A sharp finger poked me in the shoulder, and I looked up from my seat on the L to see a woman in a bright pink, bubble-covered trench coat hovering over me. Her face was marred with unforgiving age and her teeth the color of a raincloud. I pulled out an earbud playing “Youth” by the Glass Animals before she spoke.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
I shook my head as I inched back, retrieving some of the personal space she’d invaded. “No, sorry, I don’t smoke.”
“Too many non-smokers in this city,” she snapped, as she ogled me closely to see if there was anything else on my person she could ask for. I quickly put my earbud back in and looked out the window at the fly-by houses and trees covered in the fading amber sun.
The woman hovered a little longer before she moved on. I ignored the twinge of guilt. I gave to the needy, not the rude and expectant. It’s a skill you acquire when you live in the city.
When I stepped off the train at my stop, the brisk air slapped me in the face. Wicker Park wasn’t exactly riddled with crime, but it was a melting pot and always bustling, which still made it necessary to stay alert. With my tote hanging on my arm, I slid my hands into my coat as I walked past the familiar side street cafés, bookstores, shops, restaurants, and pubs. The neighborhood had an intimate charm and a small radius, but on any given day, you would find it hard to spot the same neighbor in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
I thought of Cameron as I walked through the iron gate and up the steps to my three-flat. I’d stopped by Sunny Side that morning in hopes of seeing him and had worked for hours longer than usual in an off chance to steal another glance. It was pathetic, but true.
My love-life had been a train-wreck for the past few years, to put it mildly, and he seemed like a bright spot, an opportunity. And then . . . he’d left.
I shrugged to myself. His loss.
After waiting in vain, I’d taken the train into the city to meet my brother, Oliver, for a late lunch. Turned out I waited for two men that day who never showed. Oliver had texted me last minute, saying he couldn’t get away from the hospital, but I knew better. He kept a full schedule, both personally and professionally. Even if he was a womanizer, he was rarely alone. I cursed the fact that I envied him for that, because I never thought I’d see the day.
Flipping through my mail I counted my blessings.
I still had my health, a career I loved that afforded me every comfort, including my oversized home. I made the decision to buy despite my marital status. I was pushing thirty-one and still wasn’t part of a we, so I lifted both middle fingers to Cupid and invested in a love nest of my own.
The top two floors were mine, but I rented out the basement floor to a little old lady, Mrs. Zingaro, who’d become my second job. Though she was sugarcoated, she creeped me out sometimes. I swore she was dead or dying every time I saw her perched on the bench in her garden. She was one of those people who would stare off into space and scare the shit out of you when they snapped out of it.
My first experience with this last summer had scarred me for life. I’d found her standing statue-still in the middle of her garden—the garden she dug up after I’d paid a fortune for new sod—with a watering can in hand. She was frozen for several moments as I approached her, gently calling her name. I wasn’t sure if a corpse could stand, but in broad daylight, I was certain I was witnessing it.
In retrospect, the decision to approach her in her stupor was about as smart as sneaking up on a cat, and I’d gone down like the lightweight I was when she clocked me in surprise with the watering can.
Not many people could say they got their ass kicked with a watering can. I’m one of the lucky ones.
Because of my tenant’s need for company, I’d learned how to pretend to fix many things that weren’t broken. And because I was lonely most nights, I indulged her.
Tonight, I was thankful the downstairs lights were off when I unlocked my door.
Cautious, as always, I scanned the living room of the home I’d spent two years remodeling, just to make sure I was alone.
Dark original hardwood floors, two-toned gray walls, and bleached furniture with lemon and navy accents. It was exactly what I’d dreamed up when I’d started the renovation project and was now my reality. It was, in fact, perfect, and I was, in fact, alone.
All alone.
Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else.
“What in the hell is wrong with me?” I asked the empty space.
Restless life syndrome.
My phone rattled in my coat just as I threw my purse on the couch.
Looking at my screen, I thanked God when I saw Bree’s name. She’d been gone far too long this time. I slid to answer and launched into her.
“You can’t leave me alone like this, Bree! Not for this length of time. I’m putting my foot down. I’m going through something close to a mid-life crisis because of your extended absences, and my imagination is in overdrive. I’m pretty sure my new neighbor started killing small animals in his youth. Seriously, he’s creepy. How was Scotland? Wait, don’t tell me. You and Anthony had sex in obscene places and you’re still glowing in the aftermath. I hate you right now, but I missed you so much, I’m willing to forgive you.”
“Wow.” Bree laughed in response to my breathless monologue. “Talk about passive-aggressive. You’re just bored, and you need to get laid. Your new neighbor’s name is Simon, and I already met him when I was waiting for you at your place when you lost your keys. He’s harmless and teaches Sunday school. Scotland was amazing, I have so much to tell you!”
To tell me?
“Anthony and I . . . ”
“No,” I shook my head, interrupting her. “Please, babe, no. You are my last partner in crime! Please, please tell me I’m not about to buy another bridesmaid dress!”
“You would be maid of honor at this one. And I was thinking silky jumpers?”
It was official. Always a bridesmaid, never the bride. I was seriously going to be alone now. All alone. I hung my head. “I love you. Congratulations.”
“Meet me at our place in twenty?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course,” I said, with a teary smile.
“Abbie, can you believe it?”
“Of course I can,” I said as I unbuttoned my coat. “You two are perfect for each other. That’s why I set you up.”
“I know. I never thought I would say this, but I’m saying it. I’m getting married!” She was choking on emotion, and I couldn’t wait to see it on her. I was sure she wore it well.
“I know, I know,” I said, pushing a tear away from my eyes.
Suck it up and be happy for her.
“I’ll see you in twenty.”
Thirty minutes later, I walked into The Violet Hour, a posh but hidden speakeasy on North Damen. The place looked like a wooden fortress on the outside with a graffiti block on the lower half of the building. You wouldn’t know it existed if you didn’t look for the gold door handle and the line outside of it.
Bree and I had been regulars since we moved to Wicker Park, and it was no easy feat to get a seat on the weekends. But because it was a dreary and wet Sunday night, I slipped right in. I’d changed into my most revealing dress, a long-sleeved crepe V-neck that exposed just enough cleavage to make it sexy. I’d let down my long, auburn hair and tamed it with a few curls. I felt stylish in my new knee-high black boots. I went heavy on the liner over my light blue eyes and colored my lips in a raspberry tinted gloss.
A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, dripping elegance but leaving the bar dim enough to be shrouded in mystery. Outrageously tall wingback chairs were arranged around the room and clustered together in pairs of two or four, intended for privacy, but close enough that you had little. Candlelight glowed upon the intimate, white granite tables between the seats. I approached Bree at the bar, and she waved when she spotted me.
“Holy shit, you look hot,” she said as she stood from her chair as I slipped off my coat.
“Thanks, babe. I haven’t had much reason to dress up lately. I needed the practice.” I pulled back from her tight embrace with the most genuine smile I could muster before we followed the host to be seated. I slipped into the green leather chair, and the tension in my shoulders relaxed a little. The sexy and forbidden atmosphere put me at ease. The Violet Hour had the feel of pure seduction, as if the interior itself was saying: Hey, it’s okay to be bad here. Take a souvenir home with you.
“Okay, let me see it,” I demanded, gripping her left hand only to see her finger was bare.
“He didn’t plan it,” she said with a serene smile as she squeezed my hand and let go. “And that’s why I said yes. He didn’t even ask me.”
That earned an eye roll.
“God, that’s just like you two. ‘Hey, let’s go to the movies sometime.’ ‘Hey, let’s move in together.’ ‘Hey, let’s quit our jobs and travel the world for three months.’” I shook my head with a grin, but I secretly thanked God that their three-month walkabout this past summer was over. That separation nearly cost me my sanity. This last trip had only been a little over a week long. Her life seemed glamorous, and I envied her for that, but I was happy she’d finally found someone to keep her grounded in Chicago. At least, that was my selfish hope. It was obvious I was too dependent on her, but she had been my one constant since my first month at Northwestern.
Bree lowered her face and gave me a pointed brown gaze. “Hey, all of those ideas were awesome! And not all mine. Anthony came up with a few.”
“God save him. Anthony is in for it with you as his wife.”
“And he knows it. Jealous?” she asked playfully.
“Absolutely. He’s so lucky,” I said with a wink. “You’d make a perfect wife for me.”
“It’s a shame I’m not a lesbian. With the way you look in that dress, I may have folded.”
“Ew,” I said with a laugh. “If I were going to go that direction, it wouldn’t be with you. I’ve seen where your mouth has been.”
“We made out once,” she said unabashedly. “Don’t you forget it.”
“You licked my lips because I ate all your nana’s homemade butterscotch pudding. That’s hardly making out. And I never did it again.”
“It counts,” she insisted, running her fingers through her blond ponytail before retrieving a small box from her purse. “I brought you a present.”
“Oh, you definitely should have. But this can wait. Tell me everything.”
“Well,” she started without taking a breath, “we’d just had the best sex of our lives.”
“Wait,” I said as the cocktail waitress approached, and I ordered us two Pimm’s Cups.
Bree quirked a brow. “Are you sure you want to hear this? You sounded pissed on the phone.”
“Jesus, Bree,” I whispered defensively. “Of course, I want to know everything. You’re my person. And jealousy aside, which I am admitting to, you look so happy. I’m fucking over the moon about this. I love you and Anthony together.”
It was obvious she was chomping at the bit to tell me more. Bree was a big personality in a tiny package at a little over five feet and a few inches. But when she spoke, you instantly knew she was the most dominant female in the room. With her honey blond hair, expressive brown eyes, and mouth like a sailor, she could be intimidating to those who had just met her. But beneath her brash exterior lay an amazing and loyal heart.
“Abbie, he was so open to everything on this trip. It was like I was seeing a new side of him. I can’t even explain it. I mean, we’ve traveled all over now, but this was different. So different.”
I listened as she spoke about the start of their trip. Bree was known to push boundaries for the greater good. And her fiancé, though mostly conservative, had stepped up to the challenge of courting my best friend, which was no easy feat.
After a few minutes of Bree’s chatter, my demeanor changed because her excitement was infectious, and I fed off it until my spirits lifted.
Why worry about a man when you’re lucky enough to have a friend like Bree? I no longer felt guilty for being a little dependant on her because Bree was the shit.
“Okay, okay, get to the good stuff.”
“Well,” she began with a devilish grin. “We were at the fairy pools.”
“And?” I said, taking my glass from the waitress with a “thank you.”
I took a healthy sip and toasted with my best friend. “Congrats, baby. Drinks are on me.”
“They are always on you,” she said with an eye roll.
“Say thank you,” I said dryly.
“Thank you. Anyway, we were going at it like rabbits, in broad daylight. Oh,” she said with a hand to her chest like a coquettish southern belle, which was apt. She was Georgia bred and hadn’t dropped her accent since we met at Northwestern. “I can’t even. He was everywhere, and I mean everywhere.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’ve never had it so good. I need him. I have to be with him. I just knew, so I told him so.”
“This was postcoital, right?”
“Yes and no. This was between round one and two.”
“Aren’t the fairy pools a major tourist spot?”
“We had one close call and then took it on the road,” she said with a wink. “We christened the whole of Scotland.”
“Sweet Anthony, he was so innocent,” I muttered, taking another mind-numbing sip of my drink. “Poor guy. You ruined his virtue.”
“I’ve told you this once, and I’m telling you again, anal is how you get them to propose.”
I barked out a laugh as she waggled her brows. “Hey, this is my third proposal by a different man. Numbers don’t lie. I just decided to accept this one.”
“Your ass is tired, huh?”
“Don’t be crude,” she scolded playfully.
“God, I love you,” I admitted truthfully. “Please continue.”
“It was so beautiful. You know me, Abbie, and you know I’m a total sucker for scenery, but Scotland really is magical. And it wasn’t just the sex. It was being with him and just knowing. It was so . . . seamless. Like kismet or fate or destiny, all that shit you don’t believe in. I’d just had his perfect penis, and we were so disgusting, but he just looked at me and I said yes. He didn’t even have to ask. That’s how on another level we were.”
She was so happy; her eyes were literally shining.
“You know you can count on me for whatever you need, right? I’m so happy for you.”
She hooked an elated tear away with her finger. “I can’t do this life without him,” she swore. “I mean, I can, but I don’t want to. I’m marrying that man, Abbie.”
“Then let’s plan a wedding,” I said, as I clinked glasses with her. I had the sweet concoction halfway to my mouth when I saw him two chairs over.
I froze and looked again.
It couldn’t be him.
We were sitting close enough to where I could see his threatening dimples.
His dark hair styled back neatly, so debonair, and it looked like he was born for it. Old Hollywood was the perfect way to describe him.
Cameron wore a black tailored suit and wine-colored tie that closely matched the color of my dress. His presence in the bar had to be a coincidence; it was evident in the surprise that shone in his features when he saw me.
His lips twitched, and his eyes drank me in from hair to boots. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair before he trailed a single finger down the leather as if he were tracing it over where his eyes roamed along my neck and chest. It was a seconds-long seduction that had my lips parting and my thighs squeezing together.
“God damn,” I whispered under my breath while a blush crept up my neck.
Staggering effect.
Too bad he liked to clip his victim’s toenails and make necklaces out of them.
My phobia jolted me back to attention.
Thanks to my ex, it was a new character flaw that had led to some scary nights alone at home. Nights where Bree met me at my front door, teeth bared, at two in the morning because I’d made myself a little paranoid. Okay, a lot paranoid. I’d gotten better. And I hadn’t watched that creepy Ted Bundy movie in six months. But for the record, that slow-motion scene with the beachy music where he goes from nice guy to you’re next . . . well, if you haven’t seen it, don’t watch it. I’m convinced that actor killed someone to get into character.
See? Paranoid.
Not all serial killers had the looks and charm of our fair Ted, but the man staring at me now with illicit promise in his eyes could easily seduce any woman. Case in point, me.
Cameron was speaking to someone I couldn’t see. It was definitely another man because I could see slacks and black dress shoes. I might have let out a tiny breath of relief.
“Who are you staring at?” Bree asked, twisting in her seat to look in Cameron’s direction.
Discreetly, I held my palms up in my lap. “Don’t look . . . You’re looking and that’s exactly what I told you not to do,” I whisper-yelled. “Stop looking. You’re still looking. Damn it, Bree. And now he sees you looking, and do you see those damned dimples?”
“Damn,” she said as she looked over at me. “You know him?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. His name’s Cameron and he AirDropped me at Sunny Side on Saturday.”
“AirDropped?”
“When you have a Mac, you can find and message other Macs around you and share files and stuff.”
“Oh,” she said with her typical indifference to technology. She wasn’t much of a fan. I was sure if she wasn’t a nurse, her wanderlust would have her living in a treetop somewhere.
“Anyway, he asked me if I wanted to have coffee and I said no.”
Her eyes bulged. “You snubbed that hot-ass man?”
“Yeah,” I said as I glanced his way again. He was engaged in conversation as I held my glass close to me like it would shield me.
“Nuh-uh, sister, you need to put that down and let him enjoy the view.”
“Would you keep your voice down?” I snapped. “Yes, I turned him down. You know what happens when I hook up with strange men.”
Bree paused. “Not everyone is Luke,” she said softly, for what was probably the hundredth time. I shrugged.
“Besides. He’s not a very hard worker. He took my ‘no’ for an answer the first time.”
“That’s because you’re scary,” she said with a grin, back to her playful self. I curled my lip at her. “You are. Your resting bitch face is pretty but scary. And in the last year, it’s gotten worse. Your bitch face reads ‘Abandon all hope. You can’t stick your penis here.’ But, by the way, he just looked at you. I think it’s safe to say he gives no shits. He wants to put his penis into your vagina.”
“Bree,” I scolded through gritted teeth.
“It’s been a year. A year,” she stressed in a whisper. “That’s too long, Abbie. I know what happened with Luke freaked you out, but you can’t let him win.”
I shook my head to keep the conversation short. It was the last thing I wanted to think about right now.
“I’m good. I promise. I even told him—Cameron,” I whispered, “that I was sorry for turning him down.”
She looked up at the ceiling—her version of an eye roll.
“Well, I guess that’s a start. And he’s not deterred. He must be new to the neighborhood. If I weren’t madly in love and set on forever with Anthony, I’d rock the shit out of that.”
“You can’t do things like that anymore,” I said in a sing-song voice as I lifted my drink and wrinkled my nose.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been dying to say that.”
Shrugging, I glanced Cameron’s way, and his eyes were already fixed on me. A spark ignited flames that began to race through my veins, my whole body gravitating in his direction. I mouthed a “Hi” and he winked.
How long had he been there?
“Damn, girl, he looks good on you,” Bree said with enthusiasm, picking up her drink and twisting back to speak to Cameron.
Oh, my God. My body tensed with dread, although I should’ve expected nothing less from her.
“She likes caramel lattes, men who know the clitoris isn’t a fictional character, and real Christmas trees,” she informed him as if he was suffering from hearing loss.
Cameron’s hot gaze remained on me, his grin lifting with each word she spoke.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, unfazed by her directness, his stare lingering before he gave her his full attention. “Congrats, I’ve always wanted to go to the fairy pools.”
“Thanks,” Bree said as my breath hitched. Had he heard every word? Probably not, but I was sure that he’d heard Bree’s words because she didn’t know how to talk without yelling. I’d grown used to it over the years, but The Violet Hour wasn’t the best place to catch up with a tone-deaf southerner. My face flooded with embarrassment as more drinks were delivered and our waitress leaned in.
“The gentlemen wanted me to ask about not having coffee on Saturday?”
“Did he?” Bree mused slyly before she turned back to Cameron. “She’ll be there at eleven. The girl is a night owl and is fond of her sleep.”
Cameron’s lips twitched in amusement at Bree’s candor. “Noted, and thank you . . .”
“I’m Bree,” she said, tipping her cup his way.
“Thank you, Bree.”
He stood, shaking hands with his tablemate, just as a tall brunette approached him. I continued to stare as she took Cameron’s hand in greeting and then let out another breath of relief when she made herself comfortable in his newly abandoned seat.
Not with her. He’s not with her.
And neither was his attention. He made it a point to catch my eyes before he disappeared behind the curtain.
“That was some serious eye fucking,” Bree said. “He’s huge, like . . . damn. I bet he played football or something sexier. Ooohhh, rugby.” She waggled her brows as I sank into my chair. “Bree,” I hissed. “Why, woman? Why would you do that? I just told you I turned him down.”
“Now listen here, heifer,” she said, as I rubbed my temples in an attempt to keep my hands from circling her neck. Bree loved calling me a cow when she had a point to make. She claimed it was a southern thing. “That horse there is the one you are going to climb on to get back into the big parade. Call it what you will, ‘Abbie got her groove back’ or ‘Abbie got her back broke.’ I don’t care. But you will be at the coffee shop this Saturday, and you will be receptive to that fine-ass man. Do you hear me?”
A collective “yes” was hissed in all directions at us. I had no choice but to brush it off because it was the norm. Bree had been told to quiet down at a concert. Who in the hell gets told to quiet down at a concert? Bree, that was who. She sat back, satisfied with her spectacle, as she pitched her voice toward the chairs around us. “Good, then you can each buy me a drink to celebrate my upcoming nuptials.”