Chapter 11
11
Natalie
Chad was much more interesting in the dark bar of The Delilah.
I was also on my third martini when I accepted his date invitation. His good looks can’t make up for the two hours I just lost sitting across from him at dinner. It’d be one thing if I only had to look at him all night, but he lost me when all he talked about was business.
Did I mention Chad is a stockbroker?
That should say everything, but to be more clear: Big ego. Little penis.
Whoever said stockbrokers are sexy was wrong. Come to think of it, though, no one says that. Except, David from my dad’s office once said it to me. Literally, those words. “Women find me sexy because I’m a stockbroker.”
He was being more arrogant than usual because he had scored a date with a model after flashing cash in his profile pic. That was the only date they went on . . . I heard through the office gossip grapevine when I was interning two years ago. But then he tried that same line again on me, flashed his photo, and then asked me out. When I didn’t reply in a timely manner—I was never going to answer—he emailed me the photo “for my personal collection.” Although my dad wouldn’t mind me dating a successful stockbroker, I have a feeling that wasn’t what he had in mind.
Instead of replying to David’s email, I forwarded it to my dad and brother and cc’d David.
He was fired that day.
As for Chad’s penis, I don’t know about the size firsthand, but I can tell by how he loves to brag that he’s pretty proud of himself.
He’s a dime a dozen in this city and boring, much like every other man I’ve dated in the past few months. Is it really a surprise I’m still single when this is the current pool of available men?
No.
Thank God dinner is done, and we can move on with our lives—preferably in different directions. I’ve learned my lesson. Embargos aren’t always so bad. Sometimes they serve a purpose, and mine just became clear—do not force a connection that isn’t there. If it happens, it happens, but being lonely shouldn’t be a condition to lower my standards.
I know magic exists.
I experienced it once on Catalina. But maybe, it’s just not my time. I have my company— at least for now —and a handful of good, trusted friends. And as they say, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. I just need to get rid of this one. Stat.
My mind ticks through this week’s to-dos as we walk down the sidewalk. I glance over, politely pretending to be paying attention with the occasional nod and “ah, I see,” but the latest sell-off that landed him in hot water with his boss doesn’t hold my interest. The bright yellow sign for the corner bodega does, though, luring me to go inside to buy a pen and pad to jot down the extensive list I’ve created.
Disappointment sets in when we pass it. It would be rude for me to make the detour, so I carry on, hoping he’s done talking before we reach the next corner so I can dash off. Friday night is bustling in this part of the city, and the sidewalk is crowded with people going in all directions. When some jerk passing by knocks my shoulder, I’m about to turn around and say something, but then I hear, “Sorry.”
I stop and spin around just in time to catch sight of the back of him. “Thanks.”
A jaw sharp enough to cliff dive off the side.
That grin that would give a rogue a run for his money.
And brown eyes that precariously balance a warm soul and mischievousness behind squinting lids. “Natalie?”
Oh.
My.
God.
“Nick?” I run into his arms without thinking twice. Not even once, if I’m being honest. Closing my eyes, I breathe him, savoring the energy flowing through my veins. It’s as if my body’s been dormant, and Nick’s the catalyst. “God, I missed you so much,” I whisper under my breath, unintentionally vocalizing my confession but not caring. I hate how we ended. Is it wrong to want an actual chance with him?
I instantly recognized his deep tone as if my insides had been wired to pick up on the frequency. And I could never forget those eyes and how they drank me in the first time we met. But it’s those arms, the same ones wrapped so tight around me now, that I’ll always remember most. Like in Avalon, he holds me like he doesn’t want to lose me, quenching not only his thirst for this connection but also mine.
When I look at him, his smile is better than I remember and he whispers, “What?”
I’m not going to admit that I missed him twice, though, when he hasn’t said it once. I mean, that would be embarrassing. We barely know each other. “I asked what you’re doing here?”
His warmth disappears with his arms as he lowers them and takes a step back. “Business.” He takes his time giving me a once-over, owning every lingering second. Goose bumps arise like a long-awaited wave covering my body. “Wow.” He stares at me as though he expects to see a glitch in the system to prove I’m not real. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Holding my arms out, I say, “Here I am.”
“Yes, you are.”
I’ve missed the dulcet tones that warmed my insides. His voice makes me weak in the knees as memories of Catalina flood back.
A throat is cleared, and Chad adds, “And so am I.”
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about him. I take a step back to include him in this exchange, though I’d rather just tell him good night. “Chad, this is Nick. I mean, The ? — ”
“It’s almost been five months,” Nick says, with his eyes set on mine and ignoring my date altogether.
“Four months, three weeks,” I reply with a shrug. “But who’s counting?”
“I have been. Every day. God, it’s good to see you, Natalie.”
Suddenly, I wish I would have worn something instead of these jeans and a simple blouse that ties at my waist. If I’d know that destiny was going to play her hand tonight, I would have worn a dress, a dress with pockets, or one that’s fitted. I’m not sure which dress or the style, but I would have worn something different, a dress just for Nick, is all I’m saying. “You too. So good.”
Clearly Team Natalie, Nick comes closer, ignoring the invisible line of personal space. I can’t say I mind. “I’m not here long, but we should catch up.”
I’m startled by a loud clap. When I turn toward the sound, Chad says, “This has been fun, but Natalie and The Chad have plans.”
Nick’s face remains impartial for about point two seconds. Then he loses it. “The Chad?”
I’m right there with him on this one, but I refuse to get caught up in Nick, more than I am already, and force my eyes back to Chad. “We do?”
“Yes.”
Nice enough to move on, Nick asks, “What do you think,” as if it’s just the two of us, “about going on a date?”
Although my gaze shifts to the man standing next to me, I can feel the heat of Nick’s proximity melting me on the inside. Damn him and that, that, that electricity or chemistry. Whatever it is that feels like a fire heating a winter’s night that flows between us. Cracking a small smile, I keep my voice low as if Chad might hear me if I don’t, and reply, “I’m already on a date, Nick.”
“Yeah, Nick ,” Chad adds loudly, awkwardly causing a scene by the wide berth people are leaving around when they walk by. “She’s on a date with The Chad, so fuck off, dude.”
I’ve had it with the third person reference. I was patient all through dinner listening to The Chad , but I’ve had enough. Just when I’m about to say something, I notice the warmth of Nick’s brown eyes turn cold when he levels Chad with a glare. Stepping closer, he leaves enough room to fill the space with a new, unrecognizable emotion—the playfulness gone the moment Chad opened his mouth. “Listen . . .”
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself when Nick glances at me. I assist. “ The Chad.” Okay, maybe I’m not the most helpful, but it is funny.
“Listen, Chad ,” Nick continues, not missing a beat. “I understand you thought this was going well, but I can tell you from firsthand experience that you don’t stand a chance of getting a good-night kiss, much less a second date.”
Chad steps closer and scoffs. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”
“Ask her.” Nick’s eyes only find mine a second, but it’s long enough for me to see that sexy confidence I remember so well from Catalina filling his irises.
Chad turns to me, putting his back to Nick. Tilting down, he whispers, “This was going well, you and I, before he showed up, right?” When I hesitate, he adds, “Tell him. We’re going back to my place uptown. We can have a nightcap?—”
“Well . . .” Throwing my hand up, I place a wall between us. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Chad. It’s been okay , at best—first person or third person—but not worth a nightcap.” I was feeling generous with the okay rating on the date. If this were an online survey, it would rate a one star, at best.
“What are you talking about? At dinner, you said you liked the pasta.”
Blinking rapidly, I try to make the connection between liking the pasta and liking him. “I did. It was great. Thank you for dinner,” I say, staring at him.
Chad’s eyes ping-pong between Nick and me but land in my direction again. With his mouth dropped open, he works his way up from my chest, a place he gave more attention than my personality while consuming said delicious pasta. Then he starts laughing deliriously while looking around. “This is a joke, right?”
“Ashton’s not going to pop out of the bushes.”
“Who?” he asks.
“Never mind.” I sigh, realizing the awesomeness of the show Punk’d doesn’t live on. Guess I’m the only one who loves to watch old shows. Clapping my hands together, I add, “I think this a good place for us to say goodbye.” I offer him a friendly handshake.
“What?” With a furrowed brow, he glances at my hand and then up to me. “Wait . . . are you blowing me off?”
“No. Not at all. The date was over, so I’m saying goodbye.”
“But I’m a stockbroker. I work on Wall Street.”
“Please don’t take this personally . . .well, I do hate lying. The fact is, it’s you, Chad. We’re just not a good fit, so I think goodbye is best.”
“Forever?”
“Yes, forever. Goodbye, Chad.”
His mouth falls open again, and then he shoots Nick a glare full of daggers. “Asshole.”
Nick shrugs. “You win some. You lose some.”
Chad looks back at me. “Don’t call me?—”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have your number.”
The bitterness trails him as he storms away. When he’s out of earshot, Nick asks, “The Chad?”
Pleading, I ask, “Can we forget this ever happened?”
“Most definitely not,” he says, chuckling.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Great.”
“Let me ask you, Natalie, how’d you set up a date if you don’t have each other’s numbers?”
“I deleted it at dinner.”
“The Chad was that bad, huh?”
“Worse than you can imagine.” A horn blaring from across the street draws my attention. I truly never thought I’d see Nick again, and it’s not that I’m rendered mute now, but where do I start? Our first conversation was determined by the confidence attained from too much tequila. Or was it rum? Our next, a broken Vespa. In other words, there was no typical context to draw from, drunken or otherwise. But now? I want to know what he’s been doing. Has he been back to Catalina? Is he in New York for only a short time or staying?
I want to know if he’s dating someone . Please let him be single.
And has he thought about me as I’ve thought about him? Or even a little. I’d settle for a thought or two over the months since we parted ways. Although I want to know everything about him, every detail we glossed over the first time, I probably shouldn’t hit him with fifty soul-searching questions, so I start with a softball. “How are you?”
“I’m good, better now.” When his gaze veers to the surroundings, I take the chance to get a good look at him. Is it strange to notice that although he looks like the Nick I once met, he also appears different in the slightest of ways?
Are the lines beside his eyes a little deeper, or is it an offshoot shadow from the dry cleaner’s fluorescent sign? Surely, his shoulders can’t be broader. Can they? Has he been working out . . . more than he did before, that is? Maybe the final stages of boy to man have come to take their rightful place. And let me tell you, it is oh, so right.
I bite my lower lip before I even reach the superficial stuff like the stainless-steel blue-faced Omega watch wrapped around his wrist. Blue, not black. Friendly. Business yet approachable.
In California, he oozed the lifestyle of the West Coast in his casual but refined taste of old money. Nick said he’s here on business, so the dark suit makes sense and gives off a Manhattan vibe. But the tie isn’t missing because it was never a part of the look. That crisp white shirt shows no signs of wrinkling around the collar and highlights a tan that couldn’t have lingered from last summer but appears to be a part of him naturally.
Why does he have to be so damn handsome? Still.
I’m not usually tongue-tied, but I stand there silently, admiring the man who not only remembers me but also recognized me on the street in a city of eight million people.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “About that date. The offer still stands if you’re up for it.”
“Tonight?”
“Right now.”
Checking my watch, I purse my lips in thought. “I don’t know. I’m coming off a bad date, so that puts a lot of pressure on you to redeem my night. If you don’t, that will be two bad dates in one night. Might be a record.”
“I’m up for the challenge.” I knew he was, but I love that he takes the bait . . . I mean, up to the task. When he looks at me, it’s as if he sees my thoughts, and my cheeks heat in response. Taking a few steps closer, so close that my eyes dip closed as if I’m about to be kissed, he says, “As I see it, we have several options.”
Playing off how bad I just misread that situation—again, I might add, recalling the last rejection from him that I barely survived—I tap my eye as if dust invaded the corner. “Sorry,” I reply, blinking like a crazy person. Lowering my arm, I latch my good eye onto him. “Several options, you say? Do tell.”
He gives me a second full once-over and then rubs the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip as if he’s devising a plan. The intensity of his eyes lands back on me. “We can get a drink at a nearby bar. Or maybe you’re up to hang out at my hotel suite . . . or your place. Whatever you want to do, I’m all yours.”
“Are you?”
A smirk splits his lips. “Since Catalina, but that’s old news, and I want to hear about the new you.”
“Like?”
“Natalie in New York versus you in California.”
Undecided on what I want to do, I look down the street one way and then the other, but with him standing so close, his scent has our past trickling back into my memories. I turn back to face him. “I know a place not too far from here. It’s low-key at this hour, but then turns into an after-hours dance club.”
“I prefer low key.”
“Then we have ourselves a date.”
We make it to the corner before he says, “You look good, by the way.”
“Thanks. You aren’t so shabby yourself.” The sound of his laughter is addicting, and don’t get me started on that cute smile. I’d almost forgotten about those dimples.
He playfully knocks his elbow into mine. “Looking on the bright side paid off.”
“How so?”
“You told me that if we look on the bright side, we won’t be strangers the next time we meet. And here we are—not strangers.”
“At the time, it was one of my wiser pieces of free advice.”
“What about now?”
“I’d tell you to get my phone number. Much wiser, but you know, we could reintroduce ourselves and share our numbers just in case one of us goes MIA.” Hint. Hint. Hint.
He takes hold of my hand and entwines our fingers. “We have time, but don’t worry, come tomorrow, I’m not letting you slip away before we exchange the vital details.”
“We’re on the same wavelength.” When I see the neon sign ahead, I rush toward the entrance of the bar and then spin back toward him on the sidewalk. Kicking out one of my feet, I sport jazz hands. “We’re here.”
He stops in front of me but glances up at the sign above the door. Smiling—big and broad, blindingly sexy like a movie star, and so dimpliciously —he says, “Avalon.”