Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
TORI
K eep it casual, Tori…
That means ignoring the pang of defeat I feel when the silver fox abruptly stands up and leaves the bar. He strides across the room quickly, like he wants to get out of here, away from me, as fast as he possibly can.
“Oh,” Cleo says.
“Oh, what?” I snap, full of anger. I’m aiming it at the wrong person.
Who am I annoyed with? Him for leaving, or myself for caring?
“I thought things were going well between you two,” she mutters.
“It might not have even been him,” I say.
But the idea feels foolish after how specific our texts got. Plus, he was smoldering at me across the bar like he wanted to tear my clothes off. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before. It made his comments about being cold and unromantic seem silly.
“It was him,” Cleo replies. “Look, Rowan approached me and asked if I thought it was a good idea if she matched your number with his. She confirmed his number with his friend— the one with the cheekbones at the bar. The one who keeps eyeing me up?” She raises her hand, waving at him.
He grins and snaps off a cocky salute.
“Why would Rowan do that?” I ask, not really wanting an answer.
“She must’ve sensed you were soulmates,” Lily says with a sigh.
“Nope. She smelled the sexual tension a mile off,” Cleo chimes in.
“So it definitely was him,” I say.
“Are you mad?” Cleo ask.
“No,” I admit. “Well – a little since he’s stormed off.”
“Maybe he has a good excuse. You should call him,” Cleo suggests.
“So much for keeping it casual, then…” I mutter.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Lily agrees. “Call him. Beg him to come back.”
“Beg him to come back?” Cleo repeats in disgust. “Somebody steal the girl’s sangria!”
“Okay, not beg , then,” Lily says.
“I’m not calling anyone. I’ll text him.”
“Tell him you want to go for a late-night walk on the beach,” Lily suggests.
“I’m going to be sick if she keeps being this bright and happy,” Cleo mutters sarcastically.
“It would be nice, Cleo. And please, don’t say something like ‘only if they have some rumpy bumpy in the sand’ or anything equally gross,” Lily pleads.
“Don’t worry, my sweet Liliana. There’s no danger of me ever saying ‘rumpy bumpy’ in my life.”
I chew my cheek for a moment, wondering.
It would kind of be nice to meet him for a walk, but he left. I don’t even know his name.
“Remember.” Cleo nudges me. “Tonight isn’t about overthinking or worrying about tomorrow. It’s about living in the moment. So live , Tori.”
Before I can text him, my phone goes off. The flood of excitement is similar to the wave that hits me when an audience applauds at one of my performances. Sure, it hasn’t happened loads of times, but that just makes the feeling more addictive.
Flirting with a man? That’s even rarer. I thought I’d lost him.
No, Tori, not lost him. This is casual. I was never going to have him.
Valentine Stranger: Sorry, I was called away for work, Tori. I’m the chief of surgery at Jackson South. They need me for a complex consultation.
Tori: Wow, that’s impressive. But we’re not supposed to know each other’s names.
Valentine Stranger: It turns out my buddy isn’t as averse to playing games as I am. Julian arranged it so that we would have each other’s numbers. I won’t be able to text for long. I’m just waiting for a cab.
Tori: I know . Cleo was in on the game, too. I don’t even know your name, stranger.
Valentine Stranger: It’s Alex. And don’t worry. I didn’t leave because I was uninterested, if that’s what you’re thinking .
That’s good because I was worried. But I’m not going to tell him that. That’s the sort of thing Mom would admit, wearing her heart on her sleeve, apparently not caring if it slips and splats on the floor over and over.
Tori: I wasn’t worried, Alex. Your job is very important. Far more important than some silly Valentine’s texting.
Alex: I thought it was silly and pointless until I knew it was you.
I chew on my lip. Then, I quickly stop myself. I need to stop acting like some na?ve lovestruck chick in a rom-com.
Tori: Next, you’ll tell me you were struck with a Cupid’s arrow, Alex. Do you use this line on all the girls?
Alex: I don’t use any lines on anybody, ever. How long do you think you’ll be at the bar?
Tori: I’m not sure. Until Lily gets bored and wants to go home to her fiancée, and Cleo goes home either with your friend or her secret Valentine. Or both.
Alex: What about you? Are you planning on going home with anybody?
Okay, this is pushy, right? At least, I’m sure I should find it pushy. It’s the sort of question Damien might ask, overstepping his boundaries.
Tori: What would you say if I said I was?
Alex: I’d tell you I’m going to leave work early to stop that from happening. You see, Tori, you’ve got a lot of responsibility here. You’ve basically become a surgeon yourself.
I laugh.
Tori: How’d you figure that?
Alex: Your reply is going to have a significant effect on the outcome.
Tori: So you’re telling me a man who has worked hard to get where you are would give it all up for a stranger?
Alex: Not just any stranger. The girl with the wild hair and curves in all the right places.
I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool, but Lily and Cleo are watching me knowingly. They both remain quiet as if they don’t want to break the spell.
Tori: What if I told the hunky, somewhat demanding silver fox that I wasn’t planning on going home with anybody? What if I asked him when he would be done with work?
Alex: Then maybe this slightly obsessed man would ask— translation: demand—for you to meet him for a romantic midnight beach stroll.
I gasp.
“What?” Lily asks.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
She’ll start talking about destiny, sweet surrenders, and soulmates if I tell her.
“You can’t make that noise and then not tell us,” Lily demands.
“What noise?” I say, trying to play it cool.
Cleo throws her hands up like a heroine from a Regency drama, letting out the most over-the-top gasp, straining so that the veins on her neck bulge.
“Jeez, relax,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye, laughing. “You’re going to burst a blood vessel.”
“How was that?” Cleo says.
Lily grins mischievously. “Perfect.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, waving my hand at them to settle down. “He just suggested a beach walk, that’s all. But we’re in Miami. It’s not like it’s unusual to suggest going to the beach, is it?”
Right on cue, Lily says, “Duh. Fate.”
“There’s only one thing for it,” Cleo says. “Rush to the bathroom, whip off your top, show him some cleavage to keep him interested…”
“She doesn’t want to give the wrong impression,” Lily interjects.
“But this is the right impression!” Cleo exclaims excitedly. “She wants him to know it’s casual. What’s more casual than that?”
“I’m not doing that,” I say.
“But you want to,” Cleo teases.
She’s not entirely wrong, which is just plain crazy. There’s a part of me that wants to do it, especially because I’m a little stunned that he wants me.
I’ve had attention from guys before, but not a lot, and nobody like Alex. My body still tingles from when he stood up for me, his muscles straining, his intense eyes looking ready to fight for me.
I take a breath. I can do this. I can have some casual fun. I’m not an alien. I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman, just like Cleo, like any other girl in this place. I don’t have to be so serious all the time.
Dad’s death didn’t stain me. Mom’s irresponsible attitude toward relationships hasn’t ruined me.
I can be normal.
Tori: That sounds perfect, but don’t expect any rumpy bumpy.
Alex: You made fun of me for typing ‘laugh out loud’… I think you’ve got me beat with ‘rumpy bumpy,’ Tori.
I smile.
Tori: Maybe I’m just an old soul.
South Beach is still busy with people spilling out of the bars. A few joggers pass me by as I wait anxiously. My arms are wrapped across my middle, but not because of the weather. It’s a relatively warm night, plus I’ve got this bubbling excitement-nerve hybrid to heat me up.
I keep thinking about backing out. Lily’s at home with her man. Cleo is somewhere with her new man… at least for the night.
I could leave, walk to one of the bars, wait inside, and call a taxi. Two lovers walk by, arms wrapped around each other, so close it’s like they want to sink into each other.
That’s not what I want. I also don’t want to be the man and woman on the beach towel, kissing loudly, their noises audible even over the lapping waves and music from the bars.
Alex: I shouldn’t be more than five more minutes, Tori. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.
Tori: It’s fine. I like being near the sea. It’s peaceful. How did the surgery go?
Alex: I offered my notes. Now it’s up to my team. I’m confident they’ll do a stellar job.
Tori: It must be difficult having all that responsibility . I don’t send the message, instead taking a moment to study it.
What happened to keeping it casual? We should be joking about something lighthearted and breezy, like Valentine's Day's weather, music, or silliness.
Tori: You’re doing a pretty great job at keeping me waiting. I send that instead, but then wonder if it comes across as bitchy. Perhaps the best thing would be to stop overthinking everything.
That’s the kind of pretentious statement my poet's mind could never make out loud, but it’s the truth. I enjoy looking deeply into things and feel a strange responsibility to try to find an emotional angle. More often than not, the emotion is anger, sadness, or resentment.
Alex: Patience, beautiful.
More tingles simmer over my skin. The night suddenly feels as if it could get very special very fast.