Elements of Chemistry: Capture

by Penny Reid

  But now that we’d arrived at our destination and the restaurant was actually super swanky, I felt a renewed spike of discomfort. I was sure the dinner was going to cost more than half my paycheck. I couldn’t afford it because I’d just spent my whole paycheck on the awesome dress I was wearing.

  Distractedly, I let Martin take off my coat as my eyes moved over the setting. It was intimate. There were maybe six tables visible and all of them were mostly hidden behind privacy screens. The lighting was dim but not dark, cozy but not complacent. Everything screamed elegant boudoir—the plush red walls, the dark furniture, the heavy, striped, crimson velvet drapes. It was romantic.

  Scratch that.

  It wasn’t romantic.

  It was sexy.

  And it looked very exclusive, like you needed a membership card to gain entrance. I swallowed thickly, pressing my lips together, and gripping my clutch.

  Completely preoccupied by my distress, I surmised—based on the overt sensuality of the restaurant—that Martin had brought me here tonight in order to try the place before he took her here. Last week he’d said that tonight would be an experiment. Of course, he would want to test the restaurant before he brought his real date.

  Dejectedly, I realized there was no way I would be able to confront Martin during our dinner. I couldn’t be brave in a place like this, especially not when I was a stand-in for the girl he hoped to win. I suddenly wished he’d taken me bowling instead.

  So distracted by my dismay, I almost didn’t hear Martin’s whispered, “Fuck me…”

  I turned to look at him and found his eyes moving in a slow, stunned sweep up and down my dress—or rather, my body in my dress—and I cocked my head to the side. “That means you’re surprised, yes?”

  “Jesus Christ, Kaitlyn.” His eyes lifted and searched mine, then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “This dress makes you look like you’re naked under that black lace.”

  I shook my head and whispered back, wanting to defend myself, “I’m not naked, though. It’s just skin-colored silk. Here, stick your finger through one of the holes.”

  “Oh God,” he groaned and leaned away, shaking his head and gritting his teeth, his eyes on the floor as the maître d' approached.

  I grimaced, wondering if my dress was obscene. I tried to stop my blush before it started and took a step back, letting Martin deal with the man while I dealt with my embarrassment. I wished I’d changed, but it was too late now.

  Hell, I wished I’d stayed in the closet.

  Soon we were being led to a very private table, completely hidden from view by several cleverly placed screens. Martin’s hand was on my back and I felt stiff and unsteady. The maître d' moved to pull out my chair but Martin frowned at him, then stared him down until he backed away. Martin moved to pull out my chair; as he did, he looked fierce and a tad frustrated.

  I took my seat hurriedly then accepted the offered menu, only half paying attention as the maître d' recited the chef’s specials. I was too busy looking for prices. There were none. My stomach sunk.

  Then we were alone.

  I glanced up at Martin and found him concentrating on his menu. He was frowning and his eyes were darting over it too fast to be reading.

  “Are you upset?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  He moved just his eyes to mine, his jaw set.

  I continued, explaining, “I honestly thought the dress was fine. Sam told me it was fine. You know I’m not so good with dresses. This is the fourth dress I’ve owned in my entire life. The first time you saw me in a dress it was borrowed and—”

  Martin lifted his hand and waved away my explanation. “Kaitlyn, it’s…it’s not the dress. I mean, it is the dress, but it’s not the dress. Everything is fine. You look beautiful.”

  I twisted my lips to the side. “Is it obscene?”

  He gave me a half smile, it was shaded with regret. “No. It’s great. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I was just…surprised. You look very different tonight.” His eyes swept down then darted back up.

  I tried to return his smile. “You expected jeans and a concert T-shirt? Or my tuxedo?”

  His half smile turned into a full smile, though it was small. “I was hoping for the red pants.”

  I sighed my relief and laughed, feeling better, seeing he was being sincere and wasn’t upset.

  The grin disappeared from his face when I laughed and he stared at me. I felt my smile wane as I stared back. All sound was replaced by the rushing of my blood through my heart.

  Martin opened his mouth, was about to say something, but then the waiter appeared and broke the odd moment.

  Our server repeated the specials and asked for our drink orders. I indicated that the tap water in my glass was perfectly fine. Martin frowned at me then ordered a bottle of wine for the table. It had a lot of consonants and sounded really expensive. I was surprised when I wasn’t carded.

  When the man left, Martin considered me for a beat, then said, “Dinner is on me tonight.”

  I was sipping my water when he made this proclamation, so I swallowed quickly and shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re splitting it right down the middle.”

  “I’m not asking, Parker.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re f-friends. Friends split checks.” I stumbled over the word friends because it felt deceitful. I didn’t want to be his friend. I tried not to wince at the uncomfortable pang in my chest caused by my dishonesty.

  He huffed. “Then who doesn’t split checks?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone should split checks. I’ve never not split my check.”

  “Even on dates?” His tone was aloof as he asked the question, but I noted his eyes narrowed slightly.

  I considered how to respond, because I hadn’t been on a date. I didn’t consider the dates my gay high school boyfriend and I had gone on to be dates; besides Carter and I had always split the check.

  Martin and I had never gone on a date, and I’d turned down all offers from others since. I thought about being evasive and saying, Yes, even on dates, because that wasn’t technically lying.

  But it was stupid and childish and I didn’t want to play games, even though I’d just spent ten minutes inadvertently eavesdropping while hiding in the front closet of my apartment during which my roommate drilled him with twenty inappropriate questions.

  Distressed by this thought, I revealed, “I’ve never been on a date.”

  He was staring at me again. I stared back and gave him a tight smile.

  “You haven’t....? Since we broke up?”

  I shook my head. “No. There’s been no one.”

  “What about that guy in your band? Adam?”

  “Abram. And no. We’re not dating. We haven’t dated.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and he shifted in his seat. “I think he’s interested in you.”

  I shrugged, getting a weird premonition I was about to say something monumentally stupid in an effort to be honest, but without the wherewithal to stop myself. I was still caught in the tailwind of my earlier evening calamities.

  Calamities paired with my abandoned confrontation plans meant that there was no telling what would erupt from my mouth.

  “Oh?” I said, reaching for my water again.

  I could feel it coming; it was like the shark in Jaws…circling…circling.

  “Yeah. If you gave him even a small sign, I bet he’d ask you out.”

  I replaced my glass. “Well, I can’t date anyone right now.”

  “Why not?”

  Oh God, I was going to say it. Oh God.

  “Because I’m still in love with you.”

  There it is!

  Time slowed, then screeched to a halt.

  I’d surprised him.

  Hell, I’d surprised myself.

  Of course I wanted to tell him, but not like this.

  Not like this.

  Not. Like. This.

  NOT LIKE THIS!!!

  Then
all at once, time lurched forward.

  His mouth parted slightly and his eyes widened; they moved over my shoulder and searched the screen behind me. I’d caught him completely off guard. I could see he was shocked, stunned speechless.

  Meanwhile I was feeling the aftereffects of handing him my heart. I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. I was so definitely and definitively NOT PREPARED!

  I felt immediately bruised and dirty. As well, I was experiencing honesty and courage remorse. The words hung out there, like underwear with skid marks on a clothesline.

  The waiter returned at just that moment and asked if we were ready to order. Martin blinked furiously then turned his attention to the man and I saw he’d mostly recovered. He cleared his throat before gesturing to the menu to ask a question.

  I stared at him while he ordered an appetizer, my stomach falling further with every calm syllable from his mouth. Meanwhile the single word running around my brain was: escape. Escape. ESCAPE!

  Martin’s eyes lifted, connected with mine, and in that split second I could read nothing of his thoughts—probably because mine were in such turmoil.

  The waiter turned, poised to ask me if I wanted anything. Instead I stood abruptly, my chair almost falling backward.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Martin first, then turned to the waiter. “I’m sorry, where is the ladies’ room?” My voice was higher pitched than I would have liked, but I wasn’t going to complain because the fact I could speak at all was a miracle.

  The waiter smiled politely and had just finished his instructions when Martin stood as well, drawing my attention to him.

  His eyes were narrowed, like he suspected foul play, and he said, “Kaitlyn…” His tone held a warning, and he paired this with an almost imperceptible head shake.

  I gave him a tight smile, not quite making eye contact because…devastation.

  I nodded noncommittally as I darted out of the privacy screens. “I’ll be right back.”

  But that was a lie.

  There was no way in hell I was going back.

  In that moment I knew with a sudden, implacable force that I had been right. I would never be able to be just friends with Martin Sandeke. I would never be able to see him and not want everything from him. I would always be drawn to him. I also knew that being with Martin wasn’t necessary for my happiness, but I could never be happy as just his friend.

  I was passionate about him, and I couldn’t be unselfish or reasonable or calm where he was concerned.

  As I threaded my way through the twists and turns of the screens, I felt the first stinging tears behind my eyes. Finally I made it to the front and I plucked my coat from the rack by the front door, then bolted out of the restaurant.

  My feet didn’t hurt, but they would, because I was going to have to walk at least four blocks to find a taxi.

  CHAPTER 14

  Nuclear Chemistry

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head and blew my nose.

  It was stuffy.

  I’d been crying.

  But I wasn’t crying now.

  Yet my nose was still stuffy.

  “No.”

  “At least tell me what happened!” Sam shook her fists at me in frustration, grumbling, “I’m dying here. You have to give me something. Do I need to take a hit out on Martin Sandeke? I will, you know. I have some Russian cousins who need an outlet for their aggression.”

  I gave a pitiful laugh and shook my head. “No. It’s not his fault. I just…I just said something stupid, then regretted it, then left.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes moved over me. Sam seemed to be planning her strategy as I pulled off the shoes she’d loaned me and placed them next to the bed.

  After escaping from the restaurant I flagged down a taxi six blocks away, started to cry, then paid the exorbitant cab fare, and started to cry even harder.

  I snuck into the apartment. Sam didn’t hear me as she was singing loudly in the shower, then lay on my bed and cried. I cried into my pillow, quietly, just like old times.

  Despite my carefulness, Sam heard me and came to the door dressed only in a towel.

  Now we were in my bedroom and I was a pitiful mess. So much for trying to be strong on my own.

  “I never want to see him again,” I said to no one. “Just thinking about the possibility makes me want to join the Peace Corps and fly to a far off third world country. Hopefully they’ll have closets.”

  “What did you say? It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “I told him I was still in love with him.”

  “Oh…oh!” She gripped her towel tighter, her eyes large as saucers. “Holy shit. What did he say?”

  “Nothing. He ordered an appetizer.”

  “What?” Now she sounded pissed.

  “So I got up and excused myself for the bathroom, but I left instead. He was probably relieved when he figured out that I left. God, I am so stupid.” My chin wobbled again and I held my forehead with my fingertips.

  Yes, I felt remorse and the pain of rejection, but I also felt relief. At least now it was over. At least now I knew for certain. Despite the clumsiness of my confession I’d finally freed myself.

  Now I could move on and stop wishing. I could pick my crumpled heart off the floor and stop stepping all over it.

  Sam took a deep breath and was possibly about to give me some words of wisdom, but a pounding on the front door interrupted her.

  We both sat up straight and stared at each other.

  Then we heard Martin’s raised voice.

  “Kaitlyn, open the door. I know you’re in there.”

  I stood abruptly, my hands balled into fists, a thunder bolt of white hot mortification slicing through me. I was suddenly sweating.

  “Oh my God. What do I do?” I whispered, which was silly because he wouldn’t be able to hear me all the way in my bedroom.

  Sam looked at me, stunned. “Open the door…?”

  I shook my head frantically. “No. No, I can’t. I can’t face him. Please don’t make me.”

  She gave me a sad look. “Oh, Kaitlyn—”

  “I mean it. Open this door,” he bellowed from the hall. He sounded really, really angry.

  “I’ll just tell him to go away, that you don’t want to see him,” Sam offered.

  “No. That won’t work. I have to hide.” I nodded at this thought because I was crazy. “Tell him I’m not here.”

  “You want me to let him in?”

  “Yes. You get the door. Tell him I’m not back yet. He’ll…well, he might want to wait for a bit, but you tell him to leave. He won’t stay in the apartment if you—”

  “I’m going to count to ten and then I’m going to break this door down.”

  We both jumped at the sound of his threat.

  Sam shook her head, her mouth curved in a frown of knowing better. “He won’t be able to break the door down,” she whispered, “it’s reinforced steel.”

  “Okay, I’ll go hide—”

  “One.”

  “—in the front closet.”

  “Two.”

  “You let him in.”

  “Three”

  “Tell him I’m—”

  “Four.”

  “-—not here, not back yet.”

  “Five.”

  “He’ll leave.”

  “Six.”

  “Then—”

  “Seven.”

  “—we’ll be all clear.”

  “Eight.”

  She nodded her understanding and I tiptoed out of my room, running as lightly as possible. Sam loitered behind.

  “Nine.”

  Sam called out, “Just a minute, Sandeke. I was in the shower. Hold your ball sack!”

  I went to the hall closet where I’d been hiding earlier and shut the door behind me, pressing myself backward into the folds of the coats. My hands were shaking.

  “Ten.”

  I heard the door swing open.

  I heard his s
teps thunder into the apartment.

  I heard Sam shut the door.

  I heard her follow him, shouting, “What are you doing?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Sam...” His voice sent a shiver down my spine. He was really mad. I didn’t think he’d be angry.

  “What?”

  “Where is Kaitlyn?”

  “Why? What did you do to her?” Sam was also angry.

  They sounded faraway, so I guessed they were in my room. I also noticed Sam was trying not to lie if at all possible.

  “I know she’s here, Sam.”

  His steps came closer then farther away. In my mind’s eye I saw him marching into Sam’s bedroom, coming up empty, then moving on to the bathroom, kitchen, then living room.

  “If she’s here, then where is she, Martin?” Sam was staying on his heels. They walked past the closet again. It sounded like he was going back to my room.

  There was quiet and I held my breath, clutching my hands in front of me. Then a really terrible, terrible thing happened. It made my blood run cold and my entire body freeze.

  “If she’s not here, Sam…” his tone was glacial, beyond incensed, “then why are the shoes she was wearing earlier next to her bed?”

  Sam said nothing. I covered my face with my hands and closed my eyes. I was such an idiot. In the dictionary next to the word idiot was a picture of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered because he was going to find me and then I was going to expire from a broken heart and embarrassment.

  Embarrassment, mortification, chagrin, unease, discomposure… GAH! The synonym game wasn’t helping!

  I heard footsteps.

  He was coming.

  I heard a hand on the doorknob.

  He was there.

  I heard the door swing open.

  It was him.

  I heard the light click on.

  I couldn’t open my eyes. I’d exhausted my courage earlier in the restaurant. I had none left.

  But when I heard the door shut, I dropped my hands and I found myself face-to-face with a very irate Martin Sandeke.

  That’s right. He was in the closet with me and he’d just closed the door. I stared at him. I knew I looked panicked because some of his irateness ebbed and became cautiousness.