Eluding Fate

by Delilah Mohan

  At eight twelve, they called my name. I grabbed my coffee while searching my phone for my intern’s phone number. She needed to know I was running behind so that she could plan accordingly. I found her name and just as my finger was poised to hit the send button, my body slammed into a solid object, my coffee released from my hand and ran down the front of the person I collided with.

  Woman.

  I collided with a woman, and I was stunned. Too shocked to move or say anything because I felt like I’d seen her a million times and never before. Was that weird? I knew it was weird, but I couldn’t put my finger on why she had me frozen. My eyes traveled over her hair, a weird shade of dark browns and reds, past her geeky and somewhat cute glasses, to where my coffee soaked into her white shirt, creating a translucent brown veil over her chest.

  My throat went completely dry.

  All the sound was gone.

  All I could do was focus on what was in front of me.

  It was ridiculous, really. I’d always been more of an ass guy, grabbing a handful had always given me a euphoric satisfaction. Crude, I know, because I was the Spencer Sully, and I had a public image to uphold, but try as I might at that very moment, I couldn't look away. I was enslaved by a pair of breasts I’d not once touched, and my fascination was an equal part mystery and surprise.

  I heard something and slowly shook myself out of my stupor, only to realize I was standing in front of her like a gawking jackass while she was quite literally swimming in a pile of my coffee.

  “Here, let me help you.” I reached for some napkins on the bar close by. Grabbing a handful, I turned to help her while my elbow knocked over a canister of straws, sending them sailing across the counter and onto the floor. Shit. Shit. Shit. I looked from her to the straws and back to her before deciding my priorities.

  I thrust a handful of napkins at her while using the napkins in my other hand to dab at her coffee-stained shirt. “Can you maybe clean up the straws or something? I usually prefer strangers not to touch my boobs.” I froze mid-action, completely mortified I hadn’t realized I was touching her inappropriately.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt and a new coffee.” I looked at the puddle of coffee, straws, and napkins that surrounded us. “I’m so sorry,” I said again, this time way more pitifully. Helpless, I felt helpless.

  She looked up from dabbing the coffee off her clothes and gave me a crooked smile, “It's okay. It’s fine really. I didn’t even like this shirt.”

  I know she said it to make me feel better, but it didn’t help. She brushed it off like it was no big deal, helped me clean up, and left the coffee shop in a hurry like she had some sort of schedule to keep, while I stared after her utterly confused.

  My phone beeped.

  Nicole: its eight twenty-five, where are you?

  I’m late.

  And just like that my day went from being completely on its path to so incredibly off course that a compass couldn’t help save it.

  Chapter Seven

  MARI

  I had never been more thankful in my entire life. Seriously, I was sending up thank yous and mental images of flower bouquets to the man upstairs because when I opened my eyes this morning . . . or should I say, afternoon, there were no sounds of drills or hammers, no clunking of movers, or doors being slammed. It was silent, completely and blissfully silent.

  Silent.

  Nothing.

  Heaven.

  It had been weeks since I had encountered an occurrence like this, and I was at a loss as to what to do with myself. Logically I knew I should write. I should use this silence and peck away at the keyboard until I got out every possible word I could because surely, this peace wouldn’t last. But with my first morning of silence in weeks the logical part of my brain didn’t work all that well, and I just wanted to lay there and bask in this seemingly rare occurrence for as long as possible.

  I basked. Boy, did I ever. I basked through a pint of Chunky Monkey. I basked through three telemarketer calls. I basked through a sandwich, chips, and a can of root beer. I basked through Dirty Dancing, Bridesmaids, and I was just about ready to continue my basking session into “How to Lose a Guy in 10 days” when my phone chirped with a text.

  Raylee: Zumba tonight?

  Me: Zumwhat?

  Raylee: Zumba. At the Y. Don’t be lazy, you need to tone up those . . . everything.

  Me: But, I don’t want to. Do you hear that?

  Raylee: Hear what, you freak? This is text, I hear nothing.

  Me: Exactly! Nothing. I woke this morning to silence. Hammers, drills, hunks in tool belts. All gone.

  Raylee: But I liked the hunks.

  Me: I liked the hunks too, just not the noise those hunks made.

  Raylee: I like some noises.

  Me:

  Raylee: So, Zumba? Class starts at five fifteen, so I’ll see you at four fifty-ish.

  Me: I don’t want tooooo.

  Raylee: Your sculpted biceps will thank me.

  Me: What sculpted biceps?

  Raylee: Just wait and see.

  Me: No

  I glanced up at the clock and realized I had forty minutes before she showed up at my door and whisked me away, willingly or not, to join her in this Zumba thing. I should really shower before going, but the odds of me actually seeing anyone I knew were absolutely zero since Raylee was pretty much my only acquaintance, so I chose to put my hair in a messy, greasy bun and spent the remaining time visiting my social media sites and responding to some follower messages.

  Raylee arrived at four fifty on the dot just like I suspected, toting her gym bag and a can of soda. I eyed her up and down, completely annoyed at how perfectly she could wear spandex where I, on the other hand, had to struggle not to break some sort of spandex barrier and burst at the seams.

  “Isn’t drinking soda before the gym sort of counterproductive?” I asked as I grabbed my own bag and tossed it over my shoulder. She moved outside the door, and I followed, locking it behind me.

  She made a grunting sound. “Nah. It's fuel. Everyone knows you are supposed to drink sugar before a workout, it boosts your energy.”

  I scrunched up my nose thinking this through, “I’m not sure if that’s true.”

  “It’s not, I just made it up. Stop judging, you damn hoe; I’ll drink what I want.” She shrugged.

  We walked the few blocks to the YMCA and got there a few minutes before the class started. We grabbed a spot in the back, which we customarily did, before stretching our limbs. Okay, we talked while pretending to copy the stretches of a group of girls close by. It counted, it counted significantly. Music started, and our conversation stopped.

  Loud music; nothing like the calming tranquil sounds that filled the yoga room. I looked over at Raylee who was staring at me with equal confusion. “Have you done this class before?”

  “Nope. I just saw a poster earlier today, and I thought, why not?”

  The instructor at the front of the room started moving from side to side with the music and as the beat increased, so did my frantic heartbeat. This was about to get ugly. Embarrassingly ugly. Fast pace exercise mixed with a thick booty babe like myself wasn’t a combo that should be awarded to anyone outside the four walls of my bedroom. But, I took it in stride, naturally five steps behind everyone else, but it was some sort of stride, and that had to count for something. Am I right?

  By the time the class was up, I was a mess. Not the type of mess girls claim to be when they still look nearly perfect and smell like flowers. Nope. My sweat-drenched auburn locks were barely hanging on by their messy bun, with stray strands clinging on for dear life to the side of my cheeks and neck. My shirt had a visible stain of underboob sweat, and I’m pretty sure I might have acquired a permanent limp.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? Want to go get some burgers?” Raylee popped the top of her water bottle and tipped her head back, drinking down half the bottle in four solid gulps.

  “You’re k
idding, right?” I asked as I tried my best to wipe off the sweat that was trickling down my bicep.

  Raylee’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “Why not? I’m hungry, and a girl has to eat, right?”

  “In theory I’ve heard this to be true, but most girls eat a salad or drink a smoothie after they work their ass off.” I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder as we walked out, lagging behind the rest of the class.

  “I have a figure to maintain.” Yeah, a near perfect model figure to maintain. Luckily, she is completely uncoordinated and couldn’t keep up with a single workout class to save her life. Otherwise, I would have been rethinking my friend choice.

  “You know you want a burger, too. I don’t even care if I’m a bad influence right now; I don’t want to eat a burger alone in my gym clothes. What would people think?”

  “That you’re hungry?” I answered truthfully.

  “That I’m sad and desperate. I probably have no friends, and my husband is cheating on me with our nanny,” she interjected.

  I turned to her as I walked, using my fingers to tick of my points I was about to make. “One, you are not sad. Two, you have never been desperate, unless it involved a two for one sale on shoes. Three, you don’t have a husband; Four . . . or a nanny. Or a kid to need a nanny. Lastly, you’re not rich enough for a nanny.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “But my husband is.”

  “You don’t have a husband!” I nearly shouted in complete exasperation at her antics and knowing this was going to be a losing battle, I turned my body forward again, instantly smacking right into a solid wall.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t a wall, but a human built like a wall and holy fuck did that hurt. My hands shot instantly to my throbbing nose, and oversized palms caught my shoulders to steady me. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” A deep familiar voice rushed out from above me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, my voice muffled through my hand as I gained my balance enough to stand on my own.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Is there anything I can do to help?” The voice asked, and I finally focused enough to look up and straight into the mesmerizing eyes of Spencer Sully. If I let myself dwell long enough, I would admit that his eyes were enchanting, definitely one of the selling points that make all the girls across the city swoon. Each eye was half pale blue that turned into a shade of green that faded into brown, and if I weren’t standing right there, looking directly into them, I would claim such things didn’t exist.

  “It’s our fault; we weren’t looking where we were going.” Raylee saddled up beside us, placing her hand on his bicep flirtatiously. He never turned in her direction.

  “It’s you, again.” He stared down at me, practically burning me with his scorching scowl. “Are you trying to make this a habit?”

  I watched as his eyes took me in, traveling from my probably red nose to my chest, down past my boob-sweat stain, all the way to my mismatched socks, then back up again, stopping long enough to linger on my chest for a second too long. The fact that I opted not to shower before coming today was totally backfiring, like most things I did in my life, and I wanted to shrink away from the intensity of his stare but moving felt impossible.

  “I sure as hell am going to try not to from here on out. It seems like whenever you’re around, I get injured.” I watched as the corner of his lip curled a little. He stuck out his hand toward me, and I cringed, knowing it would be rude not to shake his hand, but silently cursing my sweaty palms.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Spencer Sully; you might know me from . . .”

  “I know who you are; everyone knows who you are,” I cut in, trying to make it to the other side of this conversation swiftly so that I could make it to the exit.

  “Is that so?” His eyes traveled low again; his long black lashes tapped against his cheek and I saw it. I saw the appeal of this guy that left a trail of high heels and thongs everywhere he went, but beyond that, his entitlement and arrogance repelled me, and I failed to see an ounce of salvageable personality that would have to accompany the appeal, if I ever decided to swoon at his feet; which I wouldn’t because Spencer Sully was in a league all of his own. ”So, you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are. You would think after quite literally running into each other on multiple occasions, I would at least be permitted to know your name.”

  He sounded arrogant and entitled, and it pissed me off because he left me no other choice but to continue with the introductions. “Mari Sinclair.”

  I realized my hand was still in his and I pulled it back. “Mari? That’s unusual.”

  “It’s short for Maroon.”

  His face turned into a mask of thoughtfulness. “Equally unusual.”

  “All the Jessica, Ashley, and Vanessa quotas were met for the year so my parents had to wing it. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stumbled with his words.

  “You didn’t have to. So, hey, it was . . . nice . . . Seeing you again.” I’m sure my face showed my true feelings on this. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  I heard him mutter a likewise as I grabbed Raylee’s hand and practically dragged her toward the exit. She gave me some resistance and every time I looked back at her, she was looking behind us at the still staring Spencer. She had fallen into the eye trap, I was sure of it.

  The door to the exit closed behind us and I let go of her hand. She sighed dreamily, “Maybe he’s the husband who pays for the nanny he’s banging?”

  “Is that really a goal you feel like you need to obtain?”

  She turned to me, her eyes excited. “He was checking out your boobs.”

  “He was not! Probably trying not to be appalled by my sweat stain is more like it.”

  “No, no. I’m sure it was a mesmerizing I want to squeeze those ladies type look.” She made double handed squeezing motions in the air and I prayed that no one was close enough to see us. “Did you see him?”

  “I saw him.” And felt him.

  “He’s perfect. Everything about him is absolutely perfect. His jaw. His muscles. His hair. His eyes, well his eyes are a step above perfect, but still in the same spectrum. I bet his butt is perfect too. Next time we should ask him to turn around so I can check.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time, and perfect? Really?” I interjected.

  “Yes, perfect. He has no flaws. I could just lick him.”

  “That is his flaw,” I told her.

  “What? That I want to lick him?” She asked confused.

  “No. Perfection. It’s an illusion. No one’s perfect. His perfection is his flaw,” I explained.

  “I doubt it; I would like to see you prove it because there is no way I’m going to believe you otherwise. Call me a romantic, but I would like to believe Mr. Perfect does exist out there somewhere and so far Spencer Sully is the closest I’ve seen.” She stopped at a hotdog stand on the corner and shelled out cash for three hot dogs before turning back toward me. “Besides, why do you care if he is or isn’t perfect? Isn’t it the illusion that we want to fantasize about anyway?”

  “I don’t care, really. I just don’t believe anyone is perfect.”

  “I believe he is,” she shot back.

  “Okay.” I brushed off the conversation knowing that I was right and no one, not even the city’s sexiest guy three years straight, was perfect, and she couldn’t convince me otherwise.

  Chapter Eight

  SPENCER

  I watched her walk away, mesmerized. Not by the sway of her hips, although I admittedly enjoyed that too, but by her. She wasn’t even fazed by me; not an ounce of swoon and maybe that irked my ego a little bit because every female loved me. I’m not vain, it’s the truth. Well, it was the truth until Maroon Sinclair crashed into me, literally, plastering her post-workout self against my chest; then pretended like I was just another gym rat before scurrying away.

  I wasn’t buying it, but it did leave
me curious. Was I losing my charm? No, I didn’t think so. Her friend was practically panting for me, and I didn’t even look in her direction. I couldn’t look in her direction if I tried. My eyes were too glued to Mari’s amazing rack to give her friend much thought and what the fuck was wrong with me? If I was caught ogling a girl in public, BAM! Pervert labels would be plastered everywhere. I didn’t even like boobs much, just her boobs, I really like her boobs. Her ass too, I discovered as I watched her walk away.

  My watch dinged, and I checked the time. Six forty-five p. m. I lost a few minutes talking to Mari, but I thought if I hurried my pace walking home I might be able to make up for it and be in the shower by my scheduled seven o’clock. I hurried toward the locker room, my original destination before being intercepted, and grabbed my gym bag from my locker. I usually changed clothes before I left, but I had no time to change today and skipping that step wouldn’t matter too much.

  Out on the sideway, I sucked in the fresh air, enjoying the crisp chill against my skin. The sun was almost setting, casting the neighborhood in an ethereal glow. It was really quite beautiful, and on a day when I was ahead of schedule, I would have liked to stop and enjoy the moment for a few seconds. But the moments ticked by . . . tick. Tick. Tick. I could almost hear time passing in my head, reminding me I was running late, inserting a reinforcing reminder what a late consequence could look like.

  Deep breaths I told myself, trying to ebb the panic I felt clawing at me. Sometimes the consequences of two minutes felt heavier than the weight of a two-ton slab of concrete.

  It’s only two minutes.

  Only. Two.

  After checking in on Victoria, I took my shower at seven and then was in bed by eight as usual. Keeping with a traditional night, I tossed and turned, and I was plagued with thoughts, but this time they weren’t about my life problems and what I can’t change, or even what I should change; they were about her. Mari. The red-headed stranger who kept crashing, physically, into my life.

  I wanted to know her. Not in the skin slamming skin, hot and hard sort of way. That’s not what I needed; plus, I already had that scheduled every other Saturday at noon. What I needed was someone who didn’t put their world’s expectations on me and expected a hundred and ten percent commitment. Someone who didn’t fall at my feet because they saw me on television, and who most definitely didn’t assume I walked on water. Maybe I just needed someone that wouldn’t spend every conversation trying to talk about me because that was not my favorite subject, despite what everyone seemed to think.