Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  As she raises the book to her face, I see my own name staring back from the cover. I’ve seen my books displayed in stores before and even read my name in newspapers, both big and small, but never actually seen anyone reading my book in real life. I’m torn between a strange desire to announce myself as the writer and a deeper instinct to crawl out of my skin. Before the blonde can start reading, they call for first class passengers to board and she gathers her things to leave. Tricky writer embarrassment averted.

  When I finally clamber into my own row, I give a friendly smile to a young couple arranging their bags in the overhead compartment. The couple settles into the seats next to me, the woman in the center seat, her companion on the aisle. The woman leans into the man, whispering in his ear and then wrapping her fingers into his. I look down to notice a gleaming and large diamond on the woman’s left hand, which sits on the armrest. The sparkle shouts a new engagement, a fact confirmed by the behemoth bridal magazine she pulls out from her carry-on. Three hundred pages of glossy justification for spending thousands of dollars on a party that, statistically, will not be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

  Still, seeing two people with their hands intertwined and sharing inconsequential thoughts in quiet whispers, I feel a little like a cup without a saucer. Leaning my forehead against the window, I find Tom Waits on my iPod, letting his gravelly voice fill my ears and give my heart something to hold on to.

  After landing and checking in at the hotel, I venture out into the LA streets to meet Kellan for lunch. We’ve arranged it perfectly, so that he can find me another just-right outfit for The Evelyn Summers Show and I will get to enjoy a saucy, zinger-filled lunch with him. I can’t get enough of his cheeky attitude and profound ability to make me look awesome.

  Despite the seemingly clear directions Kellan provided, I manage to get lost. While I turn in place and stare down each boulevard in hopes that I will see my oasis on the horizon, my phone rings. I grab it, positive that it’s Kellan, and he will guide me out of this maze with the raspy lilting sound of his voice.

  Breathless, frustrated, and distracted, I end up speaking a little too loudly into the phone. “Kellan! Hey, I’m totally lost, so sorry I’m late.”

  “Kate? It’s Trevor. Are you OK?”

  I stop turning in place and stomp my foot on the ground. Grrr, when will I learn to check the caller ID before answering? This is going to be especially awkward, as there was a decision made yesterday by me, myself, and I that we would not let Trevor know that we would be in town. It was a decision made by both my desperate, hard up, lustful self and my independent girl-power self. It also involved a good deal of talking to myself in an empty room while packing my bags.

  Yesterday, when I was filling my suitcases, it seemed like absolutely the right choice. I was positive that if I had sent him a text or called, assuming he would want to see me, I would have been met with a casual Oh yeah, I’m totally swamped right now kind of excuse. Because what else can someone like me possibly expect from someone like him?

  “Oh, hi. Hi, Trevor. Yes, hello.”

  “You sound weird. What’s going on? You’re lost?”

  I stamp my foot against the ground again and then shake a closed fist into the air, probably scaring the people around me. Except this is LA and anything I do will likely be regarded as boringly normal.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m just trying to find this restaurant. It should be right here, but it isn’t. I mean, for God’s sake, I’m on Third Street and it’s called Joan’s on Third for a reason, right?”

  “Joan’s on Third? Is that a chain now? That’s a superpopular place in LA.” His voice turns quieter and faraway, the confusion in his tone clear.

  I realize that I can either come clean and spit it out or delve into a twisted dissertation constructed of fibs and half-truths. Given that I probably subconsciously just dropped the name because deep down I want him to know I’m here, the idea of trying to build a web of lies about a fictitious chain restaurant is probably futile. Plus, every single time I hear his voice on the phone, where it’s right in my ear, I swear I can feel his breath on my neck. The notion makes my brain fuzzy and muddled.

  “No, I’m lost in downtown LA. I’m meeting a stylist named Kellan there. He said it was five minutes from my hotel and now I’m already ten minutes late.”

  “What? Are you fucking with me? You’re in LA. Now?”

  “Yes.” I wait for him to stammer out that evasive too bad I’m so unbelievably busy and we can’t get together excuse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? Why didn’t you call me? Or text me?” His voice has an accusatory tone in it that makes me feel about two feet tall. In the background, I can hear music stopping and starting. It sounds like he’s walking out of one room with the music and then into another, quieter space.

  “I don’t know. No big deal. I’m here for a few days to be on a talk show, but I didn’t expect anything from you.”

  I’m not sure how my voice got so small all of a sudden. Like I, or any of my other personalities, have anything to feel guilty about.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Well—”

  “Anon, woman! What do I have to do, hire a skywriter? Anon! Trevor doth like Kate! Trevor doth want to see her gorgeous little face again!”

  He’s pissed, but it’s hilarious, so I can’t do anything but laugh because he’s shouting the word “anon” and trying to sound hard at the same time. I find the nearest building and lean against it, rolling my head back to rest on the brick façade. It’s too warm out, my feet hurt, and I’m running annoyingly late.

  “Sorry. I just didn’t think you’d care. But right now, I need to find this restaurant. Please help me.”

  “Fine.” He sighs exaggeratedly. “Tell me where you are.”

  “The corner of Third and Harper. There’s a hipster coffee shop on one corner and some kind of ritzy hair place on the opposite corner.”

  “You went past it. Just turn back toward the coffee shop and go about three more blocks. Start walking, Mosely, I’ll stay on the phone with you till you get there.”

  “Thank you.” I start walking and realize we’re not saying anything. “Are we going to talk while I walk or what?”

  “Hold on. Let me get out of here.” I hear a couple of doors open and then it’s evident he is outside, a slight wind whispering in the phone and the sound of cars driving past. “OK. I’m at the studio. I went in the hall to shout ‘Anon!’ at you but my producers were looking at me like I’d fucking lost it.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “In the parking lot. Where no one can hear me since I’m about to act like a complete pussy. I need you to tell me if you’re interested in this or not. If you’re not, that’s fine. But if you’re in the same city as me and don’t think to let me know, I guess I’m more into it than you are.”

  He clears his throat at the end of his speech and then sighs again but this time the noise is more of a surrendering. I’m dumbstruck for a moment. Between the kisses, his biting innuendo, and now this, I’m starting to consider that my overactive brain may have been all wrong.

  “That isn’t it. I just . . .”

  “Fuck, Kate, spit it out. What’s the worst thing you can say?”

  Before I can stuff the words back down my gullet, I start babbling. “I think you’re sexy and amazing and funny and charming. Every time you call me on the phone or send me a completely random text, I spend the first thirty seconds confused, trying to figure out why you’re wasting your time with someone like me. Then the rest of the time, I’m just trying not to think about how good it felt when you were kissing me or touching me. So, yeah, I’m interested, but—”

  His voice cuts me off abruptly before I can either make a greater fool of myself or just hang up out of complete mortification.

  “Just tell me when I can see you. I want to see you.”

  “Tomorrow? I’m free in the morning. I just have to meet the production
crew for pretaping prep at noon.” I’m holding my breath, hoping he won’t change his mind instantly.

  “I normally go for a run in the morning—do you want to go? I know how you like running from me.” I can hear his tone lightening, a playful sarcasm returning to his voice and if I close my eyes, I can see his lovely pouty little mouth smirking at me.

  “True, I do enjoy that.”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. I’ve got a trail in mind that’s quiet and should put that tight little body of yours through the paces.”

  Yeesh. He’s so brazen I can’t even come up with a witty comeback. Instead, all I can do is stammer out, “I’m here. I’m at the restaurant.” I soften my voice so he knows I’m trying to make up for avoiding him. “Thank you for walking with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Trying to make my expression unreadable when I walk into the restaurant, I fail miserably. Kellan reads my face like a deck of tarot cards and before I can apologize for being late, he’s interrogating me about the “dewy sex face” I’m apparently making.

  9

  Kellan believes every event, and I mean every single one, has a perfect outfit to go with it. Instead of letting me go for a run in the stuff I normally wear, which are completely reasonable brand-name pieces like Nike and Under Armour, he drags me to a Lululemon store for an entirely new outfit. To sweat and run in.

  I nearly faint when he tosses a couple of pairs of running crops at me that each cost more than my shoes did. That is, until I put them on. In the dressing room, all I can do is sigh and then grin at my reflection in the mirror. Again, so freaking perfect. The tights coupled with a petal-soft long-sleeve top make me feel like I’ll easily be able to outrun Trevor and look good doing it.

  In the morning, I dress in the new gear with my hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and just a tiny bit of makeup on. I tried to resist the urge, but I couldn’t. Good luck showing me a girl who wants to look washed out on a run that is doubling as a date. After waking up entirely too early, watching the corny local morning news shows, eating some oatmeal from room service, and taking a long shower, I’m standing just outside the lobby waiting for Trevor.

  No matter what position I try, leaning against the building casually, sitting on a bench just adjacent to the door or standing stiffly on the sidewalk, I can’t seem to make my body behave. I’m fidgeting, my arms feel foreign to me, and my right leg has the distinct sensation of an unruly woodpecker. Perhaps if I had slept better, instead of rolling around in an unbearably hot hotel bed going over and over and over everything Trevor said on the phone, then I wouldn’t feel like a jack-in-the-box rigged for action.

  Finally, I sit on the bench and fold my legs up so I’m sitting cross-legged on it. I prop my elbows up on my knees and pick at my shoelaces. It seems to work, calming my brain and forcing my body to stay put for the moment. A couple of minutes later, a booming car stereo announces Trevor as he pulls his black, overpriced, European SUV to a stop at the curb. I can see him give a small wave before shutting the engine off and walking around from the driver’s side.

  Last night, while staring at the ceiling, I considered a million details of this moment. What he would say, what I would say, whether would we shake hands or hug, even debating if I should smile shyly or seductively. Unfortunately, I hadn’t given enough thought to how he would look, standing in front of me again, or the way it would feel to see him. Up close, again. Close enough to touch, smell, and gape at.

  Good grief. He looks like he just stepped out of an ad for something tremendously athletic. Like a walking REI ad. Relieved that a pair of sunglasses obscures my eyes, there is little chance he can see how I’m blatantly ogling every single part of him. Of course, as seems to be his style, there isn’t anything particularly flashy about his look: just a pair of running shorts, a long-sleeved tech shirt, black sunglasses, and a pair of trail shoes with low socks.

  The problem really is that I can see just enough while imagining too much. The shirt is a thin material that fits close enough to his body that the contours of his chest are evident, and his legs are pure muscle from his calves to his quads. Again, there are two reactions. Annoyance, because it seems so easy for him, and, embarrassingly, a drooling kind of lust. Suddenly, I consider far more interesting ways to burn a few calories than stupid, boring trail running.

  “Hey.”

  He smiles and it’s a huge grin, one that I’m surely mirroring back at him while standing up. All the while, my chest is fluttering with anxiety and self-consciousness. I’m sure it would be impossible for me to look as good as he does right now, Lululemon gear or not.

  Pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head, he gives my body the once-over and I quell the urge to smooth my hands over any invisible wrinkles in my outfit. As if anything could wrinkle these skintight pieces. Instead, I find somewhere to put my hands by tugging and then pulling down the length of my ponytail.

  “You look . . .” He pulls his lips into a small grin. “Ready to get your ass kicked.”

  “Bring it, Jenkins.” My lips curl and I put my hands on my hips in an effort to look intimidating. From behind him, in the backseat of his SUV, a dog props his head out the half-lowered door glass and lets out a single bark. It’s a sharp staccato noise, not menacing but certainly a bit demanding.

  “Meet Dax. He’s my usual running partner. I hope you like dogs.”

  Dax has his head hanging out the window in a playful but impatient way. It’s obvious this dog is used to getting his own way, and apparently, we’re not keeping up with his timetable. He’s some sort of adorable mutt, a goofy cattle dog with a bit of a blue heeler mixed in along the way.

  Trevor walks over to the door glass, gives the dog a scratch on the head, and kisses his snout. I do my best not to melt into a puddle of hormones right on the sidewalk. “Don’t be rude, Dax. I’m on a date, for Christ’s sake.”

  Trevor opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in. Dax slides his head over the side of the seat I’m in, sniffing around my neck with his cold nose, and I let out a small snorting giggle before reaching my arms back to nuzzle his head. When Trevor reaches the driver’s side and gets in, he shakes his head jokingly.

  “Jesus, Dax. I leave her alone with you for fifteen seconds and you’ve already got your disgusting muzzle all over her.”

  When we reach the trailhead, Dax is pacing in the back of the SUV and whining as Trevor pulls into the parking lot. It’s clear they come here a lot, and I’m quickly worried that Trevor’s familiarity with this trail is going to make me look like a complete amateur behind him. Deep down I want to put him to shame, but now I’m not so sure of myself. A cute outfit and good shoes will only take you so far. You still have to keep up.

  Partially hidden by a few clouds, the light sunshine makes the air perfect, just a bit brisk and cool. I busy myself by doing a few gentle stretches and look around to see if I can gauge how miserable this is going to be. The parking lot is empty; we’ve driven so far up and deep into the open space preserve that there is no city noise to compete with our shoes crunching on the gravel or the sound of Dax’s jingling dog collar. After letting Dax out of the car, Trevor tries to get him to drink a little from the bowl he pulls out of the back and fills with his water bottle. Dax obliges him with three quick gulping laps of water and then sits down with his hind legs shaking in anticipation.

  I move to stand in the middle of the parking lot and although I can hear him shuffling behind me, when Trevor steps in so close that his chest presses to my back, I flinch a little. He mumbles an apology and puts his hands on my hips for a moment. Raising his arm over my shoulder, he points to a barely visible trail to the east.

  “There’s a five-mile section that goes up that trail there, and then feeds into a loop. The first section is a bit of a killer, close to a mile on a decent grade, but once you hit the top, it flattens out for most of the way. Then, of course, it’s downhill on the way back.”

  My legs start
to feel shaky, a bit from his description of what lies ahead but mostly because he is standing too close, letting his sweet breath flow out over my neck. I tighten my belly in hopes I can respond without my voice cracking and giving me away.

  “Lead the way. I’m sure I can keep up.” As I answer, he puts his lips against my neck, grazing over my skin. Not kissing, just teasing. When my next inhale hitches audibly, I feel him pause, before his lips curve into a grin. My shoulders loosen and he steps somehow closer, pushing his hips into my backside.

  “Come on, let’s go or we’ll never make it out of this parking lot.” I step forward, away from the length of him, and start toward the trailhead without looking back.

  The hill is miserable, mostly because my muscles have zero chance to warm up before they start to burn on the ascent. The trail is relatively well groomed, but I still have to force my focus onto the path, picking out each step so I don’t turn an ankle and embarrass myself. Just as I start to feel my legs wanting to explode, we crest the top of a hill to a gorgeous trail. Each side is nestled by knee-high native grasses and a few wildflowers. The view is perfect, with one side sloping down to the city and the other leading up grassy hillsides dotted with small trees.

  The view in front isn’t bad, either. A never-ending series of finely tuned muscles sculpt Trevor’s calves, each stretched and toned by every graceful step he takes. I can just barely see glimpses of his back muscles under his shirt, evidence that each part of his body is perfectly honed.

  Dax is off leash, darting back and forth in front of Trevor, dancing between the trail, where he can gallop at full speed, and the tall grasses, where he can veer off to follow any scent that intrigues him. If he disappears for too long, Trevor lets out a short whistle and within seconds Dax appears and falls back in line on the trail. A few times Trevor slows and turns back to check on me, smiling when he sees that I’m keeping up. All I can do is thank the heavens we’re at sea level, where my lungs get all the air they want, compared to the altitude at home. Trevor maintains a tough pace and without that advantage, I would have started crying halfway up the trail.