by Penny Reid
“Um….” I glanced at Thomas, who was separating his eggs from his sliced tomatoes. He didn’t like his food to touch. “Why don’t we go out for pizza?”
“We always go out for pizza. Besides, you’ve been raving about the butter chicken forever, and next Tuesday is your night to host. We’ll go to dinner. then walk to your place after.”
I didn’t respond right away. For a split second, I worried what Alex might think if I showed up midweek with my knitting posse, just days after our kiss encounter.
But then I realized it didn’t matter what he thought, because nothing was ever likely to happen between us again—and I promptly got over it.
“Sure, that makes sense. And the shrimp korma is also good.”
“Noted. I have to go before Dr. Botstein flies through here on his broom.” Ashley, as was her habit, promptly hung up before we could engage in any gratuitous niceties, like goodbye.
I glanced at the phone and saw that I had three missed calls. Each was from one of my various male friends/former first dates. I set the phone on the table face down and stuffed two more potato wedges in my mouth before reaching for the ketchup and dumping a half-cup on my plate.
“That was one of your knitting friends, I presume.” Thomas’ usual disinterestedness sounded a bit forced, and this snagged my attention.
“Yes. That was Ashley.”
“And how is the knitting group?”
“Fine, thank you.”
Thomas studiously pushed his tomatoes around on his plate. He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t press the issue, but I noted the tips of his ears had shaded a light pink.
Curious, that.
I often spoke to Thomas about my knitting group, so he had a fairly good idea of the personalities of each of the women. This was the first time I had ever noticed him showing an active interest in my knitting. Usually, he listened patiently as I prattled on about our misadventures.
Regardless, he didn’t press me for more information, and we settled into a companionable silence that marked the end of our discussion.
Thomas didn’t like to talk while eating.
CHAPTER 4
Tuesday’s Horoscope: Accept the good that comes your way, but don’t be quick to assume you know the truth behind it.
“SHITZTERHOZEN.”
I was running late.
Even though it was below freezing outside, I was sweating. Jogging in a polar fleece and feather down jacket is the fastest way to pit stains.
“Shitzterhozen!”
A meeting with a—male—work colleague had gone over time. He and I never dated, but he did consider me one of his best friends. I liked him and wanted to help him. Therefore, I was listening and providing gentle encouragement toward self-empowerment as he confided what was troubling him about his girlfriend. He just needed someone to listen, and I was happy to assist.
Usually I was on time or early for our Tuesday night knitting group, so I was sure my tardiness would be forgiven, but I was the one with Marie’s gift and, as such, my lateness would be noticed.
I halted ten feet or so from the entrance to the restaurant and ducked two steps into the alley next to it. While I labored to catch my breath, I tried to stuff Marie’s gift into my jacket without tearing the paper. I hoped that I could sneak it in without her noticing, and wished that I’d developed a hand signal with Ashley that meant Quick! Cause a zany and effective distraction!
All my stuffing efforts were futile. The paper ripped, just a half inch, but it was enough to send me into a frustration-fueled mini-rage.
I huffed, growled, and kicked a pile of nearly frozen snow at the corner of the building.
“SHITZTERHOZEN!” I bellowed into the air and stomped my feet.
“Sandra?”
My head whipped around at the sound of his voice.
Yes—his voice.
Alex stood by the dumpster with two large trash bags dangling from his fists. He wore no coat and was dressed in his signature all black. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, just below his elbows. He looked, as always, mighty fine in a stalwart, dangerous, careless kind of way.
I blinked at him once, then twice. A plan formed in my head.
Alex. Sexy Alex with the heavenly voice and the broad shoulders and the zing-inducing kisses could help me sneak the package into the restaurant.
Huzzah!
“Yes, hi…it’s me—Sandra, the odious shrink.” I jogged to him and held out the package. “And I need your help.”
Alex’s eyes widened as he looked from me to the package. Then they narrowed. “What kind of help?”
I stopped maybe eighteen inches from him, perhaps a bit too close by personal space standards. “You may have noticed a large group of women in there—in the restaurant—loud, laughing, having way too much fun….”
“Yeah…I guess.”
“Good. Those are my friends, and one of us—the blonde one with curly hair, not the blonde one with straight hair—is celebrating something. You see, I have the gift here.” I held out the present. “Would you be so kind as to bring this to our table with dessert?”
He glanced from me to the package. He appeared to be wary of accepting strange packages from older women who yell German obscenities in cold, dark alleyways. “What’s inside?”
“Yarn.”
He lifted a single, disbelieving eyebrow. “Yarn?” he said sardonically, drawing out the word.
“Yes. Yarn. I’ve tracked down a very hard-to-find dye lot of a Madelinetosh worsted weight yarn. She used to have one skein, but it was stuffed in the mouth of a—never mind. Just would you please bring this to the table when the curly blonde-haired woman gets her food?”
He continued to survey me from behind his glasses, his cheeks now tinted red from standing outside in the freezing cold. After a long moment, he sighed and nodded. “Yeah…sure. Just give me a minute to get this trash into the dumpster.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you! I owe you a big one.” I hopped once on my feet and backed up so he could lift the bags. “This is great; I’m so glad I ran into you. Otherwise, I would’ve been the jerk friend who shows up late with the gift. Now, I’ll be the clever friend who sneaks the gift to the waiter.”
His mouth hitched in a crooked grin and he gave me a sidelong glare. Alex wiped his hands on towel sticking out of his pocket and reached for the gift. “Give it to me.”
I gladly handed it over and turned back to the sidewalk, but only managed a few steps before his voice stopped me. “Sandra, when can I expect payment?”
I looked over my shoulder. “Payment?”
He lifted up the wrapped skein of yarn and dipped his head, his breath emerging as a white cloud. “You owe me a big one. When do I collect?”
“Uh…I’ll leave you a big tip.”
He shook his head slowly, as a subtle yet unrepentantly wicked smile settled over his features. “Not good enough.”
My eyes widened and I glanced at the bricks lining the alley, searching for something, anything that he might want. “Um…I have Cubs tickets. They’re pretty good seats.”
He shook his head again. “Nope. That’s not what I want.”
“Well, what do you want?” As much as I loved his voice, now was not the time for a guessing game.
His eyes darkened then lowered to my mouth. It was an unmistakable movement, leisurely, pointed, and shameless. He licked his lips. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
I opened my mouth—or, rather, my mouth fell open in shock. “I….”
Suddenly and inexplicably, I felt shy. His blunt words and attention sent all my nerve endings buzzing. I wanted to hide behind something.
I contemplated the dumpster.
Before I could duck behind it, Alex’s smile widened as his eyes once again lifted to mine; he pinned me with a dark stare. “See you soon,” he said, seemingly completely at ease and quite blatantly pleased with himself.
He strolled into the back door of the restauran
t and left me standing in the center of the alley, a mixture of dazed shyness and confusion.
It took me a good twelve seconds of staring dumbly at the now closed door before I gathered enough of my wits to move. I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and picked my way back to the sidewalk.
He makes no sense, I noted inwardly. He’s slightly hostile and completely guarded, but then he kisses me. He pushes me away, and then he flirts with me because, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, that little exchange right there in the alley by the dumpster—that was flirting.
And Alex the waiter made me feel shy. How terribly inconvenient!
***
MY KNITTING GROUP was seated in the center of the small restaurant, laughing and talking. Three tables had been pushed together to make room for seven seats.
Two chairs were empty.
“Sorry I’m late.” I announced, still a bit dazed as I pulled off my jacket. I claimed the seat between Janie and Fiona.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. The girl just took our drink order, and Marie isn’t even here yet.” Fiona helped me settle my jacket on the back of the chair and gave me a quick wink her elfish eyes. Despite being the smallest in stature, she was our de facto leader, mother hen, and miracle worker. I also considered her something of a soothsayer. She, at least to me, appeared to be wise beyond what was typical or possible in one lifetime. I always followed her advice—always.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Janie spoke from my left. “We ordered a bottle of wine.”
“Just one? That’s fine, but what are you going to drink?”
Janie shook her head at me, and her fiery—naturally red—curls bounced around her face, shoulders, and back. Her hair was almost cartoonish, and could only be described as prolific. “I should clarify; I ordered just one so far. Previous data suggests that we, as a group, can expect to consume between four and twelve more bottles before the night is over. But I didn’t think it prudent to order all of them at once.”
I couldn’t help but smile; Janie was a walking contradiction. She wasn’t quite on the autism spectrum and she wasn’t quite a savant, but she had a propensity for trivial facts. She also suffered from inherent emotional reclusively and detachment, she demonstrated impressive mathematical acuity, and admitted to inappropriate chatter when nervous. She also looked like a goddess, a Scottish Warrior Queen—buxom, statuesque, and voluptuous.
“I don’t care if we order the wine now or later, but if there is a delay between bottles, I might have to stab someone with my Swiss army knife.” Ashley chimed in from the other end of the table. Her deadpan, Tennessee accent always made everything sound silly and serious at the same time. She didn’t lift her blue eyes from the menu as she spoke. Instead, she surveyed the options and added, “Also, I’m starving, so I apologize in advance if my stomach starts to growl like an angry raccoon. I officially disown all my inadvertent bodily noises.”
“Didn’t you see the doughnuts in the doctor’s lounge?” Elizabeth, sitting to Ashley’s right, twisted her long, blonde braid and glanced at Ashley. Elizabeth was an interesting sort; she was a super-hot doctor lady who also happened to be a somewhat acerbic pragmatist.
Ashley smiled a reluctant smile. “I’m not going in the doctor’s lounge again without you. The last time I set foot in there, I was accosted by that blonde doctor, Ken Miles.”
“Ah. Pretty doctor Ken Miles.”
“Yes. And the horrid man wanted me to aid in a rectal exam.”
“Whose rectum did he want examined, yours or his?” I quipped.
Kat—who was sitting across from Ashley—snort-coughed into her water. She was the newest and youngest of our group present, and predictably offered a polite, “Excuse me,” through her choking fit, her brown hair heavy around her youthful features. If I could describe Kat with one word, it would be careful. She wore her expressions carefully, spoke with care, and moved with careful grace.
“Are you okay?” Fiona rubbed Kat on the back, “You know better than to drink anything while the topic of conversation is rectal exams.”
Kat nodded. “You’re right,” she rasped. “I’m just glad it wasn’t chocolate milk coming out of my nose.”
“Or red wine,” Ashely offered helpfully. “That always makes people look like they’re suffering a cranial bleed. Also, wine stains.”
“I once laughed so hard tequila came out of my nose,”.” I added, feeling more like myself.
“Oh, no!” Kat covered her nose, tried not to laugh, failed, and started coughing again.
“Don’t make her laugh; you’re only making it worse.” Fiona’s halfhearted reprimand was delivered with a clandestine smile.
“It wasn’t so bad.” I shrugged. “It actually helped me get over a head cold.”
“Hi, ladies. I’m Alex, and I’ll be serving you tonight.”
And just like that, conversation stopped.
All of us sat a little straighter, and turned our heads in unison.
Silence stretched as I watched the scene unfold.
Their reaction to just the three short sentences Alex had spoken confirmed my suspicions about Alex’s voice. He didn’t sound like Barry White, but the effect was the same. Alex had the most bedroomy voice of any man I’d ever heard. I glanced at the faces around the table and I knew, in that moment, that every single one of them was thinking about sex. Maybe not sex with Alex, but sex nevertheless.
He studied my friends. They, in turn, studied him, which is likely why silence stretched.
Most people in the food service industry look at a customer without truly looking at them. We are all just temporary faces in a sea of consumers.
But Alex was different. He looked at people with brash intensity, and he looked too long.
His eyes were challenging, assessing, like he was a con artist and we were each a mark; it seemed he was evaluating us, storing information about our appearance and character for later use. His gaze completely lacked the perfunctory and politely distracted yet appropriate ambivalence that was expected of one in his profession.
Then again, their interest could have been as simple as the fact that he was six foot three, blue eyed, black haired, intensely handsome, and broad shouldered.
After a protracted moment—during which each member of the group assuaged her curiosity and surprise by staring at him openly—he broke the silence. “I understand you’ve already given Shirra your drink orders. Do you need any more time to look over the menu, or do you have any questions?”
Ashley blinked at him, her eyes narrowed as though she were confused by his words, his presence, and the universe in general.
His gaze swept to mine and held. His fleeting whisper of a smile vanished, and his face solidified into an expression that conveyed nothing but professional indifference. But his assessing eyes behind the overtly nerdy glasses made me hot.
Zing.
“Should we wait for Marie?” Janie’s voice broke the spell. Of the group, she was likely the least aware of the social silence bomb that had just gone off at our table.
His attention shifted to her, and I noted the way his eyes moved over her face, hair, and body. I didn’t feel envious of Janie. In fact, I was relieved that he appeared to appreciate beauty, curves, and softness in the feminine form. Janie made for an excellent gaydar. If I’d had her with me during a few of my first dates, she could have saved me a lot of time and the men a lot of therapy.
Before anyone could respond, however, angry shouts from the sidewalk filtered their way into the restaurant.
I turned toward the sound and was surprised to see Marie through the window, standing with her hands against the chest of a rather sinister-looking man as though she were trying to push him away. He was a hulking behemoth of a man, which, coupled with his look of fury, made him appear quite sinister.
I watched them for a moment, gauging the situation. I knew that Marie, who very much prided herself on fierce independence and self-reliability, would not typi
cally take kindly to interference. I didn’t particularly like their size difference, the way the man was gripping her arms, or the set of his jaw.
When he gave her a stiff shake, causing her head and blonde curls to flop carelessly about her shoulders, I instinctively stood—as did the rest of the ladies. However, I had taken only one step toward the door when the lithe figure of Alex bolted past me. He quickly navigated guests, tables, and chairs and was out the door before the rest of us had crossed half the distance.
Through the window, I watched Alex pull the man away from Marie. Deftly, he tucked Marie behind him in a protective posture and addressed the man. Marie seemed to be in a daze, and I caught only the end of Alex’s speech as I exited the restaurant.
“…you need to leave.” Alex’s voice was so calm and level, it sounded almost bored. I found this strange, as most men in these situations shout in order to drown out their fear or to feed their adrenaline.
“She’s a lying bitch!” The thick-necked stranger’s eyes swung to mine. “I’ll show you. I’ll take it out right now and show you. Then you’ll see.” He reached for the button of his pants.
I got the distinct impression that this man was intent on showing me his penis. I cringed, preparing myself for the sight of a dick before dinner.
Alex held his hands up palms out. “Whoa, seriously, no one here wants to see that. You really need to leave.”
“Listen, you punk—you don’t want to get in the middle of this!” The sinister man bellowed, abandoned his zipper, and charged forward as though he were going to push past Alex.
Marie stumbled back a few steps, and I reached out for her and brought her into my embrace. Alex stepped to the side to block the man’s path and shoved him fast and hard, causing the man to stumble backward.
However, perhaps most surprising of all, Fiona charged forward and stepped in front of Alex—almost as though she were protecting him.
