WHEN ARI MET ALY

by Sorenna Wise

  WHEN ARI MET ALY

  By: Sorenna Wise

  Copyright © 2013 Blue Ribbon Books

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Let me be absolutely clear about one thing: speed dating was definitely not my idea. I don’t believe in any scenario that forces me to spend eight minutes one-on-one with a complete stranger who may or may not have several questionable body piercings. Have you ever played that game with the sugar packets where one of them is filled with salt? It’s a lot like that, but backwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll get someone who doesn’t make you want to vomit. And for me, that was Jake.

  Four “dates” in, I was beginning to regret whatever choices I’d made that led up to my presence at that stupid event. The man across from me had had a ring as thick as my little finger lodged in his septum, and when he talked I could see that his canines were filed down to intensely creepy little points. The first thing he’d said was, “I describe myself as a Neo-Satanist.”

  So, yeah. I was just about done. When the bell for the fifth rotation rang, I gave Young Dracula a tight goodbye smile, and then I glued my eyes to the bud vase in the middle of the table, determined not to look up until I absolutely had to. Across from me, the chair slid out. A shadow fell over the tabletop. I felt like Captain Ahab when he was finally facing down the white whale.

  “Are you okay?” Those were the first words Jake ever said to me. They caught me completely off guard—I hadn’t expected him to sound so non-threateningly normal. Imagine my surprise when I glanced up and saw what he looked like.

  “Yeah,” I said, flicking my hair in an attempt to appear casual. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He was one of those people who are so attractive it’s almost intimidating, from his chiseled jaw to the perfect degree of unkemptness in his sun-lightened brown hair. I started talking again so it wouldn’t seem like I was staring. “I’m Ari.” And you are incredibly hot.

  He smiled, and the glimpse I got of his even white teeth discouraged me even more. He was so handsome that I had already determined he must have had a secret, horrible flaw. I mean, it was only fair. “Jake,” he said.

  I’d like to say the rest was history, but that’s not really true. In the first eight minutes, I learned that Jake had gone to art school, that he was born on the East Coast, and that he was a counselor at Two Heart River, a year-long camp for kids and surly teenagers. His parents were divorced, and he had moved out West with his mother, who owned a beachside pottery studio.

  “She’s just started seeing guys again,” he said. “She was thrilled when she found out I was going to this thing. She was like, ‘We can be awkward dating buddies!’”

  I grinned. His voice had this strange, compelling charisma. I could’ve listened to him talk all day. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “You don’t really seem like the kind of person who needs…” I gestured vaguely to the manufactured dates going on around us. “…this.”

  He looked at me closely, as if trying to gauge my meaning. “To be fair,” he replied, “neither do you.”

  Oh God, is he complimenting me? I giggled nervously. “Um. It was my friend’s idea.”

  This seemed to satisfy him. He leaned back in his chair, and the smile returned. “Yeah?” He glanced away; for a second, his face became distant. I could tell he was thinking about something else. Then he continued as if nothing had happened. “Maybe I should say that and save myself the embarrassment.”

  “Come on.” I did my best to tone down the level of my interest, but really I was thinking that this might be the singular flaw that would break his perfect spell of attraction. Needless to say, I was disappointed.

  “I just broke up with a girl I dated for like, three years,” he said. “I really liked her, but she was nuts. I finally had enough.”

  “That’s not embarrassing,” I said. “I thought you were going to say, like, you had a one night stand with some girl and then you never called, so she told everyone you gave her VD and now you can’t date normally anymore.”

  He regarded me for a long moment before a grin cracked through his expression of benign confusion. “No,” he said. “I…no. Nothing like that. If you put it that way, it’s pretty normal.”

  I shrugged. “I got dumped a couple months ago by this guy who said I was tying him down. What does that even mean? We were only together for a year and a half.” If you’re wondering why I was saying this to a guy I had literally just met, I don’t know either. It’s weird, feeling so comfortable with a stranger. But before I could say any more stupid or incriminating things, I was interrupted by the sound of the rotation bell, and this time I was more disappointed than relieved. We both glanced around, and as Jake prepared to leave his seat, he pulled out his phone.

  “Can I have your number?” he asked. My heart skipped a beat. He gave me half a grin. “I want to hear the rest of that story.”

  God, I thought. Of course you do. But obviously, I gave him my number, because even if I do make bad decisions sometimes, I’m not a total idiot. Right afterward, I had to watch helplessly as he disappeared into the shuffling crowd. There were three other guys left, but I already knew I wasn’t interested. I just had to pray he wouldn’t run into someone better than me.

  By the time I left the event that night, Jake had consumed my entire waking consciousness. I thought about trying to find him after the last date was over, but at the last minute I decided it’d make me look too creepy and desperate, so I ran out as fast as I could to keep my mind from changing. Alone in my car, I took a moment to collect myself. Tonight I met an unbearably attractive man. And now he has my number. And he is going to call me…I think. I pulled down the sun visor and looked at myself in the tiny mirror. Well, I do look pretty goddamn cute. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I pulled out of the hotel parking lot. It was too early to hope, but I was hoping anyway.

  CHAPTER 2

  You know that feeling when you’re waiting for something but you don’t know when it’s going to happen? That was me for the next week. In between wondering why he hadn’t called yet and cursing myself for not getting his number, I tried to convince myself he wouldn’t contact me after all. In my defense, I’d just been dumped flat on my ass and I was despondent about my prospects. It wasn’t a good time for me to be sitting by the phone.

  But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t what I did, because that’s what everyone does, right? Even though I tried to play it down as much as possible, I knew my future—my ridiculously hot future—was at stake, and I wasn’t about to let it pass me by. One time, the phone did ring, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, but it was just my sister. “Hello?” I said, doing my best to convey my displeasure. She picked up on it immediately.

  “Well hello to you too, princess,” she said. Christine is three years older than me, gorgeous, blonde, and a successful opera singer. I know, I know, how does that even happen, right? Well, it helps if one of your parents is an opera aficionado. Our mother read The Phantom of the Opera for the first time when she was in high school, and I guess she fell in love with it, because Christine Daae is my sister’s namesake. Fortunately for Mom, it worked like a charm. Unfortunately for her, the profession drew Christine to the other side of the country, where she said the demand was more pressing. She was calling me from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York
City.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Ooh, are you waiting on a call? Is it a boy?” My sister has an uncanny gift for being able to sort out any given situation so fast it’s almost alarming. I have never once been able to successfully keep a secret from her, and Jake was no exception.

  “Yes,” I sighed. She laughed, and I paused just to listen to her lilting voice, in which years of classical training were evident. I had gone through many of the same classes myself—Mom had harbored similar hopes for both of us—but they hadn’t had quite that effect on me. So Christine went to opera school at NYU and I stuck around southern California, waitressing my way through a musical theatre degree at UCLA. So, don’t get me wrong, the voice lessons paid off for both of us in the end; it’s just that they paid a lot more for her. At twenty-four, I was living in a small beachside apartment in SoCal while my sister ruled the big-city opera scene. We were different, to say the least.

  “So tell me about him already.” Her rich voice jarred me out of my thoughts. “I’m bored as hell over here. Rehearsal’s delayed because they wanted to do the Vengeance Aria today, but the Queen of the Night is stuck in traffic and it’s snowing, so who knows when she’ll get here.” Her company had been trying to put on The Magic Flute for months. Apparently, it still wasn’t going well.

  “Um, I met him at a speed dating thing last week,” I said.

  Christine’s gasp was audible. “Oh, no way, Ari,” she said. “No way at all. You did not go to one of those things.” She’s always had an exceptionally expressive way of speaking, but she made it sound like I’d just handed my firstborn directly over to Satan.

  “Listen,” I answered. “It wasn’t my idea. Audrey made me.”

  “Ugh, of course she did.” We’d both met Audrey when all three of us were children and she lived across the street. Since she was in my grade, I bonded with her more closely than Christine, but we’d be the first to admit that initially, it was kind of a friendship of convenience. Like, hey, she lives so close, why not? Audrey and I are about as different as two people can possibly get while still remaining the same species. I was beating up the boys as she was chasing them around the playground, trying to kiss them. Then, I was an awkward wallflower at the dances, watching them flock around her. I played the sports she was cheering for, and so on. But despite the fact that it must have been tempting at times, we never went our separate ways. She was at UCLA with me, albeit in the fashion program. And it was her fault that I ended up at that event.

  I related all of this to my sister, plus a summation of the eight minutes I’d spent actually talking to Jake. “And now I’m playing the waiting game.”

  She made a sound of disapproval. “You should’ve gotten his number instead of giving yours, you dummy. Then you’re not at the mercy of his whim, or whatever.”

  “God,” I said. “I know. It sucks.”

  “What did Audrey say? You told her, right?”

  “Of course I told her.” Audrey was the first person I called the next day, and her scream of joy almost popped my eardrum. “She said the same thing. But he asked, and we were sort of on a schedule. It was like being in the hall between classes.”

  “That sounds horrible,” said my sister in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice. “I guess at least something came of it though, right?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “He still hasn’t called.”

  I could practically hear her shrugging. “He could be busy. Maybe he works sixty hour weeks like you.”

  “They cut my hours,” I protested, although her estimate of my workweek was shamefully accurate. Two years after college, I was still waiting tables, except at a much nicer venue. I’m not saying it was bad, just unglamorous; the money was actually pretty good, and I liked working with customers—mostly. I even had my own cadre of regulars. But we always seemed to be strapped for labor, which meant that I was often on overtime, or filling in the gaps in the schedule. Yeah, I was making bank, but it was exhausting.

  “Good,” Christine said firmly. “You shouldn’t be—” In the background, someone called her name. “Oh, shit, I have to go. I guess the Queen just arrived.” She chuckled. “This week is going to be crazy busy for me. I’ll try to call again soon, okay? Love you.”

  “Okay. I love you, too.” I threw myself down on the sofa as I hung up, noticing the conspicuous silence of my apartment. Normally, I loved living alone, and yet there were some days when I thought it would be nice to have someone else making a little noise. Just so I didn’t feel so pathetic, all by myself. Talking to Christine always made me feel better though, and I let myself entertain the notion that she was right. He’s busy. He’ll call when he has time.

  As it turned out, my sister’s wisdom prevailed. Late Friday morning, I was coming back into my bedroom with a towel on my head when my phone went off with a number I didn’t recognize. I swear to God, in the second before I answered, I was as nervous as I’d ever been in my life.

  The first thing Jake did was apologize. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. The camp’s been running me into the ground, but they gave me the weekend off as thanks, so I thought I’d see if you were free.”

  “Sure,” I said, hoping I sounded nonchalant enough. “What day were you thinking?” Please say tonight.

  “Well, I mean, I don’t want to come on too strong, but I did make you wait a week. What are you doing tonight?” It was like all my dreams were suddenly coming true. Secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t see me, I put a hand over my heart.

  I won’t bore you with the rest of the conversation. Suffice to say the details were arranged, and after a careful rehashing to make sure we were both on the same page, the date was set for 7:30. I finished getting ready for work in a fog of utter disbelief. My shift at the Pearl all but flew by, and I guess my blissful date-fugue rubbed off on my tables, because damn if my pocket wasn’t overflowing with tips by the time I clocked out. I checked my watch as I walked to my car. Six ten. In an hour and twenty minutes, I’d be on my way to my first date in three and a half months. That might not seem like a lot of time, but trust me, when you’ve just gotten out of a semi-serious relationship, two weeks alone feels like an eternity.

  I’m not a real dress girl, but it was a little warm that night, and I felt like I ought to look as pretty as possible to keep him from changing his mind. Have I mentioned that my self-esteem suffered horribly after the break-up? It did, and so I was a wreck as I pulled into the diner lot. I hadn’t allowed Jake to pick me up because no matter how painfully attractive he was, I didn’t fully trust anyone I had met through speed dating. What if he turned out to be like Ted Bundy, the sexiest serial killer ever? Call me morbid, but one can never be too careful.

  I slipped through the door, smoothing my skirt, and scanned the booths for Jake. When I found him, my nerves leapt into overdrive. I know I keep saying this, but you honestly do not understand his level of physical attraction. A smile graced his features as I approached, and I almost died. “Hi,” I said as I slid into the booth opposite him. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  “No.” He paused. “You look great.” The compliment felt like a personal victory, but I tried to keep my expression modest.

  “Thanks. So do you.” Understatement of the century. He was an Adonis among normal men. And I was on a date with him. The reality hadn’t sunk in yet.

  We made small talk, which I usually hate, but I allowed it because it gave me the opportunity to study him more thoroughly without seeming like a total creep. I hadn’t really noticed in the dim, hectic atmosphere of the hotel, but he had these incredible golden eyes, like a lion’s, that matched his tawny mane of hair. And he had these hands that were strong and masculine, belonging less to an art major and more to someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. I had to resist the urge to reach over and touch them.

  “Hey,” he said suddenly, and I nearly jumped, afraid he had somehow read my thoughts. “Do you remember w
hat we were talking about last week?”

  I thought for a moment before recalling what he’d said when he asked for my number. “Oh, God,” I said, laughing a little. “Do you really want to hear the rest of that? Really?”

  Jake gave me a keen look. “You don’t have to tell me.” But he’d gotten the point of his interest across. And why not? If the bell hadn’t rung, I’d probably have recounted the whole sad story anyway.

  I faked an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Don’t laugh, okay?” He solemnly promised me he wouldn’t, and after a brief interruption from the waitress, I launched into the tangled web that was my relationship with Blaise.

  CHAPTER 3

  A couple years ago, newly liberated from the constraints of secondary schooling, Audrey and I attended an end-of-year party at one of the frat houses on campus. That’s where I met Blaise, or, more accurately, where I made out with Blaise in a corner for the very first time. I’d had a few drinks and he was available—you know how these things go. And I guess the drunken heart to heart we had in the hours afterward must have left some impression on him, because he was blowing up my phone for days. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I didn’t remember him at first, but when I eventually did, I panicked and swore I’d never touch alcohol ever again. For all I knew, I could’ve promised him my hand in marriage. But Audrey convinced me to start answering his calls. “He was totally rugged,” she said. “How bad could he be?”

  For a while, she appeared to be right. The first couple dates were awkward as hell as I tried to piece together the beginning of our acquaintance. Am I proud that I had to tell him that whole night was little more than a blur? Nor really, but he took it in stride. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, grinning broadly. “Shit happens, babe.”

  The pet names were his thing, and I came to expect them more often than I expected him to call me Ari. “That means he’s cheating,” Audrey had said. “He does that so he won’t have to keep all the names straight.” But as far as I knew, Blaise had never cheated, and if he had, he was such a bad liar that I’m positive I would have known immediately. He was just a bona fide California boy: tow-headed, flaky, almost impossibly carefree. At least, that’s how he seemed. Deep down, Blaise was a mess of insecurities. As our relationship evolved from a fling into something steadier, his demeanor changed. I learned that he was possessive and jealous, quick to jump to conclusions about matters that didn’t concern him. He thought he knew me better than I knew myself, and that he could use that knowledge to prove he was the better half of us. A life of good looks and charm had made him a narcissist; he’d constructed this little world that consisted only of him, California, and me—and then he slowly started to phase me out.