My sister shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about that. He was a bit rough around the edges when we first met him, but I thought he was funny and charming, in a New York kind of way—exactly Alice’s type.”
“I heard on the subway the other day that Dare Grangeworth was asked by NYC magazine to be on the cover of their most eligible bachelor issue, but he turned them down,” Lulu said.
I plunked back in my seat, folding my arms in front. “Do y’all have to keep saying his name over and over?”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t of at least had a drink with the man the other night,” Caroline said. “He did keep your pocketbook safe and sent a car for us both ways.”
“Yeah, I was there, Caroline. And, for the last time, no one but old blue-hairs call it a ‘pocketbook.’” I picked up my fork and shoved some of my huevos rancheros into my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything I would regret.
“All right, so why didn’t you want to go out with him?” my sister asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.
I eyed her. “Geez, I don’t know. Maybe because I just got here and the last thing I want to do is get wrapped up a guy, especially one who’s kind of famous.”
“Oh honey, he’s not ‘kind of’ famous. Dare Grangeworth is not ‘kind of’ anything. That man is full throttle, whatever he does.” Rayna informed me.
I sipped my herbal tea. “All the more reason to stay away. Can we talk about something else?”
Lulu gave a quick, half wave. “I’ve got some news.”
“Great! Let’s hear it.” I was more than anxious to take the focus off of me.
She threaded her pale blond hair behind her ear. “So Beck has agreed to invest in my latest invention. In fact, I leave for California at the end of the week to meet with his West Coast team.”
“That’s amazing!” I told her, giving her a hug.
Caroline clapped like an excited seal. “Congratulations! We need some mimosas right quick!”
“Forget the juice, chica. Necesitamos champán!”
A waiter came right over and, before we had a chance to do anything, Rayna had paid for the whole thing with her black Amex card. She told him something else in Spanish that none of us could catch. When he returned with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Rosé, we caught on fast.
“Rayna, this is too much,” Lulu said, although I noticed a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. She was right about Ray-Ray going overboard, but I also knew if our little group didn’t give Lulu some love and recognition, no one else in her life would do it.
“Don’t make me pull out my crop and make you my bitch,” Rayna winked, signing for the bill. The waiter coughed, hitting the center of his chest with his fist, excusing himself before scurrying off.
“Do you think he recognized you?” Lulu asked, her eyes alight; she was living proof of the saying, ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ because she thought Rayna being a professional Dominatrix was the bomb diggity.
“No lo sé, conejito. Probably not. She shrugged and lifted her glass. “Never mind him. Let’s toast!”
We lifted our glasses. “To Lulu, our gadget guru!” she said.
“To Lulu!” We all clicked our glasses just as the most perfect, sweet breeze swirled around us.
Everyone else took off after brunch, but I decided to walk home solo, enjoying the last days of Indian summer before I got to experience my first autumn in New York. Then my phone rang, and I knew my mini-vacay was over.
Because whoever was actually making a phone call instead of texting or emailing was definitely over forty and, therefore, a guaranteed scorch on my vibe. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and, sure enough, I knew nothing good could come from a call from my university, especially on a Sunday.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello. Who is this?”
I snickered. “You’re the one calling me, buddy.”
“Well, I know that,” he sounded annoyed already. “But who. Are. You?”
Then I heard a sound, like someone was sucking on a pipe, followed by a wet, retching, and disgusting cough. Unfortunately, I knew it well.
“Hi, Professor Bails. It’s Alice Leighton. Happy Sunday to you.”
Happy Sunday? What was I, one of the little people in Munchkin Land? Who talks like that?
“Oh yes, I remember now.”
Good for you, dude. You’re paid six figures and teach one class a year. Glad you can remember whom you’re calling. On a Sunday.
“I’m phoning because I have yet to receive your case study proposal. Many of your classmates are already recording data. Did I make a mistake in allowing a first year into my seminar?”
“No!” I called out, making people walking by turn their heads. I mouthed ‘sorry’ and continued. “No professor, you did not make a mistake. I had some delays, because of my living situation, but that’s handled now.”
He let out a loud sigh. “The whole point of the case study, Mizzz Laaay-tonnn,” he spoke like I had been dropped on the head one too many times, “is to record how the stressors of life affect your sex life, so you will experience what your future clients go through—not to wait until your moon is in Aquarius with everything aligned to your preference.”
He wasn’t done. Professor Bails rattled on for at least eight more blocks. For someone who was seventy, looked eighty, and sounded over a hundred, he had a lot more lungpower than I would have thought.
I turned the last corner and headed down my block.
“And lastly, Mizzz Laaay-tonnn, I took a chance on you because you came from Chapel Hill with such high praise, and well, I thought you would be up to the challenge this level requires, but if you can’t . . .” he kept droning on and on, the same thing over and over. Where was that phlegmy cough when I needed it?
I wasn’t wearing my glasses or contacts, but there seemed to be a massive hulk of man on the steps leading up to my building.
Dark hair and a beard.
Sunglasses.
It was Dare.
The Dare Grangeworth, as all my girls liked to remind me.
And he was sitting on my front stoop.
I didn’t know if my moon was in Aquarius or square dancing into Saturn, but something was finally aligning, doing a hop-skip right to my doorstep. And as soon as I got close enough to see, as soon as his gaze met mine, he smiled as if the one thing he had lost had finally been found.
I stopped just short of where Dare was seated, with his long legs stretched in front of him. Without taking my eyes off of him, I said, “Professor Bails? Yes, I hear you. I’ll have my proposal on your desk by tomorrow morning.”
Dear sweet Jesus, was I really going to do this?
“My dear, here we must run as fast as we can, just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Dare
New York is filled with goodbye girls. I should know. I was raised by one.
Being reared by a single mother was like getting a front row seat to a never-ending movie called ‘Really Stupid Shit Men Do.’ It probably didn’t help that I humored my mom by spending too many nights home with her, watching a shit-ton of rom-coms. Sure, some were mind-numbing drivel, but seeing her light up with every happy ending made it worth it. They also offered a younger, pain-in-the-ass version of myself an ersatz education in how to win the girl of your dreams.
I wasn’t sure if Alice was that girl, but she intrigued the hell out of me. And I knew we had chemistry. She had turned me down because of that two truths and a lie ‘test.’ Now, a lot of guys would’ve heard that nonsense and written her off as ‘crazy’ or ‘high-maintenance,’ but those dipshits didn’t know dick about women.
Maybe I didn’t either, but I knew this: Most women weren’t ‘crazy.’ Trust me, I’d been with one who was, and there’s a big fucking difference. I’d doled out enough tissues, my arm around my mom as she cried at the end of every sappy movie to learn that while grand
gestures were cool, just showing up and proving you don’t scare so easy was worth even more.
That said, if Neil Simon’s Goodbye Girl is playing on cable, I’m going to stop what I’m doing and watch until the end. Because when Richard Dreyfus exchanges his first-class seat to stardom for two economies, so Marsha Mason can finally get out of the rain and be with a man who knew that she—and her daughter, Lucy—were worth a hell of a lot more . . . well, it gets to this die-hard New Yorker every time.
That’s what I was thinking about as I spotted Alice turn the corner, phone to her ear, walking home. The air hurt going in because, yeah, she was that beautiful. I was waiting for her, sitting on the steps of her building, hoping like hell she’d find my impromptu visit a sign of my tenacity and romantic worth, instead of as a prompt to download a restraining order on her phone ASAP.
I was here to prove I was not so easily dissuaded. But before you give me a starring role in your next Hallmark Movie of the Week, I should admit to something: I’ve been cheating. Again.
This time, I didn’t have one of her notebooks, but I did have her sister’s cell. I texted her this morning, asking where Alice would be later today and if she thought I was wasting my time.
Her words: My sister is as stubborn as a mule, but she likes you. She just won’t admit it yet. Don’t make me regret breaking sister code. You hurt her, I break you.
At least I had Caroline in my corner. Sort of. According to her, I was going to need all the help I could get.
Meanwhile, I finally had Alice in my sights: walking with a natural sway in her hips, glasses perched on top of her head. Despite her eyes focused in my general direction, I could tell she hadn’t spotted me yet. She wasn’t in one of her usual cinched-in pin-up girl dresses, and while I got off on those, I was just as captivated by her in a pair of faded jeans and boots. She was also wearing a peasant blouse in a shade of caramel that matched the highlights in her russet brown hair. The clothes were earthy and relaxed but she layered her look with a lot of thin necklaces, stacked rings and bangle bracelets in all shades of metal, giving her an urban edge.
I was paying close attention to all the details because there was a strong possibility that she’d take one look at me, throw a fit, and toss me out. Lord knew if the laws of karma applied, I’d deserve it. So, I was taking note in case this day ended up as just a memory.
As she got closer, I heard the tail end of her call. Her eyes locked with mine.
“Professor Bails? Yes, I know you’ve been patient . . .”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes while saying it. I stifled a laugh, making her face crack open with a big grin.
“Right, well, I have someone in mind. What I mean is, I met someone . . . yes, I’ve arranged to talk to him . . . yes, today.”
She pointed to the phone and mouthed what an asshat.
“I’ll have my proposal on your desk by tomorrow morning. Right, no delays . . . I understand . . . yes, sir. Goodbye.”
She ended the call and stared at the phone in her hand for a second before a mask of determination set in.
“Whatever you’ve got in that gorgeous head of yours, forget it,” I told her as I leaned forward, forearms resting on my knees with the arm of my sunglasses hanging from my teeth. “Because, despite what you may have read about me online, I’m not, in fact, into ‘the group thing,’ drugs of any kind, or hooking up with random people from Craigslist.”
Alice let out a snort-laugh. “I haven’t Googled you, but I’m thinking I’ve been missing out.”
“Trust me, you haven’t. You can believe about half of what you read about the New York art world in the press and even less when it comes to me. Most of it is smoke and mirrors, and I’ll be the first one to admit I’ve used it to my advantage.”
The sun got lost behind a cloud cluster. I tucked my sunglasses inside my jacket pocket.
“Well, so . . . you’re not into any of that?”
I cocked a brow.
“You’re not,” she said under her breath, kicking the bottom of the bannister with the toe of her boot. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
You know why I’m here. I stood up and came down a couple of steps so I wouldn’t tower over her more than I already did. “I wanted to know if you’d like to take a walk with me.”
She looked confused. “You want to take a walk?”
“Honestly, I could take it or leave it. What I really want is to spend time with you. But since you already turned down drinks, I thought suggesting anything more might scare you off.”
She was staring up at me, those blue eyes the color of a Caribbean I’d kill to drown in, as long as I was with her. My chest expanded, an ocean of air swirling through me.
Slow down, man. You still know nothing about her and she’s probably wary for reasons of her own.
“What I don’t want is to make you uncomfortable in any way,” I went on. “Tell me you’re not interested, and I’m gone. That’s a promise.”
Alice shoved her hands in her jean pockets while looking down at her boots. “It was a lousy thing to do . . . that whole two truths and a lie test I put you through the other day.”
I didn’t answer. I could tell she needed to get whatever was bugging her off her chest more than I needed to hear an apology.
Alice raised her head and met my eye. “I played a zero-sum game and you still texted my sister in an attempt to track me down and ask me out.”
She let out something between a sigh and a groan. “I’m sorry about the other night, Dare. It’s not cool to make you pay for someone else’s bullshit.”
I shrugged. “We’ve all got baggage, Alice,” I said.
“I also need to ask you a favor.”
“Shoot,” I said.
She blew out a breath, tucking her folded arms closer to her while staring off. “Let’s go upstairs. I need the illusion of privacy in order to ask you what I need to ask you.”
This must be a doozy. I stepped to the side. “Lead the way,” I said.
She nodded, taking out a key card. She waved it in front of the censor and the door clicked open.
I followed her inside, the whole time we were waiting, riding the elevator and walking into her apartment, I was trying to figure out what she was working up the nerve to ask me. I knew she was studying to be some kind of sex expert, so that helped narrow down what the favor could be. By the time we got inside, I had quite a list:
Donating my dick to science, hopefully after I’m dead.
Wanting me to try out some new form of dude birth control, one known to shrink my balls down to tiny kumquats.
A new pill to help frat boys combat whiskey dick.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she shrugged off her jacket.
“No, I’m good,” I told her, standing just inside the door.
She smiled and shook her head. “You can come in. Have a seat and stay awhile,” she said, motioning to the navy loveseat. “I’m getting myself some tea. You sure you don’t want something?”
She was flitting around her kitchen, not looking my way. I was guessing she needed to make it more than I needed to drink it.
“Sure, whatever you’re having,” I said, tossing my jacket onto the plaid side chair. I looked around, noticing the place was a hodge podge of styles, but all about comfort. The sitting area and kitchen was one big room, a partial island with barstools demarcating the space. Off to the side was a nook, where they could’ve fit a small dining set, but instead it held a twin bed, a skinny dresser and a hanging rack with a few pieces of clothing.
“Is that your room?” I asked, giving a head nod towards the bed nook.
She barely glanced over. “Uh, yeah. It’s fine. I’m hardly ever at home.”
Typical New York half ‘bedroom.’ I didn’t miss those days.
She filled a teakettle and turned on the stove burner.
“Putting it in the microwave is faster, you know,” I told her.
The corner
of her mouth quirked. “Faster isn’t always better. Besides, my nana was convinced microwaves made the water taste funny.”
“That’s such a grandma thing to say. Mine never allowed cursing or malicious gossip in her kitchen because she thought it put bad mojo in her sauce.”
Her shoulders shook with silent laughter as she got cream out of the fridge and poured it into one of those ridiculous white ceramic cow dispensers.
And she’s still not asking me what she wanted to ask. How bad is this favor anyway?
“So, I’m guessing you came to New York for that fancy sex program.”
The kettle went off. She turned to grab an extra mug out of a high cupboard, her blouse raising enough so I caught view of the full curve of her ass and a sliver of creamy skin. I bit my top lip so I wouldn’t groan.
She took the kettle off the burner, then placed the mug next to her bone china cup and saucer; something dainty next to something clunky. Like the two of us: that’s fitting.
“It’s a clinical psych degree, specializing in human sexuality studies.”
“Right . . . like I said . . . sex.”
She eyed me while placing the tea bags in and slowly pouring the hot water over them. “I’m thinking a man who earned a full ride to M.I.T. doesn’t really think I’m in a ‘sex’ program.”
I chuckled, not surprised she’d known that was one of my truths. “What can I say; I like fucking with you.”
I’d also really like to fuck you, but we’ll get to that soon enough.
She placed the mug of tea in front of me, along with Elsie the cow and a matching ceramic bear filled with honey.
This woman killed me; Alice didn’t even have a real bedroom, but she had designated receptacles for her tea crap.
She drained the bag and set it aside before letting out an audible sigh. “Okay . . . wow, this is harder to ask then I expected.”
“I came up with a whole list on the way up here. Bet whatever you’re going to ask me is far better than some of the shit I made up.”
“What did you . . . ?” She shook her head and waved me off. “No, I don’t want to know.” She put both palms flat on the counter, staring down at her teacup. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, then finally opened them.
The Wonder of You (A Different Kind of Wonderland Book 1) Page 5
