“I knew who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Alice
“I cannot believe I did that. In the history of my entire life, I have never, ever done something so, so . . .” I was so worked up I couldn’t even finish my sentence.
“Alice, you’re twenty-five years old and have been stuck in the same state your whole life until a month ago. Your entire life hasn’t happened yet,” Caroline said. She may have thought I was overreacting, but that didn’t stop my sister from helping me search through her apartment. I knew it was no use. My purse wasn’t here—and it wasn’t back at the room I had temporarily rented until one of my sister’s roommates had moved out. I had called, but I knew I was wasting my time.
A shock of white blond hair poked through my doorway, attached to a girl with pale grey eyes rapidly blinking.
“Alice, what’s wrong? You look like you lost your pet puppy or something.”
It was Lulu, one of the remaining roommates in the place I now shared with my sister in Chelsea. They had a two-and-a-half bedroom—yeah I know, don’t ask, ‘cuz only in New York would a misshapen nook count as a half bedroom. It was still a space Lulu and Caroline had gotten some rent money for, so them, offering it to me free of charge was huge. My program offered university housing at a reduced rate for doctoral students, but it was still ridiculous. I was devoting to studying sexuality, but I didn’t want to work a pole in order to finance it.
Of course, I had offered to pay something for the space, which was only big enough for a twin and a storage locker, but both girls insisted they were good as long as I kept their place neat and in groceries. I knew it was just my sister’s way of letting me save face. She didn’t need me for neatness; she was totally OCD about her apartment. Everything always had its place.
Everything except my bag, which was still missing.
“I lost my purse,” I said, feeling my throat getting all tight. “This guy, this total jerk, who needed a cab got me all flustered. I think I left it in there.”
Lulu was fidgeting with her hands while biting the corner of her lip, acting like a skittish, scared-of-its-own-shadow little rabbit. When I had first met her, I thought she was on something because, well, no way was someone that naturally high-strung and anxious, but I soon realized that was how Lulu got when she felt out of control.
“This is my fault. I should’ve called into work and asked for the morning off so I could’ve helped you two today.”
“Me being empty-headed has not one thing to do with you, honey,” I tried to console her. “Don’t take that on, ‘kay?”
She shrugged, tucking both hands inside her jean pockets and letting out a slow breath, one of the techniques she told me she had learned in therapy.
That’s another thing I’ve learned since coming to New York: you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting either a therapist or someone going to therapy.
I knew Lulu never took more than three seconds to consider what she was going to wear on any given day, but I still appreciated the chuckle I got reading her T-shirt: Computer engineers know it’s not the length of the vector that counts but how you apply the force.
Yeah, she was a total nerd. She wasn’t just smart, Lulu was like Mensa-level, thank sweet Jesus she’s hasn’t succumbed to the dark side, brilliant. Oh, and she was crazy-beautiful too.
I’d almost consider rear-ending a van full of nuns for bone structure like hers. The only thing she lacked was sense; the woman was living proof common sense wasn’t so common after all.
“Well, did you have anything important in it?”
That stopped me cold. Dear Lord, for someone who was a certifiable genius, she could be scarily clueless sometimes.
“You’re kidding me, right? You do realize most women don’t walk around with their keys and a billfold on a lanyard like a cowbell around their neck, like you do.”
My bad mood had no effect on her. She shrugged her shoulders again. “Well, maybe you should. It’s really convenient. What else do you need besides keys, a credit card, ID, and lip balm?”
“It wasn’t just my bag, it was my portable lifeline. Besides my wallet and make-up, I had my class notes, a couple of textbooks worth more than my kidneys, not to mention Eduardo.”
“Who’s Eduardo?” Caroline asked as she walked into the ‘room.’
“That’s the name of her vibrator,” Lulu clarified for her.
That comment earned me a judgey look. “So let me see if I’ve got this right: My sister—who’s already studying to be a sex therapist—not only names her vibrator but also takes ‘him’ wherever she goes?”
“It’s highly probable that other women in New York do the same,” Lulu said. “Fifty three percent of the population of New York is female. That’s a little over four-and-a-half million women. Recent statistics show that one in three women owns a vibrator. So it’s totally feasible that, out of one point three million—”
“Thank you, Dr. Kinsey. That’ll do,” my sister interrupted, all while giving me the stink-eye. “And don’t encourage her. Alice is already a unique enough creation.”
“Don’t look at me like I’m touched in the head or something,” I said.
Both her hands were up, palms out. “Absolutely not. It’s totally normal for someone to carry their sex toys around with them—in their pocketbook.”
“First of all, it’s a bag. No one’s used the word ‘pocketbook’ since 1955. And second of all, I usually don’t carry it around, but even if I did, there’d be nothing wrong with it. I just shoved it in there when I was packing all my stuff is all.”
Just then, Rayna—friend and neighbor, who lived in the penthouse of our building—walked in, surveying the unholy mess I had made in my attempt to find my bag.
“Hey, you know your front door was wide open. Everything okay?”
My sister crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Alice, I know you’ve only been in the city for only a short time, but you have got to remember you’re not in Devil’s Peak anymore.”
I could feel my face and neck turn red. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m really sorry.”
“What’s going on?” Rayna asked while leaning her curvy hip against the doorjamb.
I recounted the story of my carelessness yet again.
“Well, if you can remember the name of the cab company, I’ll call them for you.”
I met Rayna’s gaze. “Thanks, that would be great, but let’s face it: this is New York. It’s as good as gone.”
“True, but I’ll give it a try,” she said as she whipped out her phone and dialed the number of the cab company I gave her. She walked into the other room so she could hear. In the meantime, Lulu was also standing by the doorway, looking like she didn’t know whether she was coming or going. That’s when I remembered.
“Hey, I know you’re meeting with Beck soon. No need to stick around here. It’ll be okay.”
Beck was the Beckett MacMillan—as in the founder of MacMillan Technologies—and he was considering backing some of Lulu’s inventions. Turns out he was just as much of an obsessed gadget geek as she was, and he obviously recognized genius when he found it.
“If you’re sure . . .” she hedged. “You know I hate being late. It’s an important date.”
“Go,” I insisted. “And use that gloss I got you. It’ll plump your lips and make them even more luscious than they already are.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m sticking to my Coca Cola lip balm. The scent of high fructose corn syrup soothes me.”
“Alright nerd girl, hop along then.” I grinned. “Good luck. Be safe.”
“Will do!” she waved while skipping down the hall and out the front door.At least she remembered to close it behind her.
Rayna suppressed a grin, shaking her head. “She’s gone over him, isn’t she?”
I did a combo laugh-snort. “What gave it away?”
Her expression grew somber. “Yeah, well listen, the cab company contacted the driver. He checked the cab, but your purse wasn’t in there.”
“Yeah, it’s already been hours. I really appreciate you trying though.” I rested my head in the palms of my hands, elbows on my knees.
“Lo siento, chiquita,” Rayna said. “I’ve gotta go,” she turned her attention to my sister. “Lock the door behind me.”
Caroline got up to follow her, answering her cell phone along the way. Meanwhile, I grabbed some paper and tried to list all the credit cards and other personal information that could’ve been in my lost wallet.
It didn’t take long.
I had two credit cards (one maxed out), my school ID and my North Carolina-issued driver’s license, which I hadn’t had a chance to change over yet. Oh, and an almost full punch card from Red Cat Burger. What’s sad is I was more upset about losing the card for a free burger than the cards.
“Um, Alls?” my sister was back, holding the phone to her ear with her hand over the mouthpiece. I’ve told her a dozen times about a revolutionary feature called the mute button, but it just doesn’t stick.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“There’s some guy calling for you on my cell, saying he needs to speak with you directly.”
My brows knitted, until I remembered. “I put you down as my emergency contact at school. Maybe someone turned in my bag and figured you’re the way to let me know?”
“Or maybe it’s that freaktard professor of yours.”
Even though I was taking five classes this term, I already knew she meant Professor Bails.
“Don’t start now,” I told her. “He’s a huge deal. I’m lucky he took a first year into his seminar.”
“Whatever, if you ask me, that man’s completely under the weather upstairs,” she said, tapping her finger to her temple. “Don’t let him piss all over you and convince you it’s raining, okay?”
“Fine, fine, just give me the phone already,” I snatched her cell out of her hand. “You’ve got Alice here.”
I heard a low-throttle, sexy chuckle on the other end of the line. I knew that sounds weird—a ‘sexy’ chuckle—but the stranger on the other end of the line had it.
Definitely not Professor Bails. He had more of a death-rattle smoker’s cough.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“I’m the guy who found your bag.”
A rush of relief flooded my body and I felt all the tension drain right out of me. “Oh thank God! I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to do without it.”
“Yeah, I bet. You carry a lot of crap with you.”
My eyes turned to slits. Not that he could tell, but still. “My stuff is not crap.”
I heard him laugh again and that’s when it hit me—I was talking to the guy who kicked me out of my cab. The one with the lumberjack beard and delicious man scent.
Hey, don’t judge. That’s totally a thing.
“My theory is you subconsciously left your bag behind because it was too much of a burden. It was your mind’s way of doing some much needed housekeeping.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” He sounded so sure of himself.
Arrogant prick.
“Are you a therapist of some kind?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said with a smile in his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I’m just giving it to you straight.”
Unbelievable. “Well, thank you kindly for bestowing your gifts upon me. You know, I bet you think the sun comes up every morning just to hear you crow.”
He let out a laugh, not the kind that mocked you, but a rich and soulful one, the type that filled up empty spaces you didn’t know you had. I pushed the feeling aside.
I shouldn’t have asked the next question, but I couldn’t help myself. “Uh . . . how much did you ransack through my personal belongings?”
Silence. Heavy, weighted silence hung in the air for several seconds. “Well, I’ll tell you . . . usually I would have just tossed it on my assistant’s desk and had her contact you. But once I saw what you had in that velvet pouch, I had to talk to you myself.”
He was talking about my battery-operated-boyfriend (B.O.B.), Eduardo.
“I bet you did,” I huffed. “Alright, so you found my vibrator. Here’s a twenty-first century newsflash: women own sex toys. We use them and we make no apologies for it. So if you’re expecting me to get all discomfited because you discovered I’m a wholly evolved, sexual being, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Discomfited?”
“Embarrassed,” I clarified.
“I know what discomfited means,” he answered. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use it in casual conversation before.”
“Well, then you need to reach beyond your raisin’,” I said. “Aim higher.”
“I should’ve assumed a woman pursuing her doctorate degree in human sexuality studies wasn’t going to get all tongue tied over a rocket tucked in the side pocket.”
“Wow, you really plundered through every nook and cranny, didn’t you there?”
“Now, don’t get in a snit. I really was just searching for a way to get in touch with you. Your driver license is still from below the Mason Dixon line. Good thing I found your school ID.”
“Mmhmm,” I said, unconvinced. “How did you get my sister’s cell number? Why didn’t you just contact the university and have them handle it?”
“My assistant’s a bloodhound and can find anyone. Once I found your name, the rest was easy. And I wasn’t going to leave your stuff with a stranger at your school.”
“So why am I talking to you and not your assistant?”
That question was met with silence on the other end for several beats.
“Hello?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Alice.”
An electric thrill ran through me, especially hearing him say my name.
“You know, City, I never got your name earlier.”
“Ah, so you recognize my voice?” He seemed pleased, which gave me a jolt of happy. Gawd, I was such a girl sometimes. Why should I care what he thinks?
“Dare,” he said.
“What dare? What are you talking about?”
“No, I mean my name is Dare.”
“Dare? Your name is Dare? What the heck, did you parents lose a bet or something?”
Caroline started giggling but had enough manners to cover her mouth while she was doing it. Frankly, until she made a sound, I had forgotten she was even in the room with me.
“Uh no, far from it,” he reassured me, surprisingly not offended at all by my snide remark. “It’s an old family name.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, tasting something sour in my mouth. The only people who ever used family names for their progeny came from money. “So, you’re one of those.”
“One of those what, Ms. Leighton? Enlighten me.”
I was being incredibly rude, but nothing I said seemed to rattle him. If anything, he seemed to be getting off on it. The calmer he was, the more he was pushing my buttons.
“You’re high cotton,” I mumbled under my breath. Caroline glanced up, meeting my gaze as she shook her head, which totally said it all: if neither of us ever dealt with another entitled douche-a-saurus for the rest of our days, it still would be a day too soon.
“Do you always make a shit-ton of assumptions about people before you’ve even had a chance to get to know them?”
I sighed into the phone. “I’d like to say I don’t, but now that you bring it up, I’m thinking I do, like all the time. I should work on that.”
“Hold back the reins now,” he teased, imitating my accent, or at least trying to. “Is that an apology I’m hearing? Am I hallucinating right now?”
“Alright, alright, I deserve that,” I said. “Let’s move it along now.”
“Well, why don’t we meet so you can see if your hunch about me is right? And bonus, you’ll get your precious cargo back.”
Oh dear Lord, I had forgotten all about my bag. Where was my head at?
I knew exactly where it was at: wondering if that beard of his felt as deliciously rough between my legs as his voice did between my ears.
Gawd!
I needed to cut this off at the knees. Now.
“Okay, so we’re both busy people. Tell me where you work and I’ll pick up my bag from your assistant.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he countered. “Why don’t you give me your address and I’ll bring it to you?”
“If you got my sister’s cell number, then I’m thinking you know where I live already.”
He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“Well, thank you for not just showing up and scaring the stuffing out of me.”
That one earned me another chuckle. “Alright, so why don’t you come pick it up at my apartment?”
“Uh no—and if any woman agreed to that it means her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor, if you understand my meaning.”
“I know what it means, Dixie. I’m just wondering how many Southern colloquialisms I’m going to be on the receiving end of in one conversation.”
“Well, I’d count those up for you, City, but I’m too busy with all the different nicknames you’ve got rolling off your tongue to be of any real help.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I heard a low moan. “Alright, come to my studio instead. I’ve got people around, so you’ll be safe.”
“City, did you forget? You have my wallet.”
“Then, I’ll send a car for you. Ten sharp.”
“That’s four hours from now. What am I supposed to do until—?”
“Gotta go Dixie.”
“Gawd! Are you always this, this—?”
“Assertive? Charming? Irresistible? Why yes . . . yes, I am actually.”
I emitted something between a growl and a groan.
“Oh and Alice?”
“Yes, Dare,” I snapped.
“Don’t even think of sending someone else. Because I’m not giving your bag to anyone but you.”
And then, wouldn’t you know it? The son-of-a-bitch hung up on me.