by Locklyn Marx
“Does that mean you’re a sports agent?”
“Nah, just a boring hedge fund manager.”
“So you’re the one responsible for the financial collapse?”
She expected him to come back with something defensive, about how not all financial guys were the monsters the media made them out to be.
But instead he said:
“Well, not me personally. But I know the guy who is. His name’s Bob, he
works on the sixth floor of my building.”
Lindsay laughed.
“Can you tell Bob he owes me lunch?” she wrote back. “That’s about how
much I had in my 401k when the market collapsed.”
“Will do. But with interest, that probably equals dinner by now.”
She hovered the cursor over his name, thinking she should probably check out his profile. But why? Any guy who was this cute and funny had to be completely unattractive. Otherwise, why would he be messaging people? And furthermore, why would he be messaging her? Lindsay knew she wasn’t ugly, even considered herself pretty on a good day. But she’d seen the women on this site – a lot of them were posing with their cleavage hanging out, their bleach blonde hair tumbling over their tight tank tops as they flashed a perfect white smile at the camera.
Not that Lindsay cared about what this guy looked like – first, looks had never been that important to her. And second, it wasn’t like she was ever going to meet him. It was just a distraction, a little harmless internet flirting while she worked on her book.
She clicked. His profile popped up, and Lindsay actually gasped out loud. That’s how hot this man was. He had short dark hair, piercing dark eyes, and a smile that made him look like he was flirting with you, even on the computer screen. It wasn’t one of those posed pictures that Lindsay hated so much. This was a picture of him out on a boat, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a drink in his hand, the sun setting behind him. His nose was slightly sunburned, and he looked like he was having a fun day out on the ocean with his family.
She took in a deep breath. There was no way a guy like that would ever seriously want to date a girl like her. Of course, that’s probably why they were talking on the internet – if they were in a bar, he probably never would have started talking to her.
But since she was here, safe in her bedroom, where he had no idea she was wearing an I HEART NY T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the knee, he’d initiated conversation. A cyber conversation, but still.
“Hello?” he was saying. “Did I scare you off?”
“No, sorry,” she said. “I was just doing some online research.”
It wasn’t really a lie. She had been doing some research. Some research on him.
“Am I interrupting your work?”
He was, but something about him had her intrigued. Either that, or she was just way too bored from being alone with her characters all day.
They ended up talking for hours. Chace was at a conference in New York City, working on some kind of deal that sounded ridiculously complicated. He had a lot of work to do, too, and so they’d stop their chat for a little while to work, then come back online to check in and do a little flirting.
Finally, when the sun was starting to come up, Lindsay wrote:
“Wow, we stayed up all night. You’re great for my word count.”
“You’re great for my work, too. Can’t remember the last time I
had so much fun working on international finance.”
“Probably in college, when you were studying it after banging
some sorority girl.”
“Ha! Touché!”
“Just kidding ”
“Anyway, I should probably go – I need to get some sleep before
my meeting at ten.”
“Wow, that’s only a few hours away. Sorry I kept you up.”
“You didn’t! You were the only thing keeping me going.”
He was waiting for her to say goodnight, and even though she was exhausted, she didn’t want to. It was crazy, but for some reason, she wanted to make sure she was going to talk to him again. The logical side of her knew it was just an internet conversation, but it was the best conversation she’d had with a man in a long time.
She told herself not to over think it, and so finally she said, “Well, if you’re
around tomorrow night for a little more motivation, I’ll be here, just me
and my characters.”
She cringed at that last part, because, honestly, could she have sounded any more pathetic? She’d be here, just her and her characters? It was worse than being a crazy cat lady. At least crazy cat ladies spent time with actually living things. She was talking about hanging out with people who existed only in her head.
“Good night, Lindsay,” he’d written back.
She thought she might have a hard time falling asleep, but she hadn’t, and by the time she woke up, the whole thing felt like some kind of weird dream. The light of day turned something that had seemed scandalous and intimate the night before into something that just seemed silly. So she’d been up all night talking to a stranger on the internet. Hello, lonely loser.
She’d spent the morning writing, then met her friend Hillary for lunch, came home and cleaned her apartment. At around eight, she sat down to email her agent about something, when she saw she had a notification alerting her to a message from RedSoxChace.
Hey, nightly inspiration, it said, you around? I have a lot of work to do, and
don’t know how I’m going to get through it without you.
She immediately logged on.
And for the next two weeks, while Chace was in New York, it became their nightly ritual. Sometimes they’d end up going to bed around midnight, but more often than not, they’d stay up all night, taking breaks from their respective work to chat and flirt.
They got to know things about each other. She told him about her dad, how he had been a total asshole, how her sister Jamie annoyed her but they were still best friends.
He told her his mom had died when he was little, how his dad had recently married a new woman who had a daughter a little younger than him, and how he was glad his dad had finally found love again.
She thought it was a sweet story, and they joked about her using it in a book someday.
She looked so forward to the chats that her word count was growing exponentially. She finished the book she was working on, and even had time to write up a new proposal for her agent. There was something comforting about him being on the other end of the computer, cheering her on, making her feel good.
When it was time for him to leave New York and come back to Boston, she felt a little sad that their late night chats were coming to an end.
So, he said the night before he was scheduled to leave New York, when I get back to Boston, you up for doing some in person work together?
Her face flushed, and her hands froze on the keyboard. She didn’t know what to say. Of course she’d imagined what it would be like to meet him, to see him, to actually spend time with him. At the same time, she was so enjoying the fantasy that she didn’t know if she wanted to ruin it.
What if you’re a psycho stalker? she stalled.
She knew he wasn’t. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Anyone could be a psycho stalker these days, even the people you’d never suspect. But she’d googled him, and he’d checked out. His job, his family, everything.
“How do I know you’re not a psycho stalker?”
“Oh, I am.”
“I think I can handle you.”
She hesitated.
“Okay,” she typed finally. “Let’s do it.”
They made plans to meet up the first weekend he was back. But then the email came. He was being sent to California. He didn’t want her to think it was a lie, so he was forwarding the email his boss had sent.
She was equal parts disappointed and relieved. It was one thing for her to be charming and cute on the computer. It was quite another to
be that way in person, when she had to worry about things like whether or not her Spanx were showing, or if she had spinach in her teeth, or if he was expecting her to sleep with him at the end of the night.
They could still have their nightly inspiration sessions, he said.
She agreed.
But the first night he was in California, he suggested talking on the phone.
Her heart was racing as she dialed his number.
“Hey, Inspiration,” he said when he answered. Her pulse sped up. His voice was deep and sexy, the exact kind of voice you’d expect to belong to a man that looked like he did.
“Hi,” she said.
“You have a cute voice,” he said. “I knew you would.”
“How’d you know?”
“Just had a feeling,” he said. “I’ve learned my instincts are usually very dead on.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “What are your instincts telling you right now?”
“That you and I are going to be on the phone for a very long time.”
He was right. They talked for hours that night, about everything and nothing.
She told him how she got started writing, how she’d always wanted to be a writer, how it had taken her three years and seven books before she sold something, but how she’d never once entertained the possibility of giving up. He told her how he hated finance. It paid the bills, but his dream was to move out to the country with a couple of dogs and live off the land.
When they finally hung up, she was so wired she couldn’t sleep. So she stayed up all night writing. He was doing wonders for her productivity.
They talked every night while he was in California. The time difference worked out perfectly. He’d call her when he got home from work at around eight his time, eleven hers. They’d talk for a couple of hours, and when he went to sleep, she’d stay up late writing.
The book she wrote during that time was, in her opinion, the best one she’d ever written, and she was sure Chace had a lot to do with that. Every time she’d hang up the phone, electricity would be zinging through her body, and her stomach would have those butterflies you got when you had a crush on someone. She was able to channel that into her writing. She’d never been a night writer, but during that time, it was what felt natural.
Still, she knew there was more than a chance that it would be different when they finally got together. It was an internet relationship. No matter how good their chemistry was on the phone, it didn’t guarantee there would be chemistry in person. She loved his laugh, loved his voice, loved the jokes he told, and the way he spoke about politics and sports and movies. But that was much different than being in someone’s presence, seeing the way they moved, the way they held themselves, how they looked when they were thinking about something or the way their hand felt when they held yours.
Of course, she spent her days and nights writing romance novels. She was conditioned to believe in happy endings, that there was a person out there for everyone.
But part of the reason she loved writing books where everything always worked out was because she knew it didn’t usually happen that way.
When Chace got back from California a couple of weeks later, he wanted to hang out immediately. She agreed, mostly because the anticipation had been building for so long she kind of just wanted to get it over with.
She spent way too much money on a pair of Seven Jeans and a cute, off the shoulder sweater that dipped down in front and showed off her cleavage. She got her hair highlighted, bought new shoes, and even went for a pedicure.
He’d given her a choice of what she wanted to do, had offered to take her out to dinner or cook for her at his place. She’d picked his place, mostly because she thought she’d be more relaxed at his apartment than in some fancy restaurant where she had to worry about things like which fork to use. And something about the idea of him cooking for her was extremely sexy.
When she got to his building, her heart was beating so hard she didn’t know if she’d be able to hear anything over the sound of it. She buzzed his apartment and waited, smoothing her palms against her jeans.
“Hello?” His voice came over the intercom, the same sexy voice that had spent all those hours with her on the phone, only this time, he sounded closer. The thought of him being in the same building as her sent nervous excitement running through her body.
“It’s me,” she said. “I’m here.”
“Hey, Inspiration,” Chace said, “I’ll be right down.”
The sixty seconds it took for him to come downstairs felt like the longest minute of her life. There was a mirror hanging in the lobby, and she kept fussing with her hair, pulling it over her shoulders, arranging it, wanting it to be perfect for the first moment he saw her.
When the elevator doors finally opened and he stepped off, her breath caught.
He’d been gorgeous in the picture, but it was nothing compared to how he looked in person. He moved with a confident ease as he got off the elevator, smiling when he saw her.
“It’s you,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, breathless. “It’s me.”
He hugged her, and she felt tiny against him. She could feel the strength of his chest through the sweater he was wearing. He smelled like a musky cologne, and she inhaled the scent.
When he pulled back, he looked at her for a moment. Attraction passed between them, so strong you could almost hear it crackle in the air.
“God,” he said, shaking his head. “I just.. I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I know,” she said. She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s awesome,” he said. “Wow.” He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how pretty you are.”
She flushed then, and her heart twisted in relief. She’d been afraid she wouldn’t be enough for him, that he would be disappointed when he saw her, when she wasn’t just a voice the phone.
He cooked her dinner, chicken parm with rigatoni, warm ciabatta rolls brushed with olive oil, and red wine. She was careful to have only one glass, not wanting the night to be marred by some kind of alcohol-induced weirdness.
He had one glass as well, and by the time dinner was over, the awkwardness had melted away, and Lindsay was shocked to find that she didn’t feel self-conscious at all.
She wasn’t worried that her laugh was too loud, or how she should sit to make sure he didn’t notice her jeans were a little tight, or if she had tomato sauce on her face.
It was actually the opposite. She felt like she could be herself, didn’t have to worry about anything. It was exactly as it had been on the phone.
Until they were done eating dinner. She’d insisted on helping clean up, and they’d just finished loading the dishwasher and were standing in Chace’s kitchen.
Suddenly, she became hyper aware of his physical presence. Obviously she’d always been aware of it – they’d spent the last two hours together. But now that she didn’t have food or her initial nervousness to distract her, the electricity was back full force, that same feeling she’d had when she’d first seen him downstairs. Butterflies were swarming around in her stomach, somersaulting and diving and making her feel tingly all over.
“So,” he said, leaning back against the counter and giving her the once over. She felt his eyes lingering on her body, and he grinned, like he liked what he saw. “What do you want to do now?”
What she wanted was for him to kiss her, to peel off all her clothes until she was completely naked, and then make love to her right here on the kitchen floor.
“I don’t… I mean, it’s getting late.” It was a canned response, something she’d taught herself to say at the end of dates, just in case the guy was looking for an excuse to get rid of her. She’d watched enough movies and heard enough horror stories about girls who hung around long after their welcome to know sometimes you had to put it out there to make sure you weren’t being an annoying hanger.
Chace glanced at the clock. “It’s only ten o’
clock,” he said.
“Yeah, well…” She couldn’t speak. No man had ever had this kind of effect on her, no man had ever made her feel this way. The attraction between them sparked through the room. Did he feel it?
He took a step closer, putting his arms on either side of her hips, gripping the counter behind her, essentially trapping her.
“So I guess you’re leaving then?” he asked, his eyes on hers. His voice was low and sexy, the voice he sometimes got on the phone when it was getting late and he was tired, the voice she’d fantasized about whispering into her ear.
“I should probably, yes,” she said. It was a nonsensical sentence. Every nerve ending in her body was on high alert, every sense was at its peak. She tried to memorize every line of his face, the cut of his jaw, the dark smoothness of his eyes, the tiny little scar he had on his forehead.
“You sure?” He was teasing her, knew damn well she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Because I bought some dessert.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He took another step forward, and now his body was pressed against hers. “But if you have to go…”
“Well,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be rude. If you bought dessert and everything.” Her heart was beating almost out of her chest, and she knew he could hear it. His body was too close to hers, and it was completely quiet in the kitchen.
He took his hand and put it on her heart. “Nervous?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Liar.” He grinned, but didn’t move, just stayed there, a half smile on his face, watching her, waiting to see who was going to blink first.
Lindsay kept her gaze on his. His hand was still over her heart, and his touch was making her hot and heady.
He slid his fingers over her skin slowly, until his hand was on the back of her neck, right on the soft spot behind her ear. The gesture, even though so small, was the most erotic thing Lindsay had ever felt.
He pulled her head toward his, until there was just a sliver of space separating their lips. Lindsay closed her eyes and waited for the kiss. He made her wait a second longer than was necessary, causing the anticipation to burn so bright she felt her knees go weak.
