhausted as the adrenaline drained from my body. As I started the car and pulled out carefully, I could see Greg in my rearview mirror, standing at the curb under his umbrella, watching me drive away.
Chapter Ten
I told my friends what had happened over dinner that night. Predictably, Ashley was enthralled.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, when I had finished my recap. “He rescued you. That’s like, classic love story right there.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Ryan said, taking a sip of his wine. “What did he look like?”
I rolled my eyes. “He was pretty cute.”
Ryan just stared at me. “That’s all you’ve got? Unacceptable, Em.”
“Fine, fine,” I said. “He was tall, much taller than me. Maybe six-three? Dark hair, dark eyes. Kind of gave me a Cary Grant vibe.”
“Not bad,” Ryan said, nodding in approval, whether for my description or the fact that I remembered who Cary Grant even was. “And what was he wearing?”
“Suit and tie,” I said, squinting as I tried to remember. “And a black overcoat, I think.”
“So he’s a professional of some kind,” Ryan murmured. “Better and better.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Chris said. “But if we’re gonna start guessing his bank account size next, I’ll just excuse myself now.”
I laughed as Ryan glared at him. “This is important,” he said.
“It’s a date,” I said. “It’s not a huge deal.”
“It could be.” Ryan pointed his fork in my direction. “You don’t know, Em.”
“That’s what you said about the last two guys,” I reminded him. “You got me all worked up that I was living some romantic fantasy, that these situations were straight out of a chick flick, and I was going to fall madly in love. And look at how that turned out.”
“But this is straight out of a romantic story!” Ashley said, leaning toward me, her eyes bright with excitement. “I mean, just think about it. How many of the great love stories started with a guy rescuing the girl? And he’s handsome and rich to boot? This is just too good!”
I stared at her, aghast. I had always known that Ashley and I were different when it came to men, but this was just too much.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement, Ash, I don’t even know where to start.”
She looked hurt. “What do you mean?”
“First of all, I only said he was in a suit. You’re going to extrapolate that into him being rich? Don’t you think that’s getting a little bit carried
away?” She started to respond, but I held up my hand. “But that’s not the worst part. Do you really think that, in order for love to happen, a girl needs to be rescued by a guy? Is that an essential part of a relationship? Because if it is, I don’t want anything to do with it.”
Ashley just sighed. “You’re taking this way too seriously,” she said. “I know you can take care of yourself, okay? But what’s wrong with having a knight in shining armor? Don’t we all need some help sometimes?” When I didn’t respond, she shook her head. “I think it’s romantic. Call me old-fashioned, or whatever.”
“I wish a cute guy would come on his white horse and rescue me,” Ryan said, looking dreamy as he closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t complain one bit.”
“Do you know what I think?” Chris asked. “I think if you like this guy, you should go out with him. See how it goes. See if there’s a spark.” I was surprised to realize that Chris, normally so laid back and easy going, was clearly annoyed. Like, really annoyed. Something about this conversation had apparently irritated the hell out of him. “I don’t see why it has to get turned into this big deal, why we have to read so much into it.”
He stood up from the table abruptly. “I’m gonna get another bottle of wine,” he said, his voice flat.
As he walked to the kitchen, Ashley looked at me, wide-eyed. “He seems pissed,” she said. I nodded. She sighed, and stood too. “I’ll go see what’s up.”
Alone with Ryan, I raised my eyebrows. “Think he got grossed out by me talking about cute guys?” he asked.
“Give me a break,” I said. “You know Chris isn’t like that. Besides, you talk about guys all the time. Like, constantly.”
Ryan smiled. “You do have a point there. I wonder why he’s pissy then.”
I was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I wonder if all this romance stuff is bringing him down,” I finally said. “The way Ash talks…”
“Maybe it’s a lot of pressure, ya think?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Like, maybe it makes him wonder if he lives up to all these ideals she’s going on and on about.”
“Perhaps we should cool it with the research talk,” Ryan suggested.
I clapped my hands together. “Can we really? Yay!”
He tossed his napkin at me. “Quiet. We’ve given you a wealth of helpful knowledge about men and relationships. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
“Yeah, right. So far your tutelage has helped me so much.”
“Just wait,” he said, smiling smugly at me. “You haven’t gone out with Greg yet. I still think your perfect love story is just over the horizon.”
* * *
Greg surprised me by calling that very night.
“Sorry,” he said, after we’d exchanged hellos. “I know we said you would call me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this afternoon.” I felt a rush of pleasure color my face, and I was glad he couldn’t see me. “I figured I’d better go ahead and set up our date before some other guy saved you from something even more impressive.”
I laughed. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A stampeding elephant, maybe?” He laughed too, and I decided that I liked the sound. It was warm and deep and made me think about how tall he was. It was a manly sound.
“So, about that date,” he pressed. I noticed that he was no longer referring to it as “drinks.” That set my butterflies off again.
“When’s good for you?” I asked.
“I’m free this weekend,” he said. “How about Saturday night?”
“Saturday night would be perfect,” I replied.
“Good,” he said, sounding pleased. “What would you think about dinner? I mean, if we’re getting together anyhow, we may as well eat, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Dinner would be nice.”
“Have you been to The Lark, in West Bloomfield?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. Greg chuckled a little.
“Oh, you would remember it if you’d been there,” he said. “But I think you’ll like it. What do you say I pick you up around seven?”
“Sounds perfect,” I said. After giving him directions to my apartment, we said good night and hung up the phone. I immediately opened my laptop, leaning back against the headboard of my bed as it powered up. When my Internet browser had loaded, I did a quick Google search for the restaurant he had mentioned. The website had a few pictures, and really good reviews. It appeared to be a fairly nice place—then I clicked on the menu tab. As I browsed the offerings, I could practically feel myself going pale.
“Shit,” I muttered. I scrambled off the bed and rushed down the hall to Ashley’s room. I said a silent prayer Chris wasn’t in there with her before knocking.
“Come in,” she called out.
I threw open the door. She was sitting on her bed, books and papers spread out around her, apparently in the middle of planning a lesson.
“Ash, I need your help,” I gasped.
“What’s the matter?”
“Greg wants to take me to the most expensive restaurant I’ve ever heard of,” I said, still breathing heavily. “I just looked it up online.”
“So?” she asked. “Maybe that means he really likes you.”
“Ashley, you don’t understand,” I said. “I’ve never been to a place like that before. I have no idea what to wear, or how to act. I won’t fit in at all. What am I gonna do?”
“Emily,” she said firmly. “Relax.” She picked up her phone and typed out a quick text. When she was finished, she looked up at me, smiling. “Ryan and I will take care of everything.”
Chapter Eleven
When Ashley said they would take care of everything, she really meant it. Friday night found the three of us standing outside a salon in Birmingham, one of the ritzier suburbs in the metro area.
“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” I moaned.
“Be brave,” Ryan said, putting his arm around me. “I promise it won’t be so bad.”
“We won’t let them cut much,” Ashley assured me. “Your hair is beautiful. It just needs some layers so it will move more.”
“Not too short?” I pleaded.
“Not too short,” she agreed.
“Don’t worry,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll still be able to throw it back in your beloved messy ponytail for work.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
It wasn’t really as bad as I had imagined. Though I found the staff inside the salon very intimidating (and really snobby), Ryan and Ashley did most of the talking. I just had to sit there. As they conferred with my stylist Sasha—a tiny, pixie-like girl with purple spiky hair and a lip ring—I noticed her assistant bringing over some plastic bottles and a pile of foil squares. When I realized it was hair dye, I had a minor panic attack.
“It’s just some highlights!” Ryan insisted. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ve never dyed my hair,” I cried, plastering my hands over the top of my head. “You said nothing about dye.”
“Are you saying this is your natural color?” Sasha asked, lifting up a strand of my hair and letting it run through her fingers.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve never done anything to it.”
“Not even the roots?” she asked. I shook my head. “That’s amazing. Your hair is in wonderful condition for someone your age.” My age? I thought. I was twenty-five, for God’s sake. “I wouldn’t change the color one bit,” she went on. “The bleached blonde look is really big right now, and if you can achieve it without dye you’d be crazy to mess with it.”
I felt a rush of affection for Sasha.
“Fine,” Ryan said. “But you are getting a bikini wax.”
I glared at him, but Ashley intervened. “We can talk about that later,” she said quickly. “Let’s just see how you feel after your haircut.”
* * *
An hour later, I was paying the front-desk receptionist eighty dollars. (Eighty! For a
haircut!) I was pleased with what Sasha had done—she hadn’t taken off too much length, just added some layers around my face. It swung easily down my back and felt smoother than normal. Ryan wasn’t as satisfied. He was still trying to get me to agree to the bikini wax, but I had put my foot down quite firmly.
“No one is going to be seeing anything that even resembles my bikini area,” I told him.
“It’s more for you than for him!” he argued. “It will make you feel sexy and sleek.”
“I don’t need to feel sleek and sexy. I just want to feel normal.”
In the end, Ashley convinced him to drop it, saying they needed to marshal their forces for the inevitable fight over my clothing choices.
After the salon, we headed to the mall where they dragged me to several stores, insisting I try on a variety of dresses before we made a final decision. Everything they put me in felt about the same to me—black dresses with shorter than I preferred hemlines. According to Ashley, the differences in fabric, silhouette, and cut were essential. I had no idea what she was talking about, so I decided to take her word for it.
In the end, they chose a sleek design that we found on clearance at Macy’s for sixty bucks—marked down from one fifty. Even I could tell that this dress was a step up in fabric and cut. A cocktail dress with wide tank straps, the neckline came down into a low vee. The dress was ruched at the waist, giving my normally straight frame the illusion of some curves. It fit me perfectly, and the black satin had a substantial, weighty feel to it.
“It plays up your long legs and makes your waist look miniscule,” Ryan said, staring at me in the full-length mirror. “Plus it looks elegant and appropriate without being too fancy.”
“I have a silk wrap at home you can wear with it,” Ashley said. “But none of your shoes will do.”
So off we went next to the shoe section, where they had me try on and walk around in a seemingly endless parade of heels. After a while, it started to feel almost normal to teeter around an extra three inches off the floor.
In Search of a Love Story (Love Story Book One ) Page 9
