Love Nouveau (6 page)

THE FIRST THING I NOTICE is my pulse.

Behind my eyelids is a furious pushing and pulling of angry seawaters beating against a rocky shoreline with each beat of my heart. The morning sun melts through the blinds, cascading stripes against the far wall, and the aura makes my insides heave as I choke back the rising bile in my throat. Slowly, I sit up and fist my hair.

What the fuck happened last night?

This is easily the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. I know my limits, but more often than not I just simply ignore them. Case and point? This very moment. With the way I’m feeling, I clearly drank half the party.

That’s it. I’m never drinking again.

This time I think I might actually mean it.

I spy my phone on the nightstand, next to a large glass of water.
That’s…
thoughtful?
I chug the full glass in three gulps.

I grab my phone to check the time and notice a text message.

Rachel:
Hey, girl! Call me when you wake up and I’ll come get you. Hope you had fun with that lickable blond hottie! XO

I don’t think Rachel could be more awesome if she tried. As for the blond … well, that didn’t go as planned. I quickly fire off a reply.

Ivy:
Rescue me. Stat.

Moments later she texts back to let me know she’s on her way. Which gives me roughly ten to fifteen minutes to get my shit together and out of this place.

I examine myself. Clothes, while disheveled, are still on. I look around the room and observe my surroundings and then it hits me—I have no idea where I am. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Raccoon eyes, bird’s nest hair, sallow cheeks … whatever happened once the shots took over must have been fun because I look, and feel, like hell.

I sit up to gather my belongings and find a bathroom. As soon as I’m vertical, sea legs hit and I’m woozy. My thighs throb and my entire body aches, clear indication that a good time was had, although I don’t recall dancing all that much.

When I emerge from the bedroom, the pieces begin to fall into place. Clearly, I crashed at the party, which is rather adventitious of me. I chalk it up to blacking out.

The hallways are quiet and I am certain there’s no one else awake … that is if there is even anyone else in this house.

I open a door, praying it’s the bathroom and not a bedroom holding half naked, passed out strangers on the other side, but all I find are rolls of towels twisted like cinnamon buns with extra bed linens and blankets stuffed along the top. I reach for a washcloth and try the handle on the opposite of the closet with success. Quietly, I slip in and close the door, locking it behind me.

My stomach grumbles, but thankfully it isn’t lurching in the aftermath of a long night of drinking. I ransack the medicine cabinet, searching for something, anything, to help relieve the pounding inside my skull.

When I spy the bottle of generic aspirin, I can’t get the lid off fast enough. I toss three little white pills in my mouth and stick my face under the running faucet. Next, I splash cold water across my cheeks, wiping the mascara streaks from underneath my bloodshot eyes and make plans to beeline it out of this house as quickly as possible.

Creeping back into the hallway, I tip toe my way to the living room so I can sneak out the front door. My efforts are foiled with each passing step as the floor creaks beneath me, and a pair of warm hazel eyes meets mine as I walk through the doorway into the living room.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to join the land of the living. It’s Ivy, of the Wrigley Field variety!”

Shit.

It’s him.

Beautiful, perfect, quirky him. And, of course, he’s sitting there looking like a shiny new penny while I unequivocally look like hell. I should have searched for mouthwash in the bathroom. I would give anything for a breath mint right now, or better yet, a brown bag to put over my head.

It’s clear that I wasn’t wearing beer goggles last night because Phoenix in the light of the morning sun is infinitely sexier than Phoenix after a keg of Wisconsin’s finest cheap beer. I didn’t notice the slight copper tint to his hair last night, or the playful dimple on his right cheek. He’s wearing a vintage Led Zeppelin shirt from when they played Knebworth Festival back in ’79, and it takes all of my willpower not to throw myself at him right here and now.

“Come on over here, Cubby Bear,” Phoenix teases, patting the spot next to him on the couch.

“Oh God,” I groan. “Please don’t call me that.” Rolling my eyes, the motion sears deep inside my head.

“Not feeling so hot?” The dimple on his cheek mocks me as he smirks. How the hell he doesn’t feel the same way I do is baffling. I give him my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ stink eye as I collapse next to him on the faded leather couch. Surprisingly, there is little evidence of last night’s party, save for a few garbage bags full of red cups in the corner.

“So … um … what happened to you last night? You seem like the kind of girl who can hold her liquor, but one minute we’re having fun, and the next I’m carrying a passed out chick.” The look in his eyes tells me that was not how he had hoped our evening would end. God, even in disappointment this guy is hot as shit.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

A tiny worry crease flashes in between his eyebrows.

“We didn’t …” I don’t know how to put this politely, so I give him a questioning look. “You know … did we …” Not that I would have minded, especially with him, but if I’m going to have a romp between the sheets, I would at least like to have the decency to remember the occasion.

“No, no, no. We didn’t do anything. In fact, I was a perfect gentleman.” His smile melts my insides and he marks the letter X over his heart. “After you passed out, while dancing no less, I carried you into the spare bedroom, took off your shoes, and tucked you in. I even slept on the couch after everyone left. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable arrangement,” he says, rolling his neck around. I notice the heap of a blanket on the floor with a spare pillow and suddenly find myself appreciative of the gesture.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” I beam back at him, the smile hurting my eyes.

Phoenix adjusts himself on the couch so he’s turned, facing me. I refrain from reaching through the space between us and brushing his dark shaggy hair away from his eyes. Fresh bed head is a striking look for him.

The stench of stale alcohol has aired out and the mouthwatering aroma of coffee wafts through the air. Phoenix sits up from the couch and walks into the kitchen to pour a cup.

“Want some?” He lifts the fresh pot into the air as I nod.

“Oh God, yes.” The words slip out in a seductive groan and the sexual intonation is not lost on either of us, but caffeine is exactly what I need to start to jump start my body today.

“Sugar?”

“No, just black, please.” I never understood the point of diluting coffee with sugar, creamers and flavored syrupy shit. Coffee should always be bitter and unapologetic, much like me.

Phoenix presents me with my morning brew in an oversized mug reading “World’s Greatest Teacher,” then sits back down next to me. We sit in comfortable silence as I blow over the coffee, a feeble attempt to cool it off. He chews on the inside of his cheek and looks up toward the ceiling, seeming to debate something internally.

“I’m gonna take you out tomorrow night,” Phoenix says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, you are?” I challenge.

“Yes. Just dinner.”

“Just dinner.” I do my best to mask my disappointment. What would be so wrong with more than dinner?

“Well, we could do drinks, but I would guess you’re swearing off alcohol until you’re forty-two.”

“Forty-three actually,” I reply with a light laugh. The movement rattles my skull.

I look at Phoenix intently for a moment. He has hints of laugh lines tracing his eyes which I find endearing. It is such an attractive, subtle feature, making him seem wise beyond his years as if he’s endured far more than any twenty-something should have.

I certainly wouldn’t mind spending more time with him, although what’s the point for anything other than a fling if we’re both leaving town? The smile playing at my lips suddenly turns down at the corners when I remember that Rachel and I made plans to leave tomorrow after graduation.

“When you’re done thinking, say yes,” he tells me.

“I wish I could, but my best friend and I are leaving to go home to Chicago tomorrow.”

“So? Push your departure back. I’m not leaving until Sunday night.” The hopefulness in his stare is irresistibly endearing.

He makes it seem so easy. And maybe it is? Seeing as how we’re both only in town through the weekend, making myself available is the least I could do. Still, it feels a bit silly to rearrange schedules and commit myself to a date when we’re never going to see each other again.

“Don’t you have bachelor party things to be doing?”

“Meh.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ll catch up with the guys after we eat.”

I catch my bottom lip in my teeth, thinking of what Rachel’s reaction will be if I ask her to stick around longer just so I can meet up with this guy. Surely she won’t mind. I’ve moved mountains for her over far more petty things.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod my head, fighting a cheesy grin.

“It’s a date!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together once. Phoenix seems like the traditional type, so I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t date.
At least not anymore.

“No, it’s not a date. It’s
just
dinner.” I give him my best teasing smile. I’m certain Rachel won’t care if we extend our stay. She technically can’t even get into her new apartment in Chicago until the middle of the week.

He pulls a bulky black chunk of metal from his back pocket and flips it open. “What’s your number?”

“What is that thing?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

“Uh, it’s a cell phone?” His response comes out as more of a question and less of a statement.

“Um, no. That’s an artifact. That relic belongs in a museum,” I proclaim in disbelief. I haven’t seen a phone like this in well over a decade. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have it firmly attached to his hip on a belt clip. “What is this? 2001? You don’t have a smartphone?”

“Nope, I don’t need one of those fancy things,” he says, looking at me with a ferocious intensity. “I think people spend too much time staring at meaningless screens, updating statuses, and fooling themselves into thinking they’re being social when in reality they need to spend more time actually talking to the person directly in front of them. How can you really connect if you’re too focused on one-way communication?”

Seriously, who is this guy? Is he for real? Everything about him surprises me. Simply being in his presence improves my whole mood, in spite of this wicked hangover from hell.

I take the fossil of a phone from his hands and dial my number, feeling it vibrate from my back pocket. I allow it to ring twice before ending the call.

“There. Now I have your number too.” As I pass his phone back to him, our hands touch, and in that sober brush, electricity passes between us. His eyes widen in surprise and I can tell that he feels it too.

I sit back on my side of the couch and take a large sip of my coffee, looking at him over the rim of my mug and trying to figure him out. His beautiful maple eyes meet mine and pierce right through me, incinerating me to my core.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates from my backside, startling me and breaking me from his gaze. I quickly pull it out to find a text message.

Rachel:
Outside!

“That’s my cue.” I quickly finish my coffee and make my way to meet Rachel in the driveway. Phoenix stands up and walks me to the door.

I’m a little eager to get out of this confined space we’ve been sharing the past few minutes. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but rather because the way he makes me feel is unfamiliar and a little unnerving.

“See you tomorrow night.” He looks at me with longing in his eyes.

I unsuccessfully try to hide my smile and give him a tight nod. “Tomorrow night. I’ll text you the address.”

I’m halfway out the door when I feel him pull on my hand, tugging me back inside. His eyes burn through to my soul and my knees weaken. Ever so slowly, he lifts my hand to his lips and places a delicate kiss on my palm before curling my fingers in a fist.

“Hold onto this until tomorrow,” he whispers.

Warmth radiates from my palm to my arm and throughout my chest. I can’t help but smile.

Promise lingers in the air between us as I float down the driveway.

“Shit, girl. You look like you had a great time last night.” Rachel gapes as I slide into the front seat next to her.

“That’s a thoughtful way of telling me I look like hell.” The world is so bright it’s screaming at me, so I reach between the seats and put on her spare pair of sunglasses. “But yes, I had a great time.”

“So what happened?”

I wince as Rachel drives away from the curb with such force that I slam my head against the back of the seat. “No idea. I can’t remember half the party,” I confide, bringing my hands to my forehead and slowly massaging my temples.

“So you blacked out again?”

I knew Rachel would call me out on that. Before I left for Italy, I had a habit of drinking myself into oblivion. Within our circle of friends, I was the one who always had the crazy stories of waking up in bizarre locations … the stacks of Memorial Library on campus, in the Chancellor’s garden, and then there was the epic moment when I woke up on the fifty-yard line on the “W” signifying Wisconsin in the middle of Camp Randall Stadium. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but it always made for a great story. But last night … last night something was different.

“I guess. After you left to go hook up with that frat guy, I kind of went overboard.”

“Ivy!” she scolds. I can’t help but blanch at her volume. My insides curdle and I’m torn between needing to vomit and wanting to cry.