I gave him a flat look.
He settled into the couch, pulling the bag of chips off the coffee table. “So, she called?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And she said I should watch this. If I want a shot with this girl, I need to be on the same wavelength.”
He snorted. Popped another handful of chips into his mouth. “Well, to prevent the murder of your testosterone, here’s the CliffsNotes version. Boy meets girl. Falls for her in one evening. She believes in fate. Writes her information on the inside of a book. He writes his on a fiver. Time passes. He searches. Boom … they find each other.”
“And you know this how?”
“You did meet Poppy, didn’t you? Fuck if I could handle my own remote.”
Poppy. The one who had gotten away. I’d never seen Fin so laid out over a girl after she dumped him when he proposed making their status official. And I’d never seen someone wreck his chance so quickly.
“Have you talked to her?”
A cloud seemed to form over his head. It always did at the mention of her. “Nah, man. It’s been almost a year. Can you believe it? If we ran into each other now, she’d probably kick me in the balls. That chick was on another level.”
Yeah, she was. A match equally fit for the likes of Fin.
He attempted a smile, but the expression was rocky. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to your vag-fest. Enjoy, sucker,” he said and then trotted off to his room.
A little later, after the movie ended, I found myself staring at the black screen, thanking God social media existed because there was no way I’d leave it up to fate to decide when I saw Prim again.
Too bad Jonathan didn’t have the power of Facebook behind him.
I set the remote down and headed for bed. Decided to get ahead of tomorrow by checking my emails. It took about an hour to sort through, but once my inbox was cleaned, I switched over to Facebook and looked Prim up.
She shared a lot of quotes and pictures of her lizard and the foods she ate. Articles she read and loved. Even some she wrote on her personal blog. I clicked over to it. A white background with typewriter lettering. Little pops of color. She wrote about love and books and what seemed to move her. Most were reviews of what she’d read. Some were her own dabbles into poetry.
She came from a strong family on a farm in Kansas. There were pictures of her sitting in the middle of a field of sunflowers. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way her hair blew to the left in the breeze. The subtle slope to her back. Other pictures showed her with many different faces, all family that lived in the same town. A horde of sisters, all beautiful in the perfect sense. None though had the quiet beauty Prim had.
I closed my laptop and leaned back in bed. Thought about the little family I had. About my aunt and uncle whom I hadn’t seen in years. About my mother and those last words she had whispered into my ear.
“Forgive him.”
I rolled over. I hated thinking about my family. The past was the past for a reason. To be left behind. To shut the door on, and I didn’t mind shutting the door. But my therapist had said that by shutting the door, I’d created a barrier that would only need to be hurdled later in life.
“Forgive him.”
It was a curse she’d placed on me. A promise she had known I couldn’t keep.
How could I forgive the man who had walked out on her when she was at her most vulnerable? Whose need for attention and fame had overpowered his duty to see her through to the end? A need that had only been quelled after nearly losing control of his team.
Football was more important than the love of his life.
Than me.
But all the resentment I felt dissolved at the thought of Prim.
“I see you,” she’d said, and I believed her.
I felt seen in her eyes. And one way or another, I’d see her again.
Serendipity or not.
Meet-Cute
Prim
I WOKE ON THE CUSP of a dream to the shrill sound of an orchestra blaring next to my ear. Dark, symphonic notes beating angrily at the air. It was Symphony No. Five by Beethoven—the anthem assigned to my eldest sister.
Scrambling, I fumbled for the phone, answering with a grim, “Hello?”
“Jesus, you sound like you swallowed death.”
“I just woke up.”
“Of course you did.” She let out her usual chastising huff. “I haven’t talked to you in days, Prim. It’s like you don’t even care.”
I sat straight. Care? All I did was care. In fact, it was the sole reason I continued to eat the infamous, strange-ass fruit bread she brought every year to Christmas dinner. Even after my sisters made a fuss over how awful it tasted. While everyone else went for the pumpkin pie—my absolute favorite—I was chewing on rubbery bread, playing a game of Guess Which Fruit That Was.
A yawn ripped past my teeth. “I’m sorry, Sarah. How are you?”
“Fine. Listen, I really need you to pencil in the appointment for trying on dresses. We’ll be flying in and staying at The Regency. You can come to the fitting in August, can’t you?”
“Of course.” As if she’d ever let me decline. I pulled the cap off a pen with my teeth and flipped through the calendar I kept pinned by my bed. Lord knew I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her wrath—because her war path was littered with the bones of all who stood in her way.
“Good. I’ve already confirmed it with everyone else.”
“How is everyone?”
“You’d know if you actually called once in a while. You do have four sisters.”
There was the acrid bite I’d been waiting for.
“Sorry, Sarah. I’ve been—”
“Busy. Yes. You keep saying that as if life only happens to you.” A short-lived pause. “Anyway, I have to go. Max is waiting. Kiss, kiss.”
And with that, she hung up.
I stared at my screen for a second. It didn’t matter how far away I flew; she still had the ability to get under my skin, pressing with the sharpness of a thousand rusty nails. I loved my sister. All my sisters for that matter, but I sometimes felt like I might have been adopted. Sarah was the lead in her ballet company, which traveled all over the world. Olivia had been drafted to a women’s basketball team for Spain. My two younger sisters, Hazel and Emma, had both followed in Sarah’s footsteps and were currently enrolled in the American Ballet. All with the perfect boyfriends. All with perfect groups of friends. It almost seemed too picturesque. Too unreal.
I, on the other hand, lived alone with my lizard, Newt, and could count my friends with one finger. I wore the pressure to be successful like a black cloak. I knew my parents were proud of me. They’d worked hard for all of us to be able to chase our dreams. I just didn’t have much to show for it.
Not yet at least.
I crawled out of bed and took a few minutes to stretch. I still had an hour before I needed to head to work and no clue as to what I was going to wear.
It had to be something Poppy-approved.
I had skirts that hung well past the knees. Blouses I kept buttoned to the neck. Boots. Converse. Ballet flats. The only pair of heels I owned were bright red, and that was because they’d been required for the bridesmaids when my cousin got married.
Pulling them from the box inside my closet, I set them in front of the mirror and stood back. What the hell could go with them? Black? Black was always a safe bet, but the only black thing I owned was a dress I’d worn to my grandpa’s funeral, and I couldn’t wear it again.
With a sigh, I pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a white cardigan with a red camisole underneath, and then I slid into the heels.
It would have to do.
Newt was pressed against the glass, watching me like he always did in the morning. I made a small bowl of fruit and yogurt, slid it onto the counter, and then took a seat as the morning sun slanted in through the blinds. My journal was spread open in front of me, the doodles I’d drawn last night on display.
Pieces from the craziest day of my life.
It still felt like a dream. Like I’d been switched out with someone else yesterday. I opened my notes on my phone and pressed play, listening to my account from the night before. There was no denying the chemistry. Part of me, the cynical side, chalked it up to his charm. His ability to lure women in with those adorable dimples and devilish gaze. Had I fallen into his playboy trap like so many others? Were the stripped-back words he’d shared with me a ploy to make me feel special?
No.
I felt it to my core. They weren’t, and that was a problem.
A large Quinn-shaped problem.
***
After locking up, I made my way to the station with a coffee in hand. I liked to stare out the subway window at the city below before the train went underground. At the kaleidoscope of buildings whizzing past. At the many people walking the streets. Where were they going? To work? Home? Were they happy? Upset? I built stories in my head. Little images pinned on the wall of my memories.
And I always looked for my good-luck sign.
She was an elderly woman sitting outside of a climate-controlled storage locker four floors up. I’d noticed her on my first-ever train ride, hunched over something like an old book or possibly a magazine. Every morning, like clockwork, we’d pass by, and she’d be sitting there in front of her unit with the door rolled open. The small space brimmed with clutter as she sat in a chair, reading. As the days went on, it grew into a habit of mine to look for her. And on the rare occasion when she wasn’t there, I’d run into bad luck.
This morning, she was there.
By the time I made it to the office, I’d downed half the coffee I’d bought, and I felt like a walking, talking live wire. Today was going to be a great day. I could feel it. I swiped my time card and turned toward the door, only to come to a screeching halt.
“Even if he’d built the Taj Mahal with his bare hands, I still wouldn’t give a flying fuck.” Quinn walked past me, voice booming throughout the office as Poppy followed closely behind. “It’s trash, and he posted it specifically to piss me the fuck off.” Her door slammed behind her, glass rattling, but it didn’t stop the sound of her voice from piercing through. “I want that article done and posted today; do you hear me? He wants to come after me? Fine! I’ll show him what a real man-hater looks like.”
Poppy rushed down the hall, slowing when she noticed me standing there, wide-eyed, and waved me on.
“What was that all about?”
“Remember He Who Shan’t Be Named?”
I nodded as we took our seats across from each other.
“Well, he posted an article about women in their forties and, I quote, ‘being more prone to hating men due to a lack of self-esteem.’ Of course, he posted it right before the charity gala, no doubt as a jab at Quinn.”
My jaw dropped somewhere close to the floor, a giddy feeling stirring in my stomach. “No way.” I felt like I was one of them. A part of the group, being let in on the inside scoop.
A derisive snort bubbled up with the shake of her head. “He’s suicidal, I swear. But I have to hand it to him … he’s smart. He does it for the clicks. Even bad press is good press. It keeps their name fresh. Keeps people talking. What’s worse is that it’s the first piece he’s written in years. The last was a guide to dealing with women with a strong sense of self. Quinn had to have her office revamped by the time she was done with it.”
“Why does she let it get to her?”
Poppy spun. “Truth? I’d say, she’s still in love with him.” She lifted a little in her seat, peering over the top of the cubicles. “But she’d kill me if she ever heard me say that. Don’t repeat it.”
I zipped a finger across my lips. Noticed a document she opened on her computer. “What’s the article?”
Her grin curved with a wicked slope. “She wants a list of facts about men in their mid-forties and what to expect sexually. A sort of limp move if you ask me.” The laughter that shot past her lips was bubbly and loud, like a popped cork. “Get it? Limp? Like a pe—”
“I get it,” I said, unable to contain my smile that touched the blush to my cheeks.
Swiveling around in my chair, I was about to pop in my earbuds when the sound of someone sniffling carried over the top of the cubicles.
I spun around to find Poppy staring at me.
“I didn’t introduce you to our lead editor, did I?”
“No.”
Her grin grew. “Come on. It’s time you meet her.”
Two cubicles over, I noticed a woman hunched over her desk, the soft sounds of sorrow whimpering past her lips.
“This is Brinley.” Poppy swiped a box of tissues off someone else’s desk and then handed it to her. “Brinley, say hi to Prim. The new blogger.”
Brinley pressed a tissue to her nose and blew. Her eyes were swollen and red. She had a refined look to her, like she was born from a Victorian novel. Strawberry hair and a poised face smattered with freckles. A long, elegant neck exposed above the blush-hued cardigan she wore over a beige silk blouse.
My heart ached for her, not only for the pain that was clearly flushed across her neck in angry red splotches, but also for the way Poppy had so mindlessly chosen this very moment as the right one to introduce us.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“She’s fine.” Poppy dismissed it as if this type of thing always occurred. “Who was he this time?”
“Daniel,” Brinley said with a sniff.
And then she returned to a full-blown crying fit. The kind that made me squirm because I never knew what to say or do. Hug or be the sturdy presence? Offer words or let her cry it out? The only saving grace of having four sisters was, there were plenty to handle this type of situation when one of them got hurt. I never had to.
“Daniel.” Poppy’s lips twisted with disdain. “What a shitty name. You agree?” She raised an eyebrow at me.
I laughed.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just … my father’s name is Daniel.”
Poppy’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “Oh, you know what I meant. Never mind.” Waving me off, she returned her full attention to Brinley, who was working through the tissue box. “You’re going to be all right, Brin. The right one’s out there.” With a subtle pause, a slither of a smile snaked across her lips. “It’s like I always say … take it one dick at a time.”
I thought my jaw had fallen to the floor.
“Come.” Poppy turned toward our desks, leaving me to fend for my jaw.
She was ludicrous. Quite possibly the most insane person I’d ever met.
Yet, I was pretty sure I loved her.
With a quick, regretful good-bye, I left Brinley and sort of clambered after Poppy, trying to remain upright in the pair of heels I hadn’t worn in over six years.
“She’s okay. Really,” Poppy said the moment I caught up. “This is Brin’s norm. She’s waiting for her meet-cute.” After we sat, I heard the wheels to her chair squeak, and then she appeared beside me. “So … about Grayson.”
My eyes fell to my keyboard. I busied myself with logging in. “What about him?”
The amount of emotions that trekked across her face was comical. “What do you mean, what about him? The date. How did it go?”
“Surprisingly well. He was sweet. Nothing like who the media paints him to be.”
“And?”
“And then he walked me to the subway.”
Her gaze zeroed in on me. “You like him, don’t you?”
I swore I needed to have a conversation with my cheeks because they were a constant giveaway.
Her fingers came together, wiggling impishly. “And just like that, the web was spun.” She chewed her lip and added, “So, when’s the next date?”
I shrugged. “I left it up to serendipity.”
It took her all of one second to grasp what I meant. “Girl … for someone who oozes innocence, you sure know how to work this angle.”
I did, didn’t I?
I didn’t know how to feel about that.
I gave a subtle shrug. “I’m a virgin, not a hermit. And … when you read enough romance novels, you’re bound to learn something.”
I peered down to my laptop and paused when an article moved across my screen. It wasn’t the words that stopped me. It was him … Grayson, a buttery smile to his lips.
My stomach fluttered. “Poppy.”
“Hmm?”
“Come here,” I said, unable to remove my eyes from him. “Look.”
“Oh, that? Yeah. That’s what I was saying. Stud’s hosting a charity event for a women’s shelter at the aquarium next week.” A grin the size of New York curbed her tone as her fingers steepled together. “And that’s where you’ll make your first serendipitous move.”
“How? I don’t even have a ticket.”
Her shoulder nudged into mine. “You work for Virago now, Prim. Getting a ticket’s not a problem.”
The excitement that rushed through me was soon overcome by a whisper of doubt, blocking the emotion before it reached my nervous system. “And then what?” I pulled my gaze from him, fastening it on her. “What if he asks why I’m there?”
Her shoulders lifted with indifference. “Blow it off. Make something up. Or better yet, bat those pretty lashes at him. I bet he’ll forget what he asked.”
So, basically, lie.
I’d barely come away unscathed last night when he asked where I worked, and I’d nearly choked on the answer. I studied his picture. At the meticulously placed cockiness swirling in his eyes. It was a facade. A portrait he painted for the camera.
But what was underneath …
“What if I can’t go through with it?” The escaped words were soft, almost inaudible.
She spun me around in my chair, hands pressed on either side. “What’s more important, Prim? One guy’s little ole feelings or the career you’ve fought tooth and nail to see realized?”
Well, when it’s put like that …
I didn’t even blink before answering, “My career.”
She patted me on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Love in the Headlines: A Star-Crossed Friends-To-Lovers Romance (Love in the Headlines Series Book 1) Page 6