“No preference,” I answered. “You don’t have to go through all that trouble though, I was just thinking we’d go to a restaurant or get take out.”
He shook his head. “I’m taking you to the best restaurant in the city—my kitchen. Tonight’s an opportunity to impress you with my culinary skills.”
“Expert surfing instructor, now a master chef.” Also, billionaire and sex god, but I figured those were already obvious. “How many surprises do you have?”
Those sinful lips forming a smile made me feel a sudden ache between my legs. “Oh the things I’ll show you, Kristen.”
Just as my thoughts began to turn naughty, a mental shopping list interrupted them. “I almost forgot, I need to pick up some medicine for Riley. Do you think we could get that first?”
“Of course. We’ll stop by the grocery store,” he said, pulling away from the curb to join the flock of cars in traffic.
If picking me up from work was surreal, grocery shopping was an illusion. I was cautious at first that someone might see us, but caution turned to laughter as we roamed the aisles for items. Two weeks ago I was rebuffing Vincent’s advances, and now we were picking out food to cook for dinner like an established couple. It was a domestic experience that felt bizarre but natural. I hadn’t been looking for anything serious or Mr. Right or even much of anything, and there I was with someone who felt like all those things. I hadn’t expected Vincent to be this way but then again he’d been constantly surprising me.
By the time we left, I felt a lot better than when he had picked me up from work. With half a dozen bags loaded into his trunk, he drove while I played the role of navigator, directing him to my apartment.
When we neared my place, all humor and playfulness evaporated from my system, replaced by the anxiety from earlier. He turned to me and smiled as he stopped the car in front of my apartment building, putting the emergency lights on. “I can park. I’m curious to see your place.”
“It won’t take long, I’ll just be a minute,” I said, hopping out. I didn’t want to risk him running into my ex, if he was still around. Things would go from bad to disastrous. “Keep the car running.”
He seemed a little confused but then nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
As I scaled the wooden steps of my building’s stairwell, I couldn’t help checking over my shoulder every few steps or being wary of dark corners. I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached my door without incidence. When I entered the apartment I found Riley in a robe on the sofa watching television, a box of tissues next to her.
“Brought you some stuff,” I said, handing her the orange juice and Dayquil.
“Thanks, you’re the best.” Her voice was nasally and she blew into a tissue to clear her nose.
“Do you have the flu? Should I take you the doctor?” I put the back of my hand up to her forehead to check her temperature.
“Nah, I think it’s only a cold. I just need to keep blowing my nose every few minutes.”
“Glad to hear it’s not serious.”
She looked at my shoes which I hadn’t taken off like I normally would when I entered the apartment. “You going somewhere?”
I suddenly felt guilty for bailing on her. “Riley, I’m going to stay at Vincent’s tonight.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, congratulations! I’m glad to see you’re finally coming out of your dating shell.”
“About that . . . I need to tell you something.” I waited until she gave me her undivided attention. “Don’t open the door for anyone. Especially if it’s the guy who came by earlier. Whatever you do, don’t let him inside.”
Her brows furrowed. “Who is he? Should I be worried?”
“He was someone I dated before I moved here. Don’t worry, he only cares about me; he won’t do anything to you. I’ll tell you more about it some other time. But keep your mace handy just in case.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Her hands made shoving motions in front of her face. “You can’t just say ‘keep your mace handy’ and dash out. What’s going on? Do we need to call the cops?”
I shook my head. “We can’t call the police. It’s complicated.” As reluctant as I was divulging details that had haunted me for the past two years, I briefly told her about Marty and how he hurt me. How he was the reason I moved from Boston to NYC in the first place. I didn’t have the time or desire to elaborate on sordid details, but she deserved some sort of explanation.
She looked at me with concern as if I was the sick one. When I didn’t explain further, she sighed and said, “Okay, Kristen. You can tell me the rest later. I’ll keep an eye out.”