Markus hooked his arm around my waist, and it felt so natural I didn’t even tease him. He certainly seemed more comfortable than the boy I’d known twenty years ago. Not that he hadn’t been good in the truck … When he’d — my face burned again, so I immediately cut off my thoughts and focused on my feet.
Markus crossed the street at the end of the block, right beneath the Carnegie Library, which I planned to visit soon. It’d been too long since I’d caught up on my reading. Plus, I was certain I could find some books to study for the state teacher’s exam.
He held open the red door, and I immediately bopped over to a booth, taking the one with my back to the door, as I knew from previous outings with Markus that he couldn’t stand having his back to the door. Maybe because all the kids had picked on him in high school.
Even though I knew exactly what I was going to order, I snapped open the menu. Markus sat across from me and opened his, even though I knew exactly what he would order, too.
“By the way,” I said, peeking over my menu at Markus, “I plan to gain twenty pounds.”
Markus set down his menu and met my eyes. “Well, since we’re not dating, I feel as though I can ask a question. Am I supposed to say, ‘Good! You need to gain weight.’ Or, ‘Why? You look great exactly the way you are.’?”
I shrugged. “Neither. I was just letting you know so you wouldn’t start worrying about me when I start to put on weight.”
He tilted his head just slightly. “Should I be worried?”
“Nope. I’ve been on a diet since I was fourteen, and I told myself if I didn’t get this part I was going to finally eat.”
Markus smiled. “Works for me. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
I sighed inwardly at his perfect answer, but tried to focus on my task at hand, enjoying my meal. Yes, I was still going to order a salad, but I was going to order it Pittsburgh style. Not once in my life had I been able to try the delicious notion of adding sizzling hot French fries, grilled chicken, and gobs of shredded cheddar cheese to a perfectly healthy salad. But tonight that would all change.
“Ready to order?” asked a dark-haired woman dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, no uniform. No, Hello. No, How are you? No, Have you been here before? Like Markus had said, The Cage was divey, but it was Squirrel Hill divey, and that’s how we locals liked it. No pretenses. If you were new, it was your job to make friends, not the locals’ job to introduce you.
I looked up at the woman and smiled. “I’ll take the grilled chicken salad, Pittsburgh style, with extra cheese and ranch dressing.”
“Make that two,” Markus said, surprising me, as he normally always ordered a cheesesteak with a salad, no fries. Maybe he wanted to join me on my quest of gaining weight and raising my cholesterol.
“And to drink?” the woman asked.
“Oh, right. Ummm …” I did a mental calculation of the calories in hard cider versus wine, nearly double. It was hard not to think about calories when you’d been counting them daily for two decades. Regardless, I said, “I’ll have whatever hard cider you have.”
Markus smiled and said, “Make that two,” again.
I pushed his hands, which were resting in front of him in a low clasp, not a steeple, but more like he was holding one of his hands up with the other. “You planning to join me in my downward spiral?”
He grabbed my hand in his and lowered both our hands to the table. “Why stop now? I always did whatever crazy thing you wanted to do when we were kids. So, what exactly did Howard the Coward do?”
“And on with the name calling … You remembered.” A familiar warmth rushed through me for no reason.
“Of course.” Markus smiled. “So, what happened? You need me to beat him up?”
“As if … Since when did you start offering to beat up my enemies?”
“You have no idea what I did in high school to protect your honor.” Confused, I narrowed my eyes, but Markus waved off my question. “What happened, Laina? A third callback is good, right?”
“Yes … usually. It wasn’t what Howard Schmoward,” the best I could come up with on short notice, “did, it’s what he didn’t do. As I told you before, the first two days Howard just stood and left, demanding that callbacks be back at ten a.m. But then today, after they left me sitting in that room for hours, he just didn’t show. Maybe they were waiting for him. I don’t know. Anyway, the CD just said, ‘We already have your audition recorded, so we’ll call you if we need you.’ Which means they’ve already made a decision.”
Markus squeezed my hands. “I’m sorry, Laina. I really am.”
I didn’t really want to talk about the audition. Before I could change the subject, though, the waitress brought us two bottles of Angry Orchard. No glass, of course, which I was used to at The Cage; a bartender once mentioned that they only had so many glasses and not enough room to keep them chilled.
Markus pulled back his hands and lifted his bottle. “To rejections, may we only learn from them, and not want to rip up our manuscripts or give up over them.”
I lifted my bottle to his but then shook my head. “I have to give up, Markus. I’m too old.”
Markus lowered his head and stared me in the eyes. “You look amazing, Laina, better than ninety percent of women who are half your age.”
“You’re biased, Markus.”
He lifted one eyebrow and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Markus,” I paused, taking another sip, “Why haven’t you gotten married?”
He took another sip, then licked his lips. “It appears you don’t keep as good of tabs on me as I’ve kept on you. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was married, Laina. For ten years.”
“Oh. I didn’t —” I was surprised I hadn’t heard about Markus getting married. Then again, why would my mother tell me something that wouldn’t further the chance of me coming home or giving her grandkids? But I was even more surprised by the rush of heat that soared through my heart. Not a tickle, but red-hot heat — anger or jealousy — something I rarely felt. I pushed the emotions aside the best I could. “What happened?”
He shrugged again. “It just didn’t work out. We drifted apart, then one day she asked me for a divorce. I’ll admit, I was surprised. It wasn’t as though we fought. She just wanted more, and I guess I’ve always been simpler. That’s when I quit working for my father and went back to school. I knew what I’d always wanted, but had been too afraid to go after.” He paused and looked up at me, his green eyes shiny. “Well, one of my dreams anyway —”
The waitress brought our meals, halting his words. Perfect timing.
“Ooh … this looks so good.” I unwrapped the napkin from around my silverware, then drizzled ranch all over the salad. I speared a perfect bite of fries, chicken, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. I bit down and then moaned as the combination of hot and cold, sweet and salty lit up my taste buds. I stabbed my fork down again, scooping up as much as I could at once before the fries got cold and the salad got warm.
A few bites in, I stopped eating, noticing that Markus hadn’t moved. “Don’t stop,” he said. “I like watching you be happy.”
I reached for the cider and downed the bottle and then sat back. “Oh, my. I’m very happy right now.”
Markus downed his cider, then caught the waitress’s eye as she started to dart past us. He motioned to our empty bottles, and she nodded.
“So,” I started before he could continue, “no kids?”
“She didn’t want any. One of our major differences. She wanted us to take over my parents’ business and didn’t want to be tied down by children.” He shook his head. “Her words. Of course, my parents were never home when I was a kid, so I guess I understand. But they still loved me, and I had you guys.”
The waitress dropped off two more bottles, and I reached for one immediately, downing the ice-cold cider almost completely. I’d consider the cider a 180-calorie dessert,
then switch to drinking wine the rest of the night.
“Thirsty?” Markus laughed.
“Yes, but no more cider. Let’s switch to wine. Cider is too filling.” I pushed the salad away, then stood. “I’m done with the food, too. I’ll be right back.”
“White or red?”
My mental calculator went off again. Cabernet has fewer calories, but Chardonnay has less carbs. Remembering I didn’t care, though, I said, “Whatever you want.”
He nodded, then signaled the waitress before I turned and headed off to the washroom.
When I came back, Markus slid out of the booth, motioning for me to sit on his side of the table. I obeyed, and he slid in next to me.
A wave of heat surged up my back and neck, so I pulled my hair off my neck, twisted it, and laid it on my shoulder. I reached for the glass of white wine in front of me.
Markus turned to me and just the look in his eyes made the heat rush down the front of my body. “Are you really giving up, Laina?”
I averted my eyes, shutting off my view of him. How had I not noticed how good-looking Markus was? Other than filling out, he looked exactly as he had in high school.
He touched my cheek. “Look at me, Laina.”
I pulled my eyes away from the scarred table, looking up at him.
“You’ve done well, right? You’ve made a living. Why would you quit if it’s what you love?”
What I love? “Because …” I raised my hand to my face and rubbed my head, cutting off my view of him again.
Markus reached for my hand and held it in his lap. “Because?”
I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to say, Because I’m falling in love with you, and I know I can’t have both … Not when an acting career would take me back to New York or Hollywood. But I couldn’t tell him that I was falling in love. Not until I knew for sure what I wanted, what I was feeling. Markus stared at me as if he’d read my mind again, as if it’d break his heart if I left again, so I just told him the only truth I knew for certain. “I don’t know.”
Markus leaned forward, his lips inches from mine. I started to shut my eyes, to open my mouth, to accept him, but my phone buzzed.
I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t think to turn off my phone because I rarely get calls. It might be Mom.”
I pulled the phone out of the side pocket of my purse and read the text from Joe. Where are you, Alaina? Where are all your things?
Confused, I stared at the text. Was Joe back at the apartment? Then I realized, he’d said they were flying him out. He hadn’t said that he was staying. He’d only taken one suitcase with him.
“Do you need to answer that?” Markus asked.
Nervous at once, I rubbed my hand over my mouth, realizing that Markus had been able to read the text. Not that I’d hidden it from him. I had assumed it was from Mom. “Ummm … maybe just to let him know I’m alive.”
“You didn’t tell him you were going home?”
“It was sort of an on-the-fly decision. I just packed up and left so I wouldn’t miss the four o’clock train.”
All I could hope was that Markus wouldn’t get offended, because really, it would be wrong for me not to answer Joe. I typed out a quick: I’m in Pittsburgh. I’ll explain later.
Markus turned so his back was up against the booth again. He ran his hands up the sides of his nose, past the area between his eyebrows, across his forehead, and then rubbed his temples.
I held up the phone so he could see what I was doing, then clicked off the ringer. “Markus …”
He turned just his head to me. “Yes?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He released a puff of air, which sounded like a laugh, but not his normal happy laugh. He sounded frustrated, and Markus never sounded frustrated. “I don’t want you to say anything, Alaina. I want you to want to say something.” He turned to me. “I want you to want to say you’re sorry. I want you to want to be with me.”
My heart exploded into a vicious rhythm. “Markus … I just —”
He turned to me, his face moving to mine before I could react. Instead of kissing me, as it seemed he intended, he said, “Let’s go.” Markus pulled out his wallet, fishing through the bills until he found a fifty. He motioned to the waitress again, then dropped the fifty on the table.
He took my hand and gently coaxed me out of the booth. He reached for my coat on the hook and held it while I shrugged into it.
Once again, he took my hand in his. Not that I had a choice, it seemed, but I let him trail me out the door. Of course, I had a choice. I could demand that he let go of my hand, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to talk to him. And he was right. We needed to be in private for this conversation. At least I’d only had two glasses of cider, which wasn’t nearly as strong as wine.
Without a word, Markus wrapped his arm around my waist and escorted me back the way we’d come. Across the street and then back to the shop. Instead of going in through the front door of the shop, he walked down the alley to the rear of the store.
Markus lifted his fingers to his lips. “If we go through the store, Buddy will wake up, and he needs his sleep.”
I resisted smiling, imagining for just a second that Buddy was our kid.
Markus directed me up the black iron stairs that led to the apartment above the shop, then followed closely behind me.
When he opened the door and turned on the light, I was surprised to see how open and airy the small apartment was. Nothing like the dark flat where my sister and I had done our homework while Mom had worked downstairs.
The floors had a high polish on them, and the kitchen had all black cabinets and chrome appliances with lights beneath the cabinets that cast light on the granite countertops. Markus led me to the opposite side of the apartment, the living area. The area was tidy, but full. Every inch of wall space consisted of artwork or shelves decorated with books. The little floor space there was held a wide walnut desk with nothing but a laptop perched on top, a leather sofa and coffee table the color of dark chocolate, and more bookshelves, stuffed with more books. Maybe that was why my mother had always loved Markus. It appeared he read as much as she did.
Without a word, Markus took my hand and coaxed me to the couch. “What was it you wanted to say, Laina?”
I smiled without meaning to. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry …”
“For?” he pressed.
“Everything …”
He shook his head. “Too broad.”
I stared up at his stern face. “For not calling you back after I took advantage of you when you were nineteen.”
“That’s a start.” A small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “But you didn’t take advantage of me.” He released a soft breath while he shook his head. “I knew what I wanted. Why do you think I brought two bottles of wine? I wasn’t as innocent as you always assumed I was.”
“You weren’t?”
“Nope.” He lifted my hand and placed it around his neck and then pulled my other hand around his waist.
Markus moved his large hand around my waist and tugged me forward, stopping within inches of my lips. “Alaina Ackerman, I’ll forgive you for not calling me back twenty years ago and for not noticing how much I wanted you when we were teenagers if you’d simply want to kiss me right now.”
My heart rate sped up again and my mouth quirked up on both ends. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. The one thing I knew, though, was that I wanted to kiss Markus Klein. I used my hand that he’d placed behind his neck and pulled him forward.
That was all the invitation he needed. In a flash, Markus scooped me up in his arms without breaking our kiss and carried me into the only other large room in the apartment. He didn’t flick on a switch, but the light from the streetlamps filtered through the blinds, casting white streaks across the room, the bed, and even Markus. The slices of white made his square chin look even stronger. In the striped light, he looked almost feral, not the innocent teenager w
ho played a part in my sexual fantasies night after night.
A hunger rose up inside of me that I hadn’t felt in twenty years. He lowered me to the bed, but held his arm behind my back so I was sitting, then sat down beside me.
Markus swept my hair off my shoulder, then touched his lips to my neck. “I don’t want you to leave again, Alaina. I want you to stay here. With me.”
What was he asking me? Technically, we’d only been seeing each other for three days. I had said that I wouldn’t leave. That I would stay in Pittsburgh. But his asking me to stay — with him — was something different.
As much as I wanted to fight his words, I turned to his kiss. If we were kissing, we couldn’t talk about plans, which meant neither of us would lie.
His mouth enveloped mine, his tongue touching mine, making me remember. He wanted me to remember. To remember him. To remember one hot night when we were too young to know what we wanted. After all, I’d thought I wanted to be a star. He’d thought he wanted to take over his father’s million-dollar company.
We were both wrong. We’d wanted each other. Then. Now. But then again, maybe I’d been smart to leave. If I’d stayed with Markus in Pittsburgh twenty years ago, I would have probably resented him. And he probably would have continued to work for his father to provide for our kids and me. And we would have both been miserable.
My hand moved to the hem of his sweatshirt, and I attempted to pull it up.
Markus moved his hands over mine, effectively stopping me. “Not yet. Just stay with me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to have all of you only to lose you again.” His mouth moved to mine again as he scooted us both up in the bed. He moved me to my back and hovered over me. His lips moved from my mouth to my chin, then down my neck, stopping and nibbling along the way.
He pulled the neckline of the shirt low enough to expose the swell of my breasts as he continued his kisses downward. His mouth stopped its progression as he pulled back. “You know, you slapped my hand away a few hours ago for just peeking.”
I threw my head back. “What can I say, you’re like a drug. Peer pressure, you know?”
[What's Luck Got To Do With It 02.0] Down on Her Luck Page 8