by Olivia Luck
“Yes, of course. We have a spot reserved for your party on the rooftop. Can I escort you to the locker room or would you prefer to go directly to the pool?”
“We know the way to the roof. Thanks.” Clearly annoyed with the attention paid to his girlfriend, Cameron speaks shortly.
My sister’s boyfriend glances in my direction and cocks his head toward a bank of elevators. Sometimes, I wonder if it bothers Cameron that I tag along on his outings with Violet. Not all of them, of course, but we spend many nights together as a threesome. Not that kind of threesome, more like I’m the third wheel to their perfectly balanced bicycle. But neither Cam nor Violet ever makes me feel like a burden. In fact, they often plan group activities with their friends just to include me. I have no proof that this is the case, but all the dinners, movies, and invitations to sports outings are a little too convenient.
“That guy is the biggest kiss ass,” Cameron grumbles when we’re safely in the elevator. Violet and I share a silent, charged look and burst into giggles.
“You are an international celebrity. Of course, he’s impressed,” I tease.
“And so damn sexy,” Violet adds jokingly—although I know she means it.
Cameron raises his eyes toward the ceiling in mock exasperation. “You Harper girls are a handful.”
We’re all laughing when we exit the elevator and make our way past a restaurant with retractable glass windows that open onto an outdoor area with bistro tables and couches. The roof boasts a stainless steel lap pool surrounded by striped daybeds, firepits, curved restaurant booths, and the sweeping skyline views. Like the good-looking guy phenomenon (minus Oscar Alexander), I’m no longer stunned speechless by the sight of opulence. Visiting event venues and spending time with members of the Chicago Scrapers professional hockey team has conditioned me to supress my small-town awe.
“There they are,” Violet says pointing at a cluster of daybeds in the furthermost corner of the deck. She leads Cameron and me through a maze of furniture and sun-worshipping socialites. I keep my eyes glued on Cameron’s back as I feel the pinpricks of anxiety emerge on my fingertips. At times like this, I wish I were a different person, someone more like my brave sister who can strike up a conversation with anyone.
“Hey, guys.” Violet cheerfully announces our arrival.
Silently, I coach myself. You can do this. These are Cameron and Violet’s friends. I’ve only met two of these five guys. They are Cameron’s teammates on the Scrapers. Tucker Smithson is a right wing, whatever that means, and is always friendly to me. Ralph Hoss is a defenseman, and like Tucker, I met him at one of Cameron’s barbecues. Both are friendly, but still, I stand awkwardly to the side as my sister and her boyfriend greet their friends. As much as Violet and Cameron welcome me into their social circle, I find myself on the fringe. It’s not that Violet’s friends aren’t nice to me—they are all welcoming and kind. It’s that I don’t have the courage to spend time with anyone unless my sister invites me. I want to make my own friends. Add it to the column of reasons why I’m thrilled to volunteer at Mentoring Chicago.
“Iris—almost didn’t see you there. Why you hiding?” Tucker steps over the legs of the guy on the corner and envelops me into a friendly bear hug. I relax a little and wrap my arms around him briefly.
Shrugging, I fib. “I wasn’t hiding. Cameron’s so big you didn’t see me behind him. One of the drawbacks of being short.”
With an arm still casually draped around my shoulders, Tucker angles me toward the group. “Guys, this is Iris, Violet’s sister. Iris, that’s Kevin, Wilson, Marc, and you know Ralph already.”
With a shy smile and a flicker of my fingers, I mumble my hello.
“What was that, gorgeous? I didn’t hear you,” the guy named Kevin calls out. I fight the urge to take a step backward. God, I’m inexperienced. Any attention from a guy and I curl up into myself.
Grow up, Iris! You’re twenty-seven years old.
I clear my throat as though a frog was the reason they couldn’t hear me. “Nice to meet you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Aviator sunglasses mask his eyes, but I can tell by Kevin’s wicked grin that he’s one of those shameless flirts. The other guys are friendly enough and don’t show much interest in me.
At first, I sit next to Tucker, listening to their conversation about the upcoming football season. Apparently, Kevin is the rookie quarterback for the Chicago Wind. The Campbell family owns both the Scrapers and the Wind. From the conversation, I gather the hockey and football players are frequently thrown together because of their shared parentage.
“Fuck me, it’s hot out,” Kevin gripes.
Inwardly, I frown. Curse words are a major turn-off of mine. Mother always said a lady never swore, and Father said bad words were the working of the devil. Their training forever turned me off expletives.
Kevin swaggers away from the group, followed by his teammates, Wilson and Marc. Violet slides onto the seat next to me and bumps my shoulder with hers.
“You’re never going to get an even tan wearing that cover-up.”
“This bathing suit is too skimpy,” I mutter.
Violet lifts an eyebrow and glances down at her own string bikini. “Really?” She leans in closer to me, ignoring the rest of the conversation around us. “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course,” I scoff.
“Then you know that when I say this, it’s not because I’m trying to bully you into being someone you’re not.” Violet’s stare carries intensity, and I nod in acknowledgment. “Don’t hide. You are lovely, Iris, and I’m not saying that because I’m your older sister. You are a treasure.”
“All this over a cover-up?” The joke falls flat because both of us know she’s talking about more than a colorful, semi-sheer dress.
“The Mercer Club rooftop probably isn’t the best spot for a heart to heart. I care about you and want you to be confident you made the right choice by moving here.” The love shining in Violet’s eyes makes my eyes sting until I blink furiously.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that this was the right decision,” I say confidently. Violet smiles, but her worry is obvious in her expression. Guilt washes over me. My sister gave me a job and a place to live—a chance at a real life and not one orchestrated by my father.
I grab my sister’s hand and weave our fingers together. “Cameron’s right; we Harper girls are a handful. What a pair we make.” She squeezes my hand.
Glancing nervously around the deck, I realize my anxiety is for nothing. No one is paying any attention to me. If the other Mercer patrons were interested in anyone, it would be the professional athletes in our group, not the mousy blonde. Reluctantly, I tug the dress over my head and accept Violet’s offered sunscreen.
“Anyone want a drink?” Cameron asks. A waiter stands poised with a notepad.
“Iced tea for me, please,” I say.
“Of the Long Island variety, right?” Tucker loves to goad me because I don’t drink.
“Maybe next time,” I say lightly though I don’t particularly like being teased on this topic. It sends me straight back to high school when I was endlessly mocked as the do-gooder pastor’s daughter.
“Kevin’s right. It’s boiling. I’m going to dip my toes in the water. Be back in a minute.” I hop to my feet and skirt away from the setup. I’m terrible at the socializing thing. No matter what I do, I come off as Violet’s awkward younger sister.
At the edge of the pool, I take a seat and plunk my legs into the water until it comes calf high. The burst of refreshing coolness relaxes my jangled nerves. I tilt my head toward the sun. Vitamin D sure isn’t visible to the naked eye, but it feels like the rays are energizing every single of my skin cells.
“You were born to wear that bikini, gorgeous.” My chin snaps down, and I watch Kevin swim toward where I sit until he is close. Too close. He places a hand on either side of my legs, lazily kicking his legs behind him.
Ugh. I may not have much e
xperience with men—okay, no experience with men—but I know enough to recognize a player when he swims next to me. Luckily, Kevin doesn’t touch me, though his fingertips come dangerously close to my outer thighs.
“That sounds like an underestimate of my skill set.” I inch backward on the concrete lip of the pool.
“Tell me more about your skill set. I’d love to take a closer look,” Kevin purrs, and I unsuccessfully hide a shudder. He is something else.
“One iced tea for Ms. Harper.” The voice interrupting Kevin’s overture sounds incredibly familiar. Shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand, I glance upward and do a double take. Oscar Alexander looms over me wearing a white V-neck shirt that hugs all the right places. This man sure knows how to wear a t-shirt well. He crouches down, and I see he’s holding my beverage. His lips curl upward displaying a row of white teeth as he grins at me as if we’re old friends. My breath catches in my throat. Man, oh man, he is handsome, like a movie star.
“Thanks, bro. We’re in the middle of something here.” Kevin’s words sever the moment, and I glance back to where he glowers at Oscar.
“Was I interrupting you?” Oscar directs the question to me. Dumbly, my head shakes back and forth.
“No.”
“The lady has spoken. See you later, bro,” Oscar emphasizes the word with a sardonic twist of his lips.
Maybe Kevin says something, maybe he doesn’t, but I don’t hear a word because I’m staring at Oscar’s lips. Lips! What is with me? Blushing furiously, I glance back at the water.
“Your drink,” Oscar says casually. The ice clinks together when he sets the plastic cup down in the space between us. Oscar mirrors me, slipping his legs into the pool and bracing his hands behind his back.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“In over your head a little there, huh, Aurora?”
A wrinkle forms between my eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s something inherently Aurora about you, Iris.”
Something in his tone doesn’t sound complimentary. “As in Sleeping Beauty?” One of my eyebrows rises on its own. “I'm not following.” More importantly, why don’t I feel the crippling shyness around Oscar that I do with other men?
“Of the Brothers Grimm variety, they called her Briar Rose. Golden and sweet. Those big doe eyes don’t hide a thing. Every emotion is plain as day. It’s quite refreshing, actually.”
“That sounds like a compliment wrapped in an insult.”
Oscar chuckles, a deep sound vibrating from low in his chest that makes me shiver despite the heat.
“Glad I could provide you with some afternoon entertainment. Thanks for the drink, but I think I’ll go back to my friends.” I grab the plastic cup and move to stand when Oscar grabs my wrist.
“Wait.” My body freezes at his touch.
“Come on, Aurora, I’m having a little fun. Nothing malicious. Sit with me.” My pulse hammers where his thumb and forefinger touch my skin. Unnerved by his closeness, I wiggle out of his grasp.
With a huff, I settle back onto the concrete. The iced tea trickles down my throat when I take a swallow tangy beverage. When Oscar sits silently without comment, I begin to get antsy.
“The more I think about it, the more I dislike the name Aurora.”
“Tough.”
The nerve! Whipping my head to the side, I stare at him only to find Oscar’s lips lifting into another one of those sexy grins.
“I respectfully request you don’t use it anymore,” I say stiffly.
That causes Oscar to full on laugh. “You’re funny.”
Embarrassment makes me shift awkwardly. No matter what I say, it somehow comes out twisted. “I don’t mean to be.”
“Relax.” Oscar gently leans into me, and I realize my shoulders are nearly touching my ears. “You looked like you needed saving from the young quarterback.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” I say slowly, “but he wasn’t threatening me.”
“Maybe not, but you looked like a zebra confronted by a lion.”
Now, I’m full on frowning. He’s blatantly insulting me, and I don’t like it. “I’m not that naïve. I come from a small town, but I can hold my own.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Pushing off my hands, I sit up straight and glare at him. “Maybe I’m a touch naïve, but you, Oscar Alexander, are arrogant. Who are you to tell me when I need rescuing? That’s really quite rude of you.” I realize then my heart is pumping furiously in my chest as frustration zips through my veins. “Do not presume to know me.”
Oscar leans in close; his spicy scent fills my nostrils, and his cinnamon-colored eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know your type.”
Leaning closer, I pin him with my most ferocious stare. “And what type is that?”
His eyes crinkle at the side. This man really has some nerve. “Innocent. Saccharine as the sugar in the cupcakes she bakes. Giving. Loyal. A romantic. Honest. And hopelessly trusting.”
I gape like a goldfish. How dare he! “You forgot to add that I’m a talented baker and intelligent,” I say haughtily.
Oscar tilts his head back, a deep belly laugh making his shoulders shake. “Shame on Violet for hiding you from me for this long.”
As annoyed as Oscar makes me, a little smile plays on my lips when I watch him laugh. Something is exhilarating about arguing with Oscar. For some inexplicable reason, my voice box doesn’t close the moment he comes near me. He has the opposite effect on me. And I have to admit, he does have some of my personality nailed down. Nothing he said was negative, and truthfully, I am trusting and unworldly. That’s why I moved to the big city, though—to expand my very limited scope of the world from spending my entire life in Winter, Illinois.
With a half annoyed, half-playful noise, I scoot away from him and resume my sun-worshipping pose. “My sister tells me you’re a chef.”
There’s a discernable difference in his playful tone. Now, I hear a tinge of regret. “Chef, yes. Cooking professionally, not as much as I’d like anymore.”
“If not cooking, then what?”
“I’m spending more time behind a desk than in a kitchen. But those were the decisions I made in my career, and I have no one to blame but myself. Occasionally, I’ll dabble in event catering, and that’s how I’ve gotten to know your sister and Cameron.” The regret leaves his voice. “Today is too beautiful a day to talk about business.”
A shadow blocks out the sun. “Sister, sister, do you want something to eat? We’re going to order lunch.” Violet stands to my right holding a folded piece of paper in her hands.
At the mention of food, my stomach growls. Loudly. Blushing furiously, I struggle to my feet. “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
Then Oscar’s at my side, smirking. Nothing gets past him, especially none of my embarrassing social missteps.
To my relief, I see no sign of Kevin or his teammates back at the reserved seating area. One glance across the deck and I find the Kevin and his teammates surrounded by a gaggle of scantily clad women. A little of my earlier tension releases with the knowledge that Kevin is directing his amorous intentions elsewhere. Oscar sits across from me when I take my previous spot next to Tucker. Apparently, everyone here knows Oscar because no introductions are made.
“Iris, you busy next Sunday?” Tucker asks once I order a sandwich from the omnipresent server.
Mentally, I run through my calendar. “We’ve got a wedding Saturday night but nothing on Sunday.”
“Good. You’re coming to my house. Oscar’s cooking so you know it’s going to be fan-fucking-tastic food.”
“You’re a private chef?” I ask Oscar in confusion. Only a few minutes ago, he mentioned that he doesn’t cook as much as he’d like.
“Not exactly. I auctioned off a private dinner for eight at the Scrapers’ gala benefitting the Hope House. Somehow, Smithson scraped together enough cash to win,” Oscar says.
“I’d love to come. Th
ank you for the invitation,” I tell Tucker sincerely. A little bit of my insecurity chips away at his thoughtfulness. Immediately, I start thinking of a way to show my thanks. Tucker loves my kitchen sink cookies. I’ll make him a batch.
“What’s on the menu?” Violet asks Oscar.
“Limited quantities of butter, sugar, and salt,” Oscar says wryly.
“Training camp starts in less than a month. I’ve got to be on the top of my game,” Tucker says defensively. “And I didn’t cut those out of the ingredient list. I just asked to keep this meal on the healthier side.”
“Says the guy who requested two desserts the last time he ate at Mariposa,” Oscar goads good-naturedly.
Two discoveries hit me simultaneously.
First, even I, the lowly country bumpkin, have heard of Mariposa. From what I’ve seen and read, it’s one of the most decorated restaurants in the world. Three Michelin stars and tops the lists of best eateries time and time again. Whoa. No wonder Violet says Oscar is a pretty big deal. Mariposa alone is legendary, and she said he has two other restaurants.
Second, it becomes glaringly obvious why I find it easy to talk to Oscar. He’s honest. No bull malarkey from him. He says what is on his mind without censor. To a person navigating a completely new culture, it is comforting to know he isn’t playing games or speaking with a hidden agenda. At times, I feel like I moved to Tanzania, not two hours away from my hometown. There’s a language barrier between me and everyone I meet. They talk about things like blowouts, Uber, dating apps, things that are ‘on fleek,’ and that’s just the start. Oscar talks in a straightforward way that I can easily decipher.
“Duty calls.” During my internal musing, I must have missed something because Oscar is standing, putting his cell phone into this pocket.
“See you Sunday,” he says to the group at large. Everyone offers his or her good-byes.
Watching him saunter across the deck, I can’t help but be disappointed he’s leaving. Though it’s quite obvious Oscar Alexander works out regularly. The view from the back is nearly as breathtaking as the front.
An elbow jabs my side. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” Tucker’s watching me stare at Oscar with laughter in his eyes.