NerdsareFreaksToo

by Koko Brown

  Still, no matter how much she tried to rationalize it, Roxanne knew she was only fooling herself. This plan was ridiculous. She wanted Leo.

  A self-described emotional eater, she picked up a bag of complementary pretzels and tore into them. Almost immediately, the salty snack eased her frazzled nerves—which lasted exactly half the bag.

  No matter how she sliced and diced the situation, there was only one way to assuage her conscience.

  “Leonidas Papadopoulos, you’ve ruined me for anyone else!” Roxanne crumpled the bag in one hand as she reached for the dress and boots she had on earlier. If she hurried, she could be long gone before Constantine paid his taxi driver.

  Once dressed, Roxanne picked up a piece of the hotel’s complimentary stationary and scribbled a quick note of apology. After leaving it on one of the bed pillows, she slipped on her trench coat, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  Her room was located all the way down the very long hall from the stairwell. Located at the north end of the hall, the stairs would have given her the best exit to avoid any kind of potential confrontation. But even if she made it unnoticed, she still had to navigate twelve floors—in four-inch heels.

  Tugging on her earlobe, Roxanne weighed her options. “I’ll just take my chances with the elevator.”

  She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pair of large, dark sunglasses. Sliding them on, she popped the collar of her trench coat. Satisfied with her makeshift disguise, she poked her head into the hallway. Greeted with an empty corridor, she breathed a sigh of relief. With her belongings in one hand, her other clutching the lapels of her coat, Roxanne stepped into the hallway.

  Going from zero to sixty in point-four seconds, she hustled toward the elevators. Skidding to a halt, she punched the down button, barely giving any notice to the ornate, scrolling floral artwork etched into the brass doors.

  “Just my luck,” Roxanne hissed. One of the elevators was on the way down from the twenty-second floor, the other coming up from the lobby. If Constantine happened to be on the ascending elevator, Roxanne figured she had a fifty-fifty chance of making a clean getaway.

  “Come on, come on,” she encouraged, willing the descending elevator to move faster. Her guardian angels must have heard her, because both elevators stopped—one floor above and one floor below.

  Seconds stretched into an eternity while both elevators lingered on their respective floors. She leaned forward and listened—muffled laughter and the rumble of luggage drifting from above; silence below.

  To make sure the descending elevator stopped on her floor, Roxanne pressed the down button again. As she dropped her hand, the top button lit up and the light above the ascending elevator went dark.

  Roxanne shuffled backward, her stomach dropping faster than the Raging Bull at Six Flags Chicago.

  Roxanne knew she couldn’t make it to the stairs if her life depended on it. And the ice machine room was near her suite, also too far. She’d made use of it earlier to chill the bottle of champagne now resting at the bottom of her overnight bag.

  The elevator bell dinged, snatching her chances of a quick escape like an open umbrella in a wind gust.

  Inching farther away, Roxanne could see the elevator operator when the doors parted—and a partial view of another man’s body. Just a shoulder, arm and leg, impeccably dressed in a black suit, the cuff of a white dress shirt peeking from the jacket. She didn’t dare crane her neck to see his face.

  Roxanne gulped. Constantine!

  “Twelfth floor, sir,” the elevator operator announced, while Roxanne deliberated over a course of action. With few options, she dropped her purse. Since she carried everything except her kitchen sink in the vintage Valentino hobo bag, it would be a decent distraction.

  “Oh my,” she gasped loudly. Even though only a few items tumbled out around her feet, it was better than nothing. She dropped to her knees. “I am just a butterfingers today.”

  She fumbled with a tube of lipstick while Constantine’s feet hesitated on the threshold of the elevator. Wondering why he’d stopped, Roxanne peeked over the top of her sunglasses—and her jaw dropped.

  Light gray eyes, dark hair and an olive complexion reminded her of a young Mel Gibson, circa Mad Max, before all the drinking binges and anti-Semitic jokes.

  “We don’t need another hero,” she whispered, unable to pull her eyes away. She watched him reach inside his trouser pocket and pull a twenty dollar bill from a silver money clip. He tried to give it to the elevator operator, but the attendant waved him off.

  “No tips, sir. Hotel policy. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you, I’m aiming to.” Constantine stepped off the elevator, snapping Roxanne out of her trance.

  Returning to the task at hand, Roxanne threw the rest of her things back into her purse.

  “You missed something, miss.”

  Roxanne froze, her fist palming a half-eaten roll of breath mints. She refused to look up even as he crouched next to her. Instead, she concentrated on his black Gucci loafers.

  Not only was Constantine a good tipper, he was a Good Samaritan with big feet.

  “Thanks.” Roxanne came to her feet the same time one elevator closed and the other opened. Keeping her head down, she took the eye-brightener pencil from him, noting his long, tapered fingers.

  Roxanne gulped. Handsome. Tall. Big Feet. Long fingers. He was definitely her type.

  And yet in spite of all these positives, he had one glaring strike against him.

  He wasn’t Leo.

  And he wasn’t the one who’d stirred up the little butterflies now fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

  Confident in her heart’s choice, Roxanne turned toward the open elevator.

  “Here, let me hold the elevator for you.” Constantine rushed forward and stopped the elevator door with his hand. As she passed, she caught a whiff of his cologne. Undoubtedly expensive, the scent tickled her nose and teased her libido with a seductive mixture of bergamot and clover. Roxanne hesitated only slightly. There was no better panty-dropping inducement than a good-smelling man.

  When his hand slipped from the door, Roxanne suddenly remembered her manners and turned around. “Thank you, Constantine,” she breathed.

  Roxanne immediately groaned at her slip-up.

  “Any day, gorgeous,” he replied automatically, but then his gray eyes narrowed. “Wait—”

  The rest of his sentence was cut off by the closing elevator doors.

  “You were ready, weren’t you, miss?” the elevator operator asked.

  Noting the attendant’s slight smirk, Roxanne nodded.

  Despite the six-foot-plus temptation, there was nothing here for her.

  * * * * *

  Borrowing heavily from early 19th-century Art Nouveau architecture, the Dorset Hotel was lavish and well deserving of its countless accolades. The gas-lit lobby was five stories high, half a block long and topped by a glass dome with intricate ironwork similar to a spider’s web. Cream Italian marble covered the floors, and the walls, like all those in the guestrooms, were wallpapered with iris-patterned damask in antique gold.

  Unfortunately, Roxanne didn’t have time to appreciate any of it. Once out of the elevator, she hustled across the lobby toward the hotel’s revolving door.

  “Can I get you a cab, miss?” Roxanne nodded at the valet dressed in full uniform and white gloves. “Where are you headed?” he asked as he walked her to the curb.

  “West Confidential Street in Old Town, please.”

  The valet flagged the first cab in the queue, a late-model Volvo. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, miss,” he offered, stepping forward to open the door for her.

  Considering her life could change forever after tonight, Roxanne rehearsed her, “I’ve been a fool and, oh yeah, I’m madly in love with you” speech during the drive. “You don’t have anything to worry about,” Roxanne reassured herself. If Leo still had feelings for her, and if he wasn’t really trying to rekindle thing
s with Vicky

  Roxanne suddenly felt lightheaded and queasy.

  Wound up and battling self-doubt, Roxanne didn’t realize she’d reached her destination until the driver smacked the meter. “Time’s money, lady,” he barked. “The fare’s six and a quarter.”

  Roxanne fished in her purse for the fare then climbed out of the cab and came face-to-face with the three-story mansion she’d helped Leo pick out three years ago.

  For Roxanne, the six-bedroom mini mansion had been love at first sight. Leo, on the other hand, hadn’t been as smitten. If it were up to him, he would’ve remained in his small, one-bedroom apartment the size of a potato chip bag. He’d only given in because his six-hundred-square-foot rental overlooking Wacker Drive hadn’t been conducive to entertaining his ever-expanding client list, nor was it saving him from an ever-growing tax liability.

  Spread out over four levels, the limestone and brick home had been custom built, but only eighty-percent completed before the owner found herself in the middle of a bitter divorce.

  Leo finished the construction, outfitting the place with a few extras not included in the original design, such as voice-activated lighting, a steam room, piped-in audio and Wi-Fi in every room. He’d allowed Roxanne to make it homier, and she’d helped him create a chef’s kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, selected Brazilian cherry hardwood flooring and picked out practically all the furnishings.

  He’d drawn the line at art, however, claiming it should be a purely personal undertaking. Leo had opted for sepia-toned photographs of graffiti ripped from the walls of Chicago’s grittiest neighborhoods. Having grown up in Chicago’s Juneway Jungle, he’d commissioned the pieces to remind himself how far he’d come.

  Smiling fondly at the memory of the expression on the photographer’s face when given the assignment, Roxanne bounded up the front steps two at a time. Halfway up, her steps slowed. One light burned in the downstairs office; the only other shining above the front stoop. The half-moon outdoor chandelier illuminated oak doors adorned with a pair of lion heads. Another of Roxanne’s personal touches; a nod to Leo’s name.

  Even though she had a key, Roxanne opted for the doorbell. After several heart-wrenching moments and punching the doorbell repeatedly with no answer, Roxanne’s mind went into overdrive. Was he with Vicky at the moment? We’re they officially back together? And when the hell had it happened, anyway? God! She just bet they were in there right now…

  Needing to confirm her suspicions, Roxanne rummaged in her purse for the key.

  “You are in no way a stalker,” she reassured herself as the key turned in her hand. “You’re only going in to peek around.”

  Once inside, Roxanne hurried across the foyer to the chirping security system. Using the four-digit code Leo had given her, she disengaged the system.

  As she stepped back, she was suddenly shoved up against the wall.

  Chapter Six

  “I wasn’t breaking in! I was just returning your—”

  Roxanne’s words tumbled to a dead end. Something cold and wet nuzzled the inside of her hand. Looking down, she met the familiar hazel eyes of Leo’s chocolate Labrador retriever, Spiro.

  Flooded with relief, Roxanne sank to her knees and welcomed the two-year-old dog’s full-tongue greeting. “Hey there, big boy,” she cooed, scratching his large, floppy ears. “Where were you when I rang earlier?” Roxanne looked down at his wet paws. The doorbell must have summoned him from the dog run out back.

  “I miss you too.” And she meant it. Roxanne hadn’t gotten a pet of her own because Spiro has always filled that need.

  “So where’s your daddy?” Hearing the word “daddy”, Spiro’s ears perked up. “He’s not here, is he, sweetie?” Spiro hugged up against her hip as she stood, her gaze zeroing in on the foyer closet. Diagonal to the front door, the huge closet had been converted into a glorified mud room that allowed people to sit down to remove boots and coats. Leo’s favorite overcoat was slung over the doorknob, as if he’d hastily changed his mind about wearing it. Unable to help herself, Roxanne walked over.

  Probably in a rush for an oh so important date with Sticky Vicky, Roxanne thought, fingering the coat’s navy-blue wool. Batting back tears, she lifted the coat and folded it over her arm. She bent her head to rub her cheek against the slightly abrasive material and inhaled.

  Great! Not only am I a stalker, I’m a coat sniffer as well.

  Faint traces of heat clung to the coat’s lining, and his signature scent lingered like an intoxicating invitation. Roxanne leaned against the closet door for support. What she wouldn’t give to have his arms wrapped around her right now.

  Roxanne sidled over to the window. The street was as barren and devoid of activity as when she’d arrived. Knowing she was operating on borrowed time, she donned his coat, slipping it over her own.

  The garment swallowed her whole. The sleeves dangled past her fingertips and the hem brushed her ankles. None of this should have surprised her since Leo stood almost a foot above her own five-six. Still, she was struck by the difference, and the effect was staggering.

  All these years she’d emasculated her best friend, never looked at him as a man. Even the Adonis flirting with her inside the sex shop hadn’t seemed real. But the simple act of wearing his coat brought everything into perspective, made the man he’d become more tangible. The thought gave her a natural buzz.

  Speaking of buzz, Roxanne felt the familiar vibration of her cell phone. Praying it was Leo, she dove inside her purse.

  “Constantine,” she whispered, recognizing his number.

  Constantine: Cold feet?

  Roxanne pulled on her earlobe. She didn’t need this right now. Still, he deserved more of an explanation than the quick note she’d penned in haste.

  Roxanne: I didn’t want to waste your time.

  Constantine: How’s that?

  Roxanne hesitated. Her love for Leo was so new she found it difficult to put it into words. She decided on straight and to the point. She owed Constantine that much for leading him on and then standing him up.

  Roxanne: I’m in love with someone else.

  His reply was a long time coming and then her phone beeped.

  Constantine: Really?

  Roxanne: It sort of hit me by surprise.

  Broadsided me like a rush-hour bus.

  Constantine: 2 bad it wasn’t me.

  Roxanne’s gut twisted with guilt. In the short time she’d known Constantine, she’d actually come to like him.

  Roxanne: I’m sorry. You’re a super nice guy who’ll make some girl very happy one day.

  Constantine: U2. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man. Take care.

  Roxanne: Bye…

  Roxanne flipped her phone shut and dropped it back into her purse. Shelving her current game plan, she took off Leo’s coat and draped it back on the doorknob. After giving Spiro one more scratch behind the ear and resetting the house alarm, she slipped onto the front stoop and locked the door behind her.

  Unsure of her next course of action, Roxanne remained rooted just outside the door. In the stillness of a cold Chicago evening, all the night noises seemed magnified. She could hear the metallic screech of CTA’s elevated train several blocks away, the blaring squall of an ambulance siren and the slam of a closing car door. She was so caught up in her silent reverie, she didn’t notice the taxi cab ambling down the block until it rolled to a stop in front of the house.

  “At least something has worked out in my favor.” Roxanne bounded down the steps, intending to snag the taxi. Before she could reach for the handle, the back door swung open. She stepped aside to avoid being broadsided by a carnation-pink Let Them Eat Cake bakery box and a pair of broad shoulders.

  Leo must’ve been just as surprised to see her, because he stared down at her like she’d grown two heads. Neither his expression nor his body language gave her any indication as to whether he was happy to see Roxanne and her two heads or not.

  Roxanne eyed the bakery box
in his hand and her heart almost skipped a beat. Leo’s sweet tooth went into overdrive whenever he was depressed or lonely. Had things soured between him and Sticky Vicky already?

  Unable to keep her hands to herself, she clutched his arm and stepped forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Hey, Leo.”

  “Roxanne,” he replied flatly.

  Where was the sexy-on-a-stick from Kandy’s House of Kink? Roxanne’s ego would’ve nosedived if she hadn’t caught the way his eyes lingered on her lips for a split second before they skittered away to some point over her head.

  “Coming from a hot date?” Roxanne knew she was being nosy, but she didn’t care. She needed to know if she still had competition.

  His gaze swung back to meet hers and he cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes narrowing. “She was a no-show. What are you doing here?”

  Ruffled by his impersonal tone, Roxanne found herself stuttering, “I-I…” She licked her parched lips before continuing. “I guess you wouldn’t believe I was simply in the neighborhood?”

  Leo shook his head. “Not when you live across town, and not in those boots.” Roxanne bit the inside of her right cheek. “What brings you to my ’hood?”

  “I wanted to—”

  “Hold that thought, I need to pay the driver.” Leo fished in his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill, handing it to the driver. “Keep the change.”

  That was a good sign, wasn’t it? He could’ve sent her packing in the cab.

  Once they were alone, Leo turned back around. He gazed down at her for what seemed like an eternity and then quirked his head toward the house. In silence, Roxanne followed him up the stairs and inside. She didn’t utter a word as he greeted Spiro. She didn’t make a sound while he picked up his mail from the foyer floor. And she stood quietly beside him when he flipped through it slowly before tossing it and his house keys into a Greek Sarpedon bowl atop the hall table.

  After a short walk past the front office and spiral staircase leading to the three top floors, they ended up in his favorite room—the kitchen. Upon entering, he walked over to the room’s centerpiece, a tall butcher-block table, and set the bakery box down.