When we’re done, she glances out the window where a Yellow Cab waits below.
“There’s my ride.” She sucks in a long breath, smoothing her hand down her sides. Her mouth pulls into a wide smile. “Too fake?”
I laugh, nodding. “Just a little.”
She takes it down a notch.
“Just right,” I say, packing up my things. Checking the time on my phone, I see I’ve got ten minutes before I’m supposed to meet Ace. “Good luck with Brad tonight. Remember what we talked about. If you get too nervous, just fake it ‘til you make it.”
Helena strides my way, stepping into sexy stilettos that lengthen her legs even more. Moving toward me, she wraps her arms around me, and I breathe in her sultry sandalwood perfume.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Gathering my things, I head toward some place called Gilberto’s, and as my heart beats wildly in my chest for some reason unknown, I realize I might have to take my own advice tonight.
Ten
Ace
* * *
My knuckles rap against a chipped wooden table in the back room of my buddy’s bar. Clear glass rests atop a myriad of beer bottle caps in every color and brand imaginable. Aidy should be here any minute, but I went straight here from the pharmacy, wanting to grab a drink before she made her appearance.
“Need anything?” Gilberto pops his head into the private back room.
I glance down at my beer, my second for the night, and look back at him. “I’m good.”
“All right. I’ll send her back when I see her.” Gil disappears, and I check my phone. She should be here any minute, and I’m torn between feeling her out to see if she’s truly an obsessed fan or coming right out and accusing her of stalking me.
I’ve had stalkers in the past.
I’ve had women mail me their panties or offer me hundreds of thousands of dollars for my sperm. I’ve had women, whom I’d never slept with, accuse me of fathering their children and attempting to pursue court-ordered paternity tests. The worst was when a deranged fan broke into my apartment during a series of away games. She lived at my place for days at a time, each time I was gone, using my soap and shampoo, wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed. It wasn’t until I came home earlier than expected that I finally caught her. I’ll never forget the sick knot I had in the pit of my stomach when one of my neighbors told me my girlfriend was upstairs and that he never knew I had a thing for girls like that.
“That” meaning completely off-her-rocker insane.
That one did some time for stalking, and ever since, I’ve been particularly weary of my most loyal female fans.
Minutes pass, and I sense a new energy enter the room. Glancing up, I spot Aidy in the doorway, looking exactly like she did a half hour ago. Her blonde hair is wavy and bushy, parted on the side and tucked behind one ear. A loose tank top strap hangs off her shoulder and she takes the seat across from me.
She’s not sitting next to me.
That’s a good sign.
Resting her makeup case on the seat beside her, she folds her hands on the table and stares straight ahead. It’s like I’m in the principal’s office.
“So?” she asks. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Chuffing, I slip my fingers down the slick exterior of my beer stein and point my gaze in her direction.
“Really?” I ask. “We’re going to start out like that?”
“Why? Did you want to buy me a drink first?” she asks. “No offense, but I’m not exactly in the habit of accepting drinks from crazy strangers.”
My jaw slacks, and I’m more amused than offended. “I’d hardly call us strangers at this point. This is what, five times in three days now?”
“You’re keeping track.” Her blue eyes brighten in the dim space we share, and she fights a smile. “And you’re counting Monday, with the journal.”
“So you admit it was you.”
“I never denied it,” her stare holds mine, refusing to let go, “if you want to get technical.”
“Excuse me.” Gil stands in the doorway, looking at Aidy. “May I get you something to drink?”
Her tongue gently grazes her lower lip, and she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. “Yes, please. Tito’s and cranberry.”
“You’ve got it.” Gil shuffles away, and Aidy smirks, hiding her smile behind a sheet of golden hair.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just find all of this hard to believe. I chase you away from my apartment two days ago, and now I’m running into you everywhere I go. There are almost two million people in this borough. This just doesn’t happen.”
Her hand splays across her chest, and for some insane reason I steal a glimpse at her ring finger, which is free from any sort of obnoxious metal and diamond bling.
“You don’t think I’m freaking out too?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I peer down my nose at her. “You seem awfully calm about all of this.”
Her mouth pulls up in one corner. “I’m pretty calm about most things, but you wouldn’t know that because we’re still strangers, you see. If and when I freak out, I don’t do it in front of my stalkers. I feel like they’d enjoy it too much.”
“Jesus. How many stalkers have you had?”
“Just one. Summer after high school graduation.” She shrugs.
Gil swings by, dropping a cardboard coaster in front of her and placing a cocktail glass on top of it.
“Thank you,” she says to him with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. When her eyes snap back to mine, her smile fades. “What about you? Do you ever get stalkers or do you prefer to do the stalking?”
Smirking, I drag my hand across my mouth. Her cherry lips part just enough to welcome in a small sip of her drink, and she doesn’t so much as flinch when it goes down, which says a lot because Gilberto’s is notorious for strong drinks.
Gripping the glass with the tips of her fingers, she returns it to the coaster and tilts her head.
“I feel like I’ve been here almost ten minutes now and we’ve accomplished absolutely nothing,” she says, checking the dainty gold watch on her left wrist. “We can either sit here and continue to pretend we’re not gawking at each other from across the table, or we can–”
“I am not gawking.” My brows furrow and I sit back in my seat. “I don’t gawk.”
“Fine. Ogling.”
“I don’t ogle either.”
“Checking out,” she says. “Do you check people out?”
“Who says I’m checking you out? Maybe I’m trying to figure you out,” I say.
“Figure me out?” She releases a belly laugh and covers her mouth with her hand. “That’s cute. Now you’re trying to pick me up.”
“What? No.” I frown. This is not going well. Somewhere along the line this train derailed, and I’m not sure it’ll ever get back on track.
She takes another sip, glancing through the doorway as the bar begins to fill with regulars. “All right. Whatever you say. You must look at everyone that way.”