by Ana Novak
“You’re only wearing a sweater,” I pointed out. “You should get inside, too.”
“I will, just as soon as you’re safe.”
Aw. “That’s…nice of you,” I said, and sighed before stopping and turning to him. I didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already were. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m taking the subway home.”
“The nearest subway entrance is three blocks away.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
He paused, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “Can I walk you?” he asked finally.
I couldn’t help but smile. “The whole idea of leaving the cafe was to get away from the guy who attracts the paparazzi.”
“The guy who attracts the paparazzi isn’t going to give up,” he said with an arrogant smirk. “Humor me for three blocks.”
He was so striking when he smiled that it nearly took my breath away. “Oh, all right,” I said, looking down at my feet and hoping that I wasn’t blushing. “But don’t blame me if you catch pneumonia.”
“I’ll risk it.”
We started walking.
There was a pause then, and I bit my lip, thinking of all the things I had wanted to say to him over the past year and a half. I’d thought of him often, and sometimes wondered if he ever thought of me, or if maybe I was imagining the connection between us that had seemed so tangible during the only night we’d spent together.
“What brought you back to New York?” Shane asked, breaking the silence.
I wondered if he knew where I’d been hiding out, but decided that was unlikely. “I’m here for a wedding. Not mine,” I added, a little too quickly. “I’m a bridesmaid. My book tour starts here in a couple of months anyway, so I thought I’d come early and help out as much as I can.”
“Book tour,” Shane repeated. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“I guess.”
“When you said you had an agent, I thought you were a musician,” Shane mused, and I knew he was remembering the morning that Dave had interrupted our conversation on the sidewalk.
“I am. A musician, I mean.”
“I remember you saying that, too.” Shane shook his head. “I feel like a lot of what was said got mixed up that day.”
I stared at my feet as we walked. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Another pause.
“So you’re a musician,” he said. “What do you play?”
“Piano, mostly, and some guitar.”
“Do you sing?”
“Yes.”
“Ever thought about recording?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I could never live that life. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what? The recording? The touring?”
“All of it, really, but mostly just the fans. I know I’m sort of a micro-celebrity now, but nobody recognizes me. I can still hang out with my friends and go to the store and have a normal life. You can’t even order coffee without someone taking your picture. Isn’t that awful for you?”
“Only when my date runs out on me afterward,” he said.
“I’m sure that doesn’t happen all that often.”
“You’re pretty much the only woman always running away from me,” Shane agreed, and I laughed despite myself.
“And you keep chasing after me, so what does that say about you?”
“It says one night wasn’t enough for me,” he replied immediately, and my cheeks heated. It was dawning on me that whatever had transpired between us before, Shane certainly wasn’t letting it stop him from pursuing me now.
“I’m really sorry about what happened in front of the hotel,” I said, stopping and turning to face him. “That was just…the worst. I had no idea who you were and I really had no idea that Dave would be there. If I’d known the two of you worked together, I swear I would never have-”
“I know, Taylor. It’s okay.”
“Is it, though? I mean, it looks really bad. I caught my husband kissing his boss and immediately hooked up with his co-worker. I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now.”
“You said it already. You didn’t know.”
I started walking again. “But that doesn’t make it look any better.”
“Who’s looking?” he said from beside me, exasperated. “I feel bad that I walked away without letting you explain. And you went through hell after that, with the video going viral and the paparazzi stalking you. I should be the one apologizing.”
I sighed and stared up at him, still arrested by the perfection of his lips, still dying to run my fingers through his dark hair and trace the line of his cheekbones. I was stone sober, but I felt drunk just looking at him. “I’m still sorry,” I said, and faced forward again, grateful I hadn’t run into a pole or tripped over a fire hydrant while I was ogling him. “Not just for what happened that morning, but for not texting you back afterwards.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I changed my number,” I offered.
“I know that, too. I tried to call you when you didn’t answer my texts.”
“Sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“Right. Sorry. I mean-” I rolled my eyes. “I’m being ridiculous. I just wanted to apologize, and I’ve done that, and I guess it’s done and over with.”
“I know a way you can make it up to me,” Shane said, and when I looked over at him, I could see that he was highly amused by how flustered I was.
“Oh, really? What is that?”
“You can stop by a show for a new band I’m producing.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket. “What’s your number? I’ll text you the invite.”
A little dazed, I recited my number for him, and he typed it into his phone. A moment later, my phone vibrated, and I took it out of my purse, examining the flyer he’d forwarded to me.
“J85? Oh, the old Sarantino warehouse. Is that a club now?”
“For about a year now.”
“It’s in Greenpoint. That’s not too far from where I live.” Did I sound too eager? I tried to make my tone more nonchalant. “What’s the band’s name?”
“Zajicak.” He pronounced it “Zie-check.” “You’d like them. They’re kind of a throwback to the turn of the millennium, when nu metal was in.”
“Oh, I miss nu metal,” I said, feeling way more excited than I had any right to. “I’m surprised you would produce for a nu metal band. Wasn’t UnAlive more alternative?”
“I wasn’t the only writer in the band,” he said pointedly. “I can produce the music I want now.”
“Is that why you left? Creative differences?” We were at the subway stairs now, and I descended without thinking about whether or not he would follow.
He did. “No. I was going through some personal issues. It was affecting my work. I didn’t want to do something when my heart wasn’t in it anymore.”
We made it to the turnstiles, and I pulled out my transportation card. “Thanks for making sure I walked three blocks safely,” I said jokingly. I leaned up against the metal column, and Shane stopped in front of me, looking dangerously sexy without even trying.
“Thanks for the company.” He held up his phone. “And your number.”
“Was this all an elaborate scheme so you could add me to your drunk text list?” I demanded, mock-enraged.
“I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” He grinned and leaned closer, and for one breathless moment, I thought he might be about to kiss me. I didn’t close my eyes, simply stood rigidly, staring up at him as he leaned in, his gaze locked with mine.
Then the moment was over, and he straightened up. “I’ll see you later, Taylor.”
He turned and walked away, retracing his steps up the stairs, and I stared after him, slack-jawed. When it finally dawned one me that he wasn’t coming back, I cursed and spun, sliding my card at the turnstile as I shoved my way through.
/> I stomped onto the subway and found a seat, where I immediately texted Mel and Mistral.
You won’t believe who I just ran into.
Chapter 5
The man coming through the revolving door gave me an appreciative look as I approached. It was a look that I knew would be followed by conversation if I offered him any kind of acknowledgment. Instead, I ducked my head and pushed through the door to the sidewalk outside.
Mel and Mistral’s makeover had been more than effective in catching the attention of the opposite sex. I hadn’t minded so much initially, but now that I’d seen Shane again, he was all I could think about. He hadn’t texted since the other day, but my mind had already conjured up a dozen different scenarios involving how I could “accidentally” bump into him again.
“You’re obsessed,” I said out loud, pulling my phone out to check the location of my Uber. “Pathetically obsessed.”
But then I remembered the way his tongue had felt in my mouth, and the ensuing jolt of warmth through my lower body made my pathetic obsession seem…not so pathetic.
I was still flushed when I arrived at Mel’s dress fitting, having spent the entire Uber ride trying not to think about Shane naked and failing miserably. I accepted a glass of champagne from a pale young man and seated myself next to Mistral. She was completely immersed in her phone and didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
“Setting up a hot date?” I teased, setting my purse down on the chair beside me.
“Candy Crush,” she said, not looking at me.
“Underwhelming,” I replied, and rolled my eyes. “Did you try on your dress already?”
“Yep. They’re altering it. My boobs were squashed. Yours probably will be, too.”
“Most New York designers are not kind to women with curves,” I agreed. “I guess Christian Siriano wasn’t available.”
That got her attention. Mistral sat up straighter, dropping her phone into her Michael Kors bag. “I would kill for a Siriano dress. Did you see-“
“Christina Hendricks’ dress last week? Oh my god, yes.”
“She was pure sex in red satin.”
“I know! And red for a redhead, I mean, that’s bold, but…“
Mel opened the door to her dressing room then, and I stopped talking. As usual, she was absolutely stunning, in a gown with a form-fitting lace bodice and a full skirt. Her sleeves at the wrist were a deep purple, which gradually faded into white at her elbow, and the same ombre effect was at the base of her skirt.
“You look amazing,” I said with total sincerity.
“Kate Middleton meets Gwen Stefani,” Mistral observed. “I like it.”
“How is your waist so tiny?” I demanded. “I could starve myself for months and I would never get down to that size.”
“How are your norks so big?” Mel shot back. “We all make sacrifices.”
There was a surprised pause before Mistral and I dissolved into fits of laughter. “What- oh my god- what the fuck are norks?” Mistral gasped. “Is that Aussie for boobs?”
“You could buy boobs if you wanted to,” I told Mel in between giggles, setting my champagne flute on the side table so I wouldn’t spill anything. “No plastic surgeon on the planet can give me a twenty-inch waist.”
Mel sighed patiently, the lone source of logic in the midst of chaos. “Why would you want one? I don’t. The smallest I’ve ever been is twenty-two.”
That only made us laugh harder. “Only- only twenty-two inches,” Mistral sputtered. “Oh, the suffering you must endure.”
I shook my head, giggling. “I like food too much for that. The twenty-two inch waist train has done passed me by.”
Mistral gave me a high five. “You said it, girlfriend.”
Mel cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but I believe this is a dress fitting, not a debate about beauty standards. Taylor, you still haven’t tried on your dress.”
“She’s in maternal mode,” I said to Mistral, and coughed into the crook of my arm, trying my damnedest to maintain a straight face. “Things are getting serious.”
“Better not push our luck, Tay. She’s about to go all Mama Archer on us.”
Mel sighed again. “Girls. Honestly.”
“No need to get your norks in a twist, girlie.” Mistral stood and motioned for me to follow her into the dressing room.
“So did you hear anything else from Shane?” Mel asked through the door before adding, “No, I think I want a five-inch heel.” She must have been talking to the pale assistant.
“I haven’t. But he told me about a gig coming up for one of his artists.” I kicked off my pumps and pulled my long-sleeved mini dress over my head, standing there only in my black bra and navy tights. “The thing is, I’m not sure if he was just promoting the label…or if he’s going to be there and wants to hang out.”
“Why would he need to promote Kanesthetix’s label to you?” Mel asked. “To me it sounds more like an excuse to hang out.”
“I don’t think he knows Van and I are related.”
“He at least knows you’re friends. What artist did he want you to see?” Mistral held out the bridesmaid dress to me, and I took it, holding it low so I could step into the skirt.
“Some kind of throwback nu metal band. They’re going to be at the old Sarantino warehouse in Greenpoint tonight.” I pulled the dress up, pushing my arms into the long lace sleeves.
Mistral paused with the zipper midway up my back. “The Sarantino warehouse? You mean J85?”
“J85- right. That’s what the invite said.”
“Oh my god, that club is amazing! Have you been there yet, Mel?”
“No, but I know the owner,” came the reply from outside the dressing room. “He said he has a booth in the VIP area reserved for me whenever I want to stop by. We should go!”
Mistral clapped her hands gleefully. “Girls’ night out!”
“Wait a minute,” I said, struggling to reach around and zip my dress up. “I didn’t say I was going. I’m not even sure he’s going to be there.”
“Who cares if he’s there? There are plenty of other men for you to pick up at J85.”
“I don’t want-“
“Yes, you do,” Mistral and Mel chorused in unison.
Mistral continued, “It’s time for a rebound relationship, girlfriend. When was the last time you had sex?”
I pursed my lips.
The dressing room door swung open. “Not since Shane, yeah?” Mel prompted.
“That is none of your business,” I said primly, holding my top in place with one hand.
“Please. Everything is our business.” Mistral finally reached over to zip up my dress. “Look, it fits.”
I looked in the mirror. It did fit, and I loved it immediately. Where Mel’s dress faded into white, the purple hem of my skirt and wrists of my sleeves faded into a brilliant turquoise. The top was tight, clinging in all the right places, and it flowed out into a gentle, floor-length skirt. I wouldn’t have been so bold with my color choices, but I had to admit that our bridesmaid dresses looked amazing, even with my black bra peeking out from beneath the lace bodice.
“I guess I’ll be shopping alone in the plus size department from now on,” Mistral said wistfully, brushing her fingers down the sides of my bodice. “You may not have a twenty inch waist, Taylor, but your hourglass figure could give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money.”
I blushed as I stared at myself in the mirror. “Maybe we should have a girls’ night. Even if Shane’s not there, it might be fun.”
“Might be?” Mistral said, and her tone was indignant.
“Will be,” I amended.
“We’ll find you someone.” Mel nodded her head, still holding the dressing room door open. “Then you can finally use those handcuffs you bought at my sex toy party all those years ago.”
Mistral smiled, and her mouth quirked wickedly. “The best way to get over one man is to get under another one.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, s
moothing my hands down my skirt. The last time she’d said that to me, I’d ended up having the most incredible sex of my life with Shane. But that had been over a year ago, and it had been two days since he’d texted me. Maybe Mistral was right and I needed to stop obsessing over a guy I barely knew.
“Mel?” I said suddenly. “You think they have anything here that I could wear to the club?”
Mel grinned. “Now that’s more like it. Anton!” she called, and the assistant popped up like a jack-in-the-box.
Mel motioned in my direction. “We’re going out, and she needs a dress.”
If possible, he turned an even whiter shade of pale. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, backing away and nearly tripping over an ornate silver wastebasket.
“Why is he so nervous?” I hissed at Mistral once he was out of hearing range. “He acts like one of us is going to jump him any second.”
“I might,” she said, and leaned out the doorway of the dressing room to watch him hurry away. “He’s giving me a kind of Robert Pattinson vibe with that pasty skin. I wonder if he sparkles in the sunlight.”
“There is something horribly wrong with you,” Mel said.
“I agree,” I said, thinking about Shane’s tanned complexion. “Who goes for pale guys? Or younger guys?”
“Well, excuse me, but we don’t all have hot rockstars dangling from our fingertips,” Mistral said, making a show of examining her flawlessly manicured nails. “Maybe if I take a year’s sabbatical on the west coast, I’ll come back with some of your mojo.”
“Some mojo. Shane hasn’t talked to me in two days,” I said. “Mel, shut the door so I can change.”
Just then my phone whistled from my purse, announcing that I’d received a text message.
Mel, Mistral, and I looked at each other, eyes wide, before Mel spun and made a grab for the purse.
“Wait!” I shrieked, tripping over my skirt as I tried to rush toward her. “It could be from anyone-“
“It’s him!” Mistral interrupted, forcing her way out the dressing room door in front of me. “Nobody ever texts you except us!”
“Van texts me!” I said, and promptly tripped again, falling to my knees on the plush carpet. “Damn it! This stupid dress!”
