by Nicki Elson
“Don’t say that about yourself.”
“It’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Oh, right, of course not. Because you’re perfect and would never think such tainted thoughts.”
“Stop saying that. I’m not perfect.”
“Tell that to Cliff. Tell that to any one of the dozens of guys who’ve fallen at your feet.” JoAnne abruptly shoved away from the counter and headed back down the hall to her room.
Trish was close behind. “What the hell is this abo—”
As soon as JoAnne crossed the threshold to her room, she wheeled around and cut her off. “He didn’t even remember me!”
Trish stopped. It took her a moment to put together what she was saying. “Wait, so you do remember Cliff?”
“Of course I do! As soon as you said Iowa it clicked.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why do you think?” JoAnne stomped to the bed and rolled onto it, cocooning under the blanket. She faced the window with her back to the room.
“Did you like him?” Trish asked gently.
“No. I thought he was a pretentious prick.” JoAnne kept her back toward her friend. “But I remembered him.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Trish relaxed her posture to lean on the door frame, ready to listen to whatever her friend wanted to say.
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Excuse me—earlier this year I got dumped by my long-term boyfriend for another woman. I think I know what it feels like to be humiliated by a guy.”
JoAnne grunted. “It’s totally different. Kurt will remember you for the rest of his life. You’ll always be the great love he’ll wonder ‘what if’ about. Meanwhile, I don’t even get an honorable mention.”
“With one guy.”
“With every guy.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Trish moved to the bed and sat on the edge. She debated telling JoAnne that Cliff had remembered—at Lyssa’s prompting—but she thought of his reaction and decided not to. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“God no. Please forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if it makes you sad.”
“It doesn’t make me sad. I’m just drunk and being dramatic.”
Trish was quiet a moment, grasping for anything that might make her friend feel better. “I’m kind of a mess when it comes to dating, too. I can’t even commit to going out with the same man more than three times.”
“Yeah, I feel so bad for you—your biggest problem is guys wanting to continue a relationship. Boo freaking hoo.”
“Hey! The guy I’m dating right now is more than fine with cutting things short. It’s how he prefers it.”
“Yeah, right. We’ll see how long it takes him to ask you to ride off into the sunset together. Look, I’m really sleepy. Thanks for all your help, but you can go.”
Though Trish was stung by the abrupt dismissal, she knew JoJo’d never been one for in-depth girl talk. There was no point in pushing her. “You sure?”
“Yep. Please, don’t say anything to Cliff, okay?”
“Okay.”
The heat of the day was beginning to wane, so Trish decided to walk the several blocks home. Alone with her thoughts on the city sidewalks, she reflected that this wasn’t the first time a friend had directed that kind of venom at her. Trish had been a guy magnet since the age of seventeen, and that didn’t always play well with other women. It was probably the reason she had so few close girlfriends. But what was she supposed to do? Be purposely unappealing to the opposite sex?
Her thoughts drifted to Adam’s phone number, now residing on her list of contacts. Like last time, he hadn’t been in touch since he’d said goodbye and left town. This time, however, his lack of communication didn’t bother her. He was a busy man, too busy for phone calls. Even still, she had enough confidence to be certain he thought about her at least half as often as she daydreamed about him. And he knew exactly where to find her when he wanted her.
For the rest of the walk home, she indulged in fantasies of what would’ve happened if she’d brought him to her apartment instead of to the blues club. His tender attentions to her lips and throat surely would’ve drifted lower. She’d have had no trouble wriggling out of her sundress, testing his resolve. In her stimulated imagination, the whole of their bodies moved together in the same intoxicating rhythm as their mouths had.
Chapter 12
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY MORNING, Cliff’s right butt cheek took its usual spot at the corner of Trish’s desk. “I was thinking…”
“Did it hurt?” Trish asked, clicking open the e-files she was to work on that day.
He ignored the quip. “How could you think I was gay if you knew I’d fooled around with your friend?”
“Her name’s JoAnne, and I only found out about it a few weeks ago when I went to Boston.”
“You and Lyssa talked about me while you were there?”
“Yes. I told her you weren’t gay.”
“She thought so, too?”
“No. Apparently I’m the only one whose gay-dar is completely busted.”
“I always liked that Lyssa.” He grinned, bending to pick up the briefcase he’d set by the side of Trish’s desk. “Have an awesome day. Don’t get into too much trouble.” He gave her a wink before heading toward his office.
“Ah, Cliffy, you adorable little cad,” Trish murmured to herself. She was in a bubbly mood because she’d seen Adam Helms’ name on the visitor list.
The man who played so vividly in her daydreams arrived a full thirty minutes before his scheduled time. Any thoughts of forgoing a third date in order to preserve the perfection of the second snapped into oblivion the moment his brilliant eyes found hers. Today his irises appeared almost blue as they absorbed the deep eggplant coloring of his impeccably tailored suit.
“You’re early,” Trish said, fully aware of the purr in her tone.
“I am. I have some other business to take care of, so please hold off on paging Michael until the scheduled time.” The smooth, plummy notes of his voice thrummed through her.
She felt a twinge of disappointment when he continued past her desk to sit on one of the sofas by the big window. He opened his briefcase, and she returned her attention to the computer screen, though her mind stayed firmly on the enigma in eggplant sitting behind her. Her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to see it was from Adam.
You look very pretty today.
She typed back without turning around.
Thank you.
How do I look?
She chuckled, keeping her back to him.
Dapper as usual. What do you call that color?
Chicago blues.
Tiny bumps rippled up her arms. Oh, to be back on his lap in that secluded, little booth…
It looks more purple to me.
Chicago blues goes deeper than a color. It’s a mood. An infatuation. A spectacular woman who won’t leave my mind.
Trish froze. It was the only way to prevent herself from dissolving into a pile of gooey girly bits.
Have dinner with me this weekend. Are you available?
Yes.
Saturday night?
Yes.
The elevator pinged, and sweet, young Levi strutted around the plant and over to her desk. “Hey, hot stuff. Whatchya got for me today?”
Trish’s phone buzzed.
Hot stuff?
She smirked, reaching for that day’s stack of envelopes. “Here you go. How’ve you been, Levi? I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks.”
“I was out riding wave trains in Colorado. So incredible. Hey, Red Hippo Planet and some other cool bands are playing at a fest all weekend in the ’burbs. Want to head out there with me?”
“Sounds fun, but sorry. I’m booked solid all weekend.”
“That’s cool. Stay beautiful, beautiful.” As he backed away, he lifted his fist in what she assumed was some
sort of gesture of camaraderie. Her phone buzzed again.
ALL weekend? What does the spectacular woman plan to do with me ALL weekend?
You wish. I’m going to my nephew’s first birthday party on Sunday.
Cool. What’s a Red Hippo Planet?
Shut up.
I can only presume it’s some new anime all the kids are into these days.
Jealous?
Of his diapers or his glow-in-the-dark hair?
Trish laughed. Her kiss had apparently unlocked Adam’s playful side.
Of his youth, enthusiasm and stamina
How dare you question my stamina when I endured nearly an entire baseball game, a rooftop break-in (break-on?) and still managed to make the spectacular woman hum with pleasure for a solid two hours?
Her face warmed with her blush.
I hummed?
Yes, I heard you. Where would you like to go on Saturday?
The spectacular humming woman planned the last date. You’re in charge this time.
After a brief pause, she added:
It’s the last one so make it amazing.
Bumping along with a bunch of strangers on a bus wasn’t quite how Trish had expected her final date with the dreamy Mr. Helms to begin. He’d texted late on Friday asking her to meet him in the Loop at five on Saturday. He had an important conference call that afternoon, and meeting him near his hotel in Chicago’s business district would allow their date to begin sooner. He’d offered to send a car to pick her up, but she’d told him that wasn’t necessary.
His only instructions had been to dress comfortably and bring a jacket or sweater. To be prepared for any setting, Trish wore a simple dove gray maxi dress and tied a mesh-knit cardigan over her shoulders. Remembering her sore feet in Boston, she matched the outfit with a pair of blinged-out thong sandals with cushy, flat soles.
She exited the bus at a stop near the designated promenade along the river. Rounding the art deco structure of the old Daily News Building, she spied Adam at the railing. His elbow rested on the low stone wall as he peered at the perpetually greenish water coursing below. Slowing her step, Trish took a moment to admire his profile. His typically sculpted hair had been given more freedom. Several deep golden wisps fell naturally across his forehead and down the sides. Yet even dressed down in olive green khakis and a lightweight denim button-down with the sleeves rolled above his elbow, there was something aristocratic about him.
She surreptitiously wove through the sparse weekend crowd, plotting to sneak up behind him. Before she made it all the way over, he lifted his gaze. His eyes landed immediately on her. She stopped dead as an unfamiliar swell rose in her chest. While he watched her, Adam’s mouth stiffened into a straight line that almost looked like a frown. His burning eyes told a different story, however—and she liked to think she’d been the one to light those flames.
The moment flitted away as a seagull flapped its wings, taking off after scavenging at the plaza. Adam smiled. Trish responded with a bright grin of her own, stepping to him. “How did the conference call go?” she asked.
“It went fine. Thank you for meeting me here. Shall we?” He gestured toward a tiny outbuilding a few yards away, turning fully toward her. As much as Trish adored Adam in a suit, she found something equally appealing about his more casual look. With his two top buttons undone, she got a tantalizing peek at his smooth chest, leading her imagination to wander lower.
The “building” turned out to be a cover for a staircase that led to a dank lower level. On the way down, Trish noticed a sign for the Chicago Water Taxi. At the bottom of the steps, Adam took her elbow and steered her toward an opening. “I already have our tickets.” They stepped onto a slab of concrete at river level where Adam said to a man in a plastic vest, “Chinatown?”
“Dat way,” the attendant said in a thick Chicago accent, pointing them to continue down the narrowing slab to the end, where they sat on a weathered bench.
Trish tried fight off the sensation of having had her balloon popped. During her first time out with Adam, she’d been impressed to learn he wasn’t too snobby to take public transportation. She’d tested his sincerity with their trip on the L to the baseball game, and yet here she sat, feeling slighted by the earlier bus ride and now a five dollar ticket on a water taxi. With any other guy this would be perfectly wonderful, but this was Adam. It was their last date. It was supposed to be amazing. Perhaps her imagination had taken their liaison to places his hadn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, breaking the silence between them.
“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I just wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Yet I’ve somehow managed to fall below your un-expectations.”
“No! That’s not true. I’ve never been to Chinatown, so you’ve landed on something new for me in my own city. I’m impressed.”
“It’s been so long since you’ve left the country, and you said you want to travel more. This was the closest I could come to an international trip in one evening’s time.”
The tension in Trish’s smile broke into something more genuine. It was nice to know he’d put some thought into the date, after all. She pressed closer to him so a newly arrived family could fit onto the bench next to her. The mom commandeered more space than Trish had allotted, so she crossed one leg over the other and shifted onto the front edge of the seat to make more room. As the woman settled in, Trish found herself with only a few precious inches of bench on which to balance. She turned to Adam. “I’m feeling whisked away already.”
He chuckled and stood, giving her a human-sized piece of wood to sit on. “We could’ve gone straight to Chinatown, but I thought the boat ride would provide a sort of transition from this world to that.”
The woman shrieked, “Parker! This is the last time I’ll tell you. Stay off the rail or we’ll get right back on the train and you’ll spend the rest of the night in a time out.”
Neither Trish nor Adam spoke, but the mischievous glance they shared told her they were thinking along the same lines—this was the obnoxious fellow travelers portion of the trip. A cheery yellow boat approached and docked. Trish and Adam filed on, squeezing onto a long bench at the back of the outside deck. Once the boat got humming along the river, he took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her wrist. His touch had become far more relaxed and confident since the first time they’d held hands.
They stayed companionably quiet during the ride, enjoying the view. Trish realized she was silly to have thought it mattered where Adam took her or how they got there. She was happy to be anywhere with him. As their journey continued, the sky scraping buildings thinned. Once the boat passed a round, beehive-like structure jutting out from the east bank, the bordering terrain became mostly small trees and other vegetation with an occasional bridge and a smattering of industrial-looking buildings.
Adam was right in thinking the ride would provide a transition from the steely elegance of downtown. The boat slowed, and they were welcomed to Chinatown by a quieter kind of elegance. The dock was at the steps of pagoda-styled pavilion with a multi-sloped roof lifting at the corners into embellished tips.
“This is Ping Tom Memorial Park,” Adam informed her after they’d disembarked and ascended the steps to the structure. “It’s named after a civic leader, a big force behind Chinatown’s development.”
“How’d you know that?” Trish asked.
“Because of this.” He pointed to a granite bust of Ping Tom atop a solid block.
Trish saw it was inscribed in both English and Chinese with the man’s story. “You’ve been here before?”
“A few times. But not for a long while. Ready to take a walk around?”
“Sure.” She mentally patted herself on the back for her choice of semi-sensible shoes.
They passed several blocks of fairly uninteresting urban-scape before reaching the first point of interest—the Nine Dragon Wall, set only a few feet from the sidewalk. “It’s modeled from a wall in Beijing,” A
dam told her. “They say it helps center Chinatown’s feng shui.”
“Ya don’t say.” Trish pressed against the small protective gate so that other pedestrians could easily get around her while she studied the serpent-like bodies of the blue, red, and gold dragons. “You get all that from a plaque?”
“The Beijing part. An informative waiter told me about the feng shui. Would you like me to stop with the trivia?” He regarded her with an amused eyebrow quirked.
“Nah. Keep the factoids coming. Just as long as there won’t be a quiz later.” She nudged him with her shoulder, tangling her fingers with his. They crossed the intersection to pass under an imposing red gate. Adam informed her that this was the historic part of Chinatown. At first glance, the street’s multi-colored signs set at various heights and all shouting for attention struck Trish as a Chinese version of Freemont Street in Vegas.
She and Adam continued on, peeking through shop windows and wandering into some of the stores. Trish soon saw that this place was nothing like Freemont Street. This was where locals did their trade and made their livings while at the same time preserving their rich, cultural heritage. Adam bought teas in one shop. In another, Trish eyed a pair of intricately embroidered silk slippers. Adam scooped them up and took them to the cash register.
“What are you doing?” she asked, coming to his side as he purchased them.
“You might want these later.” His evasive, tight grin told her he didn’t intend to explain his comment, and she decided not to push for an answer. She liked surprises—especially if they involved getting cozy with Adam. He tucked the small package into her large, black bag and led her out the door.
Trish’s stomach grumbled, so they stopped in a small bakery. Bypassing the marinated chicken feet, they picked up iced teas and something called egg custard buns. They ate their buns and sipped tea, making their way back east on the other side of the street. Conversation flowed naturally between messy bites, and Trish was struck by how surprisingly easy it was to spend time with this man she hardly knew.