That Sexy Stranger

by Nadia Lee

  Exhaling roughly, I take a moment to calm down. Luke doesn’t need to see me in my temper. Finally, when I feel more…peaceful, I stretch my neck left and right and turn around. Then I see Luke saying something to the waitress, his expression cordial but cool in a way I can’t quite put my finger on.

  “Hey,” I say, trotting over to him.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Yes.” It’s already after nine. “Where’s the bill?”

  “I took care of it.”

  I scowl. “You shouldn’t have.” I have a firm rule about not letting the guy buy me dinner until at least our fourth date. That way, I don’t owe anything.

  “Indulge me. I asked you out.”

  I give him a look. Is he going to be like my brothers, who throw a tantrum if I try to pay? Probably. His jaw’s set, and there’s a stubborn glint in his eyes.

  “My treat next time,” I say. “Agree or I’m going to make a scene.”

  He smirks. “Fine.”

  We leave the restaurant together. It’s frigid outside, the wind instantly chilling my cheeks and knees. I sidle closer, and he puts an arm around my shoulders. I luxuriate in his warmth and scent. I could definitely get used to this. We should just go to his place…unless he has roommates. Wait, he said he got an Airbnb…so he probably has the whole place to himself. We could go to my place, but Michelle’s going to be back later, and that might be awkward for him. Or not. Hmm. Hard to decide, since I never bring guys home. It’s always more efficient to sleep over at my date’s, so I can leave whenever I feel like it.

  Besides, it’s better I go to his place so we can set the pace for the relationship. I don’t stay the night at a guy’s house without my overnight stuff, and I didn’t pack anything for this date, since I didn’t know how things would go. Sex, maybe; staying the night, no. Not yet, anyway.

  Luke opens the door to his Porsche, and I slide in. He gets behind the wheel. The engine purrs, and the car moves off smoothly.

  “In the interests of being honest, I overheard your conversation,” he says after a moment.

  I tilt my head. I thought I was the stalker in any given relationship, but maybe Luke’s the same. Should this go under pros or cons? “Did you follow me?” I ask.

  “Nope. I was going to use the bathroom…but you were talking there, outside.” He shoots a glance my way.

  I review the conversation. I don’t think I said anything too mean. Sometimes I can get carried away in an effort to make my point with extra-obtuse men. “Sorry you had to hear that. You have no idea how much I wish I weren’t on call this weekend.” I pout. “But don’t worry. He won’t be texting or calling again.”

  “Are your exes always this persistent?”

  “Not always.” Actually, most are pretty annoying, especially when they just refuse to accept the fact that when I end a relationship, it’s over. I don’t do second chances or angsty reconsideration. It’s totally pointless. People don’t change. And no relationship is worth an encore of heartache. “I’d say about half, maybe a little more.” I shake my head. “Let’s not talk about them, though. They’re all in the past—and completely irrelevant.” Besides, don’t we have more important things to think about? Like…how to proceed, now that dinner’s over, we’re on the same page, and my phone’s quiet?

  Luke opens his mouth to say something, then his phone starts to buzz. I swallow an exasperated sigh. It’s unfair of me to feel resentful, although I’m beginning to hate technology. It’s supposed to bring people together, not push us apart.

  Luke looks at the screen and scowls. Then, very quietly, he says, “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I need to be out of town.”

  “Like…now?”

  He nods, his jaw flexing.

  “Whatever for?” I don’t want to be intrusive, but like he said… Damn it. This is our first date. I expected it to go somewhere beyond just dinner interrupted multiple times by my idiot ex. At least an encore of the kiss. Maybe a couple extra bases, even if we didn’t go all the way.

  Luke’s frown deepens. Finally, he says, “It’s…complicated.” He sighs.

  Translation: he doesn’t want to talk about it.

  A teeny part of me wants him to share, but I get it. We’re a new couple, and seriously, even in old and mature relationships, people want to keep some secrets. As long as he doesn’t betray me, I’m fine with it. Or so I tell myself.

  “Okay. Call me.” I give him my number.

  He squeezes my hand, although his smile doesn’t get very far. “I will.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Luke doesn’t call or text me all weekend, although he does send a box of dark chocolate. Chocolate is usually a good sign, but there’s no note about a second date. And no Italian verse. So it could very well be an awkward “I rethought everything, thanks, bye!” gift. I can’t imagine that many guys being happy after the way our first date went.

  Damn Gerald to hell.

  Luke showed remarkable restraint by not breaking my phone, because I totally would have if I’d been him. Or maybe the text he got on Saturday informed him he has some terminal illness, and he wants to avoid burdening me with it. Life’s too short for a love that’s doomed from the very beginning.

  Yeah, right. I snort at how ridiculous I’m being. This isn’t Me Before You, which I watched with Michelle on Sunday.

  Besides, if Luke were really terminally ill, he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me on Friday. And because I’m a perverse bitch, I’m disappointed he doesn’t join me on Monday as I do a medium-intensity run. Shouldn’t he be back in town by now? What could be taking so long? Now I wish I’d gone all NSA on him in the car.

  Or maybe the call was really a kind of Bailey. Jan and I developed an app we named Bailey, generally used to cut shitty dates short. A “friend” calls and has some sort of emergency, necessitating an immediate ejection from the date. Although our app isn’t available in stores, it’s possible Luke has something similar. It’s not like the concept is super revolutionary.

  Anyway, if Luke and I are over even before we started, I’m sending him the money for half the bill at the Japanese restaurant. No matter how I try to shove aside my annoyance, the way things seem unsettled between us still bothers me, like a loose filling that won’t come out. I make a mental note to contact him after work on Thursday if I don’t hear from him sooner, even though I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say…yet. It’s frustrating how indecisive he makes me. Men just don’t take up this much of my mental energy. It isn’t that he sucks it all up like a big black hole. It’s more like a continual low hum of energy sapping, with an occasional spike here and there. I can’t seem to find the switch to turn it off.

  And, of course, Luke stays radio silent until Thursday. Since I’m not quite sure what I want to say to him, I don’t contact him, even though I told myself I would.

  After a quick dinner consisting of leftover Chinese food, I settle on my bed and type up my quarterly career goals for the meeting with Tim during the first week of March. I prefer we don’t have everything written out—more flexible that way, since my mind always wanders over to new and shiny skills—but HR likes paper trails. They’re like an inefficient government agency that believes nothing counts unless it exists in explicit binary bits.

  Although I enjoy my job as an app developer, I do want to learn more about systems architecture. I make a note of that under future goals and areas of interest.

  That task finished, I save the doc and lean back against my pillows. My gaze lands on the nearly empty box of chocolate, and my thoughts turn to Luke. It’s been long enough that he should have contacted me to let me know what he’s doing and make arrangements for our next date. I told myself I’d initiate contact if he didn’t, but I wonder if that’s the smart thing to do. And it annoys me he makes me second-guess myself. I’ve never done that with any other guy. Not even David.

  The easiest thing would be to wa
it until Friday evening for Luke to call or text me. If he doesn’t, I should get the hint and move our relationship into the “over” category. Based on the way he pursued me, I don’t think it’s likely for him to go silent like this unless he’s no longer interested.

  The whole drama with Gerald probably turned Luke off. If the situation were reversed, I’d run the other way, too. And even though I thought the kiss last Friday was hot as hell, maybe he didn’t think it was worth putting up with my ex’s psychotic attempt to get me back. (Death is seriously too good for Gerald.)

  After all, I’m apparently salt—thank you, besties. I don’t know if table salt reacts with anything. The sexiest thing I can associate it with is curing meat, except…that’s totally not sexy.

  Do I want to “cure” Luke? The idea is so ridiculous that I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the thought. I should Google and see if there’s some other, sexier chemical compound I can be. Having Michelle and Jan label me is a mistake. What do they know about chemistry?

  I pull up Google and type “volatile and sexy compounds.” Just as I’m about to hit enter, my phone buzzes, and I glance at it. It’s a text.

  –Luke: You in bed, raven girl?

  Well, well, well. My mouth twitches, and I end up grinning, all my irritation forgotten. I start typing.

  –Sammi: Yes. But wide awake, working from home. You?

  –Luke: Been busy.

  –Sammi: Are you back in town?

  –Luke: I wish. Won’t be back until later.

  –Sammi: When?

  –Luke: Don’t know yet.

  I wait for him to elaborate, but realize he’s not going to after a couple of minutes. How busy can a freelance nomad be? I recall the way he cut our date short so suddenly, and a vague sense of unease starts to grow in my belly. I try to be open-minded. I really do. But I’d be lying if I said I was okay with him not telling me what he’s been up to while away for almost a week. Most guys would be blabbering by now, trying to explain why it was unavoidable. He doesn’t even make the effort.

  Well then. I can prod—subtly.

  –Sammi: I thought you had research to do. You finished with that at Sweet Darlings?

  –Luke: No, but this was an emergency.

  I wait, but that’s it. Argh. I so want to go CIA on him, but we only had one date. Why can’t he be a Facebook addict who puts everything on social media?

  Because you would’ve never dated him then, my mind points out. You hate men who talk too much on Facebook.

  Yeah, okay. But getting info out of them wouldn’t have been like trying to mine gold on Mars.

  My phone rings with a call from Luke. Ah-ha! Maybe the explanation is too long for text. “Tired of typing already?” I tease.

  “No,” he says, his tone warm. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  And just like that, he slays me. Maybe I’m too easy. I don’t care; I just miss hearing his voice, too. It’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard…makes me think of clean sweat and rumpled sheets.

  “Did you like the chocolate?” he asks.

  “I did, but I would’ve enjoyed a memo more.”

  “They were supposed to deliver a note from me too.”

  I relax against the pillows. “It wasn’t in the box.”

  “Bastards.” He sighs with exasperation. “They just don’t deliver like they used to.”

  I grin. Somehow I can picture him mildly annoyed, a small frown pinching his eyebrows together, as though I’ve known him for a long time. “I don’t think they’ll refund you for it, though.”

  “Probably not.”

  “And for the interests of full disclosure, I’ve been working with David this week.”

  “I thought you don’t do marketing.” He sounds a little irritated. If I didn’t know better, I’d label it jealousy.

  “I don’t,” I say, studying my fingers. “I’m working on the specs for some features his team wants.”

  “Isn’t he too high-level to work on something like this?”

  “Probably, but…” I shrug even though Luke can’t see me. I’m probably being petty, but I don’t want to add that they’re David’s baby and that’s why he’s involved personally, if Luke’s not going to elaborate on what he’s been doing.

  “I don’t like it.”

  Too bad. I don’t like it that he’s out of town for a week without an explanation either, but I’m dealing with it. He can deal too. “Jealous?”

  “Of course. It’s unfair he gets to see you more than me.”

  “Then come back. Problem solved. Besides, you know I’m not doing anything with David. I meant what I said at the restaurant.”

  “I know.”

  As the silence stretches, I feel a bit bad. He called because he wanted to hear my voice, and I’m being a brat…even though I have a good reason. I guess this is why Luke asked for trust on our first date, but that doesn’t mean I’m okay with the no-explanation part.

  Wait… Is this a test to see how far my trust goes? No. That’s sort of stupid, because it’s the kind of stunt that can kill a relationship. And Luke’s not stupid.

  My gaze lands on my laptop, and because I apparently lost my filter, my mouth blurts out, “Hey, do you think I’m salt or water?”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Salt,” he says. “Nobody would ever call you bland.”

  True enough. But since I’m feeling contrary… “But water sustains life.”

  “So does salt.”

  “If I’m salt, what are you?”

  “What do you want me to be?”

  “I don’t know. The problem is, salt has no interesting chemical reaction to anything.”

  He snorts. “Whoever told you that didn’t know their chemistry. If you add salt to fire, the flame turns orange. And if you dump molten salt into water, it creates an explosion.”

  My jaw drops. “No—way.”

  “Look it up, raven girl.”

  “Salt doesn’t melt.”

  He chuckles. “Everything has a melting point. Salt’s just happens to be very high…and it requires delicate handling.”

  I run my tongue along my lower lip. “Think you can melt salt?”

  “Oh, I know I can.”

  His soft purr makes my clit tingle. I clench my thighs and consider phone sex for about a second before deciding against it. I want our first time to be face to face, with his dick gliding inside me.

  “You know where I live,” I say. “Come on by when you’re back in town.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday rolls around. The weather’s perfect—crisp and sunny—and Tim hasn’t given me any overtime work. As a small sign of appreciation for being on call last weekend, I don’t expect him to give me any for another weekend unless something major implodes.

  After my run, I shower, then drink coffee and munch on one of Michelle’s granola bars while checking email and Facebook. This is my favorite time of the week, when everything’s quiet. Michelle won’t be up until at least eleven, and when Jan used to actually live with us—rather than her now-fiancé—she didn’t get up until ten.

  Since I’m done with Free Radicals, I check R.C. Miller’s page feed for any news about the sequel. Although he puts out four books a year, I feel like he’s writing too slow.

  Okay, okay, I’m being a jerk by calling him slow. He probably doesn’t sit on his ass all year long. It’s just that I can read one of his books in, like, a day, even though I know it takes him longer to just type up all those words. If you include thinking time, he probably needs months to write a book, but hey, a fan wants what a fan wants. I pout as I realize he won’t be publishing a new book until the end of May. That’s so unfair.

  Sniffing, I preorder the book, then change into a black sweater and skinny jeans. Alexandra Darling’s hosting a surprise party at her home to celebrate Jan and Matt’s engagement. I told her I’d come by an hour early to help her set things up, because stuf
f like this is part of the best-friend contract…even though she said I didn’t have to. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and run pink lip gloss over my mouth then grab an Uber for Alexandra’s house.

  It’s a big place for one person, but I suspect she keeps it mostly for family parties. God knows she loves hosting events to get her family together. The two-story house doesn’t have any of the Darlings’ usual fancy cars parked in front.

  “Welcome, Sammi! You look lovely today.” Alexandra hugs me, her gray eyes warm.

  I hug her back. “So do you.”

  She’s casually chic in a navy cardigan, mint ankle-length dress, and nude ballet flats. She celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday not too long ago, but if it weren’t for her silver bob and the fine lines on her skin, you would never suspect she was that old. If I had to bet on who had more energy—Alexandra or a six-month-old puppy—my money would be on her.

  She leads me into her home. It’s elegant and warm, with lots of earth tones, Italian tiles, and comfy couches and seats. The open kitchen shines with state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances.

  One of Jan’s cousins, Cora, waves at me. Just like her older supermodel sister, she’s gorgeous: perfect bone structure, shiny black hair and amber eyes. However, unlike her sister, she works at Sweet Darlings Inc. in the finance department. Since it’s our day off, she’s in a Yale sweater, denim skirt and killer boots. I’ve never seen her in bad shoes, ever. She’s single—crazy, right?—because men are either too blind or too chicken to ask her out.

  She gestures at a plethora of bottles on the marble-top island. “Want something to drink? We have rosé, chardonnay, cocktails…”

  “A mimosa, please.”

  She grins. “Excellent choice.” She puts the drink together and hands me a chilled glass bubbling with the orange liquid. “So. You and my cousin.” She waggles her well-shaped eyebrows. “Any progress? Heard you guys work together.”

  I take a sip. Freshly squeezed OJ really elevates the cocktail. It doesn’t hurt that Alexandra doesn’t believe in cheap bubbly. “David and I are totally not at the moment.”