by Aven Ellis
“No,” I say, sighing heavily. “I can’t.”
I turn away from my sink in defeat, thinking I’ll be comic fodder for all of America with my neon, cherry-red eyebrow burn. But then my eyes fall on my purse, which I have tossed on my bed, and peeking out of my bag are my precious oversized Roberto Cavalli sunglasses.
“That’s it,” I say, seeing the obvious solution in front of me.
“What?” Bree asks, wrinkling her brow.
I move over to my purse. I triumphantly put on my sunglasses and turn around to face Bree.
“I think I’m going to have Mr. Ryan do an outdoor shoot today. One of me strolling through Lincoln Park on a hot summer day,” I explain, grinning at Bree. “And I wouldn’t be appropriately attired for that setting without my fabulous oversized sunglasses, now would I?”
Show time.
I put on my sunglasses as Deke knocks on my door. I’ve changed into a gorgeous ZAC by Zac Posen summery skirt, one that is yellow with a beautiful floral pattern on it and has a ruffle hem. I’ve paired it with a white ribbed tank top, and I feel soft and pretty in it.
And with my eyebrow wax burn hidden by my fabulous oversized sunglasses, no one will ever know that my skin is completely fried to a crisp behind them.
I open the door and smile at Deke. “Hello,” I say cheerfully.
He furrows his brow as he stares at my sunglasses. “Uh, hi,” he says slowly, still studying me. “Is there a glare in your apartment or something?”
I keep the smile plastered on my face as I let him inside. “No, of course not. But I thought you could shoot me walking around my neighborhood this afternoon. Because I love to do that on Saturdays. I love shopping in Lincoln Park, and I thought you could shoot me doing that today.”
Deke puts his gear down on the floor, his blue-green eyes lasering in on me.
“Okay. But I want to do another one-on-one interview session with you first,” he says.
Damn it. I anxiously tug on the beaded necklace around my neck.
“Uh, sure,” I say. I lug over a barstool to the living room, as I know I will sit on it in front of a backdrop Deke will set up.
He’s still studying me with a furrowed brow as I casually stand in the living room with my sunglasses on.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” he asks.
“Because we’re going outside,” I say simply, sitting down on the stool and crossing my legs.
“Yeah, but not now.”
“So I’m prepared,” I say defiantly, wishing he’d quit staring at me. “Boy Scouts aren’t the only ones who prepare, you know.”
I can tell by the inquisitive expression on his face he’s not buying that for one second.
“So you’re prepared,” Deke says slowly, moving closer to me. “I’ll give you a bonus point for that, but for the time being I want you to take off your sunglasses. I can’t shoot you indoors with them on. It’ll look stupid.”
I wince. “I really don’t want to.”
“Why not? What are you hiding behind those ridiculous glasses?”
“They’re not ridiculous. These are Jackie O inspired sunglasses,” I snap, irritated. “And she is a timeless fashion icon.”
To my amazement, Deke bursts out laughing. A deep from within laugh, one that fills my tiny living room and wraps around me. One I’ve never heard before but already know I want to hear again.
And despite my irritation with him, my heart flutters in response.
“Sorry, Fashionista. I stand corrected about your icon-inspired glasses,” he says, grinning at me. “But come on, Avery, off with the glasses. I’m not doing anything until I see your eyes.”
I know I’m defeated. I sigh heavily and slowly remove my sunglasses. Deke’s eyes widen in response.
“What happened to you?”
“I had a sorry wax technician this morning, and she’s left me completely disfigured,” I declare.
He straightens up, his eyes shining brightly. “No. you’re not disfigured. Just seriously burned.” Then he rubs his hand along his jaw and studies me for a moment. “And despite the fact that shooting you parading around your apartment in oversized sunglasses is priceless footage, I’ll offer to postpone shooting until next weekend as a gesture of goodwill.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I really didn’t want to be on camera like this. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Deke says. Then he smiles at me, a really warm smile. One that makes his eyes crinkle up in the corners as he does.
Suddenly I notice how his eyes are the color of the Caribbean Sea, a really vivid blue-green. And I’ve never seen a smile as beautiful as the one Deke is showering me with at this moment. That warm, wonderful, radiating feeling floats up my spine again—the feeling that I only get when I look at Deke—and I realize I don’t want him to leave.
“So what are you going to do with the rest of your day?” I ask, honestly wanting to know.
Suddenly the smile fades from his face.
“Avery,” he says gently, “I’m not here, remember? You don’t need to know anything about me. This is all about you.”
I’m stung by his answer. And his answer is not acceptable to me. Not anymore.
“If this is reality TV, then you are here. You do exist,” I say strongly, keeping my eyes on his. “I’ve invited you into my home, let you into my life, yet I know nothing about you. But this is my reality, and I insist on knowing more about you.”
“It’s not like that. I can’t be involved in your life.”
“Bullshit. You got involved the second you commented on my spa basket idea the other day.”
I watch as a stunned expression passes over Deke’s face. And he can’t say anything because he knows I’m right.
“Why do you care who I am?” he asks, sounding completely surprised. “I’m just the videographer.”
I put on my Jackie O sunglasses and stride past Deke to the door. I turn around and stare at him.
“I care because I’m not a thoughtless, stupid little fashionista,” I say quietly. “And I normally wouldn’t invite a complete stranger to invade my personal life. The least you can do, Deke Ryan, is to let me get to know you better over a cup of coffee this afternoon.”
I dramatically open the door. I take a deep breath of air, try to ignore how my heart has suddenly begun to pound inside my chest, and bravely ask my next question.
“So are you coming or not?” I ask quietly.
Chapter 8
My heart thumps anxiously against my ribcage as I await Deke’s answer. Much to my surprise, I want him to say yes so badly that I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses.
Deke lifts both hands to his head, slowly rakes them through his hair, and exhales sharply.
“You’re not what you appear to be, Avery Andrews,” he says, shaking his head. “I never would have pegged you to be stubborn and argumentative.”
“Then apparently your camera isn’t telling you everything you need to know.”
Deke chuckles softly. “Touché.”
He bends down and picks up his gear. “I’ll lock this up in my car, and then we can go to Starbucks so you can grill me, all right?”
I quickly search his face and notice that his eyes are shining back at me. I grin happily in response and follow him downstairs.
We head outside in the warm summer sun and excitement buzzes through me. Finally I’ll be able to unwrap all the mysterious layers that surround Deke Ryan. There are so many things that I don’t know about him. I have a million questions already flowing through my head, but something tells me not to start interviewing him here on Armitage Avenue.
One of my questions is answered as he reaches into a pocket on his cargo shor
ts and takes out his keys. Deke then hits his remote and a Jeep Grand Cherokee flashes its lights in front of me.
Hmmm. So he drives an SUV. Understandable, considering that he’s always lugging around a camera and gear.
I silently watch as he loads up the camera equipment in the back. Then he slams the hatch and puts on his sunglasses, which he had hanging from the beat-up collar of an ancient Guns and Roses concert T-shirt, circa 1989.
As soon as he does, my breath hitches in my throat. Despite the crappy shirt, Deke is smokin’ hot in his aviator-style sunglasses. The sun is shining on his golden-brown hair, and there’s just a trace of blond stubble on his jaw line.
Now I realize it’s just me and him, with no camera between us. I notice that he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, just like he did in the meeting on Wednesday. It’s obvious that he’s uncomfortable around me without the camera as a buffer, which makes my heart melt a little bit. His shyness is the exact opposite of Sullivan, whose cockiness I always thought was attractive.
But as I stand here with Deke, taking in his honest shyness, I suddenly don’t think Sullivan is so attractive anymore.
“Ready?” Deke asks, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” I say. We begin moving in the direction of Starbucks and he falls into step next to me. “And buck up, you might see some fashionistas while you walk.”
“But don’t they spend Saturdays on Michigan Avenue shopping?”
“Shut up,” I say, beginning to laugh.
“Oh here we go,” he says. “Annoying Male Species coming toward us.”
I look straight ahead and there’s the guy talking loudly on his cell as he moves down the sidewalk. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt, khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a Chicago Cubs baseball hat.
“Dude, I totally would have bagged that chick if her roommate hadn’t come home,” he says confidently as he strides past.
I roll my eyes after he’s gone by. “Nice.”
“And there are so many more like him,” Deke says.
“Stupid and preppy?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh, Fashionista, there’s more to it than that. But there’s a whole subset of males like him. Preppy guy with a good job. He drives a showy car and makes a shitload of money. He pounds booze with his college buddies and can’t seem to grasp the idea that college is over. He’s superficial. But I’m sure you already know the type if you are into the bar scene at all. They hang out in the bars around here like rats in an alley.”
I quickly do some math in my head and come up with the following equation:
Sullivan Preston III = President of the Annoying Male Species Subset
“Uh, yes, I do,” I say as we stroll past more vintage greystones.
“So is that the kind of guy you’re looking for?” Deke asks, glancing down at me.
I gaze up at him, wishing I could see his eyes behind his sunglasses. To see if his eyes are searching mine like I want to search his.
“Superficial?” I ask, although I know that’s not what he’s getting at. “No.”
“Okay, if I take that off the table, does the rest of the description line up with what you want in a guy?”
“I used to think that’s what I wanted,” I say slowly, lightly treading into these new waters with Deke, testing the temperature and seeing if I like what I’m feeling. Seeing if I want to step further into these waters or if I want to stay on the shore where we are now.
“Used to. Interesting choice of words,” he says as we walk underneath an elevated train, which rumbles loudly overhead.
I pause as the train goes by, as I don’t want to shout over the noise. After it passes, I nod at Deke.
“I used to think someone with a similar college experience and high career expectations would be good qualities to look for,” I say slowly. “But I’m starting to realize there’s a lot more out there in this world.”
A silence falls between us, and butterflies dance nervously in my stomach. I quickly glance into the bay window of a boutique store as a diversion.
“Oh, I love that skirt. It’s so cute.” I pause outside the glass, peering into the expensive shop.
“Is it like $300 dollars?” Deke asks, a teasing tone in his voice.
“To be well dressed doesn’t always take a lot of money,” I say, turning to him. “For example, you could buy some really nice T-shirts at Banana Republic.”
“Why would I go there for a T-shirt?” Deke asks, sounding incredulous. “I got this one for $3!”
I sigh heavily. Why does that response not surprise me at all? But still, I decide to give him a fashion nudge.
“Deke, Deke, Deke. Sometimes the best investment in yourself can be made in your personal wardrobe. Anyway, not that you’re asking me for fashion advice, but I’m telling you, men can’t go wrong with a good quality T-shirt.”
“Right,” he says. “Like I’d ever pay more than $10 dollars for a T-shirt.”
I frown. Apparently it will take more than a gentle nudge to get him out of his crappy T-shirts.
“So what else would you recommend as far as my personal wardrobe goes?” he asks. “Besides paying more for T-shirts, I mean.”
“Well,” I say, pausing outside a bath products shop, “a fragrance wardrobe is essential.”
“Hmmm, fragrance,” Deke says, sounding as if he’s seriously mulling over my advice. “Do you mean like drugstore aftershave?”
I stop dead in my tracks, horrified. He can’t be serious. But he’s looking at me rather earnestly, as if a $2 bottle of aftershave from Walgreen’s clearance bin is a good option for cologne.
“Well, I suppose it can be a start,” I say carefully, not wanting to insult Deke. But I’m starting to get a really scary image of the medicine cabinet back at his apartment. Oh, God. What if he has aftershave in there like the kind my grandpa uses? No, he couldn’t. Could he?
But suddenly he grins wickedly at me, and I know the corners of his eyes are crinkling up again, despite the fact that I can’t see them behind his sunglasses.
“Gotcha,” Deke says.
I pretend to be mad. “I’m not going to give you fragrance wardrobe advice if you aren’t going to be serious about the topic.”
“Sorry. Please continue,” he says as we begin moving again.
I find myself smiling, enjoying the fact that he feels comfortable enough to tease me.
“Well, a good cologne is like the perfect accessory,” I say honestly. “It brings everything together.”
“I only like cologne for special occasions,” Deke says simply. “But more or less because I’m always shooting outside, except for this project. Cologne attracts mosquitoes big time. It also wears off quickly when you’re sweating in the sun or in the surf all day.”
“You’ve shot while in the ocean?” I ask, completely curious and forgetting my vow to wait until we reach Starbucks to start grilling him.
“Yeah, I actually worked on a special about surfing last year,” Deke says. “I had to get in the water to shoot the host learning how to surf. We shot that in Kauai. That was a great assignment. I got to go to Hawaii, spend all day in the ocean, stay in a five-star resort, and I got paid to do it. What more could a guy ask for?”
I pause for a moment, thinking if he’s used to assignments like that, then how on earth is he handling this one with me? I have to be painfully boring compared to shooting in the ocean in Hawaii all day long.
I’m about to ask him another question about it, but I’m suddenly distracted by a pile of Lincoln Park Vibe tabloids sitting out on a step.
“Oh, I have to get one of these,” I say, bending down and scooping up a copy. “I have to read the Ask Emily! column. I think advice columns are so interesting.”
Deke begins laughing again.
/> I stop on the sidewalk and stare up at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“I think most advice columns are full of crap.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” I tease. “You’ve never even read Ask Emily! You never know, she might have very insightful advice today.”
“Don’t have to. I know I’m right.”
“You really shouldn’t judge her until you’ve read her,” I say.
Deke pauses as we reach the Starbucks entrance. He takes off his aviator sunglasses and clips them on the worn-out collar of his shirt. Then his Caribbean Sea-colored eyes gaze down into mine.
“You’re correct, Avery,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t make snap judgments about people. Apparently it’s a problem I have.”
My heart stops as I realize that he’s talking about our first shooting and the way he judged me without even knowing me.
“It’s all right,” I say honestly, wishing I could take my sunglasses off so he could gaze directly into my eyes. “Sometimes people aren’t what they seem to be. Or what they’re supposed to be.”
And as I say that, I think that applies to both Deke and Sullivan.
His eyes linger on my face for a moment. “I think you’re right about that.”
My heart skips a beat as he stares at me. Then he opens the door, letting me go into Starbucks first.
I step inside and inhale the wonderfully delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee. We go up to the counter and I place my usual order for a non-fat grande cappuccino. Deke then orders a grande vanilla latte with soymilk.
I instantly turn to him, curious. “Soymilk?”
He grins at me as he reaches for his wallet. “I don’t believe the inquisition is supposed to start until after I have a drink.”