Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (12 page)

“I’ll stay on schedule, Lindsay. Whatever Avery does today, I’ll do, too.”

Then he glances at me and grins, and I find myself grinning back at him. And as he stands next to me, Deke is all I’m aware of.

The day has
flown
by.

I study the premium room in amazement. I’ve counted, sorted, stacked, and inventoried. And I’ve made like a zillion notes on items of clothing I think Premier Airlines should invest in. Like updated polo shirts with the logo on the cuff instead of upper left chest, designed to be worn with windbreaker vests for maximum, yet stylish, logo placement.

I smile to myself as I sit down in front of the backdrop Deke has set up in the premium room, where we’ll do my one-on-one interview to tie up the day.

And what a day it’s been. Deke spent the whole day hanging out here and talking. He would shoot for periods but when he easily could have left for the day, he stayed. And while I worked, we talked—
really
talked. Yes, he still asked me lots of work-related questions, but then we talked about other things, too.

For example, I learned that Deke wears vintage T-shirts because they have character and are comfortable. And he only wears ones that represent something he likes, whether it’s a band or a restaurant.

“Okay,” he says, coming back into the room and interrupting my thoughts. “Let’s wrap this up.”

I bite my lip as Deke goes behind the tripod. To be honest, even though it’s been just him and me in this room today, I’m not ready to wrap it up. I feel like we’re just getting started.

“Sure,” I say, nodding at him.

“All right, we’re rolling,” Deke says after he’s turned the light on. “Avery, why don’t you tell me what you were working on over the weekend?”

I stare directly at the camera, eager to share this news with Deke. “I’m working on a plan to convince Craig Potanski to pursue the spa basket idea.”

I glance at him and notice he’s staring at me.

“Really?” he asks, looking surprised.

“Really. I’ve started researching it, and I think the idea has a lot of potential. I’m going to put together a spa basket sample for Craig, as well as a proposal of why I think this is an imperative part of Premier Airline’s spa service. I hope to get on his calendar soon to pitch it.”

I look away from the camera and directly at Deke. He’s staring at me with a blown away expression on his face. Then he smiles broadly at me.

“I’m glad you are going after it,” he says.

I beam back at him as a tingle shoots down my spine. “Me, too. And I have so much to do this week! I have to go out and buy sample products after work one night—”

“When are you planning to do that?” he interrupts. “That would be great footage for your story. I’d like to tag along and shoot that if I could.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, thinking aloud. “Maybe Wednesday or Friday. But not Thursday. That’s Sasha’s birthday outing.”

“Tell me about that,” Deke asks.

“Well, a group of us are going out to celebrate,” I say, wondering if maybe Deke would show up if he knew where it was. So I proceed to tell him exactly which bar and what time we’ll be there. Just as information for the documentary, of course. After all, this is real life. I’m
supposed
to give those kinds of details.

His eyes laser in on mine for a moment.

“Interesting plans,” he says slowly. And there’s a hint of mystery in the way he says “interesting” that makes my stomach flip upside down.

“Aren’t they?” I respond, serving the ball right back to him.

Deke studies me, as if he knows I’m playing a game now. He turns off the camera. “I think we’re finished for tonight, Avery.”

Yes,
I guess we are,
I think.
For tonight.

I slowly unclip the mic and pluck the wire out from underneath my shirt. I take off the transmitter box and hang on to it for a second, lost in thought.

Despite the fact that Deke had a great date with Isabel, I’ve lobbed the ball back in his court. He knows exactly where I’m going to be on Thursday night.

Now it remains to be seen if he decides to return my volley—or not.

Chapter 12

By seven-thirty on Thursday night, I’m squeezed into a packed Lincoln Park pub with Sasha, Bree, and some sorority sisters from Illinois.

It’s retro night, so 80’s and 90’s tunes are blaring through the place, and tons of people are taking advantage of Thursday night drink specials. I’m sipping my sour cherry martini, half-listening to the latest gossip going around the table, and keep glancing toward the front door.

Just in case Deke might show up tonight.

I stare down at the ruby red drink in my glass and take an anxious breath. Not that he would, of course. I had merely mentioned where I would be.

I mean, Deke might be out with Isabel for all I know.

Oh God. What if he brings Isabel here?

I hadn’t even thought of that scenario. If he brings Isabel here, I will die. I will collapse onto this sticky, beer-splattered floor, curl up in a ball in my tangerine-colored halter-top dress, and die of complete mortification.

Suddenly a phone vibrates loudly on the tabletop, causing everyone to check and see if it is theirs.

“It’s me,” Sasha says with delight. She picks it up reads it. “It’s a text message from James. He and Sullivan are almost here.”

I knew Stupid Sullivan and his annoying friends would be part of the mathematical equation for tonight, so I asked Bree to be my buffer from Sullivan. She doesn’t know I have feelings for Deke—as I don’t see the point of talking about something that might never happen—but Bree does agree that Sullivan is annoying and I shouldn’t have to be subjected to him and his unwanted advances.

And ever since that horrible kiss, Sullivan has been
relentless
in his pursuit of me.

He’s called me. Sent me text messages. Private messaged me on Connectivity. Apparently, running away after a kiss has caused Sullivan to want me even more. I even told him I thought we’d be better off as friends, and he didn’t get it. Sullivan texted me back that he completely agreed “friends with benefits” was exactly what he was thinking, too, and it surprised him I was so open to the idea. Oy.

“I wish Sullivan wasn’t coming,” I absently blurt out.

“Please, Avery. It’s called good economics. The more guys, the more drinks we get paid for us. Positive economic advantage.”

“Sasha, I can buy my own drinks,” I say firmly.

Sasha heaves an annoyed sigh. “For God’s sake, I’m not asking you to kiss the goldfish,” she spits, taking a sip of her drink.

Bree bursts out laughing, and my sorority sisters look around in confusion.

“Who’s a goldfish?” Emma Davenport asks.

Bree grins. “Avery, why don’t you explain why Sasha is referring to Sullivan as the Goldfish?”

Despite the situation, I begin to laugh. “Okay. Sullivan is a guy I used to like—”

“Until he kissed her,” Sasha interrupts.

“Uh-huh,” I say, even though I know that’s not true. My interest in Sullivan disappeared before he ever kissed me.

I quit liking Sullivan because he wasn’t Deke Ryan.

“He’s a terrible kisser,” Sasha supplies, snapping me from my thoughts. “Go on, tell them, Avery.”

“Sullivan, unfortunately, kisses like a goldfish. All mouth, all suction, all wet,” I declare. Then I put my mouth into a big O and everyone cracks up.

“Avery’s been trying to avoid him ever since,” Bree explains.

As Sasha and the other girls begin to talk about bad kissers, I turn to Bree and urgently clasp her arm. “I’m counting on you to be my wingman. Do not let Sullivan get near me, okay?”

Bree does a mock salute. “Yes, Captain Andrews.”

“Happy Birthday!” a male voice yells out.

I turn and find Sullivan, James, and a handful of the morons from Saturday’s party standing next to our booth.

Sasha gets out to hug James—who as it turns out, really is an up-and-coming real estate developer—and Sullivan takes the opportunity to take her spot and slide in next to me, much to my dismay.

“Hey, Little Avery, where have you been?” Sullivan asks, gently tapping his index finger on bridge of my nose, over my freckles. “I haven’t heard from you in forever.”

I dart a nervous glance toward the entrance. Thank God there’s no sign of Deke yet.

Not that I’m planning on him actually coming or anything like that, of course. I’m just stating a fact.

“I’m really busy,” I say, picking up my drink. I take a gulp and then toy with the wet napkin underneath it. Surely Sullivan is picking up on my non-verbal cues. He has to notice I have more interest in my wet napkin than him, doesn’t he?

“Then work must be
intense
for you,” Sullivan says. “Because after that kiss we’d shared, I know you’d be
eager
to see me again if you had the chance.”

I hear Bree start choking on her drink as she fights back laughter. I stare at Sullivan, completely dumbfounded at what an arrogant, ignorant, total jerk-off he is.

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brow.

“I know you would see me if you had the time, Gorgeous, because you and I have
chemistry
,” Sullivan says, leaning in closer and playing with my hair.

Oh dear God, he’s clueless.

“Our kiss was hot, don’t you think?” he murmurs in my ear. “So what are you drinking?”

“A sour cherry martini,” I respond, furrowing my brow.

“Can I have a taste?” Sullivan asks.

I decide this is a good diversion. I’m about to say yes and hand him my glass when Sullivan suddenly makes the O mouth again and leans toward me.

Gah! I quickly turn my head, but it’s too late. His goldfish mouth partially lands on mine, and I feel my peachy-colored Chanel lip-gloss being smeared across my face in his attempt to taste the martini on my lips. Ack! It’s disgusting. Bree is so fired as my wingman.

And then I look over Sullivan’s shoulder, toward the door, and see Deke staring directly at me.

Chapter 13

The second I lock eyes with Deke, an electric feeling jolts me. He’s here, in Lincoln Park. He’s volleyed the ball back to me. He’s here for one reason and one reason only.

Deke is here to see me.

But then I realize what he’s just seen.

I jerk straight up, my feeling of elation replaced by pure panic. Oh God. What did this kiss look like from across a crowded bar? Could he possibly think I want this, to be kissing Sullivan?

Then, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realize that’s
exactly
what Deke could be thinking. After all, I was the one who stupidly told Deke I wanted Sullivan. Damn it. Why did I
ever
think playing games was the thing to do?

I lock eyes with Deke, pleading with him to see this isn’t the case. I beg him with my eyes to come rescue me. He has to see I’m in distress. Can’t he tell I’m sending him a mental S-O-S?

He stares back at me for a moment, his eyes lasered in on mine in that intense way he has. Then he heads straight to the bar. He’s with another guy who bears a striking resemblance to him.
Zach,
I realize.
That has to be his brother Zach.

“Gorgeous, what’s wrong? Are you shy in public?”

I tear my eyes off Deke for a split second and focus on Stupid Sullivan. “Excuse me?” I ask, trying to wipe the lip-gloss off my face.

“You’re shy,” Sullivan says cockily, playing with my hair again. “That’s why you don’t want to kiss me here.”

I’m about to lose it.

“No, I’m really not,” I say firmly, using my cocktail napkin to wipe the gloss off my fingertips. I glance toward the bar, and Deke is getting a beer. Okay, he has exactly one minute to get his ass over here and save me from Sullivan’s slimy clutches. “Remember what I said about us being just friends? I meant it, Sullivan.”

“Oh, sure, I get it,” Sullivan says, winking at me. “Friends with benefits. That’s better, actually.”

Oh he so doesn’t get it. His ego won’t allow his brain to do the math on that calculation.

Sullivan reaches for my hair again. I jerk my head to the side, moving it out of Sullivan’s reach, because I think I might scream if he touches my hair one more time.

“Why are you so twitchy?” Sullivan asks. “Do you need another drink or something?”

“No,” I snap, watching as Zach gets a beer.

Okay. Now Deke will come over here with Zach. I’ll greet him, introduce him to my friends, and then Bree and I can go sit with them at another table.

Wait a second. Deke and Zach are walking over to the dartboard.

And I quickly realize Deke has no intention of coming over here. To see me, or talk to me, or to rescue me from Stupid Sullivan.

Anger surges through my body. So why did he come here tonight, anyway? Just to torment me?

I watch him from across the room. He turns around and looks at me, his eyes burning into mine for a second. Deke takes a sip of his beer, puts it back on the table, and picks up some darts. He immediately turns his attention to the dartboard, as if I’m not even here.

Oooh! That’s it. I’ve had it.

And Deke is about to get a piece of my mind.

“Excuse me,” I say, nudging Sullivan. “I need to get out, please.”

“But I just got here,” Sullivan snaps, sounding annoyed. “I haven’t even had a drink yet.”

I don’t say another word. I let my eyes tell Sullivan I intend to get out of this booth, even if it means climbing over him or crawling underneath the table.

Sullivan sighs heavily and slides out. I turn to Bree briefly before leaving.

“I see someone I need to talk to,” I say simply. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Bree nods, and I leave her with Emma and Caitlin, who have bonded with Bree over man troubles.

Then I slide out of the booth, past Sullivan, and make my way across the overpopulated room of annoying people, as Deke would say. I go up to Deke, who is propped against the edge of a barstool. His strong arms are folded across his chest, a bottle of beer in one hand as he watches Zach throw darts.

I stop dead in my tracks as I approach him. I take in what he’s wearing—a beautiful azure T-shirt that shows off his athletic upper body and jeans. His hair is perfectly tousled, his face lightly shaded with blondish-brown stubble. And he’s so damn hot and mysterious looking that I’m suddenly unable to breathe.

Deke turns and I find myself mad all over again, because now he’s the one playing a game.

I march up to him and before I can stop myself, I blurt out what is going through my head.

“Why didn’t you come rescue me?” I yell at him, exasperated. I stand in front of him, hands on my hips, demanding to know the answer to my question.

Deke studies me for a moment. He takes a swig of his beer, casually puts the bottle on the table next to him, and leans toward me, lowering his head so it’s next to my ear.

“I wasn’t aware that you needed to be rescued from the man of your dreams, Fashionista,” he murmurs over the music.

Every inch of me comes alive as his words vibrate against my ear. I get goose bumps. My heart rate soars. My skin is tingling in this delicious way I’ve never experienced before.

And then I realize that Deke is wearing cologne. It’s subtle and sexy and I can just smell the citrus-based scent lingering on his neck. Oh, God. All I want is to bury my face against his skin and inhale him.

He stands back up and studies me. I’m about to respond when he gently puts his thumb on my cheek, wiping away a streak of lip-gloss that Sullivan has left behind.

Oh.My.God. I feel a million sparks the second Deke touches me. I shiver and suck in a breath of air, unnerved by the experience of his skin against mine.

“So do you need to be rescued?” he asks.

I’m about to respond when Zach comes up.

“Your turn,” Zach says, handing Deke the darts.

Deke takes them and nods at Zach. “Zach, I’d like for you to meet someone. This is Avery Andrews, my subject in the Premier Airlines documentary. Avery, this is Zach Ryan, my brother.”

Fault! The ball Deke was serving me just crashed into the net as I realize that’s all I am to Deke—a
subject
. I don’t understand why he’s here if that’s the case. My heart spirals into the pit of my stomach, and anger and embarrassment wash over me in a powerful wave.

“Hi, Avery, it’s nice to meet you,” Zach says pleasantly, extending his hand to me.

I swallow down the lump that has formed out of nowhere in my throat. “Nice to meet you too, Zach.” I shake his hand and study him for a moment. Zach’s hair is more brown where Deke’s is more blond. He also has a very open and friendly face, as if you become a friend of his as soon as you meet him. Whereas Deke seems to study people first, remaining detached, before he decides if he’s going to let you get any closer.

And I thought I was getting closer to Deke until he introduced me to his brother as his
subject
.

“What are you drinking?” Deke asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Let me get you one.”

I resist the urge to spit, “Why, because you can expense it as taking care of a
client
?” Because that’s all I am. I’m a client he’s visiting tonight, while he takes an exotic Spanish beauty out for a romantic dinner for two.

Then I pause for a moment, noticing the Gin Blossom’s “Hey Jealousy” is now blaring from the speakers. Oh, my life is one big ironic joke, isn’t it?

“A sour cherry martini,” I say, opening my tiny purse. I take out the $10 I had tucked in there for cab fare, knowing I can use the emergency credit card I slipped in there later for a cab ride home if I need one. “But I buy my own drinks, thank you very much.”

“You gotta love that,” Zach says in approval.

I glance at Deke, who is studying me with a raised eyebrow, as if this move surprises him. Whatever. I don’t care anymore. I’m done playing games. This is who I am, a fashionista who is responsible for herself. I don’t give a shit if it’s “bad economics” or not.

I flag the waitress and order another martini. As I do, I press the $10 bill into her palm to pay for it.

“So, Avery, do you want to play darts?” Zach asks.

“I don’t think Avery is a dart playing kind of girl, Zach,” Deke declares.

I whirl around and shoot him a death look. “I don’t think you have a clue as to what kind of girl I am.”

“What?” Deke asks, looking taken aback.

I take the darts from his hand and go to the line painted on the floor. I take a moment to focus, and then I proceed to hurl the darts at the dartboard, scoring with precision.

“Shit,” Zach proclaims, taking a sip of his beer after I finish. “Where did you learn to play like
that
?”

“At fraternity parties at Illinois,” I say, going to the board and taking the darts out. I turn around and glare at Deke. “It was a way to pass the sheer boredom of hanging around with drunken idiots.”

I go over to Deke and hold the darts out to him. “Top that.”

Suddenly Deke roars with laughter as I carefully put the darts into his open palm. “Is there a bet somewhere in that statement, Fashionista?”

“There could be,” I say stiffly, sitting down on a stool and demurely crossing my legs. My martini arrives, and I take a sip. “What do you want to bet?”

“A bag of sliders from White Castle,” Deke says, staring intently at me.

My face flushes with heat. I told him about my bizarre cravings for those little square hamburgers at White Castle when he was wearing that shirt the other day.

And now I don’t know what to think. Am I a subject? Or am I a girl he wants to get to know better? Is he here as a friend? Is Isabel the girl he wants to date, and I’m the one he wants to throw darts with?

Oh God. Why, why,
why
can’t people just be honest with each other? Why do we have to engage in all these stupid games? Everyone should be issued a Dating 101 manual as soon as we graduate college, so we’re all on the same page and know exactly what we are supposed to do.

But as I study him, I realize this isn’t how real life works. Sometimes you just have to jump in and play the game, even if you don’t like games. And that’s exactly what I decide to do.

“A bag of sliders it is,” I say, hitting the ball back across the net to him in our ongoing game of tennis.

Zach grins at me. “So you pay for your own drinks, you play darts,
and
you like White Castle? Please tell me you have a sister at home, Avery.”

“Sorry, Zach, I’m an only child.”

Zach puts his hand over his heart in mock anguish. “You’re killing me, Avery.”

“Oh my God! Are you here to shoot my birthday?”

I turn around and see Sasha staring excitedly at Deke, as if this is the only reason he could possibly appear in a Lincoln Park pub tonight.

Deke furrows his brow. “No.”

Sasha’s face briefly falls. Then she recovers and thrusts her chin up in defiance.

“Well, it’s a good thing because I told you I’m not going to appear in a crappy reality show,” Sasha spits. Then she turns to me as if Deke and Zach aren’t standing there and jerks me off the bar stool, taking me aside. “Sullivan and James are getting us a table on the patio.”

“I’ll be right there. I have to play a game of darts first.” Then I glance at Deke, who is watching me.

Sasha stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “With the creepy camera guy? Why?”

“Why not?” I say, ignoring her comment.

Sasha sighs heavily. “Whatever. Just come over as soon as you’re done with them,” she says, jerking her head in Deke and Zach’s direction. “And I don’t know what’s gotten into Bree. Every time Sullivan tries to come over here to get you, Bree asks him about soybean futures. Did she come into some money or something?”

I lose it. I laugh so hard that I have tears in my eyes, and Deke and Zach stop talking to stare at me. I take back what I said about Bree earlier. She’s the best wingman
ever
.

“Maybe she just likes soybeans,” I say, shrugging. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Fine,” Sasha says, appearing dismayed at the idea of me choosing to play darts. Then she saunters off, no doubt ready to be the center of attention on the patio because it’s her birthday. I, on the other hand, return to my tennis match with Deke.

Deke wrinkles his brow as I approach. “Did she really think I’d shoot just because it’s her birthday?”

“Yes. Don’t you understand? With Sasha, it’s always about Sasha. Now are you going to play darts or what?”

He grins, and I find myself smiling back at him. Zach agrees to keep score, and Deke and I decide to play three rounds to see who is the champion.

And the whole time I’m so incredibly aware of being with him—of Deke’s eyes on me as I play, how I can smell his cologne when he bends down closer to talk to me, the ways his fingers brush mine when we pass each other the darts.

After three rounds, I have won two out of three and am the proud winner of an entire bag of White Castle sliders.

“See?” I say triumphantly, turning to Deke. “I can play.”

“I stand corrected,” he says, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles at me. “So tell me, Fashionista. Should we go now to get them?”

My heart does an excited flip-flop. I’m about to respond when I hear Sullivan’s voice from behind.

“Hey, gorgeous, are you finished?” Sullivan says, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me to him. “We’re all waiting for you on the patio. James won’t do Sasha’s birthday toast until you’re there.”

I lock eyes with Deke, and I watch as the smile evaporates off his face. He picks up his beer and takes a swig, staring at me.

“Go ahead. You don’t want to hold up the party.”

Damn it! Deke totally shut down the second Sullivan touched me. I quickly wiggle out of Sullivan’s arms, wanting Deke to know that’s the last thing I want.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say firmly to Sullivan. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Sullivan’s eyes blink, as if he can’t understand what I’m doing. God, he’s so ego-inflated he can’t grasp the idea that I’m no longer interested in him.