Chapter 11
eleven
Outside my apartment building, I lean against the railing and remove my heels. I moan with pleasure when I stretch my toes. There’s a painful price to wearing new shoes, and that price seems steeper the prettier and higher the heel. Barefoot, I scale the stairs and step into the vestibule.
I stop to check my mail and shuffle through the stack. Junk. Junk. Junk. I pause on a cream envelope. My fingers tremble when they touch the return address. It’s from Maryland. The beautiful cursive handwriting belongs to my mother.
They’ve found me. My pulse sprints.
Yes, my parents knew I returned to Chicago.
They were against it—so adamantly, we haven’t talked since I moved.
They’ve texted, but I always ignore them.
I don’t want to say I’ve been hiding, but I’m not broadcasting my exact location.
Doing so might entice them to visit, something I’m not ready for.
Whenever it happens, I want it to occur on my terms. Not like this.
Not with more demands on how I should live my life.
I flip the note over but pause before ripping the back flap. Instead of allowing them to manipulate me, I drop the unopened letter into the trash can with the junk mail. Ignoring them and their disappointment is easier than dealing with it, especially now that I’m feeling something.
After being numb and lost in my mind for so long, I won’t let them disturb what I’m building.
Between my friendships with Aggie, Lou and Ozzy, the successes at my job, and whatever is happening with Evan, I finally have real hope.
I did these things on my own without my parents.
I want to embrace those positive emotions and push away the others.
I want that high-on-life passion I experienced this morning while teasing Evan, and I want it all the time in every facet of my life.
I know the change won’t happen overnight, but it’s a spark of a flame I want to burn so bright that no darkness from before remains.
Even though it shouldn’t, this search for newness heightens my interest in Evan.
The truth is, I experience the most when I’m with him, positive or negative. And I confess, I want more of it.
After I settle in at home, I take out my computer, find a browser, and type how to make my crush notice me.
I roll my eyes when the first result in the search engine is specifically for teens. But hey, I learned all this before. I just don’t remember it. I only need a refresher on the basics, right?
I take notes, but the more I read, the more contradictions I discover in each article.
Get to know him, but play it chill. Be persistent, but don’t be brazen.
Make a good impression, but text him cutesy things.
Play hard to get, but flirt, flirt, flirt.
An article geared toward adults suggests to ignore him, be calculated, smell nice, stalk him online, and pray?
Frustrated, I drop my face into my palms.
Twelve articles later, I stumble upon something I can do—be friends. I can do that. I think.
My heartbeats quicken. I lean back in my chair and chew on my fingernail while staring at the computer screen. My only real friends are Aggie, Lou, and Ozzy. But the sad part is, I have no idea why Aggie and Lou hang out with me. They don’t see the real me. No one does, not even Ozzy.
Baby steps. This is what my therapist preached. Do what you can and work from there. I’m searching for an article on making friends when I hear Evan’s voice outside my door.
I jump to my feet and tiptoe to the front door.
Squinting to peer through my peephole, I find Evan in the hallway.
He’s speaking to Mr. Gusterson. Something about a cruise?
I can’t be sure. It’s what he says next that has me flying to my room and changing into my running gear.
I hadn’t planned on exercising tonight, but this may be my shot.
The faster I dress, the less time I have to talk myself out of this.
From my bedroom window, I spot Evan warming up outside our building. He’s stretching when I stumble outside. I halt when he glances up from his hamstring lunge. I have no clue how to act. This morning I was flirty, but now I need to step it back a notch to friendly.
In college, the second time around, after, I remained a recluse. And I can’t call on my experience with Lou and Aggie. She wouldn’t leave me alone. And Lou? He only talks to me because of Aggie.
“Hey.” Evan grins.
Is he still thinking about what I said this morning? I school my expression, trying not to think about it. Though I was excited originally, the more I replayed our encounter in my mind, the more I regretted it. Perhaps it’s the whispers reeling me in, but I can’t let them win.
“Where are you headed?” I ask as I move to his side and sink into a quad lunge.
“North on the Lakefront, you?”
“Same.” At least, now it is.
“So you came down here because you’d like to join me?” He smirks and moves to a side squat.
I can’t help but study the way his corded muscles move beneath his shorts, his shirt, and around his neck. My mouth suddenly turns dry. I swallow.
“Nah, but you should join me.” I stand and take off running, feeling a sense of achievement for having the last word. His footfalls follow and grow louder. I curb my growing smile when he catches me and falls into pace.
“I thought you might hide from me.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask, but I know why. Under normal circumstances, I would have shrank away. But with Evan, it’s different.
“You know . . . the other night didn’t end as you planned.”
“I didn’t plan it, but you were right. We should just be friends.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.”
I give him a sharp look, only to find him amused. His toothy smile gleams, even at night. He was expecting me to freak out, so I give it right back.
“Come to think of it, I might not even want you as a friend. Maybe we should see where this goes before giving it a label.”
“I love it when you flirt with me.” This time, he darts away before I can respond, though I catch the sparkle in his eyes before he leaves. He enjoys our lighthearted game too.
When I catch up, we fall into a long stride. Under the glow of city streetlights, our feet thump, hitting the concrete in perfect unison. Silvery breaths flow in and out of my mouth in the brisk temperature, and my nose burns, like it’s turning pink. My body heats beneath my clothing.
“This is my favorite time in the city,” he says. “Everything’s quiet. Empty streets. No cars. No people. Just me. My head clears.”
“Me too, but for a different reason. I like peeking into houses when the lights are on.”
He gives me a curious glance. “So you’re a Peeping Tom?”
“I’m not looking to see people, just checking out their places.”
“Must be a real estate agent thing.”
“It’s an I’m-dreaming-about-buying-my-own-place thing.”
I dart down a dark alley, and Evan follows. We emerge on Astor Street. Tall trees thick with green leaves are turning gold. The breeze bends the branches. A few leaves twirl in the air and then skitter to the ground near our feet.
I stop at a small cottage—dark, abandoned, and nestled between tall Victorian mansions and stately brownstones. I gesture to the white clapboard home ringed by a peeling picket fence. When Evan reaches my side, he gives me a curious look.
“This is the one,” I say.
“The one most likely to be haunted?”
“No, this is the one I want to buy.”
“Out of all the beautiful homes on this street, why this one?”
He appears interested, but I don’t have an answer that makes sense.
It has great bones, and it’ll be adorable when renovated.
I consider it a diamond in the rough. Compared to the other homes on the street, it’s the smallest and also the gloomiest. Typically, a developer would swoop in, buy it, and knock it down to build a mansion beside the others.
Only a nutcase like me would believe it’s worth saving.
“Not sure. I’ve always been drawn to it.”
When he studies me with curiosity, I explain, “I’m buying it with my next big commission. I run past it almost every night.”
“Haunted,” he mouths.
Without a hint of a breeze, the gate at the sidewalk swings open on its own with a whiny creak. My heart stops beating, and I glance at Evan with wide eyes and an open mouth. Maybe he’s right.
I believe it until I look down and find his toe wedged against the hinge of the gate. He played a trick on me.
Knowing he’s been caught, he tosses his head back and laughs. I smack him on the shoulder, but the sound of his happiness warms me from the inside until I give in and giggle too.
I step into the small overgrown yard. He follows, inspecting the details.
“This place is a dump.” He hooks his hands on his hips.
“I know, I know. I’m not supposed to be emotionally attached. Every piece of property is about the deal, but it’s too late. I love this place. When I renovate it, it’ll be perfect.”
“Is it even for sale?” He looks around, seeming to search for a sign.
“I’ve been talking to the owner for months, and he’s considering my offer.”
Evan steps behind me, and his lips touch my ear. Tingles spread over my neck from the contact. It’s all I can do not to close my eyes before he whispers, “Did you tell him you don’t wear panties under your skirt, too? Might help.”
“No.” I protest with a giggle and turn to face him.
His devilish smile baits me, making my traitorous heart flutter.
I step back, even though I want to step forward into his arms. “Ozzy is ninety years old and lives in a nursing home. He’s sentimental about the house.
He and his wife lived here from the day they were married. ”
“So how’d you change his mind?”
“I visit him.”
“And?” He tilts his head.
I roll my eyes. “I take him chocolates.”
“Such a manipulator.”
“I think Ozzy’s the one who’s manipulated me. He’s pretty charming.”
“So I have competition?”
“You’re not even my friend yet.” I grin and dart around him, running down the street.
Evan’s words must have slipped out before he considered them, because he’s made it clear nothing would come of us. Maybe he’s joking.
He sprints to catch up and falls into pace at my side. We’re silent as we run. After another mile on the Lakefront path, we arrive at my favorite spot.
The other week, I was here with Aggie, drunk on champagne and celebrating her breakup. Its location is secluded, so I don’t always feel safe, but I attribute that to my past. With what happened, I may never be at ease. Though tonight, with Evan by my side, I’m secure.
With my hands on my hips and my chest rising and falling, I watch the city with its glimmering shapes and chaotic energy.
“Worn out already?” he asks.
“Please, I could run circles around you. It’s just every time I come here, I have to stop.”
He joins me, taking in the city lights. “I stop here too. Best view of the city.”
We linger for a few moments before we jog over a pedestrian bridge that crosses over Lake Shore Drive and into Lincoln Park. During the day, the park teems with soccer leagues, city dwellers lounging over picnics, and dogs playing catch with their owners. Tonight, it’s empty and quiet.
“You know,” Evan says, his voice even despite our hurried pace, “this was an old cemetery in the 1800s. I read they didn’t remove all the bodies before they made it a park.”
“If you’re still trying to scare me, it’s working.” I let out a nervous laugh.
“I’m a Chicago history buff, that’s all. I bet if you dig around that old house of yours, you’ll find bones.” He makes woo-wooing sounds and jiggles his arms with waving fingers.
“Don’t you dare ruin that house for me.” I turn serious. “It always felt spooky when I ran through here, and now I know why.”
“I kind of hate that you run at night by yourself.”
“Oh, don’t give me that I’m-a-weak-girl-and-you’re-a-strong-man crap.”
“I would never, even though you are.” He grins.
For that, I give him a punch in the arm.
“Oh no, you didn’t.” Evan changes course, darting in my direction. He chases me off the path and into a soccer field.
I yelp and dash away, dodging his grasp to escape. I’m fast, but he’s faster. After a few close calls and playful grabbing, tugging at clothes and worming away, he catches me in his arms, swinging us until we tumble to the ground. Falling on top of him, I knock the wind out of both of us.
Chest to chest and legs entwined on the chilled grass, we’re laughing again.
Through silvery air, I make out his face in the dim light of a flickering streetlight.
He’s handsome, rugged, sexy, flirtatious, and I’m reminded of our kiss.
I was desperate, his lips were wild on mine, and it was far too brief.
“Like I said, weak,” he whispers. Evan swipes a loose tendril of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. I imagine curling into his touch the way I want to.
I’m small in his arms, something else I shouldn’t be thinking about.
I want to roll over and feel the weight of his body on mine.
There’s a long pause, and I focus on his lips, full and wet.
Yes, I want to kiss him, but I refuse the possibility of a repeat rejection.
I decide to forgo the information in the articles I read online and instead take Ozzy’s words of wisdom—play hard to get.
“Just promise you’ll let me join you if you decide to run late again,” he says.
Though I would love to make that promise, I know better. He’s only being nice, and I want something from him that may never happen. I break away. Standing with my hands on my hips, I peer down at him sprawled on the grass.
“What’s wrong?” He sits up on his elbows.
“Race you back.” Needing a diversion, I stir up the competitive nature between us and sprint away.
With him forced to leap from the ground, I have a huge head start.
I fly through the park, down the mansion-and-tree-lined streets, through the business district of the Gold Coast, and into River North.
Evan’s on my heels for those few miles, but I can tell he’s holding back, at least until we arrive at our street. That’s when he sails past and tags the railing of our building’s stoop.
He grabs my arm, spinning me until he locks me in an embrace, his hands splaying across my back.
We’re face-to-face again, breathing heavily.
My heartbeat pounds from running and being near him.
It may be my wild imagination, but there’s a crackle of chemistry.
The magnetic air forces us closer. I swipe my tongue over my lips, recalling the last time they touched his.
Our gazes lock for another long moment before he whispers, “I win.”
“You cheated,” I tease.
“Friends don’t cheat.”
“You’re not my friend—yet.” I give him a teasing push to add an arm’s length of space. I climb the stoop, leaving him behind.
“What will you call me then?”
I turn and cock my head before considering. The perfect nickname appears in my mind immediately. “I think I’ll call you SpongeBob.”