“Mhm,” she hums.
We spend the rest of the night talking. Swapping stories and telling each other what our favorite season is (mine, fall; hers, spring), the best movie we’ve seen (mine, the entire Fast & The Furious franchise [which she called a cheat]; hers, Legally Blonde), our most embarrassing moment (mine, when my grandmother walked in on me fondling Mary Steven’s boobs in the seventh grade; hers, when her skirt ripped mid-stunt during a cheer competition senior year).
It’s not until the red, rising sun starts to peek through her curtains that we begin to doze off, her soft body curling further into mine. I lose myself to the warmth of her…and begin to worry that I might be losing my heart as well.
Fri, June 2 at 9:03am
STEVIE: Good morning
Fri, June 2 at 12:11pm
ALEKS: morning babe :)
STEVIE: 12pm isn’t reeeally morning anymore
ALEKS: technicalities
STEVIE:
ALEKS: wow
ALEKS: guess I’m not bringing someone coffee...
STEVIE: wait! Noooo I’m sorry
STEVIE: I meant
STEVIE: omg! That’s so early for you!! Amazing babe!!!!
ALEKS: haha I’ll see u in a bit
STEVIE: okay
Tues, June 13 at 22:58pm
STEVIE: Just getting ready for bed yawn emoji
ALEKS: Still working over here
STEVIE: eww
ALEKS: Send me a pic to get me through the night ;) STEVIE: Ha. No.
ALEKS: Ur no fun
STEVIE: Fineee Here
ALEKS: Babe. That’s a cup of tea
STEVIE: it is
ALEKS: I meant a sexy pic
STEVIE: Did you???
STEVIE: well…you didn’t specify…
ALEKS: Really
STEVIE:
ALEKS: Haha good night babe
STEVIE: Night
NINETEEN
* * *
STEVIE
Another rose.
Another. Damn. Rose.
I can’t even decide if I am creeped out, annoyed, or just mad at this point. All the emotions are coalescing into one.
The last rose was left on my rental car after my first date with Aleks. How he even found it in the parking structure is one thing. The fact that he knew the rental was mine is a whole other issue. There had been a lull in rose deliveries since then, so I thought maybe he’d stopped. Clearly not.
He is still calling me every few days, but I just let it go to voicemail. Now, I’m seriously wondering if I should just pick up the next time and tell him to back off.
Then again, I know Chase. I know him too well.
That will only spur him on, give him satisfaction, let him know he still has access to me. He isn’t dangerous. Sure, most people would think this weird rose-stalking situation would turn into something more sinister. Like maybe he would snatch me up in the parking lot after Sunday yoga class, throw me in his trunk until he can take me to one of his remote vacation houses—probably the one in Colorado—before locking me there forever.
But that’s not Chase.
His infatuation with me is having me on his arm like a trophy. He wants me because I am useful to him and his reputation. He wants me because he no longer has me. Chase might be a sweet talker, a charmer, but it was me who helped him keep so many of his clients. I was the one making friends with the wives and girlfriends, getting us invitations to their private parties. Chase doesn’t want to lose that. I could care less.
What I need is for him to find a new shiny toy.
As much as I hate Felicity Taylor, I really wish she would fit the bill.
Sighing, I pick up the stupid thing and throw it, a little aggressively, into the trash can next to me. The young girl behind the counter gives me a concerned look before continuing to serve the customer in front of her.
Today, the rose was taped to my take-out juice order. He must be tracking my credit card or something. I’m not sure how he would have access to it, but Chase has enough money that I suppose anything is possible. I stab a reusable straw through my green tonic and take a long sip, the tang of ginger curbing my annoyance. It was a great day until this point. I was excited to go hang out with Dee. Now, Chase’s ugly shadow looms over it. Asshole.
I fiddle with the take-out bag, which contains another green tonic for Deanna plus a vitality juice for me, as I try to take my phone out of my pocket, all while walking toward the exit. A clear recipe for disaster when I look up just in time to bump into a petite blonde.
My drinks remain intact, but hers goes sloshing onto the ground, the red color seeping onto the floor like a bloody massacre.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
An employee rushes over with a mop to clean the spillage in record time, all the while the girl just looks up at me with a bewildered expression.
Her gray eyes blink beneath her bangs before she lets out the loudest laugh I’ve heard in a long time. Tears start seeping out of the corners of her eyes, and I begin to wonder if I have somehow broken her in the process.
“No, you’re fine. It’s completely my fault for just stopping midstride.” She waves her phone around. “I just got an emergency work notification which has me on the verge of murdering my employer, so it is only right that I now look like I have committed one.”
I look down and notice that her white pumps are now painted in the red juice; my Gucci sneakers somehow spared.
“Shit, here, let me help.”
I guide her over to one of the closest tables, depositing my juices on it before grabbing the napkins in the bag and attempting to clean her shoes with them.
It’s not doing a great job. A faint pink residue remains on the otherwise pristine patent leather.
“What the hell was in that drink?” I mutter to myself.
“Beetroot.”
“Ah. The most dangerous yet delicious vegetable.”
“It’s lovely to meet someone who understands the appeal and thrill of beets.”
I laugh with her now, getting up from my crouch and joining her at the table. She has one of those small, round faces that look angelic in nature, like those “no-makeup makeup” models you see online.
“I’m Sydney.” She reaches out her hand, and I take it.
“Stevie.”
“Well, Stevie, while it is sad to lose a juice, I am glad you managed to distract me long enough to calm my murderous rage to more of a potential accidental homicide.”
I smile at her for a second, before cringing.
“Seriously, though. Can I get you another juice? Or shoes? I was also totally distracted.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the shoes,” she waves me off. “I’ll make my employer buy me a new pair. He is the main reason this all happened anyway. And I already had a second juice, and technically a third and fourth.” She pulls out an identical red drink from her own white take-out bag. “I was planning on bringing it back for the guys, but one of them is now on my shit list, so I’ll just have his.” She then proceeds to take a long, loud sip as if to prove her point to me.
She’s sweet. I think. Murder jokes aside.
I eye the time on my phone. I still have a good twenty minutes before I need to meet up with Deanna.
“So, why is this guy on your shit list?”