Sexy Jerk(56)

The shrill of my cell phone ringing wakes me up. "Hello," I answer sleepily. 

"Are you still sleeping?" It's Fiona.

I glance at the time. It's nine. "Yes, and for those of us without a little able bodied alarm clock living under our roof, it's normal."

She laughs. "You are so right. I could have used a couple more hours this morning, but we're both up now, so lets meet for lunch. Ethan is taking Max to Home Depot to scout out his next home improvement project and I have just about an hour to hear all about you and Nick."

I snuggle deeper into my pillow, the scent of Nick still lingering, and breathe it in. "Okay, okay, where and when do you want to meet?"

"How about The Patio on N. Stockton Dr. at noon."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be there," I say, and after our goodbyes I hang up.

Telling myself to get up and go home, I take one quick roll over to look at the empty space where Nick would be lying if he were still here, but the space is not empty. Just below his pillow is a single red rose and a folded piece of paper.

With a huge smile on my face, I grab at the piece of paper and scan the inside note. It reads,

Things definitely happen for a reason. Can't wait to see you tonight.

With a sigh, I pick up the bright green stem and bring it to my nose.

Could my life actually be coming up roses?





Tess

SATURDAYS ARE NEVER quite long enough.

Even at ten in the morning, I can already tell I won't have enough time to get done everything I want to. I had all kinds of plans for today, most of which included working at the café, but as I look around my messy studio apartment, I remember Nick is coming over tonight. My inspection tells me that just tidying up isn't going to improve this place much.

It seriously needs some personality.

I look at the boxes, the open space, the white sheets, the white walls, the bare floors, and ponder where to start. Perhaps a bright bedspread and new colorful sheets would be a good start. A throw rug or two as well. The walls will have to wait. Art is personal and can't be rushed. And of course, unpacking the dozens and dozens of boxes stacked everywhere won't hurt.

First things first though, I need to figure out what I'm going to wear tonight. A girl has her priorities.

After digging through some boxes, I find what I'm looking for. It's a sexy little black dress. High neck. Sleeveless. The hem hits just at my knee. I slip it on and stare at myself in the reflection of the mirror. The restaurant Nick is taking me to is considered a fine dining establishment, much like Gaspard, and I wore this, or dresses similar to this, all the time. It really is perfect.

Except it doesn't feel perfect. As I look at it in the mirror, all I see is the uptown girl Ansel wanted me to be. All the years I spent working hard on establishing something that was never really mine seem to come crashing down on me. I want to rip this dress off, and all the ones like it, and shred them into a thousand different pieces.

Frantically I dump box after box, looking for something that makes me feel like me. Like the woman Nick makes me feel like. A girl who can be who she is with no care of where or how she grew up.

A small box tips over in my hunt and a bunch of photos fall to the ground. My eye catches one of them. It is from the Fourth of July Barbeque Fiona threw last year. The picture is of me and Ansel sitting in chairs on her front lawn. I bring the photo closer. Nick is in the background, standing on the front porch with a beer in his hand, and he's staring at the two of us, with almost a kind of yearning on his face.

Nick.

I crush the photo to my chest.

Nick.

He had noticed me. He had been watching me. And I had completely misunderstood him every time we were together.



       
         
       
        

I have a lot of making up to do for that.

Once I've put all the photos back in the box, I continue rummaging through my clothes, but my heart feels a little heavy, and I take a moment to text Nick. I type:

Just wanted to say good morning and I hope you have a great day.

His return text is somewhat unexpected. Not dirty in the way they usually are, but rather sweet.

My day would have been better if I'd stayed in bed with you.

Smiling now, I set my phone aside and get back to work.

When I come up with nothing that I want wear tonight, I grab for my phone once again and this time I text Fiona.

Can I borrow that silver silk dress you bought when you were in New York City last year?

The halter one from the warehouse you took me to?

Yes, that one.

Sure thing.

Ansel had said it looked like something from the seventies, then again he hated when I shopped in the garment district. He always said the clothes from there looked trashy. Funny, I wonder if he secretly thought I was trashy?