“You hate surprises, too,” I remembered.
His smile went crooked, a little sad. “Well, yeah—what we come from, surprises were never good ones.”
Inexpressibly moved by this, I laid a hand on his cheek, kissing him long and soft and sweet. “Thank you,” I said, not at all sure then what I was thanking him for. Thank you for the incredible orgasm. Thank you for understanding that I can’t stay tonight. Thank you for seeing me and liking me anyway.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, as if he heard all I didn’t say aloud. “I’m calling you a Lyft ride to get home.”
“Oh, you don’t need—”
He had his phone in hand, thumbs flying. Like something out of a magazine ad, shirtless and barefoot, wearing jeans and a snazzy, if rumpled haircut. “Already done.” He smiled at me. “Can I see you tomorrow night—or do I have to wait for Friday?”
Tomorrow night. I had promised to get drunk with Ice, but… “Are you serious about meeting my friends?”
He sobered, and looked delighted at the same time. “Your found family? Yes, I’d love to.”
“It’s Ice’s last exam and we plan to get liquored up—are you okay with that? We’ll just stay in. PJs and streaming old Christmas shows.”
“I can do that. Maybe I should be in charge of takeout, to mitigate the alcohol.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Seven? Give me your phone.”
Bemused, he passcoded it and handed it to me. I found my number—which he hadn’t saved with my name—and sighed. I added my contact info and handed it back. “This is where normal people keep information. If you click on the address, it will even give you directions to get there. Like magic.”
“Magic, huh? Sounds dangerous. What if an evil wizard casts a spell on my phone and it loses everything—how will I find you again?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”
He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me in for a long, deep drugging kiss that fogged my mind. Dimly I heard the ping informing us that the Lyft driver waited outside, which gave me five minutes to get down there. Reluctantly, I pulled away. Smarter not to stay the night, but now I was sorry.
“Possible,” Jon said to me. “Moving into probable.”
* * *
“Will you hate me if I say I invited someone to the party tonight?” I asked a bleary-eyed Ice. I set a mug of specially brewed tea in front of her. “Drink all of this. Will improve alertness and brain activity, while easing stress.”
She eyed it dubiously. Still in her robe, she had at least washed her hair, though she had it in a somewhat severe braid down her back, a counterpoint to the lavish colors and embroidery of the Ritu Kumar design. “Can it get me a passing grade?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly. “Plus it’s yummy.” I rinsed out the teapot for my own blend—mostly soothing and warming components. For all that I’d gotten short sleep, my run had felt great and I was curiously revved.
“Who?” she asked. “I hope not that fucker Brad,” she clarified when I looked up in puzzlement.
“No! God, no.” I gave an exaggerated shudder. “Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know. Who else have you met already? All week you’ve been moping around, nursing a broken heart, and now there’s some new guy you like enough to bring here.”
“How do you know it’s a guy?”
She studied me over her tea. “I can tell. You look all… shiny.”
I laughed. “Sweat. I haven’t taken a shower yet. And he’s an old friend. From high school.”
The mug thunked against the table and she sat up straight, all bleariness gone, dark eyes snapping with alertness. “High school—Wildwood Academy?”
“That’s where I went to school, yes,” I said with extra patience.
“The place you never talk about. Where you had not one single friend you’ve ever mentioned in all the years I’ve known you.”
“Surely that’s an exaggeration.” The timer pinged and I set the drainer on the teapot, then added a bit of hot water from the kettle to my mug, to warm it up and not shock the tea.
Ice was slowly shaking her head. “It’s not—and I have a memory for details. You go to that reunion party every year and never say anything before or after. I mean, you went to school in this city and you have no friends other than us.”
“Not true, I—”
She held up an elegant brown finger. “I mean from before college.”
“Fine. Whatever. But Jon is my friend from back then and we reconnected at the reunion party last week, and here I am, mentioning him, and asking if you mind if he comes over for a drink or two tonight. He said he could bring takeout.”
She widened her eyes. “When did you have this conversation?”
“Why does that matter?”
“It sounds… cozy. Like pillow talk.”
My tea had drained and I needed a moment, so I took my mug to the geranium in the window and dumped the hot water into it. Then poured myself tea, set the pot on the warmer, and finally leaned my butt against the counter, meeting Ice’s knowing gaze. “I have no earthly idea how you think an offer of takeout sounds like pillow talk.”
“Ha!” She slammed a palm on the table. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not.” Because her dark gaze had me skewered, I admitted, “There were no pillows involved.”
“Omigod. You did another guy. An ‘old friend.’ Tell me. Tell me everything.” She patted the padded bench of the breakfast nook in a preemptory rattle.
“You have exams.”
“Fuck ’em. If I don’t know the material now, it’s too late. “Sit. Spill.”
“I have to get in the shower and—”
“Ohhhh no, honey. You are not escaping. If you try, then tonight I’ll embarrass you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would—and you know I can. I’ll tell him about the time we went to the Sig Ep Halloween party and you dressed up as—”
I stopped her with the hand. “There’s no photographic evidence of that.”
“That you know of. And you’re blushing now. You white girls with your fair skin—you’ll verify it with that.”
“That’s just mean.” I poured more tea and sat. “Quick and dirty.”
“Just how I like it.”
“Heh. You would.” I filled her in. “So I know I owe a penalty, even though I didn’t have actual intercourse. Sex is sex. I don’t know why I did it when the points make no sense.”
“Fuck the points, too. You look happy today,” she observed. “So, no regrets.”
“No.” I felt… almost bubbly. Excited. Full of Christmas spirit, even. “I am happy,” I agreed, almost with surprise. Good surprise.
She patted my arm. “I won’t tell about the points.” She picked up the teaspoon, waved it in the air, then tapped me on the head. “There, as a Rules founder, I absolve you and bless your further shenanigans.”
Bemused—and oddly reassured by her actions—I only asked, “Why?”
“Listen,” she said, suddenly completely serious, “I think sometimes Charley and I did a wrong thing by bringing you all in on the Rules, for carrying them on this far. They were a silly invention on a hungover Sunday morning when we both had major regrets about the previous night’s hookups.”
“They’re not silly—I use them all the time. We all do.”
“I know! And look where that led you, thinking you wanted to marry Brad and nearly walking away from Jon. There’s clearly something fucked up there.”
“But I don’t know that either of those were the right choices,” I complained. “I told Brad no when I was supposed to say yes, and I don’t know if this … thing with Jon is good or just me being on the rebound and needing the comfort. Really, he’s just a friend.”
“Honey, first of all, there are no right choices, so get over that. Second, you said no because your heart spoke the truth, even when your head didn’t know. And third, you found comfort�
��again, despite your head—with a guy who’s waited for you for a third of his life. Who forgave you for ghosting him. Who offers to bring take out so you and your friend won’t get too sick from drinking. Sounds to me like you’re doing just fine with your decisions—because you’re happy. Sure sign.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“Pretty sure it’s this awesome brain tea.”
~ 18 ~
In the early afternoon, Jon texted me. Seriously: texted.
Pizza, BBQ or Thai food? For how many?
Very tempted to mess with him, I decided that I didn’t want to discourage this behavior, so I played it straight. I replied simply: Thai please! For 3
No one else could make it. Charley and Damien were in the same show, so Marcia and Daniel had made plans to go see it. Julie was working at the restaurant.
Any dietary restrictions/preferences? Wine pairing considerations?
LOL! No
See you at seven.
K! And I added a heart. Which I did on a lot of texts, so it didn’t mean anything. Not really. But my phone buzzed again in my hand just as I was setting it down.
Less than three? Does that mean, not for three?
OMG, I’m going to enable your emoji keyboard, you Luddite
A long pause. Okay, I’m confused.
It’s a heart, you dork – look at it sideways
Another pause, so long this time I began to worry I’d offended him. Then:
sqrt[(x-c)**2 + y**2] + sqrt[(x+c)**2 + y**2] = 2a of the <3
I squinted at the incomprehensible equation for a long series of seconds. Zero clue what that was supposed to be. OK I’ll bite – what the hell does that mean? At first I wrote ‘WTH,’ but I backed up and spelled it out.
He’d been waiting, because the three dots of him typing popped up immediately. It’s a total ellipse of the heart.
I actually groaned out loud. Only you could combine extreme math geek with 80s schlock, I texted back.
He replied with an actual gif, of Conan O’Brien bowing.
Who is helping you??? I texted with furious speed.
He only sent back an angel emoticon. Emoji keyboard enabled, apparently.
* * *
Jon arrived at ten after seven, bearing fragrantly steaming tote bags. Instead of the beaver stocking cap, he wore a Santa hat. “Ho ho ho!” he boomed in a convincing bass when I opened the door. “Have you been a good little girl?”
“I can’t even with you,” I told him, holding the door wide. “But come in. Stuff can go on the dining table there.”
“Wow, this is a great house. Classic Arts and Crafts.” He set the bags next to Julie’s menorah. Hanukkah had finished the night before, so all the candles had been lit and melted down into blue puddles of wax on the paper doily beneath. “That’s pretty, too.”
“Julie’s,” I explained. “As for the house, it belongs to my aunt.”
“Your Aunt Katie? I remember her. She used to visit you at Wildwood.”
“That’s right.” I regarded him, bemused as always by the things he knew about me. “She lets us rent the place for way less than she could get on the fair market.”
“She always wanted to do what she could to help you out.” He nodded seriously. “I’m glad she’s still there for you.”
“In spirit, anyway—she moved to Florida. Had enough of Chicago winters. Speaking of, you can hang up your coat and that ridiculous hat, on the coat rack there.”
“I love this hat. It’s festive.” But he shrugged out of the big parka.
“I love the hat, too,” Ice declared, coming down the stairs. “Don’t listen to Amy. She’s a killjoy when it comes to these things. I’m Ice.” She held out a long-fingered hand, looking Jon up and down, and giving him a sultry bat of her lashes. She’d taken her braid down so her hair floated in a rippling cloud to her waist, making her look like a Klimt painting. Irrationally, I experienced a stab of jealousy. What the hell?
“Jon,” he replied with a grin, letting her hold his hand. “Great to meet you. Any friend of Amy’s.”
“Is that right?” she purred, then glanced at me. “I like this one.”
“He’s not part of the takeout. Down, girl.”
“Smells delicious.” She smiled at Jon. “Want to help me unpack it all while Amy changes clothes?”
“Sure,” he agreed easily.
“Wait—why am I changing clothes?”
“You’re overdressed, honey.” Ice gestured to her yoga pants and oversized flannel shirt, then Jon’s thermal and sweatpants. “It’s PJ night. Even your old friend Jon got the memo.”
“I happen to be happy with what I’m wearing.” I felt unreasonably stubborn, though I had planned to change out of my work clothes. I’d only just walked in, however, having stayed late to put out all kinds of fires. Nothing like having only one day left to finish out the ten thousand things. I blamed the stupid jealousy. I didn’t want to leave them alone together.
“What if you spill Thai food on your fancy white blouse?” Ice asked, raising her eyebrows. “It might never come out.”
Damn her for knowing exactly how to get to me. Now I’d obsess about it.
“I’ll keep Jon company for you,” she cooed, slipping her arm through his.
“Not too much company.” I narrowed my eyes threateningly at her and she widened hers in corresponding innocence.
“Oh, are you two an item, then?” she asked, gleeful in her troublemaking.
“No,” I replied.
“Yes,” said Jon at the same time.
Ice started laughing and finally let go of him. “I’m cheered up already. Take him with you then, and I’ll mix the hot buttered rum.” She sashayed into the kitchen, sensuous hips swinging.
“I’ll only be a moment,” I said, but Jon followed me when I started up the stairs, and I decided it would be churlish to tell him to stay downstairs. And dangerous, given Ice’s mischievous mood.
“Hot buttered rum, huh?” he asked.
“We decided to go with a seasonal treat, at least to start. Then we can switch to beer or wine, whichever you prefer. I’ve given up counting calories for the duration.”
“Not like you need to,” he commented, and I felt sure he was looking at my ass. I checked over my shoulder and he yanked his gaze up, grinning unrepentantly. He should look silly in the stupid Santa hat, not charmingly sexy.
“Behave,” I told him.
“Always,” he countered as he took in my room when I turned on the bedside light, then crossed to get the standing lamp in the corner. My little Christmas tree had come on automatically with the timer, glowing in pristine elegance on the table by the window.
I had what was technically the master bedroom, since it was my aunt Katie’s house and the others had all voted that was fair. Not that it was all that much bigger than the others. It looked out over the street with big windows in their wide wooden frames, and had room for my king-sized bed along with the interesting chests and tables I’d picked up at various estate and yard sales and refinished. I went to the antique dresser and extracted some thick socks, yoga pants and a soft slate-blue boat neck top that both brought out my eyes and made my breasts look bigger.
Jon studied the photos on the wall. “Your photography has gotten even better.”
“How do you know they’re mine?”
He shrugged a little, hands on hips. I tried not to notice how the soft drape of his sweat pants emphasized his fine ass. “I recognize your eye. Something about how you see the world.” He tapped the glass of one. “And I remember when you took this one.”
I came up beside him, studying the sailboat silhouetted against a gray and stormy sky. “Lake Michigan in the rain. Could have been anytime in the last few years.”
“But it wasn’t.” He slipped an arm around my waist and I found myself leaning against his solid warmth, my arms full of clothes. “It was Easter Sunday and we took the L down to Navy Pier even though it was raining, because we both had spr
ing fever. But everything was closed so we walked along the lake shore, dodging the waves, and you took pictures.”
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember everything,” he said softly, then touched my cheek, coaxing me to turn my head. He kissed me, long and soft—and I remembered that day. How I’d been full of longing for something unnamable, restless and not knowing why. Jon had talked me into the excursion and I’d felt better for it. Something about that sailboat, out in the rain and rough water, always spoke to me. Not smart of whoever it had been. Also bold, and somehow intrepid. Though I looked at that photo every day—and, really, stopped seeing it, the way you do with familiar things—I hadn’t remembered Jon being there.
“And I forget everything,” I breathed when he stopped.
“Not everything,” he answered, gesturing at the photos. “This is like a shrine to everything good about living in this city.”
“Hmm.” I took in the various photos, many of them from the architectural boat tour, all of Chicago, each reflecting something of what inspired me in the lines of the buildings, the lake, and all the shades of gray.
“No fair disappearing for sex yet!” Ice yelled up the stairs. “You can spend all night doing that after you get me drunk.”
Jon grinned at me. “Am I staying the night?”
“I haven’t decided.”
His smile only widened. “Promising. I brought my toothbrush, just in case.”
“Of course you did. Go away so I can change clothes.”
“Need help?”
“No,” I said decisively.
“I’ve already seen most of you.”
“Don’t push,” I warned him, and he held up his hands in that gesture of surrender.
“Okay, okay.” Then he slipped in and kissed me again, harder this time, holding me against him and thoroughly taking me under until a sound of need escaped me. “Better,” he decided, dropping a kiss on my nose.
“That was not pushing?”
“I’m looking for the right balance to the equation,” he replied, very seriously. “Just enough acceleration to keep the momentum, so you won’t find a way to dig in and shut me out again, but not so much that you go careening out of my reach.”
Missed Connections Box Set Page 36
