Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology

by Anthology

  “Just one date,” he said from behind me.

  “He’s literally begging,” Hadley said to me, clearly taking his side.

  I heard the train coming from the west and watched it cross the bridge and come to a slow stop at our station.

  “Come on,” he pleaded. “At least give me your last name.”

  I managed a laugh and tried to ignore the part of me that wanted to see where a date with him would lead, but the circumstances were just too strange.

  “Have a good rest of your night,” I called through the doors as I grabbed the pole above my head to keep myself steady. He was smiling at me, but it was more of a challenging smile, as if he couldn’t believe I would leave him hanging. The doors started to close and I held my breath.

  “SMITH!” Hadley yelled just before the doors closed. I turned to her, mouth gaping open, shocked she’d give some stranger my name. “Her last name is Smith!”

  The doors closed and the train started slowly making its way up the hill to the Park and Ride lot.

  “You sneaky bitch,” I said, shooting Hadley with my imaginary laser beams that came from my eyes.

  She smiled and then blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to post embarrassing pictures of her on Instagram.

  Chapter Two

  Camden

  There were approximately one fucking million Riley Smiths on Facebook.

  The morning after our impromptu kiss at halftime, I sat in my office staring at my computer, trying to locate her online. Facebook was my first stop, but it was looking like a bad option. I didn’t have time to sift through all the women on my screen.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. I had the time and I was normally a patient guy. I could spend my evenings looking for her if that’s what it took—I wasn’t above Facebook stalking. But for some reason, I wasn’t feeling very patient with Riley. I didn’t know anything about her except her name and how fantastic her lips felt pressed against mine, and I wanted to know more. Much more.

  So my next stop was good old Google. I typed in “Riley Smith Event Planner” and a few results came back. I clicked on the top return, but didn’t find any pertinent information. I clicked on the second and third links, and neither one of those led me anywhere either. But the fourth link for a company called Rose City Event Coordinators brought me the information I was looking for. At the bottom of the page there were headshots of all the coordinators and I was immediately drawn to the photo of Riley. She looked a little different in her photo—dressed professionally, her smile more forced than natural, but beautiful nonetheless. Her hair still sported the new trend of darker on top, fading into a honey blonde toward the ends. The night before she’d been wearing Chucks and a pleather jacket, but in her photo she was wearing a blouse that looked like appropriate work attire.

  It didn’t matter what she wore, I still found myself picturing what she had on underneath it all.

  Right under her picture was a link to send her an e-mail. Perfect.

  Just as I clicked on the link a knock came on my door. It opened and Justin’s face appeared.

  “I’m headed to get some coffee from Case Study. Want me to bring you something?”

  I leaned back in my chair and my hand absently ran through my hair. “Mind if I come along? I could use some air to clear my head.”

  He gave me a puzzled look, but then said, “Sure.”

  Justin had been a good friend of mine since we both started at the firm around the same time. He was just a year older than me and we had similar backgrounds. When I wasn’t taking insane women to basketball games, it was to him I usually gave my extra ticket. We’d just made it out of the door of our building when he asked about my date.

  “How’d it go with Sophia last night?” His question was probably supposed to sound innocently curious, but I could hear the contempt in his voice. He had met Sophia briefly when she’d stopped by the office unannounced, and when I told him I was taking her to the game last night, instead of him, I’d seen him try very hard not to roll his eyes.

  I groaned before I could stop myself.

  “That well, huh?”

  “We’re finished. I’m not sure why I let it get all the way to a third date. She got bent out of shape because I wouldn’t skip my grandma’s birthday party for her. I let her walk.”

  Justin clapped his hand on my back, saying, “Good man.” We walked in silence for about half a block before he spoke again. “She’s not why you’re upset, is she? I mean, I’m sorry you’re taking the breakup badly, but man, come on. She wasn’t right for you.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I couldn’t care less about her. In fact, after she left the game last night, I met someone.”

  “You move fast,” he replied with a laugh.

  “She was sitting right next to me and sort of heard the whole breakup, then watched Sophia stomp away.” I paused, remembering the way Riley was saying all the things I was thinking in my head, how she seemed to think Sophia was just as ridiculous as I did, how she just seemed to get me. “She was cute and funny, and an incredible kisser.”

  “You kissed her? The same night you broke up with someone else?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess so. It was that stupid kiss cam they do at halftime. The camera was on us, and people were yelling at us from all around, trying to get us to kiss. Finally, I just kind of grabbed her and kissed her. But it was amazing.”

  “Dude, seriously? Amazing?” Justin asked, his voice skeptical.

  “I don’t know. It was different, I guess.”

  We approached the door to Case Study and Justin opened it, letting me go in first. “So, are you going to see her again?”

  I let out a big sigh. “That’s up to her. I was just about to send her an e-mail when you knocked on my door.”

  “An e-mail? Who are you? Tom Hanks? Is this the year 2000?”

  “She didn’t give me her number, and her friend shouted her last name just before they took off on the MAX.”

  “And you never considered the fact that if she didn’t give you her number, maybe she just wasn’t into you?” Justin ordered our drinks, paying for mine before I could stop him, and we walked to the end of the counter to wait.

  “I don’t know, man. There was just something different about her. She was fun. And witty. She just kept saying the funniest shit. She wasn’t doing that annoying thing where women try to flirt with you but it just comes across as desperate. She just was having a good time at a basketball game, and I had a good time with her. She was refreshing.”

  The barista slid our drinks over to us and we took them and started walking back to the office.

  “So you’re going to e-mail her?”

  “I think so. I’m just not sure what I’m going to say.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” he said, slapping his hand down on my shoulder. “And if she’s as cool as you say she is, then she’ll probably say yes regardless.”

  I lifted my coffee to my mouth. “Here’s to hoping.”

  To: rsmith@rosecityevents.com

  From: camden.rogers@gmail.com

  Subject: Not a stalker

  Is this, by chance, the Riley Smith I met at the Blazer game last night who liked the disturbingly disgusting combination of cotton candy and Hefeweizen beer? She ran off last night without giving me her phone number (obviously a side effect of the previously mentioned strange combination of foods), so I’m looking for her. I came across this e-mail address and was hoping you were her. If this isn’t the cute and funny woman I met at the game last night, please disregard. But if it’s you, please respond. I’m not done talking to you yet.

  Cam

  I stared at the e-mail for a good ten minutes before I finally just hit the Send button. I knew there would be no way to get any work done until I sent it, and then I knew there would be no work getting done until she replied.

  “Dude, you’ve got to get yourself under control,” I said to myself as I scrubbed my hands down my face.
She’s just a girl. Just an awesome girl you met at a basketball game. Who is cute as fuck and knows how to kiss. “Goddamn it.”

  Luckily, there was a meeting I had to attend that gave me a reason to stop refreshing my in-box every ten seconds. It was long and painfully boring, just as one would imagine a lawyer meeting to be, and when it finally ended I nearly sprinted back to my office. Electricity shot through me when I saw a response in my in-box.

  From: rsmith@rosecityevents.com

  To: camden.rogers@gmail.com

  Subject: Pretty Stalkery

  I can’t decide if I’m flattered or totally creeped out that you found me in one day. But, then again, you are a lawyer and seemed pretty determined. And don’t dis the cotton candy and beer combo; it’s delicious.

  Since I assume now that you’ve found me, it would be impossible to shake you, let’s move this conversation to text. I’m sure my boss doesn’t want to read about how you’re obsessed with me. My number is 503-555-8574.

  Riley

  Holy shit, she gave me her phone number. Ignoring the fact that it would probably be best to wait a while to text her if I didn’t want to seem too eager, I started tapping out a message. Screw societally expected wait times between messages. I couldn’t care less if I seemed too anxious. I was anxious. And excited. And nervous. Something about Riley had gotten under my skin.

  **I hope I don’t get you in trouble with your boss. But I’d like to remind you this could have all been avoided had you just given me your number last night.**

  I hit Send and then put my phone in my desk drawer, hoping it would give me enough distance to focus on my work for a while. When it buzzed ten minutes later I couldn’t reach into my drawer fast enough.

  **She loves me, it’ll be fine. And if I’d given you my number last night, this wouldn’t be as much fun. I like thinking about you scouring the Internet for any piece of information about me you could get. I hope you didn’t find anything terrible.**

  She was flirting with me. This was good.

  **Nothing too terrible. I promise to keep all your secrets safe if you agree to see me again.**

  **Are you blackmailing me?**

  **I like to call it being extremely persuasive.**

  After a few minutes of torture, the phone buzzed again.

  **I’ll be at The Tanker on Hawthorne tonight after work. 6pm. Maybe I’ll see you there.**

  Chapter Three

  Riley

  I had no idea why I told him to meet me here. The Tanker was a bar from my younger years. I’d always loved it there, but forgotten until I’d walked in how out of place I would be in my black slacks and button-down blouse. I didn’t let the hipsters faze me though. I walked straight to the bar, glad to see my favorite bartender was still working there.

  “Riley,” George said with a great big smile. “Long time, no see.”

  “Same to you,” I said, returning his smile. “I decided to stop by and make sure the place was still standing.”

  He grabbed a rag and wiped down the wooden bar top. “We’re still here, just waiting for you.” He winked and my smile broadened. “What can I get you? Hef, like always?”

  “Like always,” I replied with a nod. I hauled myself onto a barstool and smiled at George as he passed me my beer. “What’s new?” I asked before taking a sip of the ice-cold beer.

  “Annalise is pregnant.” His wide smile turned proud and I could have sworn his shoulders pushed back too.

  “What? No way. That’s amazing, George. Congratulations.”

  His smile beamed as he used a rag to dry off a glass and place it on the shelf behind him. “Due in February.”

  “That’s amazing.” A few years ago, before I’d started adulting regularly, I’d come down to Tanker with my college friends. The beer was cheap during happy hour and they were always playing some awesome movie on the big screen or doing a fun trivia night. I watched George and Annalise start dating and fall in love. She was a Portland transplant and he was a very doting tour guide. She’d come in on the nights he was working and do her homework at the bar, making lovey eyes at him. She was a doll and he was a lucky man.

  “When are you gonna settle down? You look pretty sophisticated in your fancy work clothes. You growing up on me?”

  “Never,” I gasped.

  “Oh, good. I’m not the only one overdressed for this place.” I heard his voice and my insides grew warmer; every part of me was heating up. I swiveled on my stool only to see Camden’s perfect body wrapped up in a three-piece-suit bow. He’d looked fantastic casual the night before, but standing before me looking all Armani model, it was a low blow.

  “Camden,” I breathed, then chided myself for letting him have such an effect on me. I took a drink of my beer, then said with more conviction, “You found me.”

  “What kind of a stalker would I be if I couldn’t find you?” He sat on the barstool next to me, winked at me, then ordered a Hef for himself.

  “You like Hef?” I asked, hopeful for some reason.

  “Never had it. I usually drink darker beers. But it’s your favorite, so I might as well give it a try.” The idea that he was going to drink something completely opposite of what he liked, just to see if he liked it, for me, was cuter than I wanted to give him credit for.

  “You drink that and I’ll try one of your favorites,” I offered.

  He tilted his head a little and narrowed his eyes at me, then said, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He stuck his hand out, I placed my palm in his, and we shook on it. Just then, George slid Cam’s beer over to him. I watched with rapt attention as he put the rim of the glass to his stupidly luscious lips and took a sip. His eyebrows shot up and the corners of his mouth turned down as he nodded his head. “Not bad, Smith.”

  “It’s the best ever,” I said, rolling my eyes for dramatic effect. Just then, a loud group of people entered the bar, all of them wearing either too much black or too much plaid. It was a toss-up in Portland: lumberjack hipsters or emo hipsters. “You’re right. We’re totally overdressed for this place.”

  “But there’s two of us, so we’re not completely out of place.” His eyes wandered over my body and he didn’t even try to hide it. “This is a far cry from Chucks and jeans.”

  “The day job pays the bills and it requires a certain dress code.” I shrugged one shoulder.

  “You like your job?”

  “Most days. Party planning is always fun, it’s dealing with the uptight parents or bridezillas that gets old. But at the end of the day, when that same bride is dancing with her new husband and she’s not worried about one single thing, that’s the real reward; watching people enjoy the big moments of their lives instead of worrying about whether there’s enough food or if the cake has arrived. It’s a good job.” I sighed a little then took a drink of my beer. “And you like your job?”

  “My job is pretty boring.” He laughed.

  “It can’t be all bad, though. An entertainment lawyer, right? So, you’ve worked with some celebrities and stuff?”

  “Not many you would have heard of. Mostly local actors and recording artists. It’s not glamorous or anything though. It’s just contracts,” he said, laughing.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but your stock just drastically declined.” I tried to keep a straight face, but when he seemed to be taking my comment seriously, his brow furrowing and lips parting slightly, I realized he hadn’t picked up on my sarcasm. “Cam,” I said, resting my hand on his forearm, “I’m only kidding. I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke.”

  I watched as the tension left his face and a smile replaced it. “Damn, Riley. For a minute I thought you were just like all the others.”

  “The others?”

  “The ones like Sophia, who only date me because of my name or my connections.” He was smiling when he said the words, but I could tell the idea bothered him. It only made me feel worse.

  “I’m sorry, truly. I would never want you to think that was why I was here. I couldn’t c
are less about all that.”

  “It’s fine,” he said with a sincere smile. “I’m just going to have to get used to talking to someone with a personality.” He winked at me and my heart started waving a white flag, tripping over itself. “So,” he continued, unaware of the way my heart was thumping in my chest, “is this your normal hangout?”

  “I came here a lot in college, when I was young and carefree. It’s close to my apartment, and, the best part—there’s Skee-Ball.” I gave a nod over my shoulder toward the back of the bar and watched as Cam’s eyes followed.

  “Ohhh.” He laughed, drawing the one tiny word out over a few chuckles. “You’re going down, Smith.” The smile on his face was blinding and for a moment, it was all I could see.

  Pushing all the stupid feelings he was causing away, I managed to retort, “You like Skee-Ball?”

  “I’m a Skee-Ball master.” He was completely serious.

  “Them’s fightin’ words,” I said, hopping down from my barstool. “Care to make a wager on your Skee-Ball skills?”

  “You wanna bet? On Skee-Ball?” His eyebrows rose, but he looked intrigued.

  I shrugged. “Why not? Afraid you’ll lose?”

  He laughed. “No, sweetheart. I’m not afraid I’ll lose.” The look he was giving me was so intense, it made the hair on my arms stand up and the bottom of my stomach drop out. “What’s up for grabs?” And there went the shiver along my spine.

  “If I win, you have to take me to a Blazer game, Mr. Season Ticket Holder.”

  He laughed again, this time rougher and under his breath. “And if I win, you have to come back to my place tonight to try one of my favorite beers.”

  I weighed my confidence in winning against possibly being roped into going back to his place. I liked him, more than I’d liked someone in a long time, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. I wasn’t going to sleep with him. “Listen, I’m going to win—there’s no doubt. But in the event that there’s a major earthquake during my turn and I end up losing, I’m not going back to your place to have sex. I’m not that kind of girl.”