by K. Webster
I’m drawn to Tori Larkin, with her pit-bull exterior and fragile, fragmented interior that she so fiercely protects. As if on cue, I watch her walls click and lock into place while she chases her moment of weakness away.
She’s not getting off that easy.
“You know what you need?” I say with a quirked brow.
Her fingers push against my chest and she staggers away from me. Straitening her back, she wipes the last of her tears away and scrunches her brows at me. “What?”
“A depression dog.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t do animals. Or people for that matter. Now please, do me a favor and mark my attendance so I can make my boss happy, but I’d really prefer to leave if it’s okay with you.”
I chuckle. “I wasn’t talking about a puppy. I was talking about food. I’ll let you leave, but you have to have dinner with me. Have you never eaten a depression dog?”
When she frowns at me, I laugh. “Tori, you’re missing out. A Chicago-style hot dog. Mustard, tomatoes, relish…pickle? Come on, woman. Have you no local culture?”
“I don’t eat hot dogs,” she groans. “And, I’m quite cultured, I can assure you.”
“Well,” I say, tossing her a smug grin, “too bad. I’m hungry and you want to leave. Let’s kill two birds with one stone and make the both of us happy.”
She grimaces as if the word sours her stomach. “I don’t do happy.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I pin her with a firm stare and seize her wrist with my hand. “Well, Tori, its high passed time that you do. Let’s go eat. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Chase sticks his head back into the room and excuses us, his warm hand still enveloping mine, causing little tingles where our skin is pressed together. Then he practically drags me out of the building and down the sidewalk in front of the downtown community center. We cross under the L and stop at a small hot dog vendor at the edge of Grant Park. Irritation is giving way to full-blown anger again as the wind off the lake begins to whip my hair around. I try desperately to smooth it back into place, but I know it’s no use. I even used that extra layer of hairspray I’d forgotten a few days ago.
Chase orders two dogs with the works and I wrinkle my nose at the mess wrapped in foil the vendor hands over. He gives the guy money and I tamp down my instinct to not let anyone do anything for me. If he’s going to force me to eat that, he can damn well pay for it. Jackass.
His arm loops through mine, applying pressure to keep ahold of me when I try to pull away and walks us over to the big, exquisite fountain, with the wide rim used like a park bench by the pedestrians milling around. He sits and tugs me down next to him, passing me one of the dogs. I unwrap it gingerly, as though any minute it’s going to jump out and bite me.
“Come on, Tori. Just give it a chance. It’ll melt some of your worries away. I promise.” His chocolate brown eyes take on the look of a puppy dog, the stylish, black-rimmed glasses framing them. I fight back a small smile, determined not to let him get to me.
“Fine.” I sigh long and loud, then bring the treat to my lips and inhale the savory smell of the beef. Holy hell. I’d forgotten how that scent alone could make my mouth water. Taking a bite, I suppress another sigh of bliss, but I’m not able to keep myself from closing my eyes and reveling in the taste of my childhood.
When I was young, my father would pull me out of school a couple of times a year and bring me to the city. We’d ride the metro from the suburbs and spend the day exploring. Just us. Sometimes, we visited a museum or went to a musical, the zoo, Navy Pier, all of the places a tourist should hit and many of which natives never take the time to enjoy. They are some of my most treasured memories, and I know it would have been the same for Ben and Sarah. That thought brings my reverie to a screeching halt.
My eyes open and I glance over to see Chase staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar, and an odd look on his beautiful face. And, damn, this guy is fucking gorgeous. When I first spied him upon my entrance to group, I was struck speechless for a moment. My stomach clenching at the god sitting in a stupid, plastic chair. When I could think again, I stalked over to sit by him, figuring he was in the same boat as me, attending under duress. His dark brown hair flopped over his forehead a little messy in a way that said he was constantly running his fingers through it. His glasses, somewhere between preppy and nerd, were perched on his straight nose, accentuating his high cheek bones, full lips, and velvety brown eyes, with dark lashes that I completely coveted. As if that stunning face wasn’t enough, he wore a blue, long sleeve, Henley thermal, with the top two buttons undone, exposing the cords of his neck—since when is a neck sexy?—and the fabric tugging slightly over his defined chest and arms. His long, jean-clad legs extended out far in front of him, his height making a mockery of the small, tan chair.
To make matters completely worse, when he finally stood to start class—the jerk—I got an eye full of the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something, considering the amount of athletes I represent. His now slightly open mouth highlights a row of straight white teeth. Is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy as fuck? When he notices my returned stare, a smile breaks out on his face and a—Oh shit, I’m so screwed—dimple pops out on his left cheek. To my surprise, heat starts to burn low in my belly and I shift uncomfortably at the signs of physical attraction that are somewhat foreign to me after all of these years. Guilt suffuses me. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Isn’t that a betrayal to Ben?
“You haven’t truly enjoyed anything in a long time, have you?” Chase’s soft voice breaks the connection. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sexy expression on a woman’s face. Maybe that’s stepping over the line.” An adorable pink tinges his cheeks. “But I get the feeling that stepping into your space is the only way to pull you out of it.”
I squirm a little at the way he’s looking so deeply into my eyes, praying that he isn’t seeing into my soul. I don’t want anyone to see how broken I am. I straighten my spine and give him an icy glare, “You can step wherever you want… that doesn’t mean you’re going to get anywhere.”
I don’t get the reaction I’m expecting. His smile widens and he winks at me, continuing to melt my frozen exterior one icicle at a time. “We’ll see,” he whispers.
I’m so done with this. I change the subject and go back to munching on my snack. “What is it you do, when you’re not giving hapless people a false sense of hope in finding closure, of course?” My arrow hits the intended target, and a brief look of annoyance flashes in his eyes. Instead of triumph, I feel sad that I wiped the smile off of his face.
“I’m a professor at UC.”
“Go, Maroons,” I quip, mockingly, but without any bite.
His brows raise in surprise. “You’re an alum?”
I nod, taking another bite of the messy goodness. One bite left, I sigh internally, disappointed that my moment is almost over. “UC law? Impressive,” he states.
I frown, I don’t like talking about myself, “What do you teach?”
“Evolution and Economics of Human Behavior.”
I suppress a groan. Great, the guy is practically a shrink.
“Leading the grief group came pretty naturally, especially since it helped me so much when I was in the same boat. Still am sometimes, I guess.”
Another bit of me defrosts. I wonder who he lost, but I’m trying not to care, so I don’t ask. I take my last bite of heaven and ball up my trash, then wipe my hands down with a wet nap, before checking to make sure my clothes are still spotless.
“Why divorce law, Tori?”
I make a frustrated noise. “It’s Victoria, and I think we’ve had enough analyzing for the day. Don’t you?”
Chase laughs, and the sound is contagious, causing a small smile to turn my lips up before I can suppress it. He grabs my hand and when I tug lightly to pull away, he squeezes it gently. “This wasn’t analyzing, Tori. It was simply getting to
know you. I’m not your teacher or your therapist, but I’d very much like to be your friend, and I think you need one desperately.”
He clearly hasn’t gotten to know me.
“I don’t have friends. I don’t need anybody. I’ve done just fine on my own for nearly ten years now. It works for me.”
Chase squeezes my hand again. “Does it?”
He lets go, then stands and offers me his hand to help me up. I take it because it’s the lady-like thing to do, but am shocked when he pulls me in for another embrace and speaks quietly in my ear, “Are you really living, Tori? I think you’ve been hiding and it’s time for you to live. They would want that for you, you know.”
I don’t respond. I want to lash out in anger, but I’m consumed with sorrow, leaving little room for the resentment I’m trying to cling to.
Would they? Would they want me to go on without them, as though they never were?
Stepping out of his embrace, I nod, giving him the impression that I agree. Like before, his probing eyes study me and I get the impression that I haven’t fooled him in the least.
“Well,” I say awkwardly, “I’ll, um, see you next week.”
I start to pull away, but he tightens his arms just a fraction, and shivers—those damn shivers—race down my spine.
“Have lunch with me this week.”
I shake my head vehemently, afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll agree. It seems like Chase could make me feel things, and I don’t like to feel anything.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to spend time with me? The ice queen?” He raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.
I’m a grown woman, not a child who can’t refuse a dare. I open my mouth to tell him this, “Fine.”
What? My inner self screeches. Shit. I knew if I opened my mouth…
“Great!” Chase beams at me. “How about Wednesday?”
I run through my calendar in my head.
“The only time I have is on Tuesday.”
Chase’s face falls suddenly, a frown marring the perfection, looking over my shoulder and into the distance. His arms drop and he is no longer holding me. I feel a sense of loss and loneliness steal over me. He shakes his head, swallowing hard, and returns his gaze to mine, stopping the movement when they connect.
“Okay, Tuesday it is. I’ll meet you at your office at noon.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot, over thinking what it would look like if I left my office with a guy. Would it revoke my membership in the bitch club? Or make my co-workers think I’m approachable? I stop and roll my eyes at my train of thought. Since when do I care what people think? It’s not like they have the power to hurt me. “All right. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Noon. See you then.”
Chase is back to beaming at me and I am transfixed by the expression for several moments. I’m struck even more when I feel a return smile sliding across my face. It’s an odd stretch on the muscles. Has it been that long since I used them?
He walks me back to the center, and as if my world wasn’t already tilting on its axis, it begins to spin when Chase quickly hauls me back into his arms and places a soft kiss on my cheek before abruptly letting go.
“Tuesday,” he winks and strolls off down the sidewalk.
I spend most of Sunday cleaning my house from top to bottom, the mindless work keeping me from second-guessing my decision to have lunch with Chase. In the late afternoon, I shower and get ready to make my weekly sojourn into the past. For the most part, this trip is why I still have a car. It’s not like I use it to go to my childhood home frequently, or at all if I can help it.
Grabbing my keys and a light sweater, I trudge down to the garage and get into my blue Prius and head east to the town where I grew up. I pull off the freeway and drive the quiet streets to the Meadowland Cemetery. The plots are in the section on the left, so I turn and park on the side of the street, then reach back to get the little something I brought. The sound of the car door closing echoes in the silence, a cloud of melancholy shades the wide open spaces.
Three rows down, two rows over, the third plot in. I stop in front of a marble, gray headstone and the smaller one just beside it. There is a third plot, just waiting for me, on the other side of my little Sarah. As I do every week, I wish fervently that I could have my yesterday back, and if not, I wish that they had filled all three spots that day. There are small bouquets of flowers in front of each stone, as there are most weeks, and I dip to lay my lavender roses on the grass in front of Ben, and sweet purple daisies for my little girl.
“I miss you both, so much it hurts.”
I’ve long since stopped crying, but today there is a crack in the dam and the floodgates threaten to open. I’m confused. I sit at their feet and wonder at what they are thinking. Are they living somewhere? Can they see me?
“Am I living, baby girl? How can I when you never got the chance?”
Nothing but silence whispers on the breeze. “I could never replace either of you, so what am I thinking letting that man get in my head?”
Again, no answer.
I sigh and stand, brushing the blades of grass from my ratty jeans. Sunday is the only day I let my hair down—figuratively speaking, but at least it’s in a messy ponytail—and dress as though I don’t have a permanent stick up my ass. I blow them both kisses and with a heavy heart, I start the walk back to my car. My heart thuds hard for a moment so I look back. I miss them every day, but for the first time in ten years, I’m walking away from their graves without a crushing sense of guilt.
Ever since Saturday, I’ve had one thing on my mind.
Her.
Tori “Call Me Victoria” Larkin.
Despite her desire to keep me at arm’s length, I simply couldn’t settle for that. In fact, my dumb ass refused to stop touching her like some sort of creepy stalker. Her scent is permanently etched into my brain and I’m already craving more. Not just her scent, but her mouth—fuck me—her mouth is an entity in and of itself. Perfect, pouty lips that are chewing my head off one minute, and the next quivering in an attempt to hold it all together.
I want to kiss those angry lips.
But I want to kiss the sad ones too. To fix her. To make it all better.
As I roll up to the front of her building, I’m pleased to see it has valet. A couple of workers dressed in uniform whistle at my ride as I pull up to the attendant station. The male starts to head for my driver’s side window, but the red-headed chick pushes past him. I mash the button and the window rolls down to which she sticks her head in. Upon seeing me, her green eyes widen and she flashes me a flirtatious grin.
“Sweet ride, mister.”
I tilt up the corners of my lips and give her a smug smile. “Sure is, Red. Do you think you could just hold my car for ten minutes? I’ll be right back.”
Her smile falters as she flicks her gaze over to the guy in the kiosk. “I don’t know. It’s against the rules to leave the cars here.”
I feign disappointment and she frowns. “Well…” I hand her a twenty dollar bill, “Maybe you could ask your boss over there?”
She reaches for the bill but I don’t let go. Her freckled cheeks blaze to nearly the color of her bright red hair. “No, I, uh,” she stammers, “We can make an exception this one time.”
I reward her with a huge grin and nod. “Thanks, Red.”
When she moves out of the way, I climb out of my baby and accept the ticket from her. Then, I stride into the lobby. It’s already two minutes after noon, and when I scan the area, I don’t see Tori anywhere. Strolling over to the panel by the elevators, I note that Abbott and Taft is on the forty-fifth floor.
The ride up gives me time to check my appearance over in the brass reflection on the back wall. My hair is a big fucking mess—but I styled it that way, so it’s okay. Behind me, a woman in a suit watches me from the corner of her eye as I check myself out. I wink at her and nearly chuckle aloud when she gasps and diverts her attention elsewhere. By the time I’ve made it to To
ri’s floor, the woman has stepped off onto another floor, leaving me to enter the lion’s den alone.
As soon as I step into the pretentious offices of Abbott and Taft, I know I was accurate in calling it the lion’s den. A stiff, powerful vibe courses through the air, almost rendering me immobile. Pushing past the awkward, out-of-place feeling I have at being in such a sterile workplace, I stride over to the receptionist and beam at her.
She drops her phone into the cradle and her cheeks redden. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to see Tori, er, Victoria Larkin. We have a date,” I tell her point blank.
The alpha lioness is whom I’m stalking.
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, I see. Um, let me, um,” she stutters while fumbling over her phone before punching in a few numbers, “…ring for her assistant, Stacey.”
A few minutes later, a woman in her late thirties in a cheap suit which doesn’t compare to the casual threads Tori donned on Saturday regards me with a confused look.
“Can I help you? I’m Stacey Cantrell, Ms. Larkin’s assistant.”
I saunter over to her and hold out my hand. “Chase Monroe. I’m taking Tori to lunch.”
Her eyes dart back and forth as she shakes my hand, horror painting her features. “Oh, my. I see,” she mutters. “I didn’t see you on her schedule. If I missed it, she won’t be pleased with me. Please, follow me over to my desk and I’ll double check.”
I follow the woman who now walks on wobbly legs and her hands tremor beside her. Jesus, is Tori the fucking she-devil around here?
“Now, if you’ll hold just a moment, let me check the calendar,” she rushes out in exasperation.
I nod and lean over her desk picking up an “urgent notice.”
Ms. Larkin, please call your mother about the rehearsal dinner next Saturday night. She needs to know if you’ll be attending so she can RSVP.
Yanking a pen from the cup, I scribble out a message on the paper, earning me a horrified stare from Stacey.
