Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  “Did you get my message?” he asks.

  “I must have missed the one about your meeting with James.”

  He sighs. His coloring fades from red to normal. “Rockford decided to renew their lease.”

  Disappointment swirls in my chest as understanding takes shape. I rock back a step. This is the company that currently controls the rooftop to the Kinzie building. The rooftop I promised James’s company. It’s the main component that sold them on the property.

  “But Rockford already started construction on their new offices in the Wabash building. I’ve seen the photos.”

  “That deal’s dead. They renewed Kinzie for another ten years.”

  Locked inside, a tight lump bobs in my throat. Stinging tears prick the edges of my eyes. I suck in a breath to fight them off and lift my chin and chest. I will not break in front of him.

  “I know you’re upset.” He places a hand on my shoulder.

  He has no clue. My house is slipping further away. Will Ozzy be able to hold out until my next big commission? Who knows when that will happen. Or will he finally entertain the other offers he’s been ignoring? Even though he hasn’t said so, I’ve suspected for a while now he needs the money, but he has too much pride to mention any financial distress.

  “I’ll find them something else.” I slip into an optimistic mask. The threatening tears are gone and replaced with determination.

  “I know you will, but we’ve showed them every suitable space on the market. For now, go home. You look like shit.”

  He ushers me to the elevator and continues, “I don’t want to see you here for a week, or I will fire your ass. Understood?”

  After I relent with a nod, he presses the button. The elevator doors glide open. Linden watches me enter as if he needs to ensure my exit. Inside the cab, I turn to face him, feeling defeated.

  “Maybe you need a vacation? I know Evan needs one,” Linden says, wagging his brows. He’s laughing at my dropped jaw as the doors slide shut. Now I’m not only sad, I’m mortified he knows about us. I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes closed.

  Back at my building, I knock on Evan’s door. He answers, still half asleep. His hair’s tangled and mussed. He’s shirtless and wearing boxer briefs. He scratches his ass and gives me a sloppy grin. He’s adorable.

  “I knew you would go anyway.” He yawns and steps aside.

  His expression becomes alarmed when I sweep in and rip off my scarf and jacket.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I frown and drop my things on the nearest chair. “The deal’s fallen through.”

  He pulls me to him, arms splaying across my back, and mine across his. In his embrace, I’m fortified and secure. I’m not alone. With Evan beside me, I can conquer anything, even this small setback. Though I don’t understand why, I feel it as strongly as the quickening beat of my heart.

  “I know you don’t like to lose, but there will be other commissions. Besides, no one else will want that ugly haunted house, anyway,” he jokes.

  With my face snuggled into his chest, I laugh. Even though I’d like nothing more than a good cry. “Let’s hope.”

  “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.” He kisses my forehead and drags me to the kitchen. I lean on the counter as he opens the refrigerator, digging for ingredients.

  “Damn, I’m out of milk.”

  “I have some.”

  “Stay right there.” He taps the counter twice and swipes my keys before running off. From inside the apartment, I hear him scale the stairs. I stop listening when he hits the second landing, because my interest has fallen on the ajar second bedroom door, the same locked door I’ve tried to open several times before now.

  I stand and cross the room. I push the door wide with my fingertip. It groans open. I flick on the light and step inside. Standing in the middle, I turn in a circle. This room is different from the rest of the apartment. Instead of a mature bachelor pad, this looks like it belongs to a student. It’s as if Evan took his room from college and placed it right here, except it wouldn’t be his room; it’s too feminine. I can tell by the color scheme and scattered items. Pretty watercolor images of hot pink lips are hung in black frames. Posters of bands cover one wall. And there’s an art deco dressing table with perfumes, jewelry, and framed photos. Not to mention the pile of dirty clothing in a hamper—a woman’s bra sits on top.

  In confusion, I inspect the nearest photograph, looking for the girl Evan has never forgotten. I search for the face in the photo hanging in his hallway. I find her—as expected. My heart plummets into my gut. Anxiety swirls, making my stomach queasy. My hand clenches the frame, lifting it. Is this her room?

  I don’t want to, but for confirmation, I lift another photo and stare. This one I have to clench with two hands. The blood rushes out of my fingers, turning them pale. This photo’s of an embracing couple, dressed for a fancy dinner. They’re happy, smiling and clearly in love, but this is not the same girl. Not even close.

  “Cait?” Evan’s voice breaks through my confusion. I blink. He’s standing at the door with a milk jug in his grip, watching me.

  Mental gymnastics does not even describe what’s happening in my brain as I struggle to understand. But there’s one thought, one question that’s absolutely clear, and I need to hear the answer from his lips to confirm I haven’t gone certifiably insane.

  My lips tremble when I ask, “You knew me already—before?”

  CHAPTER 31

  There’s a knock on the door. When I answer it, Cait London stands on the other side. One look at the Northwalton University sophomore and I know I’m renting my extra room to her, if only to gawk at her every day. No question about it.

  I take all of her in: long legs, curves accentuated by jean shorts, a black tank, smooth, creamy shoulders, and long, silky brown hair gathered into a tight ponytail. And then there’s her smile. It stopped me in my tracks over a month ago when I saw her with Steph Conners at Mr. Moon’s Coffee House. Since then I’ve been secretly crushing on her.

  Her smile slips into a frown.

  “What?” I ask and stiffen, but I already know what. I’ve been blatantly giving her body the once-over.

  “Please tell me you’re not Evan Wade.” She shifts her stance.

  “The one and only.” I square my shoulders.

  Cait rolls her eyes, spins, and marches the other direction.

  “Hold up.” I jump forward with a raised arm.

  She turns, head cocked with an attitude, as if to say, what now?

  “Don’t you want to see the room?” I gesture back inside.

  “I don’t room with boys who look at me like I’m a meal.”

  “That’s not what was happening. Not at all.”

  “Really?” She juts her hip.

  “Please. You’re disgusting. Totally not my type,” I joke, but it’s lost on her. She’s aghast, and it makes me laugh because she wants me to think she’s pretty but not admire her. The truth is she’s even prettier when she’s angry, especially with her lips twisting into a half pucker. Lips I’ve been dying to kiss. I snag my own lip between my teeth. If she moves in, I’ll enjoy razzing her.

  When she tries to leave again, I lurch forward to lightly grab her arm. She spins back. But by her expression, I understand it’s my final chance to win her over. My hand falls away.

  “Come on. I’m a guy. You’re a pretty girl. Give me break. I wasn’t expecting you to be so cute. I’m sorry.” I act like I’ve never laid eyes on her. But in reality, I’ve only never been this close, and being close apparently turns me into a complete meathead.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  She keeps moving, so I flounder, watching my chance with her slip away with every step she takes. Now standing outside, I blurt in desperation, “I’ll give it to you for three-hundred instead of six-hundred.”

  She stops in her tracks but pauses before facing me with a look of suspicion. “You’d give me half off the rent? Why?”


  I dig my hands into my back pockets and shrug. “Steph said you need a cheap place to crash since your parents cut you off. It’s only beer and pizza money for me. My family owns the building.”

  “A rich, spoiled brat and a jerk, huh?” She intensifies her gaze.

  “And to think, I could be your roommate. Enticing, right?”

  After a long moment of consideration she relents with a huff and steps up the stairs, through the lobby, and back inside the condo. I’m giddy for a moment because this gives me hope she doesn’t hate me. So I follow her into the living room, doing my best not to look at her ass, and that alone is a monumental fucking achievement.

  By her rigid demeanor I determine she’s still not sold, so I give her the grand tour. “Gourmet kitchen, dining, living area.” I swing my arm around the large open floor plan of the condo.

  “And your room and bathroom are here.” I open the door in the hallway, allowing the room to do the talking. It’s big and bright, with a bay window, walk-in closet, and a private bath with a double sinks—the best accommodations on campus, and now, unexpectedly the cheapest.

  She paces the apartment looking everything over. Even at the full price of six hundred a month, it’s a steal. She has to know that. At least, I hope she does.

  When she faces me again, her smooth ponytail flops over her shoulder. “If I’m doing this, we need some ground rules.”

  “Pretty and demanding. I like it.”

  She rolls her eyes and begins, “No touching, no kissing, no sex, no sleepovers, no drugs, no alcohol, no parties, you stay out of my room, out of my belongings, out of my business, and quiet time starts at ten p.m. every night.” She counts each item off on her fingers like they’re memorized. And with the way she is, they probably are.

  “That it?” I grin.

  “Oh, and I wake up at five a.m. every morning to run. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

  “Now I’ll tell you my rules.” I step one foot closer. “First rule: there are no rules.” I remove the spare house key from my pocket and toss it at her. She claws the air, snatching it without hesitation, and I try not to appear impressed.

  “Welcome to your new home, roomie. I have a feeling this will be fun.”

  I stroll out of the room on a flirting high. After talking to Steph, I know Cait can’t refuse. She’s in a bind, and I’m going to save her, she just doesn’t know it yet. In the kitchen I open the cabinet and grab a glass, fill it with water, lean against the counter with my ankles crossed, and wait. After a few sips she appears.

  “No rules?” She spins the key ring around her finger. They clank with each rotation.

  I nod, set the glass down, spread my arms wide and grip the countertop. She could drop the keys on the counter and leave, blowing any chance I may have ever had with her. But instead, she pockets them and heads for the door.

  Before exiting she looks back, grins, and says, “You’ll regret this, roomie.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “You rented that room for how much?” Linden yells at me from across his office. Right after Cait left, I hurried the six blocks to my family’s company, Grayson & Wade, to tell him the bad news.

  “You know how hard it is to find a good roommate. Don’t you remember Mike the stoner, or Betty bounce-a-check, or worse, Crazy Town? If I have to have a roommate, I want to live with someone normal,” I explain, trying to build my case.

  “And no doubt, pretty.” He cocks a brow.

  “That’s not it.” I lay on the defense. Though Cait’s beyond beautiful, it’s a lot more than that. My bones buzz when I’m around her. And I mean they outright vibrate like a fucking tuning fork. That’s not normal. At least I don’t think it is. Something in her activates me, and I’m making it my mission to find out why.

  Linden raises his hands in resignation. “Fine. Crazy Town was crazy. And I agree, you’ve had some bad luck with roommates, but you’re paying for her portion. No freebees here, Evan. You know the family policy. You’ll have to work extra hours at the office.” He shakes his finger. He’s always treated me more like a son than a younger brother. Or maybe this is what older brothers do. Annoy the shit out of you.

  “I already told you I would.” I keep my voice level.

  “Fine,” he agrees with reluctance and returns to his papers. He’s shuffling through them when I turn to leave, but I need to escape before he digs into me for something else.

  “She must be something special,” he says. And there it is. I knew I wouldn’t get off that easy. He knows I wouldn’t do this for anyone, because Linden is anything but stupid. In fact he’s brilliant. A fucknut of a brother, but still. There’s a reason why he’s taking over the family business with Viv, and I’ll be at their side when I graduate in the spring. I turn to face him again.

  “You have no idea.” I smirk because I’ve been caught.

  “Idiot. Get out of here.” He shoos me away.

  I salute him and return to work... on a Saturday... because of a girl who has no intention of ever giving me the time of day—for now.

  ***

  I’m sitting on a bench with Steph outside of Mr. Moon’s. We’re watching a crowd of Cubs fans head to the El train on their way to tonight’s game.

  “Could you be any more obvious? I mean, half off rent? Desperate much?” She settles her sunglasses on the top of her head, securing her newly shortened blonde hair. The spot around her new nose ring is irritated and pink. She’s been on this new kick lately, changing up her look. I expect the tattoo next.

  “It worked. That’s all that matters, except now she thinks I’m the biggest dirtbag on the planet.” I curl the rim of my baseball hat tighter, shielding my eyes from the dying sunlight. Steph and I drank too much last night and my vision has been sensitive all day.

  She wraps an arm around my back. “She’ll soon figure out you’re a good guy and you’ll fall madly in love. That’s what you want to hear, right?”

  “Maybe you should focus on your own love life.”

  “Maybe I want to take credit for bringing you two together. You think this happened by fate? That the Cait London appeared on your doorstep by herself? No, sorry, chump. It happened by Steph. Remember that when you name your firstborn. You better name that kid after me. Hell, name all your kids after me.”

  She looks at her watch. “Shit, we’re late.” She jumps up and adjusts her clothing, skintight jeans, and a top that’s too tight. All balanced over platform heels. She looks great but she’s like a sister, so this new, non-tomboy Steph is an adjustment.

  “I think I’ll head home.” I stand and stretch, reaching to the sky. When my T-shirt rises above my stomach, I drop my arms and dig my hands into my jean pockets.

  Steph gives me her death stare. “Did you hear anything I just said? You owe me for bringing you and Cait together, and this is how you repay me? By ditching me when I need you the most? No. Just no. I need a wingman tonight. Capiche?”

  “Why are you so damn bossy, woman?” I groan and grab my head.

  “When will you learn? This friendship isn’t free.”

  I give in and we head north to Division Street, a mecca of college bars and late-night street parties. Once upon a time I was into this. Once upon a time I knew all the bartenders and bouncers. But now, Steph says I’m getting a fatal case of “adulting,” and I should fight it with every fiber of my being. But in my defense, I’d prefer not to end every night with vomit.

  We meet with a group of friends for a birthday party. I don’t know the dude, Trevor, but Steph has a thing for him. That’s where being wingman plays in. Three rounds of tequila shots warm us up at Father’s. At A-Bar we down two purple hooters. At The Cabin, I remember a lot of dancing, and after several rounds of rum and Coke, that’s where the night turns fuzzy.

  The blur continues until I wake to thundering music. I wince in pain. My forehead pounds in time with the thumping of a song by The Clash. My hangover rages. I wipe drool from my cheek, and discern enough of my surroun
dings to understand I slept in my own bed—miracle one.

  With aching, half-functioning limbs, I stumble out of my bedroom toward the music. I grab my ears as I near the source, a pair of speakers hooked to an iPhone sitting on the kitchen island. Miracle two: turning off the music.

  “Morning, SpongeBob.”

  Still only half alert, I twist my neck to the annoying source of happiness. It’s Cait, bright and chipper, no doubt because she woke me. She’s carrying a box toward her room while eyeing my shorts. To my dismay, I’m wearing my SpongeBob boxers.

  “What the hell time is it?” I rub my burning eyes with the heels of my palms.

  “Five a.m.,” she sings.

  “Fuck me.” I’ve been asleep for three hours, tops. My head falls to the counter, landing on my interlaced arms. I’m struggling to keep my body upright over wobbly knees. When I’ve recovered enough energy to move again, I make my way down the hall and stop at her room. For support, I lean against the doorframe.

  When I shield my eyes from the light, I can see. She’s arranged her bed, a dresser, and filled her closet. It’s looks like she’s lived here for years. She must have been here all night moving in.

  “No music at 5 a.m.,” I croak.

  “Really?” She cranks her head in a sassy way, making her ponytail spill over one shoulder the way I like it. “Because when I left yesterday, you made it clear there were no rules. And to me, that sounds like a rule.”

  Her challenge should piss me off, but it only turns me on. I may still be drunk, but I love some good banter. Wanting to bug her, I cross the threshold into her dreaded private space and zombie-shuffle. When I reach the edge of her made-up bed, complete with frills, I free fall into her mattress face-first, arms and legs spread eagle with a whomp.

  With my face smooshed into her pillow I say, “You’re right. You caught me. No rules.”

  Now I’m the one smiling because I can imagine her face—ticked. I’m in her room, invading her personal space, and in her business. Point for me!

  I wake a few hours later, snuggled with one of her pillows. It smells like her. Sugary and so delicious it makes my mouth water. My hangover is somewhat subsided, but the sound of a hammer banging on the wall makes my eye twitch. There’s still music playing, but at a reasonable sound level. What’s with all the ’80s music?