Nate (The Princesses of Silicon Valley - Book 4) (6 page)

Back in Rochester the job offer comes in. My boss at Mayo knows I was planning on moving, and he’s been supportive. Now, after five years, I need to pack up, say goodbye, and leave. On the Internet, I find a one-bedroom apartment with a designated parking space, walking distance from downtown Palo Alto, near the practice’s offices, and Leland Hospital—where my group works.

Arriving home, I continue with my morning texts to Juliette:
Gave my two week notice, not a surprise since my boss knew I was waiting on an offer. Now the hard part, packing up and moving.

Juliette:
Oops sorry, I can’t help you with logistics since I just dropped my phone in my bubble bath. Looks like you shouldn’t get a phone wet….

This text just makes me laugh. It’s so Juliette. Not overtly sexy, but definitely fun and flirty, giving me a hint of what to expect. I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed texting in the morning. It also makes me feel connected to her. She’s a pretty woman. Other guys must have seen her at that football game. I don’t want to lose my chance with her so I’m going to be attentive. Friends invite me to their place for Thanksgiving. An early season storm looks like it’s going to slam into the Midwest on Thanksgiving Day. Making a quick decision, I cancel with my friends, find a first year resident from Salt Lake City, and take off on Wednesday night. Taking turns driving, we make it to his parents for Thanksgiving. On Friday, I drive by myself to my sister’s.

When I was in town two weeks ago, I didn’t contact my sister since I didn’t need a place to stay and had no interest in explaining my date with Juliette. Knocking on Jamie’s small, one-bedroom apartment door, I’m surprised when I’m greeted by some unshaven, tatted up, pierced thug wearing a heavy metal T-shirt, shorts and flip flops --in December, and reeking of weed.

He looks me up and down and says, “Dude, you must be Jamie’s big bro.”

Is he fucking kidding me? Who is this guy? Trying to act cool I ask, “Who are you and where is Jamie?”

“Jamie should be back soon; I’m the boyfriend, Tyler, though my friends call me Ty.”

Jamie is dating this guy? What the fuck. When I stayed here last month he wasn’t around. Jamie pays extra for a garage. I look at surfer boy and ask, “All my stuff’s on top of—and in-my car. Do you have the opener for her garage?”

“Dude, take it easy. Let’s have a beer. Jamie can open it for you when she gets back.”

He’s going to have Jamie help me? What, he doesn’t plan on helping out, I think as I enter the apartment. ESPN is on; there are a couple dead joints in the coffee table ash tray. Tyler hands me a beer as I look him in the eyes. “Tyler, so what do you do for a living?”

Rubbing his hands over his soon to be beer belly, “Workman’s comp man, you know, injury.”

I spend my day looking at injured people. I’m trying to see what’s injured about this guy as I ask, “Tyler, you look good, what kind of injury do you have?”

“Dude, my back. Man, I fell off a ladder. Messed myself up good.”

“So, the pot’s to help your back?” I say sarcastically.

“Yeah, dude, you know medicinal marijuana’s legal in California.”

Where the hell did Jamie find him? At about this time Jamie comes home. She’s carrying a couple of Trader Joe’s bags filled with groceries.

As our eyes lock, she gives me an uncomfortable smile. “Nate, you got here earlier than I thought. I see you’ve met Ty.”

Tyler walks over to Jamie, does not take the groceries out of her hand, but puts his arm around her and sticks his tongue in her mouth. Right in front of me. I’m about ready to puke, or put my fist through his idiot face. Jamie is smart, athletic, and fun to be around; she’s got a great job. What the hell is she thinking? It’s a good thing I moved out here. I’ll need to rectify this situation.

I’m not stupid enough to start anything now. Grabbing the grocery bags from Jamie I place them on the kitchen counter. Getting her keys, I head out so I can off load my stuff into her garage. When I get back Tyler is on the couch watching ESPN as Jamie makes dinner. Dinner is tense. Jamie gives me the harry eyeball every time I ask Tyler a question.

After driving for ten hours today I’m exhausted, though I find it hard to fall asleep. Sleeping on an air mattress in her living room isn’t my problem; it’s having to listen to Tyler screw my sister in the next room. I’m using all my will power not to go in their room and kill him.

Lucky for him he’s not around when I get up. When I finally get showered and get some coffee in me, I text Juliette.

Me:
Can I pick you up at noon?

Juliette:
yes

After checking my car’s oil, I head over to the car wash. The blue paint looks brown from all the dirt, and you can barely see out the window. It’s the first time I’ve cleaned my car since this summer. Just thinking about Juliette gets Tyler and my sister out of my mind, putting me in a better mood.

With a deep calming breath I ring Juliette’s doorbell. I’m surprised that she’s ready. She sure looks good dressed casually in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, which unfortunately hides her great rack. My fingers just itch to touch her. Her hair is long and shiny with these big soft curls. Placing my hands in my pocket, I control myself from pulling on a coil of hair, or touching that skin.

In a friendly tone she asks, “Can you give me an idea of where we’re going? I’m not sure what shoes or jacket to bring?”

Shit, I’ve been so preoccupied with getting here I never thought about what we’re going to do. In a last minute ditch to save my ass I say, “I haven’t been to San Francisco in ages. It might be fun to go up there and be tourists. Do you have to be home at any time?”

She shrugs, and in a friendly way tells me, “My sister’s in town, I spent Thursday and Friday with her and my parents. I think it’s cool if I take off for the day, so no plans.”

Good, exactly what I was looking forward to, a day with Juliette. Wanting to get going I ask, “What do you need to do to get ready?”

She gives me one of her bright cheery smiles then raises her index finger. “Give me a minute or two.” Familiar with that line I get ready for the long haul of waiting. Looking around the room I’m totally flabbergasted. Her roommate, the hot blond, has a larger than life-sized painting of herself hanging up in their dining room. This picture takes up the entire wall.

Hearing Juliette’s, “Hey,” from behind me, I’m surprised. Is she ready? How can that be? She was gone for only a few minutes.

Pointing at Cassie’s mural, I ask, “Don’t you think it’s weird that she has such a big picture of herself hanging in the dining room?”

She gets a crazy big smile on her face, and in an innocent voice, “Not at all. There’s one of me in the kitchen. We had them done at the mall on two-for-one Tuesday.”

I belt out a belly laugh. Yes, she actually has a sense of humor. I can’t help but say, “That has got high maintenance written all over it.”

Juliette just shrugs as she flippantly tells me, “Yes that would be an accurate assumption. But, no one goes out with Cassie looking for low maintenance.”

“You ready?” I question.

She gets and insecure look on her face, “Do I not look ready?”

This woman will take some getting used to. I thought all women took forever to get ready. I have a feeling her roommate is never ready on time.

Answering Juliette I tell her the truth, “You look great; it’s just that it took you about two minutes to get ready. I only thought guys got ready that fast.”

She tips her head and looks puzzled, then she gives a small smile saying, “Let’s leave.”

When we get near San Francisco she asks, “What do you want to do in San Francisco?”

Shit, my head’s not in the game, I’ve not planned this out. Mariana would have my balls for this. Casually, I punt, “I’m not quite sure. After sitting in my car for the last two days, I’d like to park and walk around. I thought we could head down to the water.”

She repeats, “Water? Then contemplates for a couple of seconds before continuing with, “That narrows it down. We can park in the Presidio and walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. There’s a fancy hotel on the other side in Fort Baker, or we could park at Union Square and walk to Coit Tower, then walk down to the Embarcadero. One direction takes us to Pier 39—you know where all the tourist shops are or we can go in the other direction towards AT&T Park.”

I think about our choices, and finally tell her, “Last time I was in San Francisco I walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. Let’s park near Union Square and then start walking. You’re cool with walking, right?”

With a bright smile she lifts up her feet, “I wore my favorite boots for walking.”

Getting to Union Square is easy; the roads are well marked. I don’t even need to get out my phone to navigate. Juliette is looking around trying to figure out where we’re going. Not really wanting to get lost in San Francisco I pull out my phone and type in: Coit Tower. While Juliette is busy naming streets we should be on and which direction we should head, my phone gives me the same answer. This woman is surprising. She gets ready fast, knows where she’s going, and is cool with spontaneous plans. Is this just date behavior? When does the crazy control shit kick in?

Deciding it’s time I take over this date, I thread my fingers through Juliette’s and head us over to China Town’s Dragon Gate. While we wait for the light, I find myself naturally dropping her hand as I put my arms around her shoulders, I like the feel of her heat against me.

China town is a relatively narrow street filled with people and shops. In front of their shops, the vendors have bins filled with assorted goods. We stop and check out some of the bins. I’ve never been much of a shopper or interested in collecting things. Picking up something silk, I hold it up as I question, “What is this?”

Juliette starts laughing, she then answers, “It’s used to store jewelry.”

Interesting, I thought women just left that shit in boxes and all over the counter. A few of the things I pick up she just shrugs. “How can a merchant sell something when no one knows what it is?”

As we get closer to Coit Tower the road gets steeper, the sidewalk actually turns into stairs. Having only lived in flat cities I keep thinking, how can you drive a car on these steep roads in the winter? —And then I remember; this is winter. San Francisco doesn’t have snow and ice. This will be my first winter without it.

Juliette and I walk hand in hand across the grounds that lead to Coit Tower. At the line to get in, we fall in behind a hipster couple. The four of us start chatting. The woman picks up one of Juliette’s curls asking, “What do you do to get that color and those types of curls?”

In her happy, breezy way Juliette says, “It just comes out of my head that way. After swimming this morning, I brushed it and then used some Curls Rock.”

I’m thinking there has to be a hitch. This women is just too casual and easy. The next thing I know we’re talking about wine tasting. Juliette doesn’t talk about girly things, I wonder if it’s because she’s an engineer. Most women I’ve dated can talk about hair, nails, and clothes for hours—conversations that make me want to escape.

When we get to the top of the tower, we have a good view of San Francisco Bay. Juliette leans on the wall next to me as we both look out at the waterfront. Unable to resist I pick up one of her curls. Her hair is soft. She gives me a sweet look. Her skin is just so smooth; her coloring is luminescent, I can’t help but drag the pads of my finger down her cheek to her jaw. The touch ignites my entire body. Which makes me wonder what she tastes like? Is the rest of her body as soft and sweet as her face? While I’m thinking about her, she licks her sweet pink lips. Man, we’re in public; I can’t be walking around here with a boner. Standing up straighter to stretch I grab her hand and try thinking about things that will keep my libido in control. With a half-smile I say, “Come on; let’s check out the other views.”

After making a complete loop, I look out towards the water, which gives me an idea as I suggest, “Lets head over to the Embarcadero and get a drink.”

When we get back down to the street, figuring I should start making some more decisions, I tell her, “I’d like to sit out on the pier.” Reading through restaurant choices from my phone I ask, “Do you like oysters?”

She smiles and says in her easy way, “Yeah, I’ll eat almost anything.”

Taking Juliette’s hand in mine, we walk down the busy Embarcadero. It reminds me of Chicago. Living right on Lake Michigan for four years, I loved being part of all the people down by the waterfront. The bar I saw online is about a twenty-minute walk. They seat us on their outdoor patio. As I pick up the menu, I see Juliette rubbing her hands together as she asks, “What’s hot?”

“You’re cold?” I ask in surprise

She chuckles, in a self-deprecating way she explains, “Yeah, I have a little engine that easily runs cold. You have a lot more muscle mass then me.”

She is a little thing; I was just thinking I wish I hadn’t taken my jacket since it’s making me too warm. Taking off my jacket, I wrap it around her as I ask, “Wasn’t Irish coffee invented in San Francisco?”

She nods, then fills in, “Yeah, over at the Buena Vista by Ghirardelli Square.”

As she snuggles into my coat I think, lucky coat. Doing the next best thing I pick up her hands, they feel cold as I rub them between mine. She gives me a sweet, shy look. As I feel some warmth return to her hands I ask in a voice I find surprisingly deep, “Better?”

With a shy smile she nods.

The server interrupts this intimate moment. “What can I get you folks?”

As we stand to leave she hands me back my jacket. I reluctantly take it, putting my arm around her to keep her warm, I realize I’m not fooling myself, I tuck her close because I like the way she feels.

Back on the Embarcadero, I look up and can see the Ferry Building and suggest we take a ferry to Sausalito. As we walk her head is right below my nose. She smells like fruity hair product and something else all her own. At the kiosk I buy us tickets while noticing that we only have a couple of minutes before the next one leaves. Grabbing ahold of her hand, I tip my head as I say, “Let’s run for it,” then I pull her along the dock.

Once on the ferry we find a bench that overlooks a large portal, really it’s more like a picture window. Strategically, I place my arm around her as I tuck her close, drawing lazy circles on her arm as I fantasize about making love to her. The other people leave. I lightly whisper, “Juliette.”

She looks up at me through her long, dark, eyelashes. Her lips are tantalizing. They’re like magnates to my steel. I move close to kiss her. With an overwhelming need to touch her I grab her knee. I want her close, wrapped around me.

Her mouth tastes like oysters and coffee as her tongue meets mine, though the sensation of her kiss is pure sex. I have an overwhelming desire to consume her. I could continue kissing her forever as her taste and the proximity of her body igniting my insides. My reverie is interrupted by the loud padding of little feet as it tells me kids are heading our way. Reluctantly, I release those lips just in time for the parents to show up. The dad narrows his eyes at me, as he gives me a “behave yourself in front of my kids” look. Juliette leans into me. I can feel her pulse race. Her fingers gently message my leg, which is driving me crazy. It’s not like I want her to stop, it’s just I don’t want to stand up while sporting a hard on.

When the ferry finally docs I stand up first, giving her my hand. I thread my fingers through hers as we walk to the exit. As we wait to debark, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her close, which gives me the perfect opportunity to smell her hair again. Man, this just turns me on. Going back to holding her hand, we walk together around the fancy little Sausalito shops. Thinking about what’s next, I realize it will be dinner time when we get back to San Francisco. As we enter a gallery, Juliette looks at the artwork while I pull out my phone to search for a restaurant, make the reservations, and then set an alarm so that we don’t miss the last ferry back. After performing all my planning activities, I look around, quickly spotting Juliette with a contemplative look on her face. She’s standing in front of a large Doctor Seuss,
Sam I Am
illustration. Unable to keep my hands off her, I wrap them around her shoulders and pull her into my chest.

She finally says, “You remember when that Senator filibustered against health care?” I nod my head as she continues. “During the filibuster he read his kids
Green Eggs and Ham
. I never got that. He went to Princeton and Harvard, how could he have failed to get the point of the book was to open up, to try and give something new a chance.”

I chuckle, as I’m surprised by what she thinks about, “I thought the point of the book was the power of perseverance in the face of stubborn resistance.”

She counters, “Even so, that wouldn’t have supported his argument since it’s all based on the point of view who’s being stubborn and who’s persevering? Wouldn’t he have done better if he had read
Horton Hears a Who
? That’s about those in power listening to the powerless.”

I think about it, and nod, “Didn’t that happen a while ago?”

She breathes in hard before continuing, “Yeah, but it drives me crazy when someone uses the wrong analogy. Now, every time I look at
Green Eggs and Ham
I think of that guy.”

I chuckle again as I start to get her, “Like Irony instead of, what did you say—oxymoron?”

With a happy laugh she responds, “So, was I wrong or was I just extending a concept? Don’t oxymoron words mean the opposite while ironic is the opposite of what you expect? So, oxymoron would be a sign on that steep mountain that says easy grade, while ironic would be a guy who rides his bike to the top and then smokes a cigarette. Does the English language have a word that means conflicting activities?”

“I think we have two words, conflicting and activities,” I respond.

She nods, “In grad school I had a friend from Germany. Her English vocabulary was amazing. She always complained that her vocabulary was limited. We were running up at the Dish during sunrise; she looked at the Santa Cruz hills, pointed and said, ‘In German we have a word ‘
Blauschimmer
’ it means the way the hills turn from pink to blue at sunrise. I don’t know what the English equivalent is.’”