Chasing Zoe

by Mia Barrett

  I don’t believe she hates me. No way. She’s just angry. I know I fucked up, but I’ll make her understand I never meant to upset her.

  Her place isn’t far. With a heavy stride, I pound down the cobblestone streets, ignore cross-lights and nearly crash into a dachshund that refuses to move out of my way. Turning the corner towards her street, I see a car parked outside her building. A Rolls Royce. My heart sputters with fear.

  Fair enough, she lives in an expensive place. It could be for anyone.

  I take a few steps more and that’s when I see him. Fucking Gus Gallagher. The most pretentious asshole in the industry. The piece of shit who always steals the best scripts from right under my nose. My chest tightens. I know they’re friends, but I didn’t think they were this close.

  What the hell is that bastard doing at Zoe’s place this early in the morning?

  Freezing in place a block away, I watch him stride towards the car rolling a large suitcase and carrying a smaller bag, both pink, clearly not his. He hands them off to his driver and seconds later, Zoe follows giggling as she struts in high-heel boots, rushing to catch up. He wags his finger, scolding her for lagging behind and then slaps her ass as she jumps into the backseat.

  I clutch my chest as it constricts, choking my heart and squeezing the air out of my lungs. What the hell am I seeing? Was I replaced this fast? Doesn’t she love me? Did she ever love me? Are they together?

  He’s leaving with her. That lowlife bastard is leaving with my Zoe!

  I can’t move. I can’t feel my legs. My pulse quickens as nausea sets in. This is my worst nightmare. How could I be so stupid? Zoe is one of the most beautiful women in the world. How could I think we could take things slow? Men were probably marking the days off their calendar, waiting for her to turn eighteen. I had a year to move my ass and make her mine, but I sat around, and let Gus do what he does best.

  Take shit that doesn’t belong to him.

  Something moves me. Love. Adrenaline. Madness. All three push me to put one foot in front of the other and march forward.

  “Zoe!” I scream, using the palms of my hands to amplify my voice. “Zoe!”

  Neither hear. Gus jumps in the back seat, slams the door and the car pulls away from the curb.

  A deep pain sets into my heart. It’s unfathomable. Unbearable. Tears well as I watch her leave with another man. I can’t stop them.

  She’s mine. She’s supposed to be mine.

  When the car comes to a light, I stare at the back window, willing her to turn. Using powers I don’t possess to make her look back. Hoping for one moment she’ll see me here, and know I’ve come for her.

  Please see me.

  The light turns green. The car drives away. As it speeds off, I think... I’m almost sure... I saw her face.

  She saw me.

  Chapter 8

  Zoe

  “He was there. We should have stopped.” I huff, scolding Gus while I settle into the car. It’s a forty-five-minute drive to the airport in Paris traffic and an eight-and-a-half-hour flight to New York. How am I supposed to make it through such a long day after seeing him stare at me drive off? I can’t shake the look on Ivan’s face out of my mind.

  Beautiful, stupid Ivan.

  He scoffs. “I told you he’d show up. He has this coming. He sat around for hours while you cried your eyes out. Why did he wait until now? And you owe me twenty dollars.”

  “I didn’t bet! What if I ruined everything? You were at my place early in the morning. The middle of the night! We were leaving with luggage. What if he saw you slap my ass? Good god! He might think you and I are together. What if he thinks I got some revenge sex? Do men think those things?”

  Gus’s eyes grow cold. Dead. Expressionless. “Little girl, if I chose to let you use me, I’d rock your world. But I wouldn’t because your bony little ass does nothing for me. Frankly, I’d break you.”

  I stifle a laugh. “It is not bony! You’d kill to get your hands on this voluptuous ass. Men write songs about this ass. And you’re not bigger than Ivan. He’s all muscle.”

  He gasps. “That was not a song. That was an ad lib by buskers in the Metro. And the fuck I’m not. I’m certain I’m a whole suit size bigger.” He pushes me.

  “If Ivan wants you, make him fight for you. I guarantee you, he is shitting himself right now. He hates me. The thought of you and I together will drive him out of his fucking mind. He could have had you. He could have been cock deep in Zoe for the last year.”

  “Gross!”

  “Grow up. You know you’ll be thinking about it all the way to New York.” He reclines and chuckles to himself.

  “What do you think he rushed over to say at 3:30 in the morning? Huh?” He mutters casually as he glances out the window. “I doubt it was work-related. He seemed pretty desperate to say something important. Something personal.”

  My heart swells, but I won’t put too much thought into it right now. Enough fantasies.

  “Maybe, all of this is for nothing. Maybe, this is my fault. What if he can’t get past our age difference? What if I’m trying to seduce a man who still pictures me in rompers?” I sigh, clutch my heart and lean into his shoulder.

  “You met when you were twelve. Not six. I don’t think he sees you as a kid. I’ve seen him stare at your non-existent ass.” He pets my head, awkwardly attempting to comfort me.

  I punch his ribs. “Stop saying that! My ass is hot and you know it. You’re going to give me a complex.”

  “He’ll be at Lila’s for Thanksgiving lunch. We can’t miss it.” Gus casually changes the subject, using something advantageous for him as a disguise to help me. I don’t know why he can’t just say he cares. But he’s always been this way. It’s easier to look like an opportunist jerk than a caring person.

  “No. I’ve got my parent’s thing.” I shrug and play it cool. Everyone goes to Lila’s. It’s the best part of Thanksgiving. This is where we get our energy to make it through dinner with our parents. Her place on Central Park South looks down on the parade route. So, while we cook and drink, we act like kids cheering on Kermit, Snoopy and Santa. I wouldn’t miss it. He knows I won’t miss it and I almost forgot, neither will Ivan.

  “Why do you do this? You know you’re going. If we go together, and leave him guessing, maybe he’ll stop being so flaky. I’ll even go to your parents for dinner and make it a full day of gluttony. Besides, I think Lila needs some motivation too. I know she likes me.” He laughs at himself.

  “You may be right.”

  “What? About Lila?” His head spins with hope.

  I shake my head and cringe at the thought. “No! About Ivan. But I hate playing games.”

  “That’s the problem with people like you. You’re too good. You think if you’re sweet and honest everyone will be that way with you too and it’s all bullshit. Games are played with or without you. I’m not telling you to be someone else. I’m telling you to light a fire under his ass. Okay?” He pushes me like an older brother, bullying me into compliance.

  I exhale with sadness, hanging my head over my lap. “Okay. But don’t make an ass of me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” His brow knits.

  “Inadvertently. You could.”

  “Never. I’d throw myself on the grenade. Trust me and don’t get ahead of yourself. Play it cool for fuck’s sake.”

  Chapter 9

  Ivan

  Every year, actress Lila Sinclair holds a small get-together at her sprawling penthouse apartment overlooking the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade route. It’s a limited head count. Everyone wants to be invited. I only made the list two years ago. But Zoe’s been on the list since she was fifteen. They’re close. Unfortunately, so is Gus. I know they’ll be there. Together? Will they show together? Are they together? Would she have gone to dinner with me wearing that dress if she and he were a couple?

  I don’t care if they are. This lunch is the highlight of Thanksgiving. I’m not missing it. Fuck them.

&nbs
p; No, fuck him.

  Every time I put feelers out about screenplays I want to do, he steals them from right under my nose. He does it proudly. He shouldn’t expect any less from me. If she is with him, they couldn’t have been together long.

  This won’t be my finest moment. Normally, I would never take or partake of someone that doesn’t belong to me. But this is a special case. I don’t owe that jackass any loyalty. Besides, I hate him. I hate him almost as much as I love her. He doesn’t deserve her. I can’t live in a world where Gus Gallagher winds up with the only woman I’ve ever truly loved. That could be my breaking point. Especially if I did this to myself. Especially, if she loved me first and I drove her into his arms.

  That’s too much. That might be the tipping point that drives me insane. I can’t watch them for years knowing I had a chance to bust it up and did nothing. I won’t even suggest that it’s something that could last forever.

  No sense putting that shit out in the universe.

  Shaking my head, I cover my face with my sweaty hands and exhale sharply. My chest tightens. All I want to do is tell her how I feel. I should have said it earlier. Who the hell was I to decide for both of us? I made all these future plans without consulting her. Without knowing how she truly felt. It didn’t have to be so complicated. I should have just said, “Cute outfit. Let’s go to dinner. And oh yeah, I fucking love you.”

  But I can make it right. There’s no way she loves Gus. She’s just trying to piss me off.

  And it’s working.

  The timer chimes, and I pull the pans out of the oven. Lila’s luncheon is a potluck. This evolved years before my initial invitation. It used to be fancier, but it slowly transformed into a ruthless competition for the best dish. Everyone signs up for something. Their specialty. And people take it fucking seriously. If it looks too good, and you’re not known for being a cook, you get accused of ordering it from a restaurant. But if it sucks and no one eats your contribution, it’s humiliating.

  I’ve been practicing my muffin recipe for weeks. Can you believe that? Last year, my cranberry sauce was a big hit, but someone beat me to it and signed up for it this year. No way am I doing a repeat of my first year’s green bean casserole. Only two people partook and I’m pretty sure I saw some of it in the trash. Two months ago, I found a recipe for a cranberry, walnut, cheese stuffing set into a muffin-size serving. Other than Zoe, this has been my obsession for the last few weeks and I think they’ve come out perfectly this time. Nice and golden. Just the right amount of cheese.

  I break out the Tupperware, a recent purchase for just this occasion, and head out, hoping I arrive at Lila’s before Zoe. Darting downstairs in full winter gear, I run up the street and fight like hell to hold tight to my muffins. I’m two blocks from the station, but the streets are jammed with tourists lined up since late last night to catch a glimpse of the parade. If you grow up in the city, you’re used to crowds. Tourists are everywhere. They’re here every damn day. But this is the worst day of the year in New York.

  It’s fucking chaos.

  I jump on a train headed for Columbus Circle and get off on the first stop. It’s early. The parade has just kicked off. I can hear it in the distance, but it won’t reach us yet. When I arrive at Lila’s building, the doorman checks me off the list and I dash inside, sliding into the elevator, winded and flushed.

  Please let me be here first. Don’t let her see me carrying muffins in Tupperware.

  Nope. I’m one of the last to arrive. Coffee, tea, mimosas and pastries are passed around while people chit chat, unpack their food and crowd the bay windows to wait for the parade. The place is freezing. In their excitement, guests have opened the windows way ahead of schedule letting frigid air fill the room.

  “Hey assholes, close the windows. It was 18 degrees on the street. How cold do you think it is ten stories off the ground?” Gus Gallagher’s growl breaks the silence. When they don’t move fast enough, he pushes past them, and closes them himself. Without prompt, he adds wood to the fire.

  Lila follows close behind, rubbing her biceps and shivering.

  “Sorry, guys. We’ll open them when the parade gets closer.”

  She looks at me. “You can put that in the kitchen, Ivan. There’s coffee and mimosas ready and chilled.” She smiles and points the way.

  My eyes search the room for Zoe. Nothing. There are couples everywhere. Laughing. Joking. Getting ready for the holidays. This could have been us. If I hadn’t fantasized about blowjobs and kept on task, we might be spending Thanksgiving together. Watching the Macy’s parade. Like a real fucking couple.

  Is she avoiding me? She always makes the best sweet potato casserole. No one signs up for it. Everyone knows its Zoe’s dish. Are we not getting any this year? People wait months for it. Did I ruin everyone else’s Thanksgiving, too?

  She said she never wanted to see me again. Did she really mean it?

  Defeated and dejected, I trudge into the kitchen. I can’t believe she didn’t come. I practiced my lines all night. I didn’t want to mess up and start rambling about movies or waiting another year. Fuck all that.

  Now. We should be together now.

  Goddammit.

  With my dish in my hands, I swing the door open. But it doesn’t open all the way. Instead, it springs back with a loud yelp. When I look around it, I’m face to face with a pair of angry green eyes.

  “Zoe! I’m so sorry.” My voice grates past my clenched throat. I creep in slowly, horrified as I watch her rub her forehead. Without thinking, I reach out to grab her hand, and the muffins tip over.

  “Ivan!” She pulls free, extends her forearms, then squats and catches the Tupperware like she’s just saved a baby falling from a burning building.

  I’m astounded.

  “Jesus! Thank you.” I take them from her, place them on the counter and check her forehead.

  “Are you okay? Was it hard?” I rub the red spot. “Maybe we should put ice on it.”

  “No. I have a hard head. I can take it. What kind of muffins are these?” She opens the plastic and brings one to her nose, avoiding my gaze entirely.

  “It’s stuffing in the shape of a muffin.” I swallow hard, reaching past her to grab a serving dish.

  Say something, damn you.

  “Really? They smell amazing. Can I taste a sliver?” Her voice is seductive. Her eyes hood as she peels off the paper wrapping. Zoe loves food.

  “Will you split it with me?”

  “Sure.”

  Our eyes meet. There’s a muffin between us. I nod and tear it in two.

  She takes it from my hand and licks her lips. I’m not sure what’s come over her. Two days ago, she flipped me off in a Paris restaurant. Five minutes ago, I almost gave her a concussion. But I’m not going to question it. All I want to do is watch her mouth. I hold my piece steady as I gaze at the precise moment the muffin touches those red lips and her shiny white teeth sink in. My heart thunders, choking the breath out of me. I swallow hard, but my mouth is so dry my jaw clenches trying to get the small trickle of saliva down my throat. When I hear her moan with satisfaction, I lurch forward, eager to hear more.

  “Did... did you like... it?” I sound lovesick and needy. But I don’t care.

  She nods and licks her lips. “It’s delicious...so...moist.” Her voice lingers on the word moist.

  “It is?” I take a deep breath.

  “Yes.” She sighs.

  Our eyes meet again and to my surprise she holds my gaze. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, pounding and roaring in my ears until the world falls away and all I see are the black of her eyes, growing wide, taking me in. This is it. I don’t care if that bastard is in the other room.

  I take her hand and a growl rises from my chest to my throat. Her lips part to speak, but I beat her to it.

  “Come with me. We need to talk.”

  Chapter 10

  Zoe

  The bathroom? We’re going to the bathroom?

  In a mad dash, I
van ushers me in, locks the door, and sits me on the long vanity. Leaning forward, he places his hands down next to my hips and stares into my eyes. The air is tense. I’m supposed to be mad. I narrow my eyes, feigning anger, but his gaze is too intense, too loving. I’m lost in the blue.

  “So.” His deep voice is warm honey, oozing over me.

  “So... what’s the meaning of this?” I breathe.

  “You hate me, Zoe?” He raises an eyebrow and comes closer. Our lips are inches apart. The closest they’ve ever been.

  I nod once, blink, then whisper, “Only a little.”

  “Then I need to change that.” I think I hear a low growl as his hand slides up my back and grips the nape of my neck. There’s no time to think. Another hand grasps my waist and slams my chest against his. Our lips crash. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and holy shit, Ivan Pavlenko is kissing me.

  My shoulders slump. My arms wind around his back. My head goes limp, surrendering to this delightful assault on my senses. I’m overwhelmed by his lips, his mouth, his taste and I don’t want him to stop. He’s feasting, groaning, devouring me and I feel it everywhere. Moaning with each flick of his tongue, my body shudders in response. As his hands explore, my body aches and begs for attention. My nipples tighten, my skin prickles and my breath falters, leaving me weak with the nastiest, silkiest, most intoxicating feeling I’ve ever felt. I’m certain I hear music. Trumpets blaring. Drums banging. Saxophones....

  Oh. The parade. It must be close.

  “Zoe, baby. I love you. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner.” His deep voice trembles as his lips trail long, slow kisses down my neck.