“That’s because she’s not my wife. And Ruthless can take care of herself.”
Zoey’s jaw began to clench. “You know what? I have always hated the little pet name you have for my sister, no matter how amusing she may think it is. Now how did you get this number and why exactly are you calling me at this hour?”
“I gave up my job at the club,” Derek said, ignoring her question.
“Gave up or got fired?”
“I quit. I gave up drinking too. Got a real respectable job installing drywall.”
“And just how long are you planning to stay in the glamorous world of spackling?”
She could hear him starting to tense up. “I’m also working on getting my real estate license. So why don’t you stop all of this foolishness and come home?”
“Because we agreed on a year’s separation.”
“I don’t need a year to know you belong with me. You wanted me to change. I’ve done everything you asked.”
Even if Zoey wanted to believe him, she’d still have doubts. She’d put in hours of overtime waitressing for four years as he drifted from job to job, never lasting for more than six months. Except for bouncing at a nightclub in town. Once he passed the six-month mark, Zoey knew it was a job he enjoyed, which made her uneasy. Derek always found time to get to the gym, something she never managed, with all the running around she did. He had the stature to see above a crowd and liked to exude authority. Not only did the job mess up both their schedules, but he would also bring home that air of aggressiveness and reeked of booze and stale cigarette smoke. That made it easy for Zoey to keep her distance. It also taught her just how comfortable a big bed was for sleeping alone.
“I’ve heard all this before, Derek.”
“Where were you tonight?” His voice started to rise. “Are you seeing someone?”
The accusations were more like it, and what she was used to when he didn’t get his way. “I was working. You didn’t mind the late hours when you were sitting on the couch, drinking beer, placing profiles on OkCupid. And random hookups were more your style.”
“Damnit, Zoey! We can’t move forward if you keep bringing up the past!”
And with that, she hung up.
Their marriage hadn’t started out that way. Her high school sweetheart, Derek, would talk about all he wanted them to do, all he wanted to be. When he had gotten down on one knee and asked her to hold out her hand, he had promised her adventures and traveling and discovery, not to mention a lifetime of love and security. She left the tiny diamond ring behind when she took off. She was tired of feeling owned.
They shared dreams and aspirations while she cooked for him in their tiny kitchen, giggling and teasing the whole time. Derek’s transformation to sullen and moody was so gradual, she’d hardly noticed. It wasn’t until she detected the familiar alcohol on his breath early in the afternoon that she was forced to acknowledge the honeymoon was over. How she hated that smell.
They stopped going out when a subscription to Netflix seemed like a good idea for cozy nights and the ease of an order on Grubhub. They’d stuck a lot of forks in toss-out containers over the last couple years, but his favorite recliner only had room for one. Every time Zoey tried to join him out of romantic spontaneity or just to feel some human contact, the protests from the chair and the man were equal. She got too tired to cook for him, and he began to nitpick and criticize when she did. Then he started working at the nightclub and they were little more than ships passing in the night.
Worst of all was his dogged insistence that they should start a family. It came up each and every time she mentioned trying something new or adventurous. Whether it was trying to find a way to go to culinary school or packing up and moving to a new city, the conversation was always the same. It went from discussion to arguing. Then he would want to make up by wrapping his arms around her in bed and whispering in her ear—“Let’s make a baby.”
No matter how charming he was, Zoey wasn’t buying it. Derek didn’t have some deep-rooted longing to be a parent. He wanted to trap her, seal the deal, make it that much harder for her to have any interests she could pursue on her own. He refused to listen when she listed her reasons for wanting to wait. Soon she would be turned off as soon as he said it. Why couldn’t he say “make love”? “Get down”? “Do the nasty”?
She stormed in and told him she was leaving while he was at the club. Then she stole her own car out of the parking lot and drove to New York. They hammered out the trial-separation-for-a-year deal from Ruth’s apartment, with Ruth playing mediator from a second handset. Derek never lasted more than three days before calling to check up on her. Now he knew she had acquired a cell phone.
Zoey went back out to the living room and flopped down on the futon beside her sister. “Ugh.”
“It couldn’t have gone that bad,” Ruth said. “I didn’t hear any screaming.”
“Never underestimate the power of the end button.”
“You’re really going to make him sweat this one out, aren’t you?”
“You seem to forget my original intention was not to go back at all. If I had any backbone, this whole thing would already be over.”
“You said that when you first got here and were all fed up. Are you really thinking about not going home?”
“Are you tired of me as your roomie?”
“No. But by the way you work and then just hang around here, I figured you were missing him as much as he misses you.”
Zoey could’ve pointed out that she was trying to get a business up and running but didn’t want to rehash the same dialogue. Ruth sometimes made her affection for Derek a little too well known. To the point where Zoey sometimes wondered where her sister’s loyalty stood. Ruth had been living in New York for years with holiday visits, when everyone was on their best behavior. The Derek Ruth remembered was from back in the day, when they were dating. Zoey would be the first to admit, she missed that Derek too.
“Can we talk about something else?” Zoey asked, pulling off her black sensible shoes and wiggling her toes. Ahhhh.
“We certainly can. How did the ragin’ Cajun work out?”
“Hasta la pasta!” Zoey exclaimed, taking her feet off the table and sitting up straight with the energy surge. In the madness of the phone call, she had forgotten. “You are not going to believe this one.”
Ruth sat up too, tucking her legs beneath her and reaching for her half glass of white wine. “Oh boy. Did he turn out to be a creeper? Start talking.”
“Okay. So, this guy is a transplant from the Virgin Islands. Some techno geek who spends all his time cleaning and playing golf. Completely a fish out of water. Strange apartment that looks more like the MoMA but with a kitchen like something out of a magazine. Food went well, he made the appetizer on his own. He was super nice, paid me double my quote, and went out of his way to stick up for the only other woman who was there.”
Zoey stopped short of telling Ruth about the forgotten key and what transpired after.
“You’re leaving out the most important detail,” Ruth hedged.
“What’s that?”
“You know, is he cute?”
Zoey paused to take another moment to recall the abs, the backside, the leather, and the booty shake. “Yeah. But sheltered. Way sheltered.”
“Like baby duck cute? Or Adam Levine cute?”
“I don’t know! I guess he’s the kind of cute Adam Levine would be if he were a baby duck.”
“Hmm.” Ruth was always too good at reading her. “There’s a piece missing here. You didn’t get this excited over the Turkish guys. And they all played soccer. Did he end up offering you a job, like you thought he might?”
Zoey couldn’t hold back the little smile, remembering the green eyes that registered all that relief before he took her up on her offer. He had asked if they could start tomorrow. She told him she’d meet him in front of his building at noon.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a job. It’s more of a projec
t.”
Ruth drained her wineglass and narrowed her eyes. “What kind of a project?”
Zoey was being guarded, and she wasn’t sure why. Ruth was not only her sister but also her best friend. It was stupid to think she could hide anything from her, and why would she want to? If she was going to nurture a friendship with Tristan, Ruth was eventually going to be in the equation as well.
“This poor dude is really having a hard time getting the most out of city life. He came here not knowing anybody.”
Ruth scoffed. “Sounds like somebody I know. And you are going to be the one to help him with that?”
“I beg your pardon. I knew you! And I’ve adapted fine here. Sure, I don’t spend my weekends clubbing, but that’s more out of respect for Derek and our agreement. I’m not going to cheat on him just for the sake of hooking up.” Even if that’s exactly what he thinks I’m doing.
“Looks like you’re lining someone up for when that clock counts down. . . .” If Zoey didn’t know better, she would swear she heard some judgment in her sister’s tone.
“Seriously, not this guy, even if what you’re thinking was true. Which it’s not. He’s a little skittish, not to mention he dresses like an old man. He just needs a friend.”
“I’ll be Adam Baby Duck’s friend,” Ruth offered with her usual vixen grin.
“Oh no.” Zoey held her hand up. “No way. You’ll eat this poor soul alive. He’s not even remotely ready to handle the likes of you.”
Ruth stuck out her lower lip in her patented pout. “But you promise to let me know when he is?”
Zoey nodded, thinking that while she may hate the Ruthless nickname that Derek gave her, there were times when it did apply.
Chapter 6
Zoey wasn’t the least bit surprised when she turned the corner onto East Seventy-Ninth at 11:55 and Tristan was already standing outside, his back fully pressed up against the building wall. He wasn’t wearing his purple windbreaker but a blue, puffy down jacket that he could’ve put back in the closet a month ago. Spring was just around the corner, but encased in all that coat, he looked like he was ready for an expedition to the polar ice cap. Then she remembered the climate he came from and realized forty-five degrees may, in fact, feel like the tundra to him. Still, she hoped she could get him to try on a little more leather. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his brown corduroys up to the wrist. He kept his head down, only periodically lifting it to glance both ways down the street. Zoey couldn’t wait to teach him her city walk. As soon as he saw her, he straightened up to his full height and a toothy smile appeared. The kind of smile that was contagious.
“Hi, Zoey!” His voice was overflowing with excitement. Or nervous energy. It was so endearing, in a boyish sort of way.
“Did you bring your credit card and a desire for some fun?” Zoey could’ve bitten her tongue off. What a rotten opening line to say to a guy who got snookered by a prostitute. But she didn’t need to beat herself up. She was with a gentleman. And in being such, he only thought gentle things.
He nodded and with his hands still in his pocket said, “I’m ready. Did you want to grab a cab or should I call for a car?”
“Neither. I thought we would start at Barneys on Madison, try on some new clothes. It’s about twenty blocks. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s stroll, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m game if you are.”
They started walking. Zoey decided to hold off on the talk about how to stomp through the city with purpose. That speech would likely scare him right back into hiding. But there was something else. With Tristan next to her, she felt like taking her time. She wanted to enjoy all the smells and sounds, like the gyro and pretzels guys with their carts, music pumping out of storefronts, and people walking their dogs.
“Do you have ideas on what you want to do with me?” he asked.
“I was watching on the Today show this morning about the new spring fashions. Colors that are in and styles. Did you happen to see it?”
“Nope.”
“What do you like to watch?”
“I don’t have a TV. I like to read.”
“And listen to music,” she remined him with a knowing grin.
“That too.” She couldn’t be sure, but he may have started to blush.
When they reached the corner of Madison, they waited for the crossing light with a family, a mother who had a toddler by the hand and the dad pushing a stroller. They looked happy.
“Tell me about yourself?” Tristan asked. The timing was impeccable. Zoey stared at the baby carriage and debated just how much information she wanted to give him. “You said you were from Cleveland?”
“A suburb. I have one older sister, two younger sisters, and two younger brothers. My older sister, Ruth, is my roommate. Everyone else is still either at home or living near home.”
“What made you want to move here?”
An innocent question. But also, a moment of truth.
“Adventure” was the answer she settled on. Not quite a lie, Zoey told herself. There was no need to drag him into her mess.
“Did you find it?”
“I certainly did. I’m having one right now,” she quipped.
As they got closer to Barneys the crowds got thicker. People sidestepped one another in the effort to keep moving and retain their personal space. Others would abruptly stop and further mess up the flow of foot traffic. A man bumped into her with a disgusted “Geez.” Zoey glanced at Tristan. His smile was gone, replaced with a grim expression, his hands still jammed in his pockets. Was he on the verge of a panic attack? She gingerly hooked her arm in his and began to match his step.
“He didn’t even say ‘excuse me,’” Tristan said.
“Hey. We’re okay. We all have a right to the sidewalk. And I have pepper spray in my bag.” She whispered up at him cheerfully in encouragement. “We only have a few more blocks to go.”
He stared down at her, and she could feel him start to relax. She guided him over to the inside of the sidewalk, so that the faster walkers could hurry by.
“What do you like to read?”
“Everything! My favorite books are history. I have a library at home that’s full of books. It’s the one thing I had sent over from Paradise Cove. My grandfather devoured the military and war stuff. My grandmother loved her romances, so when you visit again and I show you the room, please don’t judge. Although if I’m being honest, I have to admit, I’ve read almost all of them.”
“If we’re being honest, I guess I should admit . . . I’ve seen the room.”
With their arms still hooked together he stopped short, looking down at her again, this time with a tilt of his head and laughter-filled eyes.
“What? You told me to make myself at home.”
“You little devil,” he said, and she wondered if he had picked up that come-hither look from those romance novels. He pulled her arm closer to his and they resumed their walking.
“I swear I didn’t stay in any room long enough to take an inventory. I did notice you didn’t have a television but thought maybe you had one hiding in a wall. And let me add, you are a heck of a housekeeper.”
“Thank you.” He continued to smile, unoffended by her confession. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, my grandmother used to say.”
It was hard to believe they had known each other for only twenty-four hours. They had slipped into such easy conversation. Of course, Ruth had men who had proposed to her after one date, so it probably wasn’t that big a deal. Zoey couldn’t remember the last time she had let her guard down so quickly. They had reached their destination and unlocked arms, with Tristan opening the door and allowing her to enter the bustling building first. She led them straight to the men’s department.
“Just so you know,” Tristan said, “I do own a couple suits.”
“I’m sure you do and I bet they’re very nice. But I was thinking of us getting more in touch with your Steven Tyler side.”
“I don’t think I�
�m ready to start modeling leather pants yet.” He was wary.
“How about a leather jacket?”
“Maybe.”
Zoey shooed off the salesman asking if they needed help and went over to the folded jeans displays. She asked him his size and wrinkled her nose when he rattled off his thirty-two-inch waist, several inches smaller than her own. She stayed away from the ultraexpensive Saint Laurent and Balmain brands and began pulling jeans for him to try on, Rag & Bone, Citizens of Humanity, R13. She dropped them in his waiting hands until the stack almost covered his face. He drew the line at ripped holes in the knees. The look on his face when she touched the ones that had been fake-rubbed with dirt or grass was laughable.
“I’m looking for stylish, not derelict,” he stated firmly on his way to the dressing room. “My grandmother would roll over in her grave.”
Zoey waited for him, sliding the shirt-holding hangers along the racks for colors that she thought would highlight his green eyes and bring out his all-around coloring.
“What do you think?” she heard from behind her.
She should have been ready for when she turned around. She knew from the leather pants episode that he had a hidden sexy. He had taken off his coat in the dressing room. Underneath it was a burnt orange velour V-neck long-sleeve shirt that he must’ve acquired back on the island. It was easily two sizes too small and clung to him like Saran wrap. Because the jeans were so low, it rode up to display a tiny portion of his flat belly, something he was able to avoid with the high-waisted pants he was used to. In short, he was magnificent.
He turned to give her a view from the back, and her jaw started to unhinge.
“Do they fit right?” Tristan said over his shoulder. “They feel so low, like they could fall off.”
“They’re skinny jeans,” Zoey said, with her mouth suddenly dry. She wasn’t sure about the old adage that “clothes make the man,” but in this particular instance she would have to say clothes made this man hot as hell.
“I’m not skinny,” he replied stubbornly. It was the first exhibition of him having any ego.
Under the Table Page 5