Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3

by Isabelle Peterson

  I walked back into the living area of the apartment. This was my new home. I was an independent woman living in New Freakin’ York!

  “Woo-hoo!” I squealed to no one but myself, while doing a happy dance with a sudden burst of energy. I surveyed the neutral tones of the room. Tan walls, beige sofa with cream-colored throw pillows, a cozy oversized chair with a subtle satin stripe pattern. The bedroom was much the same with neutral cream colors. I quickly decided that I’d petition my parents for some decorating funds to add some color. Maybe wall prints, new throw pillows, maybe a blanket or two, some accessories like candles and whimsical things. And definitely some personal pictures.

  I made a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and considered my new living situation in peace and quiet. I was looking forward to the quiet. Lucy, my roommate, was great, but she was not quiet. She was an activist, often prattling on about a cause that she was trying to get me to sign on to, or yammering about the benefits of hot yoga, all the while playing new age music. It was like she couldn’t tolerate quiet. In the beginning of our freshman year, she was a vegetarian, and slowly became a vegan vegetarian, scrutinizing all the food I brought into the dorm. She was also an early riser. Not something I had ever been, although I’d have to learn now that I had a job.

  With my last bit of strength, I took a shower, slipped into fresh undies and a cami, brushed my teeth, slid into my new bed; a queen-sized bed. Such a wonderful change from the single beds in the dorms. This was going to be heavenly.

  After the long drive bringing Phoebe to New York, and a tense twenty-four hours with Greg, I eagerly climbed out of the rented minivan at Ed Scott’s, and said ‘good-bye’ to Greg. If last night wasn’t enough, the past fourteen hours in his presence was probably the most excruciating thing I’ve done in a long time. Maybe more painful than labor. When I called Greg a few weeks ago to tell him that I was going to be driving Phoebe to New York and get her settled into the apartment, he decided to ‘tag along.’ He also asked if we could meet up the night before the drive to New York, and hash out some of the last minute details of our divorce settlement, which would be finalized in the next week, once he signed the papers and they were filed.

  “We” decided to keep things quiet about the divorce to the kids until everything was finalized, and by “we” I meant “he.” When we met over coffee last night, I got the distinct impression that Greg was harboring some deep seated hope that I’d come back, that I would beg him to give me another chance. That was never going to happen. I had found my perfect match. Jack Stevens. Last night’s discussions put Greg straight. I hoped. It seemed like he understood, but today he sulked like a spoiled brat. I wanted nothing more than to tell Phoebe that I was also living in New York these days, at Jack’s place, and if she needed anything I was a quick subway ride away. But the more I thought about it, Greg’s plan to keep things quiet might not be a bad thing for now. I didn’t want to distract Phoebe as she started her internship. She seemed so happy to be living on her own.

  So, I’d give into Greg’s little ruse for now. But once the divorce is final, we’d have to find a way to break it to the kids. And by “we,” I was probably meaning “me.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Friday I slept in until noon. No waking up to Lucy’s nutty, new age music. No classes to go to. Just me time. For breakfast I had some granola and yogurt, and a small pot of coffee. I enjoyed taking my time to bask in my newfound independence, and I pondered my past year and considered where things were heading.

  With more than a little regret, I wished I had majored in something other than physics my freshman year. Granted, I did take an English and a history class for graduation requirement, so the year wasn’t entirely a loss.

  Even minoring in dance was a mistake. I was an okay dancer, but I didn’t have the dedication needed, nor did I really have the body. I wasn’t overly heavy, but I didn’t have that lithe body that most of the dancers in the department had. I was a comfortable size 10 or 12, depending on the brand; I had a chest, a C+/D cup, and hips. So…a long ways off from my fellow dancers who wore between a size 0 and 4, and used to joke about having a body like a boy. Even so, I was comfortable in my body. I tried to be that skinny size 4 in high school, but my mother caught onto my developing ‘habits,’ and nipped the minuscule meals and over exercising in the bud. She helped me realize that everybody’s body is different. It all boiled down to DNA. She pointed out that I had a body shape similar to my father’s side. I had to agree—my body, in fact my whole appearance, was similar to my dad’s sisters and his mother. Tall-ish, somewhere between medium and heavy build, light blonde, wavy hair, and cornflower blue eyes.

  One good thing came out of my freshman year; my newfound interest in Communications. Who knew that anything good would have come out of going out with Dickwad Danny Fitzsimmons? While our relationship started out hot and heavy, and seemed like a healthy relationship, looks were deceiving, even to someone smack in the middle of it. Then for the disastrous end… The spiteful part of me wished that I had video evidence of how horrible he was on that last day and could use it to ruin his potential career in communications. But the “Suzie Sunshine” side of me looked at the fact that I learned that communications as a major was more than writing. It started out with me going with Danny to a seminar that was mandatory for all Comm majors: Opportunities in Communications. He was bored and cracked jokes at many of the jobs that a communications major could do. He already had his mind set on being a sports reporter, convinced that his good looks and interest in sports would be enough. Mind you, he didn’t play any sports in college, and “only” played golf in high school, junior varsity—but he was confident “it would be fine.” Even though he was an ass during that seminar, I liked hearing about all the possible jobs. I also often sat in on his classes during my free time, which actually gave me further insight on a major that was becoming super interesting to me. Broadcasting for sure, but the production and public relations side of things also fascinated me. Even the legal side of media was intriguing.

  After breakfast, I unpacked all of my stuff, which took me all of two hours. I didn’t unpack my stash of school supplies or saved notes. I’d had enough of those over the past month. I did fish out the folder I’d put together with handouts and packets I had collected from Danny’s classes in case I needed to reference some terminology or something that I might hear at the studios, and pushed the box into the back of the closet.

  Around two o’clock, feeling invigorated with my “new life,” I got ready to head out and dig into my new neighborhood. I knew where the grocery store was, but I wanted to figure out where a pharmacy, hair salon, and good coffee shop might be. I dressed in my favorite jeans that made me look almost like a size 8, my favorite lavender, wrap-style sweater, put on a light touch of makeup and pulled my long blonde hair up into a messy bun on top of my head. I locked the apartment door and headed down on my own, eager to take things in on a different level. The last time I was here, I was pretty much focused on looking at colleges, shopping, and forgetting about Dickwad Danny.

  As I walked along, I loved the hustle and bustle all around me: shoppers, business people and moms with their kids making their way through the streets. I was sure that I looked like a tourist with the stupid smile I had plastered on my face, but I didn’t care. I was free! I had a clean slate! I was starting an exciting internship on Monday.

  Suddenly, I felt like going to Times Square and seeing it in daylight. Third Avenue didn’t seem to be a good street to find a taxi, so I made my way over to Second Avenue and was rewarded with the sight of many cabs. I saw a bright yellow taxi and stuck out my hand to flag it down, but it whizzed right by, not even slowing. However, as it passed, I realized there were people in the back. Okay. I soon figured out that a certain light had to be lit up on top of the cab for it to be available to hire. I finally snagged a cab, and was soon headed to the ‘crossroads of America.’

  When I was here last month, both times, I was h
ere at night, once with Kevin after he took me to a Luke Bryan concert, and the other time with my mom when we came to take in the show, The Book of Mormon. It was amazing with all the sparkling lights and people everywhere. During the day, the area was considerably dingier, but way busier. Vacationing families, large groups of people in matching shirts, or name-tags—probably from a tourist group or school kids on field trips, all around me, every language you could imagine, and families. My last visit here, I saw a few superhero characters milling around trying to get people to get their picture taken with them, but now during the day there were hundreds of characters, many for the younger age groups that were there.

  Passing one of the many food carts, I stopped and bought a skewer of grilled chicken. It smelled better than it tasted, but I ate it anyway as I continued to be in awe of one of the most popular places in the U.S. The stores, the restaurants, and the different languages surrounding me were all simply fascinating. Around 5:00, I was pretty tired so I decided to head back to my apartment. My apartment, I squealed to myself. It was still so cool to say that! I looked up and noted that I was at Fifty-ninth Street, and not really up for a thirty-block walk, I flagged down another cab to get home.

  We pulled up to my building and I paid the cabbie. Realizing that I was now down twenty-eight bucks in cab fare, I wondered if my dad was going to revoke his offer to give me an allowance to only take taxis. I remembered the subways with my mom and Kevin. They were cheap, quick and fine. Smelled awful, but otherwise a reasonable way to travel.

  “Thank you, Dominic,” I said to the polite doorman as I neared the door that he held open for me.

  “Miss Fairchild. Did you have a nice day?”

  “I did,” I replied, a goofy grin on my face. “I found a hair salon, located a Duane Reade Pharmacy, a great pastry shop, and a Starbucks. I even made my way to Times Square. I’m pretty proud of myself. How about you?” Immediately, I wanted to take back my question realizing that he’d been sitting in the lobby of the building all day. That had to be boring.

  “Very pleasant. Thank you for asking, Miss Fairchild,” he smiled back. Phew!

  “He’ll never complain,” I heard behind me. His voice was like butter. So sexy. I turned and saw the man that belonged to that voice. Even though I’d sworn off dating after Dickwad Danny, for one man in question, I was willing to make an exception. Kevin Parker had to be one of the hottest guys in New York City. His hair had grown a bit since I saw him last month. It was probably just about time for a haircut, but I hoped that he wouldn’t. His thick, black hair was that sexy, shaggy length. He was dressed in khaki pants, a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a plaid tie. Must be what private middle school teachers wear, I surmised.

  “Kevin! So good to see you!” I said, flashing him my best smile. He opened his arms for a hug. He wants to hug me! I squealed to myself, and I moved into his strong arms.

  “Good to see you, too, Kid,” he said. I grimaced and lost some of my oomph at being called ‘kid.’ I was nineteen…in college. Not exactly a ‘kid.’ “When did you get here?” he continued, not noticing that I deflated in the least, squeezing me just right against his incredibly firm chest and massive arms. Danny wasn’t very athletic or muscular, and his hugs never felt like this. I inhaled, taking in his sinfully intoxicating scent. Oh yeah, a man. Okay, you’re forgiven for calling me ‘kid.’

  “Last night. I wanted to knock, but Mom said Thursdays weren’t good nights for you.”

  “She’s right. I’m usually out on Thursday nights. How is your mom?” Kevin asked, moving over toward the bank of mailboxes.

  “She’s good. Flew back to Cali last night, though. Sorry,” I shrugged.

  “No worries, niña,” he said, flashing his heart-stopping smile at me, his use of Spanish making me weak. Now, if I could only remember what ‘niña’ meant…His bright white, straight teeth were a fabulous contrast to the five o’clock shadow on his olive toned skin. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we walked to the elevator. “So, you got in late last night. What did you do all day?”

  “Slept in, unpacked, then walked around the area a bit. I even made my way to Times Square—and back. Grabbed a quick bite from one of those carts,” I giggled.

  “You have to be careful with those vendors, okay? Some are better than others. Make sure they have certifications, got it?”

  “Certifications. Gotcha,” I confirmed. The elevator opened, we stepped inside, and Kevin pressed the “6” on the button panel. “So, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab dinner with me? Celebrate my first whole day in New York on my own?”

  “Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Fairchild,” Kevin asked with a smirk.

  “Well, if you want to call it that, I won’t protest.” I grinned back. “Pick me up at seven.”

  “Confident, aren’t ya?”

  “What? Do you have a hot date tonight?” I asked, followed with a Please say no, please say no, please say no, chant in my head.

  He shook his head making his hair fall over his sparkling, green eyes. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “Seven, it is.”

  “Woo-hoo!” I cheered and started into the hallway toward our apartments. “So…where are you taking me?”

  He laughed. “You are somethin’ else, Phoebe Fairchild.”

  “That makes us a great pair,” I shot back, fishing out my keys.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  “How about something caliente?” I said, trying out what little Spanish I remembered.

  “Mexican?”

  “Si,” I smile back.

  He winked, “Te veo a las siete.”

  “Huh?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “See you at seven.”

  “Blah blah siete!” I shot back with a wave.

  CHAPTER 3

  Glancing at the clock, I saw that I had only five minutes until Kevin would be picking me up. Although I’d sworn off dating, for at least this summer because I didn’t want to rebound into the arms, and bed, of another dickwad, for Kevin, I was willing to make an exception. Kevin was different. He was a man. And sexy as hell. My biggest hope was that he had recovered from the breakup with the girlfriend he mentioned last month.

  One last look in the mirror to check my outfit and hair, and I was satisfied. I fixed my light blonde hair down, which tumbled below my shoulders in soft waves. I always felt it made me look very grown up, and tonight, I hoped Kevin wouldn’t see me as a kid for much longer. As for my ensemble, for mid May, it was pretty warm, so I settled on a pair of hot pink jeans, and a black button down, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a white, lace-topped cami. I loved wearing white and black with a pop of color. I wore my silver heart pendant, which came to just above my ‘girls.’ You know, give the guys a reason to take a quick glance. It was a trick Lucy taught me. As much as that girl was an activist, she was also an amazing pick up artist. She could have any guy eating out of her hand in five minutes flat. This pendant was a gift from her for my nineteenth birthday, so I could use the “necklace trick” when I needed to get Danny’s attention. She said that all I had to do was hold the pendant and run it back and forth on the chain and I’d draw Danny’s attention back in. She was right. It worked every time. Too bad I didn’t realize that Danny was a Dickwad and that I should have been using that trick on a decent guy—like Kevin. I was just touching up my lip-gloss when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in!” I called out. I heard the door open, pushed my lip-gloss into my pocket then ran out to the living room.

  There stood Kevin, looking ridiculously delicious from head-to-toe. A light blue denim button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos on his right arm that stopped mid forearm. His arms were crossed in front of his impressive chest, displaying said tattoo quite nicely. Tight fitting jeans that hugged his powerful legs and I could only imagine how his ass would look when I got a good look at him from behind. I smiled when I saw his black cowboy boots that looked s
o comfy and broken in. He’d worn those boots the night of the concert. As my eyes made their way back up, I noticed the look on his face wasn’t a contented expression.

  “Uh-oh. That’s not a hey-I’m-happy-let’s-get-going face.”

  “Phoebe. Your mother would be upset. This isn’t your dorm back in Ohio. This is New York. Dominic and Gilbert are great, but they are not infallible. You need to lock your door.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again,” I said, ducking my head, and toying with the heart pendant. This was not a good start for a date where I wanted a man to find me old enough to be a serious interest.

  “Good,” he said, popping a smile and dropping his arms, stuffing his hands into his pockets. That was a move Danny always used to do to hide his boners. Could I be that luck? “By the way, that’s some collection of boots,” he said, thumbing behind him at my ‘collection’ of boots. Eight pair… all lined up by the door.

  “Thanks,” I smiled. “I do love my boots,” moving over to select a black pair, partly because I’d already planned on wearing them, and partly to match Kevin. Yeah, it was dorky, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “You ready to go? Or do you need another minute?”

  “What? Don’t I look ready to go? Do I need to change my clothes?

  “No! No… You look…” he paused to swallow. Bingo! “You look terrific.”

  “Then let’s go,” I smiled and grabbed my purse.

  The restaurant Kevin chose was nice. Not as private as I might have liked, but nice nonetheless. The food was authentic and the conversation was pleasant. We’d talked about his job as a teacher, which we’d touched on last time, but last time we mostly compared our love of country music and movies and talked about universities in New York, since I was thinking about transferring back then. We talked about my internship and that the thing I was most fearing was the early start time for the job. Getting up and dressed to go to ‘the office’ was a lot more stressful than rolling out of bed, sliding on jeans and heading across the small campus to class. Not to mention that I never registered for classes that started before 10:00am.