9. Then
NINE
then
They were whispering about me. I probably would’ve been flattered if I wasn’t so edgy.
She wasn’t in one of her usual technicolor ensembles. I wondered if she was maybe trying her best not to be noticed.
Impossible. Her face alone would stop most men in their tracks.
That day, her hair hung loose over her bare shoulders in pale blonde waves. Her sexy legs were on display again, capped off with the same hideous shoes she wore every week.
And she looked perfect.
While I watched, Ella bent her head closer to her friend. Their opposite appearances were striking. Ella’s golden waves against the other girl’s black spiral curls; Ella’s black tank top next to her friend’s rainbow-striped sundress.
For a second, I wondered how they met. Maybe they were classmates, riding to school together. Maybe the other girl’s sudden appearance on the C line had nothing to do with me or our weird encounter last week.
Could be a complete coincidence.
Then the girl cast her dark brown eyes back at me, clearly assessing.
Not a coincidence, then. She’s definitely here because of me.
She liked whatever she saw. Turning back to Ella, she shot her an obvious hot-damn look and fanned herself. I glanced down at my gray slacks and white dress shirt, smirking.
When I turned back toward them, Ella’s sapphire gaze instantly snagged my attention. Her face looked just like it had under the streetlight on the corner of 23 rd . Sad and indecisive and… longing?
Or maybe that’s just what I want to see.
Ella’s phone tore her attention away. She frowned while she read the screen, then showed it to her friend, who rolled her eyes. “Great,” the girl grumbled, deflating, “All of this for nothing.”
I saw an opening. Three paces later, I arrived at the pole between their seats. “Whatever it is,” I said, nodding at her phone, “it can’t be as bad as two drunk pikers trying to fight you.”
Ella stared up at me, her mouth trembling between a small smile and a straight line. “Just a canceled class,” she murmured shyly. “No biggie.”
I scrambled for another topic and plucked up the first thing I could think of. “You don’t have your knitting stuff today. What will you use for protection if there’s another brawl?” When I caught her fighting a grin, I pressed my luck. “Or if some other guy tries to ask you out? ”
The girl with her snorted, tossing a look at Ella. “Did you stab him and just conveniently leave that part out of the story?”
Huh. I’m a story .
Ella blushed, clearly embarrassed to be caught talking about me. I smiled at her. “It’s okay. I told my friends about you, too. I’ve had beautiful girls give me their phone numbers on random subway platforms, but never their actual phones .”
It was a lie. I hadn’t told anyone about her because she made me feel like a crazy person. What self-respecting New Yorker talked to strangers on the subway, let alone chased them down?
Or walked up and inserted themselves into conversations?
The friend grinned at me; approval clear in her eyes. “You know what, Ella?” she said, gathering her purse while the train’s next stop came into view. “Since your class is canceled, I think I’ll get off here and grab dinner in SoHo. Some of my friends from the theater alliance are meeting at a Korean-Mexican fusion place that’s supposed to make amazing kimchi queso.”
Ella’s mouth dropped open, her expression frozen between pleading and disbelief.
“You know me,” the other girl went on, gliding toward the doors. “I’m such a whore for a bowl of cheese.”
She stood almost as tall as me. Her brown eyes bored into mine for a long moment, shooting me a warning look. “Nice to meet you, Hot Subway Guy. I trust you’ll see that my friend here doesn’t miss her stop this time?”
Before I could speak, she wiggled her fingers at us and sauntered off the car. When I faced Ella, her disbelief had taken a turn toward the accusatory. Her face soured as she watched her friend float away.
I tried for another joke. “I’d probably be offended that you thought you needed a buffer, if I wasn’t flattered by my new moniker ‘Hot Subway Guy.’ Think I should trademark it? Have some business cards made?”
Ella’s lush pink mouth flattened into a line. Her eyelashes fluttered when she lied. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. ”
I chuckled. “Say I’m a gentleman and I pretend to believe you—will you give me a chance and come have dinner with me?”
Her fearful look tightened my lungs. It also exasperated me. Why was she afraid? She handed me her wallet, so she must have thought I was sane, at least. She talked to me and even smiled at my jokes, so why did she look terrified every time I asked her to keep spending time with me?
And, if she really didn’t want anything to do with me, why didn’t she say no ? She had no problem confronting those two assholes last week…
I figured I’d never know unless I asked.
“Ella.”
I liked her name—delicate and different. It reminded me of sunshine and once-upon-a-times. It rolled out on a deep breath while I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck.
“I get it; you don’t know me. So, if I’m being creepy or making an ass of myself, just tell me, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
Her eyes softened into warm puddles of blue, rendering them even more beautiful than usual. Her voice hummed, soft but insistent. “You’re not,” she promised. “I—listen, I’m just—I don’t?—”
She couldn’t get her words out. Instead, she bit her lip and stared up at me, considering. When she opened her mouth, she spoke so fast I barely understood her.
“There’s this waffle bar, across the street from my stop. I sometimes go there for dinner if I can. And tonight, I can. And I guess… if someone else wanted to go there, too, I couldn’t stop that person from exercising their right to do so. Since this is, you know, America.”
I bit another smile back. Seemed I couldn’t control them around Ella. I’d never met anyone like her. Every time she showed me glimpses of her personality, a strange feeling burst through my chest. Some sort of warmth .
I lived for it. And hated it. And couldn’t figure out what the hell it was.
I only knew I would suddenly do anything to get to that damn waffle shop, even if I had to pretend we were strangers. Even if I had to actually eat a waffle for dinner.
Our subway chimed, illuminating Washington Square on its map of stops. Playing along with her game, I didn’t announce my intentions. I just followed her off, into the station, and up the steps to the street.
Walking behind her afforded me the best view in the whole damn city. Her tight top and shorts put her figure on display. Gentle curves that seemed so natural on her small but leggy frame. I wanted to slide my hands down the perfect bows of her hips and pull her body into mine.
It had been a while since I walked around the West Village. I recognized a few old standbys like Papaya Dog and the Gothic-style Methodist church down the street. Beyond that, I could just make out the corner of Washington Square Park through the pre-streetlight dim.
I felt out of place in my work clothes. Everyone around us dressed more like Ella—casual street clothes and mismatched fashion statements. With her crocheted Big Bird-yellow purse and funny green clogs, the girl fit right in.
She led me to a tiny storefront wedged between a bank and a head shop. The neon sign said, “West Side Waffles.” Everything—from the awning outside to the checkerboard floor inside—was as yellow as her bag.
Their menu bragged that they had every option imaginable, from whipped cream to curry sauce. Once we fell in line, I leaned closer and asked Ella, “Is it safe to talk to you yet? Because I have no idea if I should do sweet or savory here.”
Relief surged through me when she giggled. “If you go for savory, you’re on your own,” she quipped. “I’m getting mine covered in chocolate.”
Dessert for dinner . I liked that idea.
I ordered whatever Ella asked for. When she pulled out her little knit coin purse, I already had a twenty folded between my fingers. I reached around her to hand it to the cashier.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Ella mumbled. “Since this isn’t a… whatever.”
“Date?” I grabbed our food off the counter and layered as much charm into my smile as possible. “No, usually I take my dates to restaurants that don’t make us carry our own trays.”
She gave a cute little snort. “Forgive me. I had no idea I was in the presence of such a gentleman.”
A gentleman .
A flurry of flashbacks from my summer of random hook-ups floated through my mind. I almost winced. There were a lot of women—too many, some would argue.
I tried to play it off as flirtatious banter. “Clearly, you don’t know me very well.”
I hoped for more of her soft little laughs, but my reply troubled her for some reason. A crease folded the creamy skin between her blonde brows.
“What?” I set the waffles on the table near the front window. “You were hoping Hot Subway Guy would be a white Knight?”
That earned me a tiny smile. “No,” she sighed, sitting down. “I was just thinking… if this were a date… that you probably go on a lot more dates than I do. ”
I held back another grimace. What could I say to that? I did go on a lot of dates.
Most weren’t romantic. I had to attend every museum benefit and university booster gala in the city. Bringing my own companion usually held more appeal than wading through the cesspool of single social climbers and sorority girls vying for their Mrs. degrees.
A lot of times, I didn’t even have a say. My parents often filled the seat next to mine without my input. Once, I had to spend the whole evening with some debutante named Buffy VanHorn. She gave terrible head, too.
For the most part, the usual dating scene didn’t bother me. Finding girls was easy enough. Charming my parents’ fix-ups never proved much of a problem, either. Hell, I figured most guys could do worse than an open bar, a nice meal, and an easy lay on any given Friday night.
But I didn’t think Ella would appreciate that perspective.
“I go to a lot of functions,” I hedged. “Though, now that I think of it, I haven’t been out with anyone in about… a month?”
Jesus . Was that true?
I quickly re-counted the weeks.
One, two, three, four…
Ella finished doing the math at the same time I did. Our eyes met. And I knew she saw it all over my face: I hadn’t looked at another woman since the day I saw her.