Pinpoint (Point #4) (15 page)

“Enjoy your evening. I’ll call you, Iris.” When Oscar leaves, my body curls into itself, and my forehead drops forward. I feel like I ran a marathon after less than three minutes in his presence. How am I going to handle the next two semesters?

Dex steps close enough to me to speak in a whisper. “What the fuck was that?”

“Ask Mr. Single,” I grumble. Dex chokes out a laugh.

“You do realize you owe me the full story.” He tosses an arm around my shoulder and hugs me to his side. “Tell me what we need to do and let’s get out of here.”

After the kitchen is clean, Dex and I load the trunk. I climb into the front seat and offer him a tremulous smile. “Are we really on a deadline?”

“Not so much. The sushi place we’re going to doesn’t take reservations. I lied a little to hurry up the process. Tell me if I overstepped, but I got the vibe you didn’t want to spend any alone time with Oscar.” Dex clicks his seat belt into place.

I push the button to ignite the engine and strap the belt across my chest. “I’m all mixed up. Furious, unhappy, jumbled, rejected . . .”

“Stop right there. This conversation requires wine. Take us to Lincoln and Wrightwood. You know how to get there from here?”

“Yup.” I shift the car into drive and back out of the parking spot. Dex fiddles with Bluetooth to connect it to his phone then he streams a playlist. The soulful beats of Alabama Shakes lull me into a relaxed state as I navigate the city streets.

“You have a magical ability to pick the exact right music for the mood,” I tell Dex.

“Part of the job.” Dex is a nationally known DJ and a favorite of Expertly Planned for clients who can afford his steep fees. He directs me to a spot near the restaurant. There’s no wait for a table, and the staff seats us at a table near the back of the restaurant at Dex’s request. “Privacy,” he says. We make quick work of selecting nigiri and sashimi to share.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Dex asks when we are alone.

“The last time I had alcohol, I made some choices I probably wouldn’t have made if I hadn’t tried my first margarita,” I say dryly.

Dex arches a brow. “Start at the beginning.”

Sighing wearily, I fiddle with the chopsticks. “There isn’t too much to tell.” A sudden wave of shame washes over me. What will Dex think of me when he hears how easily I gave in to temptation?

“Wipe that look of indecision off your face. This is a treehouse conversation. That means everything you say is protected in the treehouse. The topics are for our ears only. Got it?”

“I lost my virginity to Oscar on Saturday,” I blurt. Immediately, I bury my red face in my hands.

To his credit, Dex doesn’t gasp or show any visible signs of shock. “Hey,” he says gently when I won’t raise my gaze from studying the table. “Iris, you do know this is the twenty-first century, right? It’s not that bad.”

With a wobbly smile, I lift my head. “I’m still getting used to the idea that people have sex before they get married,” I confess. “To put it mildly, Violet and I were raised in a conservative home.”

“Speaking of Violet, why haven’t you told her about Oscar?” There’s no judgment in Dex’s tone, but I hear naked curiosity.

“God, I’m embarrassed. This proves that I’m the unworldly rural bumpkin who needs her sister’s approval before she does anything. Then, of course, she would tell Cameron, and Cameron already warned me that Oscar doesn’t do committed relationships. Heck, even Oscar told me he wasn’t one to settle down, but I didn’t listen. Now look at me, practically crying into my Diet Coke.”

Dex’s eyes fill with sympathy. “You aren’t the first person who believed what was in their heart. This experience is not unique to you.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have jumped into bed with him. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of Oscar. Except for his dang seductive charms, he didn’t pressure me. In fact, he even asked for permission, as if I was going to change my mind.” I roll my eyes.

“Fat chance of that happening. It doesn’t sound like the sex itself was the problem. More like afterward . . .” Dex purposefully trails off, leaving space for me to finish.

“When I woke up in the morning, he was gone. It was like the night before had been a dream.”

“Wait a second. Were you at his place or yours?”

“His!” I cry. “No car, no real idea where I was because we drove there at night and I wasn’t paying much attention. In the age of ride-sharing apps, it wasn’t a big deal to get home, but don’t you think he would have had some concern leaving me alone in his house?”

The corners of Dex’s eyes crinkle when he grins at me. “Pretty sure Oscar knows that you’re trustworthy. Sorry to jump on the bandwagon, babe, but you pretty much exude sweetness, innocence, and all things that are pure and good in this world.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or scream,” I say in frustration. “That’s probably why he felt he could bolt without too much repercussion.”

“Is there more to this story?” Dex asks skeptically. “It sounds like there is some rage boiling underneath the surface.”

He’s not wrong. Bubbling fury threatens to spill over, but I tamp my reaction down when the server appears with trays of food. My stomach clenches painfully. I can’t eat. Not yet.

“When I woke up alone, I found a note. It said, ‘Iris, had an early flight to L.A. Be well, Oscar.’” I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. I already recounted the humiliating note. Loudly.

Dex’s eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open displaying a half-chewed roll. Quickly, he finishes chewing then washes the raw fish and rice down with a swig of wine. “Be well. What kind of bullshit is that?” Hearing the words back make me wince. “I’m pissed off on your behalf. That was a dick move. Now, I get why seeing him interviewed practically poured a pound of salt in the wound. Babe, you are much better off without him. Cut your losses and be thankful he didn’t get the chance to pull this crap later on.”

I square my shoulders and allow some of my anger to melt away. “That’s a good point. Besides, as much as I wish things didn’t end the way they did, at least he was a giving, um, partner.”

Dex winks. “Nothing better than a giving partner.”

My cheeks heat. I may no longer be a virgin, but I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss the intricacies of sex with a new friend. “I’ve been hogging the conversation since we got here. What’s new with you?”

Dex shakes his head around another bite of food, swallows, and then speaks. “Believe me, I’d rather talk about this than contract negotiations with new clients. Any idea why Oscar wanted to talk to you alone?”

Pausing to contemplate, I scrunch my nose. “He made it blatantly clear he had nothing to say to me on Sunday morning. When I saw him earlier tonight, I had a visceral reaction. I was seething, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

Dex nods. “It’s your decision when, where, and if you speak to him again. Though it will be hard to avoid him every week. Sucks that you’re volunteering at the same place.”

“You’re telling me.” I groan in distress. “Any advice?”

Apparently finished with his food, Dex props his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “From the times we’ve worked together, I’ve never known Oscar Alexander to back down from a challenge. That man thrives on adversity. He won’t stop until he gets to speak his piece. The question is what do you want to say in response?”

“That’s hard to figure out when I don’t know what he will say first.” I drop my chopsticks and push an inch back from the table. “No matter what he says, though, I won’t date him again. I can be courteous, especially if we end up working together through Expertly Planned, but that’s it. I—I’m going to be mature about this.”

“You sure about that? I sense a little hesitation,” Dex teases.

“Yes.” I place my palm flat on the table to emphasize my point. “We were two consenting adults who had fun. That’s the end of it.”

Dex lowers his brows suggestively. “We’ll see about that.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“Did you remember to call the florist and remind her that there can be absolutely no roses in the mock-up?” Violet pauses at the Expertly Planned office door. Exhaustion slumps her shoulders, and strands escape the springy ponytail that she pulled her hair into this morning. It’s a wonder she doesn’t look more drained. Beginning with a four a.m. wakeup in preparation for the Breast Cancer Society brunch, we’ve had a fourteen-hour day. This question caps off a similar line directed at me since before my first cup of coffee.

Involuntarily, my hands clench into fists. From this far away, Violet can’t see that her micromanaging is getting to me. I try to keep my voice even. “Yes. I called Paul yesterday. He’s well aware of her aversion to roses.”

Violet nods and gives me a tired smile. “You’re the best sister and colleague.”

You mean underling.
I nearly gasp at my internally snappy retort. Where did that come from?

“Love you,” she says.

Violet shuts the door behind her and clicks the lock into place. She dashes out to the street where Cameron likely waits in his car. Only one more email to send and I can soak in the bathtub in peace. If I were to look in a mirror, I’d probably see just as much weariness etched on my features. I finish my work and begin the process of locking down my computer.

Tap, tap, tap.

Frowning, I glance at the front door.

“No.” The word comes out involuntarily at the sight of Oscar Alexander. Our eyes connect. Despite the fifty feet separating us, the same intensity crackles around me. I blow out a breath of air and rise to my feet. The familiar anger, mixed with my annoyance of my sister, swirls into a feverish tornado. I stalk across the loft space and yank the door open.

“Can I help you?” I ask acidly.

Oscar stares at me with an impassive expression. “Maybe I deserve your vitriol, but I didn’t expect you to be this unwelcoming.”

Twin circles of heat build on my cheeks. Darn it. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. On top of that, I am being downright rude. “I’m sorry, Oscar. It’s been a bear of a day. Come in.” I shift a step backward, allowing him to enter the loft.

The scent of sandalwood floods my senses and launches a million memories when he passes by me. Physical moments like the whisper-light touch of his fingertips and his lips devouring mine overwhelm me. The worst part is remembering the emotional connection I felt to Oscar. At the time, it was as if we were enmeshed, irrevocably bound together. Now, I know those feelings were just the musings of a starry-eyed naïve girl. It takes an actual shake of my head to clear the dangerous thoughts.

I clear my dry throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“There’s no need for pleasantries. I realized the moment I saw you on Wednesday that I’m undeserving of your kindness.” Oscar pushes a hand through his wavy hair. If I’m not mistaken, he looks chagrined. “Violet, I’m here to apologize.”

Darn it; hope blooms in my heart. “For what?” I ask cautiously.

“Leaving you that way was incredibly thoughtless, and the note was beyond prickish.” Oscar looks contrite enough. A little chink in the hard wall I erected between us dissolves.

“Why did you do it?” I interrupt. We both know I’m talking about him leaving me with nothing more than a note.

Oscar frowns as he crosses his arms across his chest. “There’s no excuse for behavior that badly.”

Unwilling to relive the encounter any further, I speak shortly. “Apology accepted.”

Oscar moves as if to leave but then pauses. “Iris, I’m not in the right frame of mind for a relationship. It’s more likely than not that I’ll never settle down. Work is my primary companion, and there isn’t space in my life for much else.”

“As you are well aware, I didn’t demand a proposal Saturday evening. You’ve made your point. I am happy to move forward cordially. I know we’ll continue to run into each other and maybe work together. Not to worry, I’m not broadcasting our date to everyone I know. Violet won’t hear it from me. So if there’s nothing else to say, then I think it is time we say good night.”

“Don’t act like this.” Oscar looks pained as if my coldness pains him. For a moment, I regret being harsh, but I know that if I don’t stand strong, I could be the one hurting.

“I’m not sure what you mean, and I’m too tired to figure it out. Oscar, I’ve been on my feet for nearly fourteen hours, and I would like to go home. Is there anything else?”

“I want us to be friends.” His words come out gruffly.

My response is instinctual; the words pop out of my mouth before my brain has time to mull over the proposition. “Probably not a good idea.”

“You can’t deny that we have quite a bit in common. We’ll see each other every week. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends instead of acquaintances.”

Why?
But he has a point. It would be better to call ourselves ‘friends.’ The label would be a steadfast reminder of where we stand. “Okay, Oscar. Friends, it is. Now, if you don’t mind, my mind is turning to mush.”

Oscar moves quickly, prowling toward me. I go very still with uneasiness. He grabs my biceps and pulls me close to him. Then his warm lips touch my cheek in a quick kiss that leaves a lingering heat on my skin. “Good night, Iris. See you soon.” He glides out of the loft, his powerful movements beautiful to watch.

A small twinge of relief starts with a chuckle and then spills into weary laughter with tears dripping out of the corner of my eye.

Friends. Right.