CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two days go by, and Bex hasn’t called. He hasn’t come to see me either, and I’m glad. The thing is, I refuse to become that woman. The one who tears apart a marriage, a family, her own dreams. Pursuing a married man is where I draw the line. Besides, he’s not even on the list, and it’s only a little crush.
Plenty of fish in the sea, too. Right? Just these past two weeks, I’ve already met three men.
Gustavo, who is fun and passionate and…okay, the jury is still out on him. I’m not sure I believe his story about the guy in the alley or the gun. On the other hand, I was in so much shock that night, maybe I need to hear his explanation again before shutting the door on any possible future. What if he was telling the truth? Then I’d just be dismissing the man who saved me from a situation he had nothing to do with. According to him, it was his older brother who’d gotten mixed up with some bad people, not him.
Then there’s Waylon. I’ve already texted and said I can’t go to Florence. Maybe after my birthday? But I keep flip-flopping on my decision. He’s cute, clean-cut, and the kind of guy you could bring home to mom. Just an expression, of course. But he loves art, he clearly likes to travel, and there’s a definite attraction between us. No, he’s not on the list, and I’m not ready to give up on marrying before the deadline, but who’s to say how things will work out?
Finally, there’s Chad. Animal-loving, tattooed, hot-chef Chad. I won’t dock him points for being a stripper, but I won’t lie either; if we got serious, I’m not sure how I’d feel about sharing him with all those women, and I know he’s a pay-my-own-way kind of guy. Meaning, he wouldn’t let me help with his tuition even if I had all the money in the world. So that leaves me asking the question: Could I live with him being a stripper until he graduates and gets a real job? I’m not sure. Of course, if our weekend in Napa proves him to be more than just a fun time, I’ll have to consider it.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at my still undecorated walls, my mind slowly drifts back to my therapist—or ex-therapist? I don’t know if I’m thinking straight about what happened. I’m aware it’s easy to mistake feelings of trust for love when you’re sharing intimate pieces of yourself. Maybe I just overreacted. Either way, I need to sit on it for another day. And I definitely need to talk to Gustavo. And…Crap. I have another date tonight. His name is Markus.
I can’t do it. I can’t handle adding another variable to the mix right tonight. I grab my cell from the nightstand and dial Markus. I’ve never spoken to him live, but he’s on the list and texted me after the party. I think he got my number through the rich-people grapevine.
The phone rings and a deep, velvety voice answers with a hello.
“Markus, hi. This is Rose Hale.”
“Rose, I hope you’re not calling to cancel on me.”
“Oh, uh. Actually, I sort of am?” I feel like a turd, but how can I go on a date with him? I’m spinning too many plates as it is.
There’s a long stretch of silence on the other end.
“Hello? You still there?” I say, wondering if he just hung up.
“Yeah. I was just debating if I should make you feel guilty or let you off the hook.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m actually relieved,” he finally says.
“You are?”
“My sister wouldn’t stop bugging me about asking you out after that party.”
“Ah. So you just did it to shut her up.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “You’re an attractive woman, but I’m really more of the outdoors type. Hiking and camping. That kind of stuff.”
I chuckle. “Are you saying I’m too high-maintenance for you?” That’s pretty funny actually. I’m about as high-maintenance as a pet rock.
“Well, you were wearing a ten-thousand-dollar dress that night—according to my sister, who saw the dress and knows about these things.”
It cost ten thousand dollars? I quickly shove away my anger, given where the money came from. My grandmother bought it for my cousin Teresa.
“That was a hand-me-down,” I inform him, “and I happen to enjoy being outdoors.”
“Then it’s a shame you’re canceling our date because I was planning to take you on an evening hike up Stone Mountain for some stargazing. It’s pretty spectacular.”
Hmm… Not that it matters now, but he never mentioned that in his texts. “What were you going to do if I’d showed up for our date in heels and a dress?”
“Take you shopping for thermals, jeans, and tennis shoes?” He laughs. “Okay. I lied. I was really going to take you to dinner for our date and call it an early night, then go on the evening hike with a few friends.”
“Oh my god!” I laugh. “You were going to ditch me after dinner?”
“Pretty much.” He chuckles.
“What a guy.” But he is honest. I’ll give him that much.
“Had I known you were more the nature-loving type, I definitely would have planned to take you on the hike. Which I’m still going on, so you’re welcome to join us.”
I just turned him down for our date, and he invites me anyway? I think most men would call it quits. “You’re bold, Markus. Point for you.”
“Bold makes me think of those guys who like outrageously expensive cars and suits. I’m more of a calm, low-key, straight shooter.”
I don’t know much about Markus other than his family owns some golf courses. Maybe that’s another reason I wasn’t too excited about the date. Golf isn’t my thing, though very few things are. I haven’t had the chance to figure out all my “things.” I know I want to finish college, I love to read, I want to travel, and I enjoy the outdoors.
“So what do you say?” he asks. “And by the way, if you say yes, I’d feel more comfortable if we didn’t call this a date.”
“What would it be, then?”
“Just four people going on a hike with a telescope. And warm clothing. And maybe some hot chocolate, but only if you decide to come.”
I admit, his offer of hot cocoa is tempting. Plus, since this isn’t a date, I feel like it might be just the sort of thing to relax me. “Fine. You convinced me.”
“I’ll pick you up around eight, then,” he says enthusiastically, borderline gloating. He won, and he knows it, but I don’t mind. “And be sure to dress warm. It’s going to drop below forty tonight, and since it’s not a date, there will be absolutely no cuddling.”
I laugh. “See you soon.”
I end the call and stand there staring at my phone. Wait. I just agreed to go out with another guy. What am I doing?
There’s a knock at my door, and I’m not going to lie. My heart starts pounding. It’s not Markus, because we just got off the phone. Chad is working—Ugh! Don’t think about it. Do not think about horny women shoving dollar bills down his shorts. That leaves either Waylon the art lover or Gustavo.
Or Bex?
I rush to the door and look through the peephole. None of the above. The guy has a scruffy jaw, dark hair, and bedroom eyes.
I open the door, thinking he’s likely a delivery guy or something because he’s holding a thick envelope.
“Can I help you?” I say.
His mouth kind of just falls open, and his dark eyes run from my face all the way down to my toes and back again. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, exposing tattoo-covered arms, and well-loved jeans that hug his nicely built body.
The universe must’ve heard my prayers about finding a husband because gorgeous men keep popping out of the woodwork.
“Please don’t ask me on a date because I might have to say yes,” I mutter.
He cracks an amused smile that reaches his warm eyes. “Sorry?”
“Did I just say that out loud?” I feel my face flush.
He chuckles and hands me a yellow envelope. “Here. This is for you. It got delivered to my mailbox by mistake.” He jerks his head toward his right shoulder. “I’m your neighbor—just down at the end of the hall.”
I take the envelope and look at the return address. “Oh. It’s my new passport.” I know I’m smiling like a fool now. This is big for me, a symbol of the new Rose, the real Rose, and not that cartoon version who was trapped in a painting.
“You must be going somewhere fun,” he comments.
I promised myself I’d take my first trip soon, regardless of what happens. Maybe the Caribbean. Maybe Europe. I don’t know. “I’m not sure yet. Haven’t decided.”
“Well, if you need any suggestions, let me know. I’m not much for flying, but I’ve seen a lot of boats and every inch of road between here and Tierra Del Fuego. I love to ride motorcycles.”
He actually fits the motorcycle-lover image. Really cute, a little rugged, lots of tattoos.
He adds, “That’s probably why we haven’t met before. I just got back from a three-month ride through Canada.”
“Wow. Sounds like fun.”
“Amazing, actually.”
We stare at each other for an awkward moment.
“Okay, well, I guess I’d better get back to my piles of mail.” He points over his shoulder.
“Thanks for dropping this off. I’m Rose, by the way.” I hold out my hand.
“Jor Mazzara.” He slides his hand into mine, and it’s rough, almost like leather.
Why does that name sound familiar? Wait. Ohmygod. I’ve seen him in those celebrity gossip magazines the maids always left around. “You’re Jordan Mazzara. The one who was engaged to—”
He holds up his hand to stop me. “I prefer to put that chapter of my life behind me.”
I nod sympathetically. “Totally understandable.” He was with Ariel Medina, the pop star. Their breakup went public when the paparazzi caught her cheating on him. Anyway, he has or had his own custom motorcycle shop and a TV show at some point, I think. I never watched TV, but I remember reading about it. High on Hogs, or something like that. They make custom bikes for obscenely wealthy people.
“No offense, but why are you living here?” Not that there’s anything wrong with this building, but the apartments are small. And very affordable.
“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone. This is kind of my hideout. The paparazzi thing got old real fast.”
I hear that. “My lips are sealed. Well, nice to meet you, Jor.”
“Nice to meet you, too. Hey—I’m not around much since I split my time between coasts for business, but maybe we can go grab a coffee sometime.” Like he knows I’d say yes, he doesn’t wait for my reply before turning to leave.
Yes, I look at his ass. Not on purpose, but the man is walking away, and it’s just there. Firm and round and—Stop it, Rose.
Wait. No. I should look. I’m a free woman. I should be pushing myself to…to…not think about a certain someone else.
I stare for a moment longer. All right. Enough. You have a non-date to get ready for.
I go inside and hear my phone beeping on the kitchen table. There’s a missed call from Gustavo, but no message. For a split second, I consider calling him back and putting this whole thing to bed once and for all, but I don’t have the energy. I need a calm evening hike under the stars.
I’ll call him in the morning.