Cardinal

by Sara Mack

  I smile. “Well, nothing is stopping us now. Let’s do it soon. I want my sister-in-law to be legit.”

  “She is legit. I have the license to prove it.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  We turn into the parking garage, then get out of the car and make our way upstairs. Outside the apartment door, I grab Pete’s arm and pull him into a lopsided hug. “I’m really happy for you. I love Jules. Mom and Dad do, too. I’m glad she’s okay.”

  He hugs me back. “Me, too.”

  “Her proposal needs to be epic.”

  “I have some ideas.” Pete steps back and puts the key in the lock. “But I might need some help there as well.”

  “Count me in.” I grin.

  He starts to open the door, then stops. “You deserve epic things, too, you know. That’s what I meant about Latson. If you decide to get involved with him, I worry that won’t happen for you.”

  I sigh. I’ve learned all things epic don’t revolve around men. “If I were to get involved with him I would have no expectations.” If my last two relationships taught me anything, it’s not to bank on a future.

  Pete looks like he disagrees, but lets it go. We head inside and say goodnight. When I get to my room, I shut the door and drop my bag on the floor. My brother is married. Married. It explains so much, like his mature behavior and concern about me. Especially when I was sick. I’m sure my health only reminded him of his wife’s issues.

  His wife. Gah! I love it. I can’t wait until they decide to share the news.

  Kicking off my shoes, I start to get ready for bed. I pull the rubber band out of my hair, shake my head, and hear three taps in the process. Glancing around the room, I wait and hear it again. It’s coming from the window. I walk over and tentatively lift the edge of the blinds. Someone is standing on the fire escape. All I can see is a shoe and a knee, and I remember what Latson said. It has to be him. How did he get home so fast?

  Opening the blinds, I crack the window. He crouches down with a mischievous smirk. “Come out here with me.”

  “Did you grow wings and fly?” I look over his shoulder. “Didn’t I just leave you on a sidewalk?”

  “I left right after you,” he says. “Dorothy is fast.”

  I remember the name of his car.

  “C’mon,” he says and holds out his hand.

  There’s nothing to stop me. There are no prying eyes here, and I do want to talk to him. Pushing the window open, I set my hands on the sill and hop up. I get one knee on the ledge then reach out, so Latson can help me crawl through. He ends up holding both my hands as he pulls me to stand in front of him.

  “I haven’t snuck out a window since high school,” I say.

  “It’s good to know you have a wild side.”

  “So wild,” I joke and remove my fingers from his. I slide them into my back pockets.

  He walks over to the edge of the fire escape, and I follow. He sits down, hanging his legs over the side. I sit beside him and do the same. The rough metal of the platform digs into my legs through my jeans, but I don’t mind. Once my eyes catch the view of the sleeping city, I’m kind of swept away. The twinkling lights and the muted sounds hint at the energy it holds during the day. It’s a different world up here in the dark.

  “Where are your shoes?”

  I stop my swinging legs and look at my socks. “I was getting ready for bed.”

  “I told you not to fall asleep.”

  My eyes swing from my feet to his face. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  A slow smile takes over his features.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Cue the dimple. “Well, you do work for me, so ... I am the boss of you.”

  He thinks he’s clever. “Very funny. That title only applies inside the walls of Torque. Outside, I’m just Jen and you’re just ...” I look him over. “You.” A very handsome, talented you wearing the Take Me Home t-shirt again, my mind adds.

  “I’m glad you said that.” Latson moves over and ends up an inch closer to me. He produces his phone. “Can I get your number now?”

  “Sure.” I recite my cell. He enters it, then says, “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

  I don’t think twice about it.

  As he’s busy tapping letters, I look over the city again. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? You could have asked for my number through the window.”

  “I thought the fire escape would be romantic,” he teases. “I am, you know. In case you didn’t get the message earlier.”

  “No, I got it,” I say. Every inch of me got it.

  He puts his phone away. “So, what did you think?”

  “Of the message?”

  He nods.

  I assume he wants me to tell him I dissolved into a puddle of goo, so I decide to mess with him. I let my voice get breathy and lower my lashes, channeling my inner Marilyn. “I ... I think ...” I turn toward him and slowly run one finger over the tattoos on his arm. “I think you’re an amazing singer.”

  At first he looks puzzled, but then his confusion melts into satisfaction. I purposefully bite my lower lip and try to look seductive. He follows suit. His lowers his eyelids and stares at mouth, playing along. “Tell me how amazing I am.”

  “Soooo amazing,” I repeat. I take my time trailing my finger back up his arm and pick up my breathing as I do. I lean forward, like I want to whisper in his ear. “I have something else to tell you. I can’t keep it inside. Not anymore.”

  Latson meets my eyes and brings his hand to the side of my face. “Tell me, baby.”

  I arch an eyebrow and bring my lips to his ear. “You’re a fucking liar.”

  He quickly leans back and I poke him in the shoulder. “Why did you pretend to hate Ed?! You. Don’t. Mess. With. Ed!” I poke him in between each word.

  Latson laughs and grabs my wrist.

  “You suck,” I say.

  He pulls me close. “I’ve been told I suck quite well, actually.”

  It takes me a second to recover from his comment. I frown. “Talking about your sexual escapades will not get you into another woman’s pants.”

  “Who’s talking about sex?”

  “You are.”

  He grins. “No. I was talking about popsicles.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Look who has the dirty mind,” he muses. “Maybe you’re the one trying to get into my pants.”

  I need to redirect this conversation. “Fess up,” I say. “Tell me about Ed.”

  He releases me a little. “I pretended not to like him because I could tell you did. It made you mad.” He turns my wrist over and kisses the inside of it. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

  What just happened?

  I pull my arm from this grasp and lean back. “I’m cute when I’m angry? That’s your excuse? I’d rather you think I was cute when I’m not pissed off.”

  “I already do, but ...” He winks. “Noted.”

  Okay. He’s kissed me and called me cute. He can’t be that desperate to hook up with someone. I’m sure Pete has warned him off me, just like he’s warned me off him.

  Latson changes topics. “Honestly, though. What did you think? You play. Could you tell I haven’t performed in two years?”

  I’m surprised. “No, not at all. You rocked that stage.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You owned the crowd. If I had a quarter of the talent you have ...” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t be standing behind a bar.”

  Latson looks intrigued. “You don’t like your job?”

  “It’s not that. Bartending pays the bills.”

  “But?”

  “But, it’s not a career. I can’t be seventy and slinging drinks from my Amigo.”

  He laughs. “Then what would you rather do?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.” I shrug. “Even as a kid, I didn’t know. After graduation, I got a job at a diner and
my future was written.” I remember the constant questions from my parents and relatives. They always wanted to know when I was going to get a “real” job.

  Latson nods in understanding. “I never knew, either. At least your parents didn’t pressure you. Mine were set on Columbia, followed by med school. I dropped out after the first semester.” He pauses. “Scratch that. I didn’t even make it through the first semester. I only left the dorm for parties and band practice.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I take it your dad wanted you to follow in his surgical footsteps?”

  “He didn’t think I’d amount to anything as a musician.” Latson smirks. “I got to prove him wrong. For a few years, anyway.”

  I don’t know what to say. I know his father is a sore spot.

  “Have you considered playing?” Latson asks me.

  “You mean professionally? No.”

  “Why not? You could do local gigs.”

  I laugh. “I’d never be able to support myself. No one would show up.”

  “I’d show up,” he says and my pulse quickens. “You could always start at Torque,” he adds. “The stage is yours. Just tell me when you want it.”

  I can’t lie. Performing there would be a rush. However ... “I don’t think so. I’m nowhere near your level or Dean’s.”

  “You underestimate yourself,” Latson says. “You feel the music. It means something to you. Dean said it best: you’re a natural.”

  Music does mean something to me. How many hours have I spent playing for fun, or to calm my nerves, or to forget something bad? “It’s my escape,” I confess.

  Latson gives me a small, commiserative smile. “I know what you mean.”

  A few silent moments pass before he looks down, his eyes landing on my hand. The heel is pressed to the fire escape and my fingers are curled over the edge. Slowly, he reaches over and traces two fingers over my skin. It’s the lightest of touches, yet heat blazes up my arm.

  “You know,” he says, “I have a room upstairs I think you might like.”

  Where did that come from? We were just sharing our pasts. I bite my lip.

  “Do you want to see it?” he asks.

  His eyes meet mine and they smolder. I never thought I would use that word, but it’s the only word to describe them. They burn. He can’t be asking what I think he’s asking.

  Can he?

  “I … I still work for you,” I stutter.

  “You’re still hung up on that?” His fingers travel to my wrist. “Outside of Torque, I’m me and you’re you. You said it yourself.”

  Shit. My mind races. “Oliver’s sleeping.”

  Latson’s gaze goes back to his fingers, and his voice drops to a whisper. “So many excuses.” He leans toward me. “Why don’t you want to see my guitars?”

  I snap out of it. “What?”

  His pulls his hand away. “I have a room full of guitars upstairs.” He raises an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  I can’t believe I fell for that. “You’re an asshole.”

  He pretends to be shocked. “You were thinking dirty again, weren’t you?”

  “Ugh!” I jerk away from him. “You’re impossible.”

  He laughs. “I couldn’t help it. You dished it out first, so I had to give it back.”

  Whatever.

  As my racing heart returns to normal, it takes my remaining energy with it. Working a full day after being off, along with the night’s crazy emotional highs, has left me drained. It has to be after five a.m. by now. I try to stretch my back by twisting to the side. “My bed is calling me,” I say.

  “My bed is calling you, too.”

  I shoot Latson an annoyed look. “You can stop now.” I start to stand. “Unless you want a zombie working the bar tomorrow, I need sleep.”

  Latson gets to his feet and follows me to my window. “We wouldn’t want that. I can’t hit on you if you’re not in the mood.”

  I snort. “Why don’t I think my mood would stop you?” I crouch down, sit my butt on the window ledge, and swing my legs inside.

  Latson kneels down. “I meant what I said about performing. You’d be great. Think about it.”

  It would be impossible not to. “Thanks. I will.” I hop down into my bedroom and turn around. “Have a good night. Or morning. Or whatever it is,” I say.

  He gives me a small smile. “You, too.”

  His legs disappear when I close the blinds. As I finish getting ready for bed, my phone beeps and I dig it out of my bag to silence it. I see Latson’s earlier text:

  Here is my number. You should save it under ‘Ed’ so you’ll confuse me with your boyfriend.

  He wants me to confuse him with Ed? I text back: Ed doesn’t like to share.

  Minutes later, after I’ve crawled beneath the covers, he sends another message.

  Then you should dump his ass.

  I text back. For who? You? Pete said you don’t do commitment.

  He replies: I think I should start.

  Chapter Twelve

  I scowl at my phone. I’m pretty sure I made the same face this morning when my brother farted during breakfast. I had to stop myself from asking Jules why she agreed to marry his gross ass, but I kept my mouth shut. She doesn’t know I’m aware of their secret.

  “Looks like there’s a problem.”

  I stop reading Tricia’s email and glance up. “Hey, Dean.”

  He takes a seat at the bar. “Everything all right?”

  I turn off my cell and slide it into my back pocket. “My insurance agent has no news for me.” I wipe my hands on a bar towel. “What can I get you?”

  “Insurance agent? Were you in a wreck?” He settles on the stool. “I’ll take a Two Hearted Ale, please.”

  “No. There was a fire at my apartment building.” I walk over to the cooler and grab his beer. “I’ve been waiting to find out when I can go home.” Setting the edge of the bottle cap against the edge of the bar, I slam my hand down to open it, then give it to him. “I’ve been crashing with my brother for the last three weeks.”

  Dean looks curious. “Where is home?”

  “Michigan.”

  Latson walks up behind Dean and claps him on the shoulder. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

  Dean nods as he raises his beer to his lips.

  “What’s tonight?” I ask.

  “Small gathering at my place.” Latson meets my eyes as he leans against the bar. “You’re coming.”

  “I am?” This is the first I’ve heard of it.

  “Yep. Pete, Jules, Gwen, Carter, Felix ... they’ll all be there. When Dean’s in town we hang out.”

  News to me. Oh! I hope Heidi’s invited, I think sarcastically.

  “What’s up with your shirt?” Dean eyes Latson. “I’ve never seen you wear purple.”

  Latson looks down at his chest. Today he’s sporting a dark purple tee that reads Will do nude scenes. “I thought you quit doing porn,” Dean jokes.

  “I’m trying to send subliminal messages to someone. She’s being stubborn,” Latson says.

  Dean immediately assumes it’s me and tips his bottle in my direction. “Could this be the same someone who doubted your romantic tendencies?”

  “The very one.”

  My mouth falls open.

  “You’re working hard for this girl,” Dean says. “Are you sure she’s worth it?”

  “She’s starting to crack,” Latson replies. “She has this weird hang up about me being her boss.”

  Dean shrugs. “Then fire her.”

  “Oh, I’ve considered it.”

  He what? I put my hands on my hips. “I’m standing right here.”

  They both ignore me.

  “So, what time tonight?” Dean sets his bottle on the bar top.

  “We close early, so around ten,” Latson says. “Unless you want to leave now. I have some things to pick up.”

  “Sounds good. Let me finish this.” Dean indicates his beer.

&
nbsp; Latson looks at me. “Are you hungry?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see if someone else is behind me. “Are you talking to me? I thought I was invisible.”

  “Yes, I’m talking to you.”

  I could use food, but I decide to get sassy. “Are you buying?”

  “That depends.” Latson tries to look innocent. “Are you putting out?”

  I pick up the bottle cap from Dean’s beer and throw it at him. It bounces off his shirt, under the word scenes. “Is that all you think about?”

  Latson and Dean look at each other. Dean says “Yeah” as Latson says “Pretty much.”

  I sigh. Men.

  Two guys approach the bar and I move over to help them. As they decide what they want, I hear Latson tell Dean, “She didn’t say no.”

  Dean laughs. “Way to stay optimistic, bro.”

  By the time I finish with the guys, Latson is gone. I serve a few more drinks before Dean empties his bottle and sets it on the bar. I grab it as I walk by.

  “You know,” Dean says. “You should give him a shot.”

  I stop. “Why’s that?”

  “Because he hasn’t fallen for someone in a long time.”

  I’m skeptical. “Nothing has happened between us to make him fall anywhere.”

  Dean gives me a pointed look. “Trust me. Something did.”

  “Um, Miss?”

  A customer interrupts us for service, and Dean stands. “I’ll let you get back to work. See you later.”

  Yeah, I mull over his words. See you later.

  ~~~~

  After the bar closes, Pete and I head home to change and grab Jules for tonight’s soiree. My brother doesn’t bring up his feelings on the topic, and I don’t ask. I’m not sure if he feels better about me spending time around Latson because of our talk, or because he’ll be in attendance. Regardless, back at the apartment, I take a few minutes to comb through my hair until it lies in waves around my face. I touch up my lips and eyes before changing into jean shorts and my black White Stripes tank top. I want to look like I care, but not too much. This is the second time I’ve hung out with these people socially; they’re becoming a bigger part of my life than I had planned. I’d rather they see me in something else besides the standard Torque attire.

  When the three of us are ready, we head upstairs and Pete knocks on Latson’s door. It cracks open, and one tiny, brown eye appears. It grows wide when it sees us, and Oliver throws open the door. “Hi!” He immediately reaches for my hand. “Jen’s on my team,” he announces as he pulls.