Can't Always Get What You Want (8 page)

He looks up and I notice that he has the most extraordinary pale green eyes. At some angles, they almost look yellow. Hmm. Freaky.

The young ladies standing around him are desperately trying to get his attention—
flicking their hair, bending over to pick up pencils—and giggling.

It doesn’t seem to affect him.

He’s just staring at me.

I quickly avert my gaze. He looks like trouble, a real bad-boy type.

Don’t look at him, don’t look at him…

I look at him.

And this time when he meets my eyes, a gentle smile is on his face. It softens his features, and he doesn’t look quite as scary as he did before.

The phrase “A wolf in sheep’s clothing” comes to mind.

I’d better stay away from him.

The head instructor booms out a set of directions, and we file into our roles. The “patients” are to stand along the wall, each one beside a bed and scale, while the nursing students are to mill around us doing whatever “nursey”-type things they’re required to do.

Where did tattoo-guy end up? I glance to my left, and see him facing me, a lopsided grin dancing on his lips.

“Hi there,” he says, with a nod.

Wow, he has the most confident air about him. It somehow feels stifling, and intimidating. How can he make me feel this way with just two words?

“Hello,” I squeak back.

“Okay, students,” the instructor bellows, “please measure your patient’s height and weight. I will be checking each of you individually to ensure that your measurements are accurate.”

I stand on a doctor’s office–type scale, and Samira goes about her work.

To the left of me, I hear tattoo-guy’s partner read out, “All right, you’re at six feet, four inches…”

Meep! He’s over a foot taller than me!

“…and one hundred and ninety pounds.”

I abruptly remember that I’m standing on a scale, and shoot Samira a thunderous look that I hope implies, “I will smother you with your pillow tonight if you say my weight out loud.”

She gets the message.

Eventually the long-drawn-out health assessment ends, and everyone disperses. Samira wraps me in a bear hug. “Thanks, Soph.”

“Anytime, Sam.”

“I think you have a fan over there,” she whispers, motioning with her head to the far side of the room.

“What?”

I know exactly what she means.

“The hottie with all the tats,” she says, winking at me. “It looks like he’s making a beeline for you, actually.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I say. Grabbing her by the elbow, I push our way through the crowd toward the door.

“Why? Don’t you want to at least talk to him?” she asks.

“Not really. He just looks like bad news.”

Samira casts an appreciative glance his way. “Hot bad news, you mean.”

“That’s the worst kind.”

Samira sighs. “Fine, have it your way.”

Before we turn the corner, I glance over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway of the building we just exited. He’s watching us walk away.

My heart is filled with an achingly beautiful sense of foreboding.

He’s going to be the end of me, isn’t he?

September 25, 2008

Samira frowns at the phone in her hand. “My mom just sent me a text. She wants us to pick up a few groceries before we come home today.”

“All right.”

“Do you think you can do it? I’m part of a study group tonight.”

“Sure, no problem.” I love Samira’s mom. Nita Singh is a fantastic person. Warm, engaging, and sweet; simply being in her presence feels like coming home. And she makes the best curries I’ve ever tasted, so living in her basement has some definite perks.

“Awesome,” Samira says while texting me the shopping list. She gives me a swift hug and runs off. “See you later!”

I pack up my purse and books and head toward the nearest grocery store. I meander through the produce aisle, looking down at the list.

Hmm. There are quite a few things on here, actually. I hope I can get them onto the LRT okay. I’m pushing the cart along rather quickly while reading the list, when…

SMASH!

I realize that I’ve slammed into another cart.

“Ouch!”

Looking up, I see the beautiful, sexy tattooed guy from earlier this week standing in front of me.

Does the universe have some sort of sick sense of irony? Of all the thousands of people who could be shopping at this store, at this very moment, I had to crash into
him
? And smash his fingers too, by the looks of it.

“I’m so s-sorry,” I stammer. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his hand a few times, but manages a half frown/half smile. His sense of style suits the broody-guy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks vibe he’s got going on: black jeans, dark gray shirt, and heavy black boots. The dark clothes offset his colorful tattoos.

I expected scary images to be all over his arms, but these are really quite beautiful. At a glance, it looks like some sort of nature scene, with detailed animals and plants. And script of some kind is on both inner forearms, but I can’t quite read it.

I think he notices me checking him out.

Retreat, retreat!

“It’s my fault; I should have been watching where I was going,” I say.

“Really, it’s okay. No harm done.”

I am completely mortified. He’ll only ever remember me as the girl who smashed his hand at Safeway. Would it be possible for the floor to swallow me whole?

“I’m so sorry,” I say again. And before he can say anything else, I shift my grocery cart out of his path and walk (err, sprint) away.

I manage to collect the items on Nita’s list without further incident (or further sightings of Mr. Tall and Gorgeous).

My mind puzzles over him. At first glance, he seemed threatening, but now I’m not so sure. There’s something about him that seems vulnerable.

I feel something gently bump the end of my cart.

It’s him!

He’s smiling, tilting his head to the side.

“That was some pickup attempt. You could have just asked my name, rather than smashing my hand.”

Dark stubble enhances the shape of his lips and high cheekbones. It’s incredibly distracting.

What…what did he just say?

“What! No, I didn’t mean to,” I say, exasperated. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s only teasing me.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Sophie.”

I feel like someone has flipped a switch inside me, and I’m shining bright glorious light everywhere.

He extends his hand to me.

“I’m Aaron.”

Chapter 7

Mixed Emotions

“Aaron…”

My shoulders quake with shuddering sobs. After five years, his face had been starting to fade a little, like an ancient black-and-white photograph. And now, his lips, his smile, his hair, his eyes…

Oh God, his eyes…

They’re all etched into the forefront of my mind in roaring Technicolor.

I miss you.

The clock in my car’s stereo catches my eye.

Oh no…I’ve been sitting here blubbering for forty-five minutes. I have to race home and get ready for company. Maybe I should cancel?

Okay. Deep breaths
.
I can’t cancel. It’s not my friends’ fault that the universe has a twisted sense of timing.

This morning when I woke up, seeing Brett again was all I could think about. We’ve only met twice, but I feel like something is there.

But now, the thought of being attracted to him makes me feel dirty, as if I’m cheating on the love of my life with the pretty boy from next door.

Don’t hate me, Aaron. Please don’t hate me.

—

I somehow manage to safely arrive at home, though I don’t remember driving.

Once I’ve finished a rather hasty shower, I tie my hair up into a high ponytail and throw on a comfy pair of jeans and a lavender tank top. Not my finest work, but it will have to do. I just don’t have the energy to play hostess
and
look cute tonight.

I hear my phone buzz with a text from Samira.

Hey Soph! Do you want us to bring anything?

Booze. I need a drink.

Sure, I can pick up a couple bottles of wine, if you like. Everything okay?

Pfft. What does “
okay”
even mean? People ask “Are you okay?” and “How are you doing?” all of the time, but don’t really mean it. It’s like a knee-jerk reaction.

Feeling super. See you soon!!!

Maybe it’s a good thing that I won’t be alone tonight. With or without them, I intend to drink.

A lot.

But, first things first: getting supper ready. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to throw the steaks in the marinade before I left for work this morning. We’ll also have grilled corn on the cob, vegetable skewers, and for dessert, my Grandma Lucy’s apple pie. It has a secret ingredient in it that drives men crazy.

Well, at least that’s what Grandma Lucy used to say. And whether it’s man candy or not, it’s damn good pie.

I start peeling apples, mixing them with cinnamon, sugar, and my secret ingredient. Do I even want to drive a certain man crazy anymore?

Sighing loudly, I pour the filling into a store-bought pie shell. Sorry, Grandma. This chick is too tired and too frazzled to even think about making pastry from scratch today.

I’m just about to put the pie into the oven when I hear my front door open behind me. Forcing a smile, I greet them at the door.

“Good to see you, Sophie,” says Narayan.

Wow, I haven’t seen Narayan in a long time. He’s always been tall and skinny, but he looks even more pointy than usual.

“We come bearing gifts!” Samira says, offering me a case of beer and two bottles of white wine.

“Now, cheel it, dahlink, or else it vill be varm, und disgustenk.”

Sam and I have this thing where we pretend we’re Russian aristocrats. It happened one drunken night a couple of years ago, and stuck.

“I vill, I vill! Vat sort of place you tink dis ees?” I reply with as thick an accent as I can muster.

Brett is eyeing us curiously from the doorway. I feel bad for not saying hi to him yet. The mixed emotions swirling in my head keep yelling conflicting messages.

You whore! What would Aaron think about your little picnic-blanket fantasies?

It’s been five years. I need to move on.

You can’t risk getting close to someone new. You’ll just get hurt.

Remembering my manners, I step toward Brett with a small smile.

“Hi, stranger. Welcome to my humble abode,” I say, gesturing toward my living room and kitchen.

“Hey, Soph,” he says warmly. He bends down and plants a soft kiss on my cheek.

Well, that was unexpected!

My mind is crystal clear for a moment; for a brief second, everything comes into focus, and all I can think about is Brett.

But it doesn’t last.

Feeling flustered, I look for a distraction. “May I take your coat?”

He offers me his coat, and I turn to take Samira’s and Narayan’s. They’re staring at Brett and me, mouths gaping.

“Sam, your coat,” I mutter quietly.

Brett walks into the living room. “Nice place you have here.” He appears unaffected by our friends’ gawking.

Samira steps into the living room. “You should have seen it before. There was all this horrible green shag carpeting, even in the bathroom! And faux wood wall panels, orange paint…”

I listen while trying to find some room in my entryway closet to accommodate their coats. Dang it. No extra room. I think it may be time to do some wardrobe editing.

“I’m just going to lay them on my bed, okay?” I call over my shoulder as I go down the hall to my bedroom. They all nod briefly in my direction, but don’t break conversation about how hideous my house used to look.

When I return, I see Brett looking around the living room. I just need to talk to him. Push any negative feelings down. I’ll deal with them later.

“Are you ready to show off your grilling skills?” I ask.

He nods. “You bet. You sure have a lot of books.”

I look around the room. My house is tidy, but I’m a bit of a book fanatic. Stacks of books are everywhere. Some are even serving as coffee tables and footrests, and others as “decorative” displays along the wall.

A tiny particleboard bookshelf stands in the corner, bowing pitifully under the weight of my old medical textbooks and favorite hardbound classics.

“Yeah, I can’t seem to get rid of any. I just love them.”

He nods, and he’s wearing an unreadable expression, as if the wheels in his head are turning. What is he thinking?

“Shall I show you the backyard?”

I lead him into the kitchen and through the patio doors. When I first bought this place, it was winter and everything outside was covered in several feet of snow. Save for a large wooden gazebo on the right-hand side and some tall trees, I had no idea what lurked beneath.

Last spring when the snow melted, I was in for a shock. The previous owners may have had horrible taste in home decor, but the backyard was simply gorgeous. Like something out of a gardening magazine.