by Lane Hayes
I picked up my pace and jogged alongside him. “I like to run, but I do it for the cardio rather than because I love it. And yes, I agree. I’d rather run by the beach than at a gym. Today I figured I’d head south and go as far as I could before turning around. I’ll stop at Venice and see how I feel.”
“Great! Well tell me about yourself while we run. What do you do for a living? Do you have a wife, girlfriend, kids, dog? Nate. Is that short for Nathaniel?”
I grimaced at the flood of personal questions but reminded myself it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly.
“I own a real estate development company based in Oxnard. I’m divorced, no girlfriend, no kids, no dog and—” I paused for a breath. “—Nate is short for Nathan.”
Alex burst into a fit of bubbly sounding laughter beside me. I could feel my forehead crease in question as I observed him. He’d put a pair of dark sunglasses on that accentuated his high cheekbones. With his tousled hair blowing in the gentle summer breeze, he looked like a fitness model. I swallowed hard and turned my gaze out to sea.
“You sound like you’re reading a bio for The Newlywed Game.” Alex chuckled again, and this time I joined in.
“Sorry. I tend to… never mind. What about you?”
“Um well, I’m from Redondo Beach, and I’m single for the time being. Never married.” He flashed me a winning smile and waggled his eyebrows when he continued. “And Alex is short for Alejandro. You know, like the Lady Gaga song.”
I knew the song, but in case I’d forgotten, Alex sang loudly to remind me and perhaps to entertain a few beachgoers making their way to the sand. A couple of young girls in “barely there” bikinis whistled at his antics and blew him a kiss as we passed. I was half afraid he’d be tempted to stop and ask for their numbers. I wasn’t interested in flirting with girls who probably were close to half my age. Alex returned their air kisses with a grin but picked up his pace slightly.
“Yeah, yeah. I know the song,” I said in a tone that clearly stated my ambivalence.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? It’s catchy and fun to dance to.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Please do. So what kind of music do you like?”
“I’m not really into—”
“What? Who says that? Music is life! It’s the pulse, the beat. It’s everything! You must like music. C’mon. Classical, country?”
I shot him a quick glance, wondering why my answer seemed important to him. He sounded so intense suddenly.
“I love classical. What’s your favorite?”
Alex shook his head in disbelief and lengthened his stride.
“I can’t even begin to answer that question. Hmm. I like Latin music, traditional, and dance. I like pop, jazz, funk, punk, reggae.”
“In other words, you like it all.”
“Yeah. Except classical.” His teasing grin let me know he was playing with me.
We jogged on in silence for a short time. Surprisingly it was a comfortable lull. I found my breathing and took in the vibrant beach scene. It was tourist central. People whizzed by on tandem bikes and rollerblades while others stood in the middle of the boardwalk blocking traffic as they took selfies to commemorate their trip to Santa Monica.
“So you’re in real estate, eh? You sound more like a professor.” His smile was warm, a lighthearted counterbalance to his mocking tone.
I snorted. “Definitely not. I don’t have the patience required for that job. No one would benefit from me as a mentor, I assure you. There is one brilliant woman who happily runs interference between my employees and me. Trust me, everyone likes the arrangement.”
“Is she hot?”
“What? Who?” I looked toward the sand, thinking he was pointing out a pretty woman.
Alex shook his head theatrically at my misunderstanding. “Aye yai yai, hombre! You said there’s a brilliant woman.”
“Caroline?”
“If you say so. Is she hot?”
“Well, I suppose. But she’s my ex-wife, so I don’t really—no offence, but she’s remarried.”
He barked a quick laugh and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not in the market. All your exes are safe!”
“So you weren’t interested in those girls whistling at you back there?”
“Not my type.”
His response sounded clipped and vaguely evasive, which intrigued me. He’d been so open and friendly, I expected a straightforward reply, not a cagey half answer.
“How come? Too young?”
“Definitely!” He chuckled and made a turn-around signal before we approached the overcrowded hub of Venice Beach, with its brightly colored buildings on our left.
“If they’re still there, I’ll be your wingman while you introduce yourself,” he said with a grin, picking up the pace.
“Huh?” Oh the underage girls. Yeah right. “No thanks. They’re too young for me too, and they’d go for you anyway.”
Alex chuckled merrily. “What makes you think that? Girls dig hot guys with glasses too, you know.”
My brow furrowed. Hot guys with glasses? I glanced over at Alex, unsure this time if he was making fun of me. I could have sworn he actually blushed. It wasn’t easy to tell because of his darker skin tone, but he looked surprised he’d spoken aloud.
“What do you me—” I began.
Alex cut me off with a different question. “How old are you anyway? Obviously I didn’t pay attention to the rental paperwork since you’re Bran and Jake’s friend. For some reason I pictured you differently.”
“I’m thirty-six, and what do you mean? How did you picture me?”
“Bran said you were tall, on the thin side, and wore glasses. And even though he mentioned you were good-looking, for some reason I imagined you’d be kinda skinny and nerdy. You’re not. That’s all.” He shrugged nonchalantly, though once again I had a feeling he was blushing. Interesting.
“Um, thanks?” My reply was a touch awkward, but it made Alex laugh. I decided to ignore the backhanded compliment and concentrate on the melodic sound. It was joyful and infectious. I found myself smiling for absolutely no reason at all. Odd.
We spent the remainder of our run covering fairly innocent topics ranging from summertime crowds at the beach to him issuing a warning about a man-eater who lived on the fourth floor. My grin was wide as I listened to what had to be an overembellished description.
“You think I’m joking, don’t you? You’ll see. Her name is Cyndie with a y and an ie,” he supplied, pulling his glasses down his nose so I could witness his theatric eye roll. “She’s a pretty blonde in her thirties with a tiny waist and the biggest set of fake boobs ever. Serious floatation devices. She’s got this thing about rubbing them against you that’s a little….”
“Suggestive?” I supplied with a grin.
“Creepy.”
I laughed aloud at his pained expression and assured him I’d beware of large-breasted women looking to trap me into conversation.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s conversation she’s after. She wants dick, but she’s not gettin’ mine. Maybe Cyndie with a y and ie is your type. If so, disregard my advice. What do I know?” His mischievous smile made me chuckle.
“I’m not in the market either. At least not with someone I could potentially run into repeatedly if it went south. And those things usually do.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Well, this is where I leave you.” Alex gestured toward the main street with a wide grin. “It was great meeting you, Nate. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. And come by the gym sometime. See ya!”
He took off before I had a chance to do anything more than wave a weak good-bye at his retreating back. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket and saved me from staring after him like an idiot. I glanced quickly at the display and hesitated before answering. I gave in because I knew this particular caller was nothing if not persistent.
“Hi, Jules.”
“Hi,
handsome. Whatcha doing? Or should I ask who you’re doing?”
Innuendo was Julie’s forte, so her offhanded query shouldn’t have made me blink, but it did.
“Huh?”
“You sound like you’ve been running a marathon or you’re trying to catch your breath after an incredible orgasm.”
“I went for a run, Jules. That’s all.” I took a quick look around and decided to walk along the boardwalk in the opposite direction for a few minutes to cool down.
“Oh good! I like knowing there’s still a chance for me and you, baby.”
I let out a rush of air and braced myself for the wave of discomfort those silly throwaway lines usually incited. Was she joking? It was harder to tell than it should have been. I wondered when this uncomfortable undercurrent between us would finally go away. Sometimes I thought we were there and other days, not so much.
In some ways, it was a mystery. Julie was a pretty, petite blonde with curly hair, a great sense of style, and a quirky, fun personality. But we had zero physical chemistry. She had a similar build as my ex-wife, but that didn’t mean anything other than maybe I wasn’t really as attracted to petite blondes as I thought. Or maybe I had no clue what my type was. I pulled my baseball cap off my head and refocused on the conversation.
“How’re things in Oxnard?”
“Lovely. But I miss you. Terribly. In fact, I miss you so much I’m coming to visit.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm, which immediately set me at ease. Good. A teasing Julie I could trade playful barbs with made me a hell of a lot more comfortable than the wistful woman who occasionally surfaced.
“Oh? So soon?”
“Fuck you, Nate. You know you miss me, but even if you don’t, Jake and Bran do. We’re having dinner at their house this coming Friday. You guys can fight over whose sofa I sleep on. Please win, Nate. I don’t want to be woken up to a round of ‘fuck me harder, Jake’ in the middle of the night again. The last time I stayed with them I got so wound up, and yes, that means horny, that I actually went on three consecutive online dates. All duds. My fragile psyche needs a break.”
I chuckled at her over-the-top griping. It set me at ease, though the idea of her spending the night freaked me out. After last summer’s fiasco, I was leery of sharing a cozy space with Julie, but her “I know we’re only friends” delivery made a difference. If we were ever going to get back to normal, I had to try too.
“I didn’t hear anything about dinner, but sure, you can stay here.” I tried for neutral but friendly, but Julie’s loud guffaw clearly told me I failed.
“Thanks, Nate. I accept your kind invitation,” she snarked. “Toodles. I’ll text Bran for details, but I think he said seven o’clock on Friday. I’m driving down in the early afternoon to avoid traffic. Can I come over then, or should I shop in the city until you’re done at work?”
“Uh. I—yeah. I’ll try to take off early, but I’ll leave your name with the concierge just in case.”
“Wonderful. See you soon, honey!”
I set my cap back on my head with a sigh before beginning my trek back to the condo. I firmly pushed aside thoughts of her impending visit. It had “potential disaster” written all over it. I stopped at the corner across from my building and waited for the light to turn green as I mulled over going into the office for a few hours. Conversations with Julie were still so awkward, and I didn’t want to sit around on a beautiful Saturday worrying about past mistakes. Work would get my head back into a neutral zone. I stepped into the street as the light changed and stopped in the middle of the crosswalk. There he was again.
Alex was talking on his cell with his head bent, walking purposefully toward a waiting car. His damp hair curled around his neck and ears like he’d just showered. He looked like he’d changed from one set of workout clothes to another. Black shorts and this time, a black T-shirt that clung to his fit abs. I gulped, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Why was I noticing this stuff? It wasn’t like me. At all.
WORK KEPT my mind from wandering. I didn’t have a spare moment to think about upcoming dinners, overnight visitors, or my neighbor slash landlord. I left my condo most mornings before six and didn’t get home until after eight. Then I put in another couple of hours before falling asleep and starting over again. I’d always been a bit of a workaholic, but my current pace was a bit much even for me, and by Thursday evening I was exhausted. When the elevator door opened to my floor, I made a concerted effort to clear my head and relax. A warm shower, a glass of wine, Schubert. My shoulders relaxed in anticipation. Only to be jarred a few seconds later by the booming sound of a bass guitar and someone singing along loudly in Spanish to the blaring pop song. After the initial “what the fuck?” moment passed, I was pissed. Who wouldn’t be? I expected peace and quiet after a long day, not to be treated to dance music played at top volume in another language, no less. It was rude, thoughtless, self—
“Hey there! Sorry. Hang on a sec.” Alex popped his head out of the open door, greeting me with a chagrined smile and twinkling eyes. He disappeared and left the door ajar as he went to adjust the sound.
I stood motionless in the well-lit hallway juggling my briefcase and a set of building plans in one hand and my key in the other. I could feel my brow furrow in annoyance. I was worn out, hungry, and now irritated. No doubt I looked a bit wilted in my navy Armani suit after a fourteen-hour day. I needed a drink. Fast.
“Wait!”
I turned when Alex called out and ended up fumbling the thick roll of plans. My briefcase fell just as I caught the plans, and of course the latch broke. Pens and paperwork scattered around me like leaves on a windy autumn day. I cursed under my breath as I bent to gather the mess at my feet.
“Here you go. I’m sorry for the racket and for startling you. Oops. Here’s another pen. I think that’s everything.” Alex smiled as he knelt beside me, handing over pieces of the spilt contents from my bag. “Give me your key. I’ll get the door. Your hands are full.”
I wordlessly did as instructed. I was too tired and edgy to answer. The sooner I got rid of him, the better. He flung the door open with a flourish and bright grin.
“Buenas noches, Nate. You look exhausted. Are you really just getting home now? It’s….” Alex checked his watch and cocked his head to the right, eying me curiously, “8:20. Damn! I’m told I work too much, but I think you win. Have you eaten?”
I sighed heavily as I dumped my belongings on the small dining table and tugged at my already loose tie, willing my voice to project a cool but friendly tone before I escorted him out. Yeah, I was hungry. I was fucking done with my day, and I wasn’t remotely interested in hearing about anyone else’s either.
“Not yet. I’m going to shower and make something to eat.”
“Do you like Mexican food?”
“Huh? I—yeah, but—”
“Great! My sister came by earlier with more food than a single guy can possibly eat in a week. Chili verde, homemade tortillas, rice, beans. What do you say? I’ll make you a plate and bring it over while you shower.”
“No. Thank you, but I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother at all. I’ll be back in a sec!”
“Wait!”
What the hell had just happened? I stared at the space he’d vacated and took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the lingering scent of his cologne. He smelled good. Light musk—whoa! Where did that come from? I yanked my tie off with more force than necessary, equally irritated with where my mind was going and the realization the little fucker had taken my key with him. I shook my head in frustrated wonder and made my way to the bathroom as I unbuttoned my white oxford shirt. He was a slippery one. Quick and disarming.
I didn’t have the energy to go after him, demand he return the key and stay the hell away from me. It was late, as he’d pointed out. Chances were good he’d leave the key and possibly a plate of food. I probably wouldn’t see him when I got out of the shower anyway. There was no reason to get worked up and h
ey, I loved Mexican food.
LIST AFTER list flooded my brain as I let the warm water sluice over my skin. I ignored my growing fatigue and hunger with practiced ease and concentrated on vital action items I needed to tackle in the morning. Call the structural engineer regarding changes in permit requirements. Set up a meeting with the architect for Monday. I turned off the spray and reached for a towel, thinking I’d better e-mail Caroline about setting the appointment with the architect tonight. I secured the towel around my waist and set my glasses on my nose, giving myself a good once-over. My hair could use a cut, I mused as I finger brushed it into some semblance of order.
A door closed from somewhere in the condo. I froze in place, staring at my reflection in the half-fogged mirror while I strained to listen to the sounds coming from the kitchen. The clinking of silverware against a plate, a drawer closing, footsteps retreating and then, nothing. I shook my head as I reached for the doorknob. I was an idiot. Hiding in the bathroom until the coast was clear was fucking weird. However, there was a big part of me that felt like I’d dodged a bullet.
No such luck.
I made my way barefoot with the towel around my waist to investigate what he’d left in the kitchen only to stop in my tracks. Alex Reyes was perched on one of the industrial-style bar stools at the island typing a message into his cell phone. I studied his dark mop of hair. It wasn’t really curly, more like wavy. It suited him. I coughed, uncomfortable with where my thoughts were going again. He looked up with his customary grin in place, but it faltered when he noted my barely covered state. He sat up a little taller, and I swear he audibly gulped as his eyes briefly traveled up and down my chest.
“Uh.” I licked my lips and took a step backward.
Alex recovered quickly. “Hi. I didn’t know how long you’d be. I’ll warm this up while you get dressed.”
He walked around the island and busied himself at the microwave. I watched him lamely for a moment before trying again.