The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Maybe it wasn’t him? This guy was wearing a suit, and his hair, longer than I remembered, was professionally styled. The scruffy shadow covering his cheeks was new too; it was an actual beard when I’d seen him last. Sipping a lowball glass filled with amber liquid, he divided his attention between the television hanging above the bar and the door. When his gaze flitted over me, his eyes didn’t flicker with recognition, but that didn’t mean anything.

  Unless I was in a courtroom or a jail’s interrogation room, I was pretty much indistinguishable. I was like Superwoman cloaked in my law degree, but an everyday dweeb in plainclothes. It figured that after Jake saw me out a few weeks ago in my workout clothes, he quickly dismissed me.

  Trying not to pout, I made my way to the back room when I heard a familiar voice boom out apologies. “Sorry, bro!” The voice was apologetic, almost remorseful, and right behind me. Instructing myself not to respond, I turned around anyway, catching the back of Jake’s ass rushing over to his clone.

  He’s a twin?

  As I shook illicit thoughts of gorgeous twins out of my head, I continued to the lawyer mixer, trying to convince myself it was better that Jake didn’t see me. I bellied up to the bar in the back and climbed onto a stool, and was shoving my bag underneath when some jerk approached.

  “Hey, I’m Rick. Can I get you a drink? You look like you could relax.”

  “Um, I’m not even sure what I want yet, but thanks for the offer.” I picked up the drink menu in front of me and studied it like it was the United States Constitution, hoping he’d take the hint.

  “I can wait,” Rick the jerk persisted. He hadn’t even asked my name or anything.

  “Listen, I’ll get my own drink, but again, thanks for the offer.” I wasn’t going to be beholden to this schmuck.

  “I got you.” He nodded knowingly as he claimed the stool next to me. “You’re an independent woman, women’s lib and all.”

  No, he didn’t get it. Turning slightly away from him, I crossed my legs and gave Rick the cold shoulder. Finally, he moved.

  “What can I get you?” an adorable, shaggy-haired, well-built bartender asked.

  “Vodka and soda, whatever your house vodka is.”

  He winked at me and strolled off to the other side of the bar to grab a glass and some ice. After fixing my drink, he set it in front of me with a small bowl of peanuts.

  Taking a long sip, I surveyed the room. Lots of lawyers, most of them men all suited up with their ties loosened around their necks after presumably a long week, and a few women all stylish in wrap dresses.

  I stared down at my pale pink sweater and brown slacks. Yeah, my outfit was stylish and fit well, but it wasn’t worthy of the other women in the room. Mine was from the sale rack at Macy’s, and their clothes were from Bergdorf Goodman in New York. How did I know? From years of perusing piles of hand-me-downs thrown at my mom. The ladies she worked for thought she’d wear them. Instead, she sold their castoffs at consignment shops and put the money away for my college.

  “You good?” the cute bartender asked.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly.

  “Not your crowd?” He tilted his head toward the room full of stuck-up lawyers.

  “Well, I’m one of them, but I’m not. I guess that doesn’t make any sense, but that’s the truth.”

  “I got you. I can tell just by looking at you, you’re better than all of them.”

  “What? No, that’s not what I meant.” Embarrassed, I stared back at his knowing gaze.

  “I know, but look at them. All fake and phony, laughing and gaggling and gossiping while you sit here classy and calm, Red.”

  “Please, I’m anything but calm. My boss made me come to this, but I’m not feeling it. How much for the drink?”

  “On the house.”

  After tossing a ten-dollar bill on the bar and mumbling my thanks, I grabbed my bag and left. Of course, I’d forgotten all about Jake being in the main bar as I headed toward the exit, struggling to wrestle on my tight leather jacket while I juggled my bag. I’d almost cleared the doorway when I heard my name.

  “Alyson? Hey, Alyson!”

  As I stopped short and turned around, Jake Wrigley ran straight into me. Colliding with a wall of solid muscle, I teetered a little and braced my hand on his chest to steady myself, surprised at the heat radiating from him.

  “Um, sorry for grabbing you,” I murmured as he wrapped a calloused hand over mine, stilling my frantic movements. His hand was so large, so rough, that my hand felt almost dainty in his.

  “No worries. This is getting pretty silly, running into each other in the strangest of places. Do you come here a lot?” His brow furrowed and he looked at me as if I were a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle and he was trying to put the pieces together.

  Digging for composure, I cleared my throat, pretending I was in an interrogation room. “Not really.”

  “Me either. It’s a bit stuffy.”

  “I was here for a legal event. In fact, I should be going.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile. “I could see how that would be the case. Not much but suits and secretaries here.” He tilted his head toward the bar and some of his black hair flopped over his forehead, definitely longer than when he was in jail. “I was having a drink with my brother. My twin brother,” he said, correcting himself.

  “Oh, wow! That’s cool.” I wasn’t sure how I played off my surprise, but I did. Must be all those years of playing dumb at work.

  Like I did with Jake when I knew they were going to release him, but questioned him anyway. It wasn’t really my job to make certain he wasn’t a threat, but I’d have kept him locked up if he were. As we talked that night, I could see through his armor, that heavy metal casing made of bravado and flippant flirting. The truth was that Jake Wrigley was a little boy deep down inside. Problem was, he was a strong, gorgeous man on the outside.

  “Well, I guess . . . good seeing you. I don’t want to keep you.” I pointed toward his brother, who was busy pounding away on his smartphone.

  “Nah, I’m leaving. One drink with Lane is enough for me. He’s the more serious brother,” he said with a smirk and a wink. “Where you going? Somewhere more exciting?”

  “Actually, home. This is about as exciting as I get.”

  “You were pretty serious that night in jail. You ever let loose?” Jake took my bag from my hands and said, “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  “I don’t need you to carry that for me, Mr. Wrigley.” Definitely needed to get control of the situation. One minute, I was leaving with my reading, looking forward to a mug of hot tea and a throw blanket waiting for me at home. The next, Jake Wrigley was walking me out and carrying my briefcase.

  “It’s just a bag, not a marriage proposal, Ms. Road. Let’s go.” He slipped his hand over the soft leather of my jacket, guiding me by my elbow toward the door.

  “Where are you parked? Here in the garage?” he asked, wrestling through his pockets to pull out a valet ticket once we were outside.

  “I take the bus downtown, so if you’ll just hand me my stuff . . .” I gave him a small smile as I forced down the lump of regret stuck in my throat.

  Why couldn’t I be exciting, especially with Jake Wrigley? Because I was boring, for starters, serious rather than flirty and fun, and for one defining moment, Jake Wrigley had been in jail where I’d served as the public defender. According to the rules, that moment had to set the tone for any ensuing contact between us, and it infuriated me.

  I didn’t want to go home, and I definitely didn’t want to go back to the bar to all the “Ricks” drinking their Scotch on the rocks. More than anything, I wanted to go with Jake to wherever he might be having more fun; although whatever that was, I didn’t have a clue. If Hilary were here, maybe she could have been my wing woman, or whatever it’s called.

  “Well then, I guess it’s good that we ran into each other again. Now I know why—so I could give you a ride home.” He handed hi
s ticket to the attendant while I tried to manage an excuse, but all my words were stuck in my chest, shaken and scrambled. For someone who talked for a living, my tongue had never been so tied.

  “It’s just a ride, you know.”

  His hair lifted in the wind, but his solid frame withstood the stiff breeze whipping through the city. All the while, my heart plunged to my feet and my hair got stuck in my lip gloss, my fingers shaking like the leaves overhead while trying to pull the strands free.

  “I don’t know. We don’t really know each other, other than—”

  “Please don’t say other than me being in jail, okay?” he said, interrupting me. “It wasn’t a shining moment for me, and I was protecting someone else, as you know. I’m not all bad.”

  His eyes pleaded with me, the moonlight reflecting off the big pools of blue. “I can’t put you on a bus in good conscience. It’s dark, and it’s not safe,” he explained, pleading his case.

  “Okay,” I said just as a black BMW pulled up front. As I watched Jake tip the valet, I glanced at the expensive car and began to second-guess myself all over again. I didn’t take Jake for the show-off type. Of course, he was all man complete with flirtatious one-liners, but he wasn’t a status-obsessed type one like Drew. At least, that was what I had imagined.

  “Miss?” The valet’s question knocked me out of my thoughts. I refocused to find Jake standing there, holding the passenger door open for me.

  With an apologetic smile to Jake, I slid into the already heated seat and folded my long legs beneath the dash. The red leather was a tone or two deeper than my hair, the dash all lit up and perfectly cleaned. Some type of hard rock filtered through the speakers on the lowest volume.

  Jake jumped into the car with ease and shifted into first. “Where to?”

  “Oakland. You know the area?”

  “Yeah, I own Fizzle Fitness. You know it?”

  We whipped out of the drive and into the alley. At the red light, I tried hard not to stare at Jake’s profile, at his firm jaw, mussed hair, and five o’clock shadow. Or his larger-than-life biceps.

  “I know it,” I said, forcing myself to look out the windshield. “I don’t go there, but I know of it, I should say.”

  “It’s a living. Been doing it for over a decade, since I graduated from Pitt with a degree in sports management. My brother is helping me expand. He’s really the brains; I’m just the brawn.”

  “I remember the gym from when I first transferred to Pitt from community college. It used to be small and has moved once already?”

  “Yep.” He smiled with barely disguised pride. “That was when it was just me. When I finished school with a useless degree and a washed-up D-1 career in baseball, I didn’t know what to do. My shoulder’s pretty much done with, not even the minors would take a look, so I rented this basement shithole and started buying used equipment, got some cheap insurance and opened. People liked my music and the Pitt spirit around, so it grew fast. I moved to the spot we are in now after about two years, and then I bought the building next door after a while, making more room for locker rooms and shit.”

  “Sounds like you may have some of the brains too.” Why I felt compelled to compliment him, I wasn’t sure.

  “And you, all lawyer and legs?”

  “What?” I choked out, shocked at his blatant flirting.

  “You got one hell of a pair of legs. Couldn’t help but notice when we first met, and a few weeks ago when you had those leggings on . . . wow! Legs for days.”

  Heat crept up my cheeks. Since I’m so fair, I imagined my cheeks were a rosy pink well on their way to fire-engine red. Thankful for the darkness hiding my silly embarrassment, I stuttered, “I-I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “Having long legs? Or me noticing.” Jake turned slightly to face me, his expression curious.

  “Either. Both.” Nervously, I wound my hair around my hand, knotting it in a bun at the base of my neck. Refusing to meet his gaze, I watched him from the corner of my eye.

  “Sorry to interrupt this much more interesting conversation, but where in Oakland?”

  “You know the small convenience store near the museum?”

  He nodded.

  “Right behind it, one street back. In fact, you can drop me at the museum.”

  “Not a chance,” he huffed out. “Now, back to your legs. What’s wrong with long legs?”

  I turned and studied his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with each word, and strangely wanted to run my hand over his skin, maybe kiss his neck.

  Blinking a few times to force the fantasy out of my head, I found myself admitting, “I grew up pretty poor, a tall, gangly redhead who tagged along with my mom to her jobs. She was a cleaning woman for the rich, and their little girls were always petite and small. I was neither, but I wanted to be.”

  I’d never really spoken about my past with anyone. Drew knew I came from limited means, but didn’t know the details of my life growing up. I typically kept that in a tightly sealed box inside my heart. My throat tightened again, this time with tears.

  Jake shot a wry glance my way. “Well, shit, I’d like to see those petite little girls now. They’re probably all round and plump.”

  Surprisingly, I laughed. Actually, I burst out into a full-on fit of laughter, which was something I’d never done when wallowing in the memories of my childhood.

  “Please!” I begged him, holding my stomach

  “I’d know. I own gyms. Believe me, long legs are an asset.”

  “Okay, enough,” I said, trying to compose myself. “You shouldn’t even be looking.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you asked me not to mention it, but the way we met, and well, if I recall, you were protecting another woman. One who you were involved with . . . Um, take a right here.”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief that we were close to my place, and the end of this strangely comfortable, yet awkward ride.

  I pointed up ahead. “There, over there. First building on the left.”

  “Here?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not much, I know, but I’ve been here since law school and it’s home.”

  A tear welled up in the corner of my eye. I should have taken the bus and not let this man drive me home in his BMW and see the dilapidated building I called home. It’s affordable and warm. What else do you need?

  “It has cable,” I said weakly, feeling strangely compelled to defend my home.

  “Hey.” He grabbed my arm as I yanked at the door handle, trying to slip out of the car. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that it’s not safe. It’s dark and there are no outside lights, and I just saw someone go through the front door without a key or being buzzed in. I wouldn’t judge you on this,” he said, gesturing toward the run-down apartment building.

  “Thanks for the ride and saying that, but I’ve got to go.” Acutely embarrassed, I wrenched my elbow free and opened the car door.

  “Alyson?”

  Climbing out of the car, I froze, but refused to look back at him. “Yeah?”

  “The girl I was protecting isn’t around anymore, so is it okay for me to like your legs? And the body and brain attached to them?”

  “Good night, Mr. Wrigley.” After slamming the car door, I turned and ran toward my apartment.

  Jake

  “What’s the holdup with the construction?” Lane had asked me at the bar earlier tonight, swirling the ice in his drink so the cubes clinked against the glass. He’d taken a big swallow, a small moan escaping his lips when he released the tumbler from his lips.

  “The fuck I know? The guy’s a crap contractor, costing me money.”

  He’d chuckled into his glass.

  “What the hell?” I had leaned forward, catching his gaze.

  “I just like seeing you all serious about your business. Almost as much as I’m loving this Scotch. Christ, this is good.”

  “You miss the booze when you’re home?”

  �
�Nah. Not even one bit. I got my beautiful wife and baby . . . my naked beautiful wife. It’s a small price to pay to have Bess in my life. She tells me it’s okay to keep a bottle for myself. Tells me she’d be fine, but it’s not worth it. She’s so strong in her recovery, and that’s enough reason for me, bro.”

  He slapped me on the back and returned to the real reason for his visit. “Enough about me. How about you? I see your head is way out of your ass when it comes to the gym expansion, but you know Bess. She wants to know if you’re forgiving yourself for past demons? It’s time, Jake.”

  “I don’t know. I feel good, almost normal sometimes. But then I get so pissed off that Shirley is just living her life. She was the adult there that day. She was the one who put that all on us to keep what I did a secret. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Gotta let it go, man. We looked into it, the statute’s up. She can’t be tried for it now. And you know, she’s got a shitty life.”

  “That’s what my shrink says,” I said in a low voice, leaning in close when I mentioned my dirty secret. “You two talking?”

  Shaking his head, he raised his hand to signal for a refill. I’d been absently watching his finger circle in the air when I caught a flash of red hair walking out of the bar.

  “Hold that thought,” I’d said, then jumped up to chase the mysterious vixen of my dreams through the bar.

  “Alyson!” I’d called out until she finally turned around, and I forgot all about Lane.

  I ended up driving her home, and now like a twisted dick, I waited inside my luxury car while she ran up her front steps and into her crappy apartment building. The woman was an attorney, for God’s sake, and she lived in a college tenement. What the fuck was I missing?

  I’d gone to school at Pitt for four years and owned a gym in the area for over a decade, and I’d never known anyone who lived over here in this ghetto. Lane had some posh on-campus suite for four years, thanks to his academic prowess, and I’d lived in athletic housing. Who the hell lived in this shit? Especially after law school?

  Staring at the building, I waited for one of the apartment lights to turn on so I could see which unit was hers and be somewhat assured that she was home safely. Suddenly, one came on in the front. As I shifted my car into gear, I realized she lived on the second floor, too close to the entrance and only one flight up. In a piece-of-shit building like that, it was probably dark and desolate in the hallways. Anyone could break in and do . . . I didn’t know what. Bad shit like rape and muggings.