by Penny Reid
She released a breathy chuckle, still shaking her head, and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. It’s what we’re here for.” I pulled a little away so I could free my arms and return her embrace. I noted that she was fighting a new wave of tears.
“Oh, Marie,” I tsked. Then I hugged her ferociously, hating that this doormat of a man had made her cry.
I hated seeing my friends in pain. I hated my helplessness, that I couldn’t just reach inside them and fix everything for them, that I couldn’t make their hearts see how wonderful they were.
It is the burden of the optimist to live a life not knowing why others can’t see the beautiful light within themselves.
“You are woman. You are lovely in every way—inside and out. But he will always have ugly balls, and there is nothing he can do about it.”
“And the taint!” Ashley added, her expression earnest.
When the laughter subsided, Marie sniffled, “What would I do without you girls?”
“Likely eat more ice cream.” Kat patted her hair.
“I hate to admit this, but I feel so lost.”
I didn’t tell her, because I didn’t think it would help, but all people are lost, to varying degrees. I suspected that it’s only when we love others—through purpose, friendship, romance, or any combination thereof—that we become found.
CHAPTER 11
(Two weeks later) Monday Horoscope: The problem you’ve been obsessing over is coming to a crossroad. Take a risk. Otherwise, you’ll regret your inaction and suffer the consequences.
“SANDRA.”
“Thomas, I….”
“You called.” He sounded concerned.
“Yes, I….”
“Why are you calling? Are you harmed?”
“No….”
“Are you rescheduling our Saturday lunch?”
“No….”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Stop asking questions and just listen.”
“Why are you calling?”
I sighed, rolled my eyes. This was why I never called Thomas. “I need your help.”
“Do you need money?”
“Thomas, I swear, if you ask me another question, I will secretly switch your caffeinated with decaf during Saturday lunch at least three times over the next six months.”
I could tell he was thinking about my threat, weighing it against the compulsion of his curiosity. Belatedly he said, “Proceed.”
“Good. Listen, I need your help. I need you to come with me to dinner on Friday.”
I’d tried—for the last two weeks—to push all thoughts of Alex from my mind. I’d tried and failed. If anything, I was thinking about him more than ever. He was becoming an unhealthy preoccupation, and something needed to be done about it.
“Dinner on Friday? Wait, that was not a question.” He cleared his throat, and I could almost hear his mind working out a way to ask me a question without actually asking me a question. He said, “I’d be happy to take you out Friday, if you would be so kind as to tell me why you require my escort.”
“Nicely phrased. So, this is about the guy, the guy I talked to you about a few weeks ago.”
“Ah, the one you won’t diagnose, and subsequently haven’t discussed.”
“Yes. And I appreciate you not asking me about him the last few weeks. Well, I wore a vampy dress like we agreed. Everything was proceeding as planned, but then something happened, and now I don’t think he’s so sure he wants to see me again.”
I could feel Thomas’s struggle on the other end. He was an inquisitive creature. Not being able to ask questions was probably driving him bonkers. But then he shocked the holy heck out of me by saying, “Well, he’s obviously an idiot, because you are lovely, funny, and wholly amazing.”
“Oh! Thomas. Thank you.” I smiled at the phone. “You are very kind.”
He offered a gruff, “You’re welcome.”
“I just need you to come with me to the restaurant where he works. Maybe I can…I think he’ll…well, I’m hoping I’ll get a chance to talk to him.”
This was the best plan I could formulate. I didn’t know the entire story with his federal agent—how closely he was watched, how freely we could speak. I couldn’t call him. In fact, I had no way of contacting him. Maybe if I showed up for dinner like a regular customer, I could get him alone for a conversation. Maybe I could go to the bathroom and signal him to join me so we could talk privately.
Sure, he was strange, but then so was I.
Maybe we could be strange together.
At the very least, I owed him an apology for assuming he was a gifted liar.
“You should just call him on the phone.”
“No. I can’t. Don’t ask me to explain why.”
“I see….” I heard leather creak in the background. He’d either just sat down or he was shifting in his chair. “You could just go alone.”
“I could. But I don’t want to. I want to go with someone I trust—someone I can talk to afterward if things don’t go my way.”
“Sandra, you have dozens of platonic male friends, and female friends as well.”
“Yes. I do. I have dozens and dozens. But I can’t talk to them about this kind of stuff. Also, except for you and my knitting group, I’ve been avoiding everyone.”
“I know. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Devon mentioned he feels paralyzed about decorating his apartment. He was hoping you’d help. He’s not the only one who has been asking about you.”
“I’ll help Devon decorate if you come with me on Friday.”
Thomas’s sigh was audible through the phone. “And if this man’s reaction is not favorable on Friday, then I assume you will no longer be pursuing him.”
“Your assumption is correct.”
“I do wonder, though I will not ask, why you bother at all. Certainly if he were worth your time he’d be doing everything in his power to keep you close.”
My smile widened; I was beginning to enjoy our game and Thomas’s non-question questions. “It’s hard to explain the situation. Just know that you’d be doing me a big favor. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty.”
Thomas paused; I could hear him breathe, could tell he was thinking. Then he said, “Fine. I’ll accompany you. I shall do my best to be adequately attractive.”
I sagged in my chair, relieved he’d agreed to help me. “Thank you, Thomas. You’re a great friend.”
He grumbled something I couldn’t quite decipher, likely a question, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too preoccupied experiencing a relatively unfamiliar and unsettling emotion: anxiety.
CHAPTER 12
Friday’s Horoscope: Today you will be fighting a constant battle with confusion and disappointment. If you take the road less traveled, you will find happiness at the end of it.
“THOMAS, WOULD YOU please smile? For cripe’s sake, at least pretend to be having a good time.”
“How do I do that?”
“Laugh.”
“Okay.” Thomas inhaled, then expelled a truly garish laugh. It was like staccato keys on a pipe organ. Under any other circumstances, I would have assumed he was suffering from some sort of apoplectic fit.
I cringed and yell-whispered, “Not like that, you fool! You sound like you’re under duress.”
“That’s how I laugh, and I am under duress.”
“Oh my.” I blinked at him; I knew my face was twisted with concern and horror. “How very unfortunate for you. No wonder you don’t make a habit of laughing.”
He shrugged, sighed. “It’s true. I have a terrible laugh. You should have asked Devon.”
I surveyed the menu as we spoke. “I didn’t want Devon, I wanted you. I think he’s imagined himself in love with me. You should reevaluate him for delusions of grandeur.”
“Sandra, we’re all a little in love with you.” His tone was flat. This was not the first time he’d made this statement.
<
br /> I smirked and rolled my eyes. “It’s called transference. Once he works through his issues, he’ll find his soul mate. They always do.”
“How about me?”
My eyes lifted to Thomas, and I gave him a teasing smile. “She’s out there, Thomas. One day you’ll hear her—maybe in a theater or at a play. You’ll find someone who has a heinous laugh, and the two of you can watch movies in your apartment, where you won’t be a menace to anyone.”
He laughed again, but this time it burst forth in earnest, and it sounded just as unnerving as when it was forced. This, of course, made me laugh too, because he was right. It was his real laugh, and it was so awful.
“I can’t believe that’s your real laugh.” I sniffed, and blinked back tears of hilarity.
He glanced at me over his menu, his bellowing yodel of amusement receding. “I should have warned you. Sorry.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I just can’t believe I’ve known you for this long and that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”
Thomas smiled at me. I smiled at Thomas.
And at that precise moment, Alex plunked two glasses of water on the table with loud, sloshing abruptness. I started, not noticing him approach, and lifted my eyes to his towering form.
Of course he looked manlicious—black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, black shoes to match his dark mood. I’d opted to dress simply—dark blue jeans, white long sleeved shirt, leather walking boots—because I simply wanted to talk. His jaw was set with a particular severity, and his indigo eyes, no glasses, immobilized me; they were marred with heated irritation rather than his typical cool caution. Alex’s usually soft, sexy mouth was curved in a frown of plain displeasure.
I blinked at him, quick darting glances taking in his sudden—and entirely perturbed—appearance. I’d missed him.
“Hi.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he sank deeper into his glower.
“Um….” I glanced at Thomas. He tilted his eyebrows at me, his eyes grew large with a look that said, Well, you wanted a reaction….
I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. Now that the moment had arrived, I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. I was hoping the evening would proceed as follows:
1) Alex would see me.
2) Something something something something.
3) Alex would decide to give us another chance.
The something something something something part was, I admit in retrospect, shortsighted.
“Um….” I repeated dumbly and glanced at my menu without reading it. “I—um—so, do you have any specials?”
“No.”
His single word answer sounded like a boom in the small restaurant; it made me jump.
“Oh. Okay.” I was turning red. I could feel the blush slide over my cheeks with as much certainty as I could feel Alex’s eyes on my face.
Dammit!
Thomas’ voice, unperturbed yet reluctant to interrupt the something that was going on, broke the extremely uncomfortable silence. “I’ll take the shrimp korma, please.”
Alex took Thomas’s menu, his movements perfunctory, but his eyes never left me. Before I could order my butter chicken and put an end to the extremely uncomfortable scene, Alex yanked my menu from my hands, drawing my eyes to his plainly fuming features.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I…uh—the usual.” I conceded on a breath, feeling deflated, defeated, and ashamed of my antics.
“Really? Are you sure?” His voice sent delightful shivers down my spine, and he took a step closer and seemed to crowd my space even though he was standing and I was sitting. I had to angle my head backward to maintain eye contact. “You don’t want to try something different this time?”
I swallowed. “Like what?”
Alex handed the menus to Thomas, which—to my friend’s credit—he accepted without hesitation. Alex held out his hand to me, but I could see that he was conflicted and uncertain even as he said; “How about you come with me, right now, and we’ll figure it out.”
I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.
I grabbed my stuff and put my hand in his, and he. He yanked me out of the booth. Alex led me to and out the back door on to the side street. Then he began jogging toward a chain-link fence at the end of the alley.
“Wait, where are we going? Aren’t you cold? Are you going to get in trouble for just leaving like that?”
He only answered my last question. “I wasn’t working when you came in. It’s Shirra’s shift tonight.”
“You weren’t working?”
He stopped abruptly and turned, and I collided into his chest.
“Oof!”
Alex held me a little away from him, inspected my face, his hands on my hips. “I was in the back listening to the radio when I heard your voice.”
“Oh.”
“Give me your phone.”
I fumbled for it, found it, and handed it over.
“Do you have any other electronics on you? A pager? A watch?” He withdrew the battery from my phone as he spoke, employing the same speed and efficiency he’d used during our date.
“No.”
Alex frowned at me, his eyes moving from the hat on my head to my feet. “Give me your coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and purse.”
I placed one protective hand on my hat and another on my scarf. “Why do you need my hat?”
“Sandra.”
“Listen, I knit this hat and scarf. I’m not giving them to you unless I know I’m getting them back.”
His dark expression brightened with surprise. “You made those?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. That’s cool.”
I allowed myself a miniscule smile. “Thanks.”
His eyes assessed me and the hand knits with a new appreciation. “Fine, keep the scarf and hat—but I need everything else.”
Gingerly, I removed my arms from the jacket and handed over my purse. I crossed my arms for warmth and rubbed my hands together. Alex bundled everything together and stuffed it under the dumpster to our left.
No sooner had he straightened than he gripped my ungloved hand and we were on our way again. I jogged to keep pace as he led us through several backstreets. In fact, we jumped two fences. I felt pretty badass about it.
Just when I thought my lips were going to freeze off my face and my brain was going to explode with curiosity, Alex rounded a corner and tugged me into a dimly lit Irish pub. I recognized where we were, but I had no idea how we got there.
Alex slipped through the crowd easily. He didn’t stop to request a table. Instead, he instead went straight to the back, then into a smallish room across from the bathrooms. Once we were both inside, he closed the door and flicked on the light.
I glanced around the diminutive space and realized we were in the restaurant’s storage room. Boxes, piled high along the walls, were marked as canned tomatoes and other non-perishable foodstuffs. We had very little room to move, perhaps three feet in any direction.
I faced Alex. He was between the door and me, and he looked cold, or maybe I was cold. Regardless, I went to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He seemed stunned at first because he didn’t immediately return the gesture. But when I snuggled against his chest and inserted my cold nose between his shoulder and neck, his arms came around me and squeezed.
“So.” I said. “This is definitely different.”
He rested his chin on my head. “Sorry about all the back-alley stuff. I didn’t have time to prepare for you.”
“Prepare?”
“Remove all the bugs from my apartment.”
“I’m guessing you mean the listening kind, not the disease-spreading kind.”
“Yes.” He said. “In retrospect, I think that’s why Dumas showed up that Saturday night. My apartment had gone silent. I should have thought of that.”
“Why do they listen, Alex? Why let you out on parole if they’re going to watch you?”
Alex was
quiet for what felt like a long time. Then he removed his arms and set me a few feet away. His hands lingered on my shoulders before they fell to his sides.
“Why did you come to the restaurant tonight? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”
“I had a plan. I was going to pretend to be a normal customer, find a moment to ask if you could take me from Taj’s, strip me of all my worldly processions, make me jump over two fences like a boss, then lock me in a broom closet.”
“It’s a storage room.”
“Yes. My plan didn’t work out exactly as I’d hoped.”
“You are so weird.” Even as he mumbled the words, his eyes softened and he smiled just slightly.
“Seriously, I wanted to see you.”
His eyes searched mine. “Why?”
“Because I found something out that made me realize I’d been operating under a misconception, and it was coloring my understanding of your character.”
Alex flinched and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you find out?”
“First I need to tell you, I saw you with someone that Tuesday night before our date, a woman.”
His eyes moved between mine, lost focus, presumably because he was attempting to recall the events of that Tuesday. I helped him by filling in the blanks.
“You invited me to go out that night. My friend Kat cancelled on me, so I came back. When I walked around the corner, I saw you going inside with a woman.”
A slight frown cast a shadow over his features. He watched me for a moment before asking, “Did you think that I was involved with her?”
“Yes.”
“Even when we went out on Thursday? And when you came over Saturday?”
“Yes and yes.”
He looked quite shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“For a few reasons. Every time I ask you a question, you either respond with something sensational or you dodge it. Also, I took it as proof that we were on the same page: that you were on board for a puppet show with no strings attached, featuring only bananas and figs.”
“Why figs?”
“Have you ever cut a fig in half? It looks as much like a vag as a banana looks like a peen.”
“I’ve never seen a fig.”
