Chapter Two
Aspen
Today could not get any worse. I mean, literally, the only thing that could make it worse is if I get run over by a bus.
My dreams for the future – squashed with a single, solitary phone call.
And on the same day that I got my acceptance letter.
I stare down at the piece of mail that should have me celebrating. The piece of mail everyone in my position dreams about.
Then I think about my brother. That alone makes for a shitty day. And the news about my apartment, that was just the icing on the cake from hell.
I can’t go home. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not even my best friend. My best friend who is following his dream. My best friend who doesn’t have an idiot for a brother.
I read the letter once more before putting it back in the envelope. I rack my brain to see if I can find any way to make this happen. But there is no way. The money is gone, and he needs my help. I can’t turn my back on him. No matter what he’s done, he’s my brother. My only remaining family member.
I’ll have to go back home. Get a job, or three. I can always give piano lessons to rich snotty-nosed kids for some extra money. What a fine way to use my education. I close my eyes and try to forget about the last few hours of my life.
Then I pull myself together and start to cross the street when a horn blares at me, scaring me back onto the curb just as a bus goes by, its massive wheels splashing water from the gutter, soaking me from head to toe.
“Great! Just fucking great!” I scream at the bus.
I turn around to see people staring. “What?” I scream at them.
They stare at me like I’m crazy as they walk around me.
I look down at my sodden clothes and laugh. It’s a maniacal laugh and I think maybe those people are right. I am crazy.
I spot a bar and decide it’s exactly what I need right now. I walk over and grab the door handle when I hear, “Miss, you dropped this.”
I turn around to see a guy handing me the soaking-wet letter I had dropped on the sidewalk. I look at it and laugh. “A lot of good that’ll do me.”
“It’s not yours?” he asks. “I thought I saw you drop it when you almost got pasted by that bus.”
“It’s mine. But I don’t want it. It represents something I can never have.”
He holds up the folder he’s carrying. “I hear you. The papers in this folder represent something I can’t have either. Or more accurately, something I don’t want.”
“Maybe we should burn them,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’d like to keep mine. That way I have a reminder of what I’m working for.”
I cock my head to the side and study him. Then I take the wet letter from him and decide maybe I should keep it just for posterity.
“Bad day?” he asks, nodding to my clothes.
“You could say that.”
“Bet mine was worse,” he says.
“I doubt it.”
He holds the door open for me. “Want to have a drink and compare our shitty days?”
“I’d rather not relive mine if it’s all the same to you.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. But the offer for the drink still stands.”
I eye him up and down. He’s very attractive in a rugged, athletic kind of way. His dark hair is wavy and haphazard. His smile is crooked and devious. He looks dangerous in the best of ways. And maybe dangerous is what I need right now. I’ve played it safe for so long. I’ve been conservative. The good girl. The driven girl. The girl who has no time for danger.
I stuff the envelope in my bag. “A drink is exactly what I need right now.”
“Good,” he says, walking us over to a table in the darkest corner of the bar. “But you should know up front that I’m not sleeping with you.”
I slip into the booth and grab some napkins from the dispenser to wipe the dirty street water from my arms. Then I stare him down. “Is that the standard line you use to get girls into bed?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever said those words before in my life.”
The waitress comes over and takes my order as the guy grabs a non-descript baseball cap out of his bag and pulls it down low on his head. “I’ll have a wheat beer, whatever’s on tap,” he says.
“Coming right up,” the waitress says as she walks away.
I eye his hat and then I look around the dark pub. “Too bright for you in here?”
“Just protecting myself from getting splashed from stray buses.”
I laugh, looking down at my clothes.
He motions to the bag he put down next to him. “I may have a dry shirt in there if you want it. I can’t promise it won’t smell like guy though.”
“I’m fine. But thanks for offering.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Aspen.”
He takes my hand in his and shakes it. His handshake is strong and confident. “Nice to meet you, Aspen. That’s an interesting name.”
The waitress brings our drinks over as I wait for him to introduce himself. But he never does.
“I’m not telepathic, you know,” I say.
He narrows his eyes at me.
“Your name. Am I supposed to guess it?”
“Oh.” He chuckles and stares at me like I’m supposed to know him or something. “It’s Sawyer.”
“As in Tom?”
“Yup. That’s the one,” he says. “My mom was a big fan.” His hand absentmindedly runs back and forth across his ribs. “And that’s not usually what comes to mind when people meet me.”
“Really? What does then?”
He laughs. “Nothing. It’s just refreshing.”
“What’s refreshing?”
He shrugs. “You.”
I wiggle my toes around in my soaked shoes. “I don’t feel so refreshing.”
“Well, you are.”
“Thanks – I guess. So what do you do, Tom Sawyer?”
That crooked smile of his makes another appearance. “A little of this, a little of that.”
I can’t tell if he doesn’t want me to know what he does, or if maybe he’s out of a job and doesn’t want me thinking less of him.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just that my job is the reason I’m having a shitty day, and since we’re not talking about that …”
I nod. “Got it. Same for me. But not my job. I’m a student. But it’s the reason for my shitty day.”
“You go to college?”
“Yeah. Juilliard,” I say sadly.
“No shit? Are you some kind of prodigy or something?”
I wiggle all my fingers. “Hardly. I play piano.”
“I’d say you must play it pretty damn well to be there.”
I shrug. “I graduate in May.”
“Wow. Congrats. What are you going to do after?”
I take a long drink of my beer. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. How about sports? Do you like sports?”
I shake my head. “No time. I spend every spare minute practicing.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I thought we weren’t talking about that.”
“Right.”
We sit in silence for a minute as I try to think of something to talk about. I look over at the other corner of the bar and see a band setting up. I look up at the silent television. I look down and examine my fingernails.
“Oh, my God,” I say, looking up in disgust. “I literally have nothing to talk about. The past four years I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep and live piano. Everything has been about Juilliard. I think I must be the most boring person alive. Sorry you ended up sitting with such a dud.”
He laughs. “Aspen, I have the feeling you are anything but boring. How about your family? Want to talk about that?”
“Ha! Family is exactly the reason I’m sitting here drowning my sorrows with you. So, no.”
“I thought school was why you were here.”
“It’s both,” I
say. “But if you want to talk about your family, go right ahead.”
“Nothing there to talk about,” he says.
I take another drink of my beer to hide the awkwardness.
My phone rings. It’s Bass. I hold it up and apologize. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be quick.” I swipe my finger across the screen.
“What the hell, Penny? They’re going to demo the whole building?”
“That’s what the notice said.”
“Three months? That’s not enough time to find a new place in the city.”
“You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll meet a ton of people in training who will need roommates. Plus, you never know where you’ll be stationed. I actually think the timing is good for you.”
“But what about you?”
I shrug. “I’m probably moving out of New York anyway.”
“What?”
“Long story.”
The waitress comes by asking if we want another round. Sawyer raises his eyebrows at me and I nod.
“Where are you? Who was that?”
“I’m just getting a drink.”
“A drink? Are you at a bar?”
“I might be.”
He laughs. “Aspen Andrews at a bar. Wait, did something happen? I mean, other than our impending eviction?”
I sigh into the phone.
“Where are you? I’ll come keep you company before my shift.”
“No, that’s okay. I already have company.”
I think I’ve stunned him into silence.
“Bass?”
“Aspen, you’re at a bar and you have company? I know some shit had to happen. Tell me.”
“I have to go. I’m being rude. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Aspen—”
I hang up and put my phone away. “Sorry,” I tell Sawyer.
“That’s okay. I think you’re getting more interesting by the minute. Who’s Bass?”
“My roommate.”
“Another interesting name.”
“It’s short for Sebastian.”
“Is he going into the military?”
I look at him with questioning eyes.
“You said something about him going into training and not knowing where he’ll be stationed.”
“Oh. No, not the military. He’s going to firefighter school. He spent the past year becoming a certified EMT and paramedic and now he’s starting his firefighter training. That will take several months.”
“And he’s just a roommate?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else going on there?”
I laugh. “Well, we did mess around once, but it was awkward. Kind of like being with my brother. Ewww. We’re better as friends.”
“Does he think so?”
I shrug. “I’m sure he does. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Aspen, have you looked in a mirror lately?”
I scoff at him. “Oh, please.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
I feel my face heat up. I take a drink. “Thanks, I guess.”
“And I’m hot, too, right?”
“And far too modest,” I say, laughing.
The band starts playing a familiar tune and I sit up tall in my seat so I can see them.
“You like this song?” Sawyer asks.
“Yeah.”
He nods to the small dance floor. “Want to?”
“You should know I’m a terrible dancer.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “These are the only parts of me that have rhythm.”
He laughs, standing up and pulling me out of the booth. He tugs his hat down even lower on his forehead as we reach the dance floor.
I discover that although my dancing leaves much to be desired, it’s a way to keep us from feeling the awkward silence. And I find that if I simply mimic what the other girls on the dance floor are doing, I might not look so much out of place.
“You’re not half bad,” Sawyer says, leaning close to speak in my ear.
“You’re not so bad yourself. You do this often?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither. I can’t remember the last time I danced.”
Every time he leans in to talk to me, I smell him. Unlike someone who just got splattered with dirty street-water, he smells clean from a shower. His cologne permeates my senses. His hot words crossing my ear have me feeling things I haven’t felt in a long time.
Another song plays. A slower one this time. Sawyer looks at me with raised brows and holds out his arms. I walk into them, drawn like a moth to the flame. I’m not sure what it is about this man. I just met him less than an hour ago. He’s dark and mysterious. He’s handsome and inviting. He might just be everything I need, to forget about the day I had.
But he’s not going to sleep with me.
Suddenly, I feel a sense of loss.
His hands feel like hot lava on my sides. They work around to the small of my back. His thumbs caress me through the thin fabric of my shirt. His eyes take me in now that we’re closer.
He looks at me like I’m the flame.
“Shit,” he says, pulling away.
He grabs my hand and leads me back to the table. He calls out to the waitress to bring another round along the way.
I sit down and stare at him. “What was that about?”
“That was about me not sleeping with you.”
“Am I missing something?”
“I can’t sleep with you, Aspen. It’s against the rules.”
I look at his left hand. I don’t see a ring. I ask him anyway. “Are you married?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Hell, no.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Never.”
“What do you mean never?”
“I mean I don’t do girlfriends.”
I study him. He looks truthful but sorrowful.
“Are you a recovering sex addict or something?” I laugh.
He doesn’t laugh with me. “Or something,” he says.
The waitress brings our drinks. Sawyer stops her before she walks away. “We’d like some shots, please.” He turns to me. “Pick your poison.”
“Me? Uh, I don’t know.” I think back to when I had time to party. “Buttery nipple?”
Sawyer laughs and turns back to the waitress. “Bring four.”
“I haven’t done shots since the summer after my senior year in high school.”
“How old are you, Aspen?”
“Almost twenty-three. You?”
“A solid twenty-five. When’s the big day?”
“Next month.”
Our shots get placed on the table in front of us. He picks one up and toasts me. “Happy early birthday.”
I pick mine up and clink it to his. “Thanks.”
“You’re different,” he says.
“Different from whom?”
“The girls I usually take out.”
“This is you taking me out?” I tease. “I thought we were just two people drowning our shitty-day sorrows.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, so tell me about the girls you usually take out.”
“They don’t go to Juilliard, that’s for sure. Most of them can’t even have an intelligent conversation.” His eyes travel to my breasts that are well-covered by my t-shirt. “And they usually have on a lot less clothing.”
I follow his eyes to my chest. “And bigger boobs, I imagine.”
“Size doesn’t matter to me.”
“Me either,” I say with a wink.
His head falls back and he bellows out a deep, throaty laugh. “I don’t think you’d be disappointed,” he says with a cocky grin.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t be. I can already tell you have a massive … ego.”
His grin turns into an all-out smile that brings out a slight dimple in his cheek.
“Tell me why you’re leaving New York,” he says. “You told your friend on the phone that you might. You don’t like the city?”
<
br /> “New York is okay. But why I might be leaving goes along with my shitty day, so I’d rather not talk about it.”
He raises his second shot. “To new friends and better days.”
I raise mine. “And to buttery nipples.”
His eyes go to my chest again and I feel my pulse rate go up. He’s thinking about my boobs. I’m thinking about his … ego.
He pulls out his wallet and puts enough money on the table to cover the drinks for half the people in the bar. Then he grabs his bag, tucks his folder under his arm, and stands up, offering me his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
My heart slumps in defeat. It’s not that I wanted to go home with this guy. This guy I don’t even know. But after the day I had, it just felt right to do something wrong. Something dangerous. Something out of character.
My head feels a bit fuzzy, so I let him help me from the booth, our hands fitting nicely together. I notice he has callouses on his hand and I wonder if he works in construction. Then I look back at the table and the nice chunk of change he left and I think maybe not.
He drops my hand to open the door and after we walk through, he doesn’t take it again.
“I’m this way,” I say. “About four blocks over.”
He again pulls his hat low on his forehead and keeps his head down, like he’s afraid he might run into someone he doesn’t want to.
The streets are crowded this time of night and we keep bumping into each other. Every time our hands or elbows touch, we look at each other and smile. It’s the oddest thing. I feel more comfortable with him than I did my last boyfriend after weeks of dating.
A bicyclist comes barreling down the sidewalk and Sawyer grabs my arm, pulling me into an alley to avoid a collision.
“Jesus, that was close,” he says. “Two close calls in one day is more than enough. First the bus and now this. You are having a bad day.”
I realize how close we’re standing. So close that I have to look up to see his eyes. I shrug. “I don’t know. I think it ended up pretty well.”
His hand comes up to trace the outline of my jaw. “Aspen.” He says my name like it’s a prayer. “I can’t do this.”
I nod and smile. “It’s okay.”
Before I can turn and back away, he pulls me to him and kisses me. He kisses me softly. Then he kisses me hard. Then I open for him and our tongues meet and mingle as I forget about school, delinquent brothers, and apartment demos. I forget everything, including my own name.
Stealing Sawyer Page 2