When the Stars Align

by Isabel Jolie

  “Probably both,” I answer. On a normal day, I’d be more than happy to dissect the Angela-Chase relationship. Today, though, other items are on my agenda.

  He nods as he continues to stuff his face with bread.

  “Jackson and I’ve been running together. Did he tell you?”

  Chase wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swallow of water. I have his attention. “No. I haven’t seen him. A few texts here and there.”

  I’m not surprised.

  Chase asks, “Are you two getting to be friends?” A smirk plays across his face, but the expression swiftly shifts to serious. “Be careful with him, okay, Anna? I don’t know what he’s like now, but he used to be quite the player.”

  The waitress delivers our lunches. A Venetian salad for me and an enormous steaming plate of lasagna for Chase. We like to come to this place because they have lightning fast service.

  I wait until the waitress hustles away, then ask, “Is that why you told him I slept with you?” I study Chase’s expression. I need to see how he reacts.

  He holds his fork mid-air, and his eyes pop open a bit. His mouth opens slightly then closes. He places the fork down on the table and rests both hands on his thighs. “Anna.” He bows his head. Exhales loudly. “Anna, I’m sorry. A long time ago. It was stupid. I only said it once.”

  “Why say it?” I need to know. I have my own theories, but I need to hear his answer.

  He runs his hand across his buzz-cut hair. “I don’t know. We came back from sushi, and all the guys were sitting around. One of them asked if I’d been tapping that.” He stops, looking both shameful and guilty. Good. He should be. He is. He raises his head and tilts it to the side. “If it helps, I told them you were the best lay of my life.”

  My mouth drops open then I bite my lip to suppress a laugh. “No, Chase. That doesn’t help.” I sigh. For some reason, maybe because it was four years ago and college strikes me as being a different era, I’m not angry. More puzzled. Flabbergasted. “Why? Why do it?”

  “Those guys, Anna. They always scored. Always had undergrads coming back, staying the night. We should’ve put in a rotating door. I mean, here I am, this kind of short Jewish kid. I don’t know. It’s the way guys are with each other.” He picks up his fork but doesn’t start eating. “Can you forgive me? Are you mad?”

  I roll my eyes in exasperation. “Eat, Chase. Before it gets cold. And yes, I’ve already forgiven you. I mean, I’m pissed. But it’s done. Did you know Jackson has been mad at me for four years because of it? He didn’t speak to me after you told him your bullshit story.”

  Chase’s mouth is full of lasagna. He’s squinting while chewing, as if thinking. Once he swallows, he says, “No. I didn’t know. But now that I think about it, he didn’t really talk to me leading up to graduation either. It was months after graduation before we started texting. I chalked it up to new jobs and new cities.” His tone changes to mild incredulity. “Were you guys actually dating?”

  “Yes! How did you not know?”

  He opens his mouth. Closes it. Repeats the action a few times. I dig my fork into his lasagna. I always order the salad with good intentions, then eat Chase’s lasagna. The lunch lasagna here could be a family size dinner portion.

  He watches me dig into his lasagna. “Shit, Anna. I’m sorry. I guess I had it in my head Jackson wasn’t a one-girl kind of guy. I wasn’t paying attention. And you and I weren’t really friends yet. I mean, remember? We grabbed food a few times once we realized we were both moving to New York.”

  I wave my fork in the air. “Yeah, I remember. We started talking more when Jackson told us we were both moving to New York. That’s why we ate sushi together that night. We were comparing notes since we were both apartment hunting.”

  Chase stares at the condensation on his glass, thoughtful. “Yeah. I guess that’s another reason I didn’t think of you guys as dating. He’d already accepted a position in Atlanta. You had a job in New York.”

  “It was a sore point for us, for sure.” I toy with the pepper shaker as I reflect on the one fact that shadowed us back then. Our eventual move to two different states.

  “You guys were serious enough you were debating changing your plans?” He sounds stunned.

  As I dig into his lasagna, I answer, “Debating might not be the right word. Arguing. Fighting. It’s kind of exhausting dating a lawyer.”

  We are silent for a bit while we both eat.

  Once we’re done, he leans back. “So, let me guess. The timing of my little tale hit after you guys had had an argument, and then you never heard from Jackson again.”

  “Something like that.” Something just like that. Complicated by the fact I’d dissed him for a few days. But back then, he was pissing me off. His whole attitude that my career didn’t matter as much as his. Yeah, Chase didn’t help matters, but Jackson and I weren’t exactly on a road to happily ever after.

  Chase balls his napkin up and puts it on the table. He places his credit card in the bill folder and tells me, “Lunch is on me.” Today, I will let him pay. “I guess I owe Jackson an apology too.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “How angry is he?”

  “Well, he’s not going to punch you. He won’t do anything that might result in a lawsuit.”

  Chase taps the table, thoughtful. “He’s not going to say anything until he can confront us together.”

  I laugh. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I know the fucker. It’s classic prosecution tactic. He’s gonna want to see how we react to his questions when we’re in the same room.”

  “You don’t think he believes me?”

  “Oh, he wants to believe you. But he’s gonna have to see for himself. Watch our facial expressions when he asks about it.” Then Chase rubs his hand through his hair and utters a long, drawn-out, “Fuck.” There’s a lengthy pause before he asks, “But we’re still friends, right?”

  I smile. “Yeah, Chase. We’re still friends.”

  Chapter 10

  Jackson

  “Morning, Brandon.”

  When the door opens, cold air slaps my face. I jump back inside to zip up my running jacket.

  A deep chuckle rolls behind me. “Yeah, man, it’s chilly out there.”

  I brace myself for the cold.

  “Enjoy your run, Mr. Hendricks.”

  I head to the empty bench I use for stretching. Chilly doesn’t cut it. It’s freaking cold. The early morning sky is darker than normal. It’s going to be a cloudy day with rain coming in by afternoon. I count off jumping jacks and high knees before attempting to stretch. What if Anna won’t want to run through winter? I can take Chewie for her, but damn. I’d miss running with her. It’s the only time of my day I spend with someone not from work.

  I stretch my neck from side to side then move to hamstrings and quads. I don’t like the thought of running without Anna. She’ll either run or she won’t. Nothing I can do to change her mind.

  She doesn’t run with me on the weekends. I do a longer run on Saturdays, seven miles, so it’s just as well. Friday and Saturday nights, she goes out. Hence no running on Saturday and Sunday for her. On the weekend, she prefers long walks.

  Chewie greets me first as always, lunging and looking like she’s about to drag Anna down the sidewalk. I bend to pet Chewie and glance up at Anna. “You ready?” Today’s the big day. She’s agreed to run three miles with me. She’s been working up to this.

  “Hell, yeah!” She’s beaming. She likes to see herself as this laid-back creative type, but the girl has a competitive Type A streak running through her too. She starts stretching beside me, doing the moves I’ve taught her. Without saying a word, I take Chewie’s leash. We’ve got a system. While she stretches, I sit back and watch. She’s just a friend, but I am a guy.

  Her black Lycra leggings show every muscular curve in her legs and hug the shape of her ass. Her breasts bounce in her tight tank tops as she runs. Today, her long-sleeve running shirt
molds tightly to her curves. Any guy would like to look at that each morning. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and it swings as she moves around. No make-up. She probably brushed her teeth, got dressed, and came straight out here. So different from the women I typically date. Or the women I meet at bars and whose numbers I never keep.

  Her bright smile and warm eyes catch me off guard. Sometimes I feel a little overwhelmed by her. So damn beautiful. Natural. Sometimes I stare at her and remember her nipples, remember her moans, her smooth, bare pussy. I remember all the little noises she makes when she comes. But, no.

  I’ve thought about her, now that I know she didn’t sleep with my roommate. But one thing Chase was right about. Anna’s not the kind of girl you date casually. And I don’t have time for more right now. I didn’t move to a city I don’t like to jump on the slow road in a law firm.

  “You ready?” She’s rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. We need to get moving.

  “Remember. Focus on your breathing and rhythm. Breathe through your nose.”

  We all three take off. Chewie and I are close to the road, tucking her safely on the side of the sidewalk next to the building.

  She keeps pace, smiling. “It’s like you’re training me for a marathon.”

  I raise my eyebrows. That would be fun to do together. “Maybe I am.” As if I’d have the time.

  In her husky I’m-trying-to-talk-while-running voice, she says, “You might need another running buddy. This one’s good with three miles a day.”

  I laugh out loud. “On good weather days, right?”

  “Hey, I went running with you last week in the rain. Did you forget about that, Coach?”

  “You complained the whole way. Did you forget about that?”

  We round the corner into Central Park, and all hell breaks loose. Another dog catches Chewie’s attention. I shout and yank the leash, but it’s too late. Chewie rushes in front of Anna, and she goes flailing forward, right over her dog, hands first onto the pavement, her legs a mangled mess below her. I haul Chewie back with one angry pull on the leash and glare at the dog.

  With Chewie under control, I bend to Anna’s side. I trail my hands down her legs. Her foot twists in an unnatural angle. She’s injured. Blood covers her palms. Small rocks line the torn skin. A gaping hole exposes a bloody knee, also littered with tiny rocks and what looks like slivers of glass. Basically, her body mopped up the gunk of a city sidewalk. “Are you okay? Do you think you can stand?”

  She kind of nods, and I place her arm around my shoulder as I help her up. She starts to put weight on the twisted ankle. She buckles immediately.

  “Ow,” she gasps. She’s staring at her bloody palms, grimacing. Her skinned palms aren’t what I’m concerned about. Her ankle bothers me. I’ve been running since I was twelve years old. In a best-case scenario, she has a sprained ankle.

  “Are you okay?” I ask again. She doesn’t respond. She’s bent over, studying her bloody knees and hands, her hurt ankle hanging in the air with no weight on it. My hands brush over her, searching for any immediate swelling. Any sign I should rush her to an ER, even with a dog in tow. “Anna? Answer me.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t think I’m making three miles today.”

  No shit. “Yeah, I’d agree with you.”

  I don’t see any bones protruding. Nothing warranting an ambulance. I lean down and scoop her up.

  “Whoa!”

  I head back to our building. Chewie at least has the good manners to follow along on the leash without pulling or making it more difficult.

  “You don’t need to carry me. I’ll be okay.”

  “No, you won’t be. We need to get you back and get some ice. See why you can’t put weight on your foot. When we’re back at your apartment, we’ll see how it is and decide if we need to take you to a doctor.”

  “Seriously, Jackson. You’re going to hurt your back. At the very least, stop and we’ll grab a cab.”

  Hurt my back? Does she think I’m weak? “You aren’t heavy. And I don’t have any cash for a cab. Do you?”

  She doesn’t respond. Just stares straight ahead. Her hand on my shoulder fluctuates between a firm grip and a looser clasp. As if I would drop her. I hold her close to me and focus on getting home.

  My concern for her outweighs any discomfort from the strain of carrying her for several blocks. My skin tingles along my neck where her bare arm touches me. A heady awareness of her body being so close fills me, and the arousal drives me to half-mast. Focus.

  Brandon sees me through the glass doors and rushes to open them. I trudge in, Anna in my arms, Chewie still right by my side.

  “Anna, are you okay?” Brandon asks.

  “Yes, but can you push the elevator button for us, please?” I answer, winded.

  Brandon runs to the elevator bank ahead of us and asks someone else to stand aside as he prepares a private elevator for us. I make a mental note to give him a good holiday bonus. He rides up in the elevator with us and opens Anna’s door.

  I settle her down on her futon and thank Brandon. He shakes my hand and says, “No problem, Mr. Hendricks. Anna, you ring downstairs if you need anything, okay?”

  Anna wheezes out, “Thank you, Brandon,” as she grimaces, clearly in pain.

  I gently feel from her knees down, watching carefully for any signs of pain. I run my hands down her right leg, all the way to the end, and not seeing her react, I remove her shoe. Then I cradle her left leg. When I touch her left ankle, she immediately pulls it back and cries out in pain. I untie her left shoe. I want to rip it off like a Band-Aid, but I force myself to ease it off. The entire time, Anna’s face contorts in pain.

  Her ankle is now visibly swollen. She needs an x-ray. I tell her so, and she disagrees. Typical.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. You can stop, Dr. Hendricks,” she says, sounding annoyed.

  I stand, irritated with her. She needs to see a doctor. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  “Yeah, there’s one under the sink.” She points toward her bathroom.

  No need to lose my cool with her. I go to grab the kit so I can clean up her open wounds. If she has a wrap, I can wrap her ankle. Try one more time to convince her she needs to visit a doctor.

  I reach into the overstuffed cabinet below her sink. The back of the cabinet is jam-packed with random stuff. The front of the cabinet has two sets of stacked baskets. I glance through the baskets, looking for something resembling a first aid kit.

  Tampons. Make-up. Nail polish. Maybe twenty things of nail polish in one basket. Who needs so much nail polish? Does she even wear nail polish? Moisturizer.

  I tilt a different basket to me and pull out a long rubber piece. I hold it up and close my eyes. Holy shit. Her vibrator. I smirk. I grab the basket and look through it. Anna’s added to her collection over the last four years. I kind of like thinking she’s needed sex substitutes. I toss the dildo I had in my hand back in, then I see the small, flat vibrator. The We-Vibe vibrator. I bought her this one. It’s purple. There’s a flat vibrating piece that lies above her clit and then curves around inside. Holy shit. I still remember how those vibrations felt against my dick. I’m fairly certain it’s the same one I bought her. On a total whim. We wandered into an Adam and Eve store, giggling like teenagers. I saw it in the case and was intrigued. We had a lot of fun with it.

  I step out of the bathroom and hold it up. “Is this the same one I gave you?”

  Anna squeals and grabs the throw pillow she’s lying on and places it over her head. “Oh. My. God. Jackson. Get out of my bathroom.”

  Um, no. I need to at least clean up the blood. Laughing, I put the vibrator basket away and continue my search. She’s so damn adorable. And now I’ve got a hard-on.

  Okay. Enough of that. I’m never finding anything underneath her sink. I reach for a washcloth from the rack and run it through warm water. This will have to do.

  I approach her, ready to clean up her wounds and confirm they are all
indeed minor scratches. The bleeding has stopped. The fall mangled her skin, but she’ll be okay. Except for her ankle. I frown, skeptical. “Are you going to be okay getting to work?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. I promise. Go to work! You already missed your run because of me. No need to be late to work too.”

  She has a point. I don’t want to be late. But if she needs me, work can wait. I don’t have a client until midmorning. “Be careful. Let me know if you need anything. And do you have an extra apartment key?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “In case I need to stop by and take Chewie out for a walk. Or I need to bring something to you.”

  Her hands massage her injured leg, and she grimaces. “Yeah, there’s an extra key on the hook. You can grab it. I’m gonna be fine. But good for you to have a key, in case I lose mine. Backup.”

  “Yeah, backup. I’ll leave you one of my keys too.”

  Every part of me tells me I should be there to help her get to work. Find a doctor then get her to work. Based on the swelling, it looks like a sprained ankle.

  I head back to my apartment. She’ll be okay. I know this. Still, I schedule an Uber and leave a yellow Post-it note with her coffee by her door. Then I speak to Brandon and ask him to go out and talk to the Uber driver when he arrives in five minutes. I tell him to offer the driver fifty dollars cash to wait for Anna and drive her to work. I order the Uber on my account.

  I look Brandon in the eye as I hand him a hundred-dollar bill. “Make sure she gets in the Uber. I don’t want her taking the subway today. And if you switch shifts with Al before she comes down, tell Al.”

  Brandon looks me in the eye and not at the bill. Good man.

  “Yes, sir.”

  As I’m headed out the door, Brandon calls, “Do you think she’s going to need crutches?”

  “Yes. I told her she needs to go to the doctor. Not sure she will.” That girl is stubborn.

  “We may have some extra crutches in a closet. Pretty sure we do. I’ll bring them out in case she wants to borrow them.”