Always been You

by Mia Scott

  Big spotted her while he was in line waiting to order and shook his head at his luck. He'd been bombarded by her in some form for the better part of a week, although this was the first time he'd seen her in person since the night he'd gone to see her show. It seemed as though everywhere he went nowadays he saw her plastered on a poster or a billboard for Chicago, her dark eyes staring back at him. Hell, she even tortured him as the bus went past, laid out in all her black satin and fishnet glory. He supposed that those images had always been around, only now he was aware and shit and that really stuck in his craw—mostly because she'd one-upped him in front of his mother and said mother hadn't stopped nagging him about the lovely and talented Jewish girl ever since. So of course she'd show up in his favorite deli, with her nose buried in a book and her dark hair waving invitingly around her gorgeous face on the only day he'd yet to see an image of her. He placed his order and grabbed a cup for his soda, heading over to the machine to fill it up.

  "Order up for Alisha," a man behind the counter boomed.

  She dog-eared her place in the book and set it on the table. "Pastrami on rye—good choice," a voice said lazily. Alisha looked up and found Big smirking (honestly, did the man have another expression?) at her, her bag of food in his hand. "Why does New York feel like it's getting smaller every day?" she clipped.

  "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," he said gruffly. The vacant chair at her table scraped across the floor as he pulled it out and plopped down carelessly into it. He handed her the bag and leaned back against the seat.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

  "Sitting at the only available seat in the joint." He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a big gulp of his Coke.

  "I don't recall asking you to join me," she informed him, casting a furtive glance around the deli to see if he was telling the truth. He was.

  He cocked his head to the side and looked at her, his eye dancing amusedly. "Would you really make me eat standing up?" The corners of his lips turned up slightly.

  Alisha could tell that he was the kind of guy who was used to getting everything he wanted from a woman with just a look or a smile. And while she couldn't deny he was ridiculously attractive (sexy), she wasn't about to fall prey to his charms. "No, I wouldn't." He grinned. "There's an open seat right there," she pointed to a newly vacated table a few feet away. She smiled wryly and reached into the paper sack for her sandwich.

  Big chuckled, rising to his feet when he heard his order being called. She was prickly and for some reason he liked that. He got his sandwich, thought briefly about sitting at the other table, then sat back down at Alisha's instead.

  The little slice of heaven was halfway to her mouth when he sat back down. She frowned. "What are you doing?" she asked again.

  "I don't want you to eat alone," he replied, a wily smile on his lips.

  "How noble," she said dryly.

  "Isn't that what all women want?" he asked, reaching between them for the book on the table. He picked it up, glanced at the cover and pointed to it.

  Alisha sighed, set her sandwich down and fixed him with a bored look. "What are you talking about?"

  He lifted the cup to his mouth, grinned over the top of it. "A knight in shining armor."

  She laughed darkly. "There's no such thing as knights in shining armor. Only retards wrapped in aluminum foil." Oh, Alisha, that was so not politically correct.

  Big nearly choked on his drink as the laugh rumbled up in his chest. "Razor sharp wit you've got there, Alisha."

  She shrugged. "Just being honest. Her stomach growled, and she was tired of waiting to eat. Picking up the sandwich, she took a mammoth bite. Her eyes fell closed and she nearly moaned from the deliciousness igniting her taste buds.

  The surprises where Alisha Larrington was concerned just kept coming. He would've bet any amount of money that she ate rabbit food and picked at her meals like a bird. But there she was across from him, digging into that gigantic sandwich and having what bordered on a religious experience with it. There was something very sexy about a woman who wasn't afraid to eat. "Good?" he asked knowingly.

  "God, yes! I was dreaming of this while my trainer tortured me with squats and lunges this morning."

  Images of Alisha sweating in a gym with some tight yoga pants wrapped over her hot ass and legs flashed in his mind. So, sue him, he was a dude. The comment on the tip of his tongue would probably get him slapped, so he unwrapped his own sandwich and took a big bite.

  They shared a few minutes of companionable silence while they ate, minus a few grunts and groans of appreciation for their food. Alisha polished off her sandwich and tore open the bag of salt and vinegar chips, quickly inhaling a few. She licked the salt from her fingers one at a time and found Big staring oddly at her. It was annoying. "What?" she asked with raised brows.

  Big's lips twitched and he merely took another drink from his cup, saying nothing.

  "You clearly have something to say—just spit it out." She huffed out an irritated breath and reached for her diet coke.

  "I like watching you eat." When her lip curled in disgust he grinned. "It's refreshing to see a woman put away food like that instead of ordering a piece of lettuce, eating half and claiming she's stuffed. You annihilated that sandwich."

  Alisha pursed her lips, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted—maybe a little of both, she finally decided. She smiled crookedly and took another sip from her straw. "How's your mother?" she deflected, dimples winking.

  Big let out a derisive snort. "You know, you don't look mean, but you are. We watched Schindler's List once and she cried and told me I was no better than the Nazis because I didn't date Jewish girls. And that was when I was in high school."

  Her jaw dropped, and she laughed. "No, she did not!"

  "Oh, yes she did," he told her, laughing at the memory. "So, you can imagine how insane she gets over any female Jew in a ten-mile radius of me now that I'm pushing thirty."

  "Well, it's New York—plenty of Jews to choose from," Alisha replied glibly.

  "And what about you? Can I add you to my list?" he asked, leering at her.

  Ugh, he was smarmy. "Sure," she said tartly, standing up. "I'll be number one with a bullet on your 'never gonna happen' list." She grabbed her book off the table and shoved it into her bag.

  He blew out a low whistle. "Boy, someone did a number on you."

  Someone had. And screw Jake Biggerman for zeroing in on that old wound with such accurate precision and making it ache dully. Her eyes went dark and narrow. "Don't presume that you know the first thing about my life."

  Big got to his feet and glared back at her. "Same goes."

  She snorted as she shrugged into her red fleece jacket. "You're not as tough to figure out as you think," she said and turned on her heel, heading for the door.

  "What the fuck does that mean?" he asked testily as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cool autumn breeze blowing around them.

  Alisha paused and reluctantly turned back to him, no longer wishing to be a participant in this conversation. "If I'm being succinct, I believe the term man whore is applicable."

  Big stepped closer, invading her personal space. He noted a flicker of something else in those Bambi eyes of hers (what exactly, he wasn't sure, but it was there) before they went stormy again. "Nothing wrong with liking sex, sweetheart. Maybe you should consider getting some soon—might dislodge that giant stick up your ass." Her mouth fell open in shock and he grinned smugly. "See ya around, Larrington," he said and walked away, leaving her alone on the sidewalk in his wake.

  Maggie was hunkered down at the dining room table surrounded by sketches and fabric samples when Alisha came slamming into the apartment. The scowl on her face accompanied by the insane number of shopping bags in her hands was a dead giveaway that she was in a shitty mood. She watched her storm towards the guest room, heard the packages drop against the hardwood.

  She knocked on the door and heard a harried
"What?" and poked her head inside. "Hey," she said softly.

  "Hi," Alisha snapped, not bothering to glance up as she upended the shopping bags on the bed.

  Maggie walked over to the bed and looked at her purchases, grabbing curiously at the shoebox. "Hot boots," she commented, running a finger over the buttery soft black leather. She sat down on the bed and looked at Alisha. "What's wrong?" Alisha took a deep breath and launched into a long (and loud) diatribe, leaving Maggie only able to discern every few word or so.

  "Stupid fireman…deli…table…insufferable ass…egomaniacal douche...singular expression…smirks…man whore…insulting…stick up my ass…like to beat him with a giant stick upside his stupid face!"

  Maggie blinked owlishly, trying to process. "Wait—are you talking about Big?"

  "Yes!" she screeched. "Weren't you listening?"

  "I was trying, motor mouth. Dial it down a notch!" Maggie snapped.

  Alisha huffed out a breath and sat down next to Maggie. "I'm sorry, Fabs."

  "Oh, please…that was nothing," she assured her friend, patting her knee. "You should go out with him."

  "W-wh-what?" she sputtered. "Did you not hear a word I just said?"

  Maggie ignored her question. "I think he likes you—you should have seen the way he was watching you at your show the other night."

  "I think you need your head examined. The only thing that Neanderthal wants is to get into a willing female's pants and that female will most certainly not be me."

  "And why not? He's sexy!"

  "Then you go out with him," she sneered.

  "I've got my eye on a different fireman, thanks. Alisha, it's been a long time since T—"

  Alisha held up a hand. "Uh-uh—we don't speak of him, remember? He-who-must-not-be-named—like Voldemort."

  "Or Vanessa on Gossip Girl," Maggie said, scrunching her nose up disgustedly, making Alisha laugh.

  "Exactly!" She plucked the cream cashmere sweater she'd bought in her rage-induced shopping spree off the bed and folded it neatly. Glancing at the rest of the purchases, she looked up guiltily at Maggie. "I need help, don't I?"

  Maggie smiled and laughed softly. "Sweetie, for several years now," she teased, dodging the purse Alisha threw at her. She opened the door, looked back over her shoulder. "Don't forget that we're hosting game night this evening."

  "Oh yeah," Alisha said, her face lighting up. "That will cheer me right up! Let me just get this mess put away and then I'll put some food together for tonight," she said, gesturing to the rainbow pile on her bed.

  "Great—see you later."

  Maggie hurried to her room and shut the door, quickly dialing Russell.

  "Yes?" he asked in a posh voice.

  "I think we should abort our plan for game night, Russell."

  "And why would we do that? Didn't you already invite him over?"

  She felt the pang of guilt settle in her stomach, knowing Alisha would be pissed from being blindsided. "Well, yes, but—"

  "No buts, M! What's the worst that could happen? She Starlets out and gets pissed for a day or two? Been there, done that. Ooh, I've got to run. Ciao Ciao!"

  When the line went dead, she frowned. She hated that he always somehow managed to get the last word in. The little diva. Her phone beeped with a text message and she got sidetracked from all other thought when James told her he was looking forward to seeing her tonight.

  Alisha artfully arranged the hors d'ouevres on a platter and scooped some dip into a bowl while she got caught up on the latest gossip from Russell's boyfriend, Adam. She laughed when he told her of the colossal hissy fit Russell threw the other day before the Bergdorf meeting. "Why does that not surprise me?" she asked, smiling over at the handsome man with the sandy hair and blue eyes.

  "Things have calmed down considerably since the deal went through. Get you a drink, Lisha?" he asked, pulling open the fridge.

  "I'd love some wine—red. Thanks, Adam." She grabbed the snacks and headed for the living room, spying Maggie and Russell having a hushed argument on the couch. "What are you two arguing about now?" she asked, setting the food down on the coffee table.

  "Business," they blurted quickly. In unison.

  She gave them an odd look. "Well, stop. It's game night! And I'm in the mood to have fun." A knock sounded at the door. "That must be Cristina and Beau. I'll get it," she smiled and bounded over to the door.

  Alisha pulled open the door fully expecting to see her married friends and saw a happy-faced James on the other side instead. "Hi, James," she greeted, smiling in surprise. "Come on in." He stepped inside and, much to her chagrin, a smirking (seriously?) Big appeared in the doorway behind him. Her face fell into a scowl. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

  Chapter 5

  Alisha stood in front of the open door scowling at the absolute last person she expected to see at game night, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she spat. His grin was quick, his eyes amused, and she wanted to slam the door in his stupid (sexy) face. "What are you doing here?" she asked, forgoing politeness.

  "I was invited."

  She sneered at him, looked back at her friends in the living room and saw Maggie walking over with her guilty face on. One look at the wicked grin on Russell's otherwise cherubic face confirmed all she needed to know—her friends hated her. "How could you?" she mouthed silently to Maggie before turning back to tall, dark and douchey taking up space in the hall.

  "Hi, Big," Maggie greeted brightly. "Thanks for coming."

  Big carelessly shrugged his broad shoulders, but smiled back at the blonde. "I brought beer," he said, lifting the case for evidence.

  "Fantastic—you can never have too much alcohol. Right, Lisha?"

  "I'm going to need it," she muttered under her breath and then pressed her lips together and gave him a tight, fake smile before turning and flouncing off to the kitchen.

  His lips twitched as he watched her storm away and he stepped into the apartment. "Want me to put this in your fridge?"

  Maggie cast a quick glance towards the kitchen, "Ah, I'd better take that. Go on in the living room. We're waiting on a couple more and then we'll get started. There's food if you're hungry." She smiled and took the case of beer from his hands and headed to face Alisha's wrath.

  "I'm sorry," Maggie said the moment she walked into the kitchen, flinching as Alisha's brutal gaze sliced through her.

  "Why do you hate me?" Alisha pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

  She put the beer on the counter and turned. "Don't be so dramatic," she sighed. "I told James a few days ago to bring him if he wanted to."

  "Which you failed to mention entirely," she heatedly pointed out.

  "I know—but it was Russell's idea," Maggie blurted, throwing her friend under the bus. After all, she was the one who'd tried to call it off and it wasn't fair that he was in the other room while she got yelled at. "I had no way of knowing you'd bump into each other and get into it today."

  "So, Larrington—you talk to your friends about me?" he asked from the doorway, startling both women. "That's cute." He kept his eyes on her face as color seeped into her cheeks. The wicked smile spread slowly across his face when her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

  Alisha gave Maggie a look that said, 'see what I mean?' before turning her eyes back to Big.

  Maggie looked back and forth between the two, growing uncomfortable from the tension in the air. "I'll just…" she trailed off. She then grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and fled.

  Judas. "What do you want?" He stepped silently into the kitchen, stalking towards her like a lion after his prey. She pressed her body back, closer against the counter, trying to increase the space between them as his tall form towered over her and slowly leaned in. His hazel eyes pierced into hers and he was close enough that she could see flecks of gold in them. The intoxicating scent of his cologne invaded her senses and her breath hitched (she was also pretty sure that she'd just audibly gulped). Big
planted his hands on the counter, caging her. Smiling dangerously, he angled his head, so his lips hovered over hers, and reached behind her. He leaned back slightly and held up a bottle of beer in front of her face. She blinked slowly, the mist clearing from her mind as his actions registered in her brain.

  "I'm thirsty," he said lecherously. His lips twitched when the breath she'd been holding blew out in a whoosh around them. He wanted to double over with laughter when murder flashed in those fiery brown eyes of hers. He settled for a smug grin.

  "Would you kindly back the hell out of my personal space?" she said through clenched teeth, unnerved by his proximity.

  "Sorry, Larrington," he muttered and stepped back only a few inches to irritate her. He popped the top off his beer and took a long, slow pull from the bottle. "Ahhh! That hits the spot. Want one?"

  Alisha fixed him with pointed look. "Why are you here, Big?"

  He took another slow drink from the bottle, looking down at her looking up in frustration at him. "Because you amuse me," he finally answered.

  "Why don't you patronize me a little more? I'm not some little play thing here for your entertainment, you egotistical ass!"

  He heard a lot of big words in there that sounded mostly like blah blah blah but he did catch 'play thing.' "But wouldn't it be more fun if you were?"

  "Ugh, you are revolting!" Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, itching to slap him across his disgusting, chauvinistic mouth.

  Big leered at her. "And yet a minute ago you were hoping I was going to kiss you."

  "I most certainly was not," she cried, utterly offended. She'd definitely thought he was going to kiss her, but hadn't been hoping for it. Not at all. Big difference.