by Vi Keeland
“Don’t be. We’re not blood cousins, so it’s not too weird for you to be dreaming about me at night.”
“I was not dreaming about you at night!”
“So it’s only during the day while you stare at my picture on your laptop, then?”
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to set it as my background.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Okay. I’ll buy that.”
“Good, because it’s true.”
“But how, exactly, did the picture get on your laptop in the first place? I don’t remember you snapping a pic during our double date.”
I snorted. “Double date?”
“Speaking of which, what happened to Oedipus? Kicked to the curb so soon? I gotta admit, even though you went about trying to get out of your date all wrong, you weren’t wrong about that guy. Boring as shit.”
“He was.”
“So who’s this new dope you’re with?”
“Dope? You don’t even know him.”
“Left me standing here with his girl. Dope.”
“He thinks we’re cousins!”
“I told you, we’re not blood-related.”
“Yes, but—” I laughed. “You’re bizarre, you know that?”
“Not any more bizarre than a woman who somehow took a photo of a perfect stranger and has it on her MacBook for her boyfriend to see.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I had no idea why I said that. It was sort of true, but sort of not. “Well, we’ve gone out twice.”
“Ah…so you haven’t slept with him yet.”
I hadn’t, but how would he know that? “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re not the type of girl who sleeps with guys on the first or second date.”
“How would you know?”
“I just do.”
“What exactly is the type of girl who sleeps with a guy on a first date?”
“She sends signals—dresses a certain way, makes body contact. You know the type. I know you do.”
“Like Bridget?” That woman had been pawing him by the end of the night.
He said nothing.
I thought it was oddly gentlemanly that he didn’t agree about Bridget or confirm what I suspected happened after their date.
“So how did you get a picture of me anyway?” he asked instead.
I told the truth. Well, mostly. “I searched for you on Facebook after that night in the restaurant. I wanted to say thank you for saving me and making the evening fun.”
“You sent me a message?”
“No. I never did. It sort of…felt creepy that I’d stalked you, so I changed my mind.”
“And you liked my picture so much that you kept it?”
“I went to bookmark the page in case I changed my mind about sending you that note, and instead I saved the picture.” I felt the blush creeping up my face. I’d always been a terrible liar. My mom used to say I was easier to read than a book.
Surprisingly, Chase nodded. I hadn’t expected him to let me off the hook that easily. “Is this your regular gym? I haven’t seen you here before.”
“No. It’s Bryant’s gym. He invited me. I had a bad day and planned to wine away my stresses. But he suggested I come work them off at the gym instead.”
“Told ya. Dope. Definitely not what I would have suggested to alleviate stress if I was Brandon.”
“Bryant.”
“Whatever.”
“So what would you have suggested?”
“Nothing.” He changed subjects. “So why was your day so bad, anyway?”
“Two job interviews. The first one I blew before I even walked into the office, and the second one blew me off just as I pulled up to their building.”
“You’re out of work?”
“Not yet. But I will be as of next Friday. Probably wasn’t the smartest move to give notice in this economy before I found another job.”
“What do you do?”
“Marketing. I was the director of marketing for Fresh Look Cosmetics.”
“Small world. I’m friendly with Scott Eikman, the president of Fresh Look. We play golf together sometimes.”
“Eight and a half million people in our little city, and my fake middle school boyfriend slash non-blood-related cousin golfs with the head of my company? That is bizarre.”
Chase laughed. “Scott’s retiring next year, right?”
“Yep. Moving to Florida and all. He has two sons who will probably take over.” Ugh. Derek. I wished he was moving to Florida. Or Siberia.
Chase and I had been standing just in front of the pool door since we bumped into each other. A guy knocked on the glass and flashed a Dr. Pepper, dangling it in the air.
Chase held up two fingers in response, then explained. “We made a bet. I kicked his ass in lap times. That’s my prize.”
I arched a brow. “A Dr. Pepper?”
“It’s good stuff. Don’t knock it or I won’t bring it to the next family barbecue.”
After another minute, his friend banged again. This time, he waved his hand to Chase as if to say, what the hell is taking you so long?
Chase nodded. “I gotta run. We have a dinner meeting in a half hour, and I need to shower.”
I tried to hide my disappointment. “Well, it was nice running into you, cuz.”
Our eyes locked for a minute. Just like the end of the night at the restaurant, Chase looked like he wanted to say something. But instead, he glanced back over his shoulder to where Bryant was swimming, and then pulled me in for a hug, wrapping my ponytail around his fist and tugging my head back to look up at him.
His eyes lingered on my lips before he kissed my forehead. “Later, cuz.”
He took a few steps toward the locker room door before stopping and turning back. “I have a friend who’s a bulldog recruiter. Why don’t I put you in touch with her? Maybe she can help find you something?”
“Sure, I’d love that. I’m not having much luck by myself. Thank you.”
I handed him my cell, and he programmed in his number then sent a text to his own phone so we’d have each other’s contact information. Then he was gone. Immediately, I felt longing. The odds of running into him a second time in this tremendous city were probably as long as being struck by lightning.
It would be less than a week before I found out sometimes lightning strikes twice.
Chapter 3
Chase – Seven years ago
I stared at Peyton’s giant-sized face as I guzzled a bottle of water. The ad covered eight stories of brick on the corner building across from my new office.
“Stop slacking and get to work.” The life-size Peyton let herself into my office, dropped her guitar case on the couch, and joined me at the window. “I cannot believe how big that thing is. You told me one billboard ad. That’s a whole building. That tiny little chip in my front tooth is, like, three feet wide now.”
“I love that chip.”
“I hate it. The director at that callback I had yesterday told me I needed to get it fixed and lose ten pounds.” She lifted her hand to her mouth. “I need to get a laminate or a veneer or something.”
“You don’t need to fix shit, and he’s a moron with no taste.”
She sighed. “I didn’t get the part.”
“See? Told you. No taste.”
“You’re biased because I have sex with you.”
“No.” I pulled her close. “I sat through a fucking opera last week because you have sex with me. I tell you you’re a good musician because I’ve been to every show you’ve played since college, even when you’re hidden in the orchestra pit. And since you started acting, I’ve seen every one of your off-Broadway shows.”
“Off-off-Broadway shows.”
“Wouldn’t off-Broadway cover any show that isn’t on Broadway?”
“No. Off-Broadway is a small show in Manhattan with less than five hundred people. Off-Off-Broadway is that show I did in the Village in the coffee house.”
<
br /> “You were really good in that.”
Peyton gave me a skeptical face. “What part did I play?”
“The hot girl part.”
“I played the mother who was dying of tuberculosis. You had your nose in a crossword puzzle the entire time.”
Oh. That play. “I might have missed some of that one. In my defense, I had just found crassword puzzles. Come on…three-letter word for something that goes in dry and hard, but comes out wet and soft? I was busy counting the letters in dick, cock, pecker, and prick a dozen times each before figuring out the answer was gum.”
“You’re such a perv.”
I gave her a chaste kiss. “Where are we going for dinner, Chip?”
She covered her mouth but smiled. “Don’t call me that. I could go for Thai. How about that little place in Chelsea we went to last month?”
“Sounds good.” I took one last look at my new billboard as I flicked off the lights and closed my office door.
Outside, I turned left to head to the nearest subway station, but Peyton turned right.
“Could we catch the 3 train on Broadway instead of the usual one?” she asked. “I want to stop over at Little East.”
“Sure.” Peyton had started volunteering at food banks and shelters when we were in college. I loved that she was passionate about helping people. But this place had some rough, transient types. It wasn’t unusual for a fight to break out a couple times a week. I’d tried to broach the subject of her safety. Unfortunately, her volunteering was one of the few areas where she wouldn’t bend.
When she was five or six, her loser of a father walked out, leaving her mother with Peyton and two other kids. Her mom could barely make ends meet on two salaries, and with only one, she was forced to decide between food and rent. She chose rent, which meant they were regulars at the local food bank for a few years until things got better.
One of the more frequent visitors at this shelter was sitting out front when we arrived.
“Hey, Eddie,” Peyton said.
I’d met the guy before. He was probably only in his forties, but the streets had aged him. His words were few and far between, but he seemed harmless enough. Peyton had a special bond with him—he’d say more to her than he did to most.
“What happened to your head?” I leaned down, careful to keep the distance I knew he needed. He had a wide gash near his temple.
“How’d that happen, Eddie?” Peyton asked.
He shrugged. “Kids.”
Lately there’d been incidents of teenagers beating up on homeless people overnight out on the streets. Eddie wasn’t big on sleeping in shelters. The places were almost always over capacity, and he had issues with people coming too close.
“New shelter on 41st opened,” I said. “Just passed it the other day. Might not be too crowded since it’s new, and the weather is warm.”
“Yeah.” Never more than a one-word answer for me.
“I think you should go to the police, Eddie,” Peyton said.
With all the time she’d put in at these places, she still didn’t get it. Homeless people didn’t go to the police. They walked the other way when they saw them coming.
Eddie shook his head furiously and pulled his legs up to his chest.
“That looks serious. You probably should have had stitches. Do the kids who did that come to this shelter?” she asked.
Again, Eddie shook his head.
After a few minutes, I finally convinced her to leave the poor guy alone and go inside to do what she’d come to do. When we went in, the shelter manager, Nelson, was cleaning up dinner service.
Peyton immediately started to interrogate him. “Do you know what happened to Eddie’s head?”
He stopped wiping down the table. “Nope. I asked. Got the usual response—nothing. You’re the only one he says more than please and thank you to.”
“Do you know where he sleeps at night?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. The city’s got more than forty homeless communities, and that doesn’t include setting up shop under a train trestle somewhere on your own. Could be anywhere.”
Peyton frowned. “Okay.”
“I know it’s not easy. But we can’t help the ones who won’t take our help. He knows he’s welcome to stay here anytime.”
“I know.” She pointed to the storage room in the back. “I forgot to take the inventory list. I have an audition tomorrow, so I’m going to do it online from home.”
While Peyton was gone, I looked around the shelter. The place had recently been painted, and each volunteer had donated a framed poster with their favorite motivational quote. There were probably a dozen in matte black frames running down the long wall of the cafeteria. The first one read Even at the end of the darkest night, the sun will rise again.
“Is this one yours?” I asked when Peyton returned with a folder.
“Nope.” She gave me a quick peck on the lips. “You can read them all another time, and I’ll give you a reward if you find the one I brought. But I want to catch Eddie again before he’s gone.” She tugged my hand. “So let’s go.”
Eddie was no longer sitting outside, although he was easy enough to spot. Halfway up the block, he was ambling along. He had a limp on the right and a garbage bag slung over his left shoulder.
Peyton saw him just before he rounded the corner. “Let’s follow him. See where he goes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s dangerous—and an invasion of his privacy. We’re not following a homeless person.”
“But if we know where he sleeps at night, maybe the police would help.”
“No.”
“Please…”
“No.”
“Fine.”
I should have known she wasn’t going to drop it so quick.
Chapter 4
Reese
My cell had rung bright and early this morning, and suddenly I had an unexpected lunch date I was rather looking forward to. Chase had mentioned he had a friend who was a recruiter, but he’d failed to include the part that the woman, Samantha, recruited for Parker Industries—a company he owned. I was instantly intrigued, and I’ll admit I was a tad bit disappointed when she suggested we meet at a restaurant. Even though it was easy to get to—only a few stops on the subway from my soon-to-be-vacated office at Fresh Look—there wouldn’t be any chance of running into Chase since we weren’t meeting at his office.
But lunch had turned out to be pretty enlightening. We’d spent two hours at a restaurant, now followed by a long walk through the park. After we’d talked about my background and what I was looking for in an employer, the conversation turned to Parker Industries.
“So Chase actually invents the products himself?” I asked. Perhaps I should have spent time Googling the man instead of ogling him on Facebook.
“He used to, although these days he has an entire research and development team. But most of the ideas they work on are his. Believe it or not, that pretty boy is the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“What was the first product he ever invented?”
“The Pampered Pussy.”
I stopped in place. “The what?”
Samantha laughed. “It’s packaged as Divine Wax now that it’s licensed in fifty countries. But back in college, it was The Pampered Pussy.”
“He invented Divine Wax? I’ve heard that stuff is awesome.”
“Sure did. During college, he lived in a frat with a bunch of muscleheads. Some of them were hardcore into working out. His sophomore year, a few had begun to compete in local bodybuilding contests. They had to wax their bodies, and these brawny tough guys used to bitch that the waxing hurt. Chase worked in the university’s chem lab part-time and figured out how to incorporate a numbing agent into the wax. So after the hot wax was painted on the guys’ chests and backs, they didn’t feel anything as it was ripped off a few seconds later.”
“And it turned into a household brand for
women?”
“It took a while. Word spread at Brown that a hot guy could do waxing without the pain, and that evolved into The Pampered Pussy. He’d go to sororities and make a grand in an afternoon—and get laid by the prettiest girl in the house while he was there. It was unbelievable.” Samantha laughed. “He was always easy on the eyes and a little arrogant because of his brains. Women love that combination.”
We sure do. “That’s pretty amazing. How did it get to the next level?”
“Junior year he was providing wax and doing whatever else to Dakota Canning, heir to Canning & Canning.”
“The Fortune 100 pharmaceutical company?”
“That’s the one. I guess Dakota told her father about the wax, and things just progressed from there. It was packaged and sold under a license agreement within six months. When Chase graduated Brown, he’d already made his first million.”
“That’s seriously unbelievable.”
“Yep. He’s like the Zuckerberg of vaginas now—has a dozen other products he’s chemically improved. Most are in the health and beauty segment, but he also invented a burn cream that regenerates skin and decreases pain, and it only needs to be applied once a day. Most burn creams need multiple applications, and touching the skin after a severe burn is both excruciatingly painful and increases the chances of infection.”
“Incredible.”
“It is. Just don’t tell him I said that.” She smiled softly. “So how did you two meet again? He mentioned a double date but didn’t get into details. Pulling anything personal from that man is like breaking into Fort Knox. And we’ve known each other since middle school.”
“It’s actually a bizarre story. I was on a bad date and hiding outside the restaurant bathroom leaving a message for my friend to call me back and pretend there was an emergency. Chase overheard me and basically called me out for being rude. After I went back to my date, he wound up coming over with his date and joining us.”
“He knew your date?”
“Nope. He pretended we were old friends and joined us—told these elaborate stories about our fake childhood. Some of them were so detailed and real, I started to feel like they were actually true.”
“The story part sounds like Chase. In high school, he wrote a creative writing paper for my friend Peyton once. He handed it to her right before she had English class, so she didn’t have time to read it beforehand. The guidance counselor called her down the next morning because her English teacher had become concerned about her well-being. He’d written some crazy story about being attacked by a wild boar during a camping trip with her parents, who were too drunk to help fight the thing off. The way he’d detailed the trip to the emergency room and all the stitches, it seemed too explicit not to be real.”