Pinpoint (Point #4) (18 page)

Turns out Bruce Conway and I have the same taste in music. Leon Bridges is a soul singer with a retro feel that I love. The concert ambiance is mellow. There are no drunken concert-goers pushing and shouting. All in all, it’s a really fantastic date.

Except for the chemistry.

Being with Oscar spoiled me. The electricity flowed (and, unfortunately on my end, still flows) whenever we were near. In fact, when I walked into his classroom earlier this evening, I nearly broke out into a sweat when our eyes met.

Here I go again, thinking of Oscar when I’m with Bruce. This feels icky and supremely unfair. As I sway to the music, I decide I have to tell Bruce I’m not ready to date him—or anyone for that matter. Until I can forget about Oscar, it’s not right for me to be with anyone else.

When the band finishes its encore, Bruce leans toward me to be heard over the crowd. “Do you want to grab a quick bite to eat?”

Rather than hear it, I feel my stomach rumble. “Sounds good.”

I can’t help but notice that Bruce hasn’t touched me once the entire date. No linking our hands to stay close in the crowded music venue or touching my back to lead me. I don’t know if it’s because I make him nervous or if he’s not interested in me that way.

We walk a few blocks to a pizza by the slice restaurant, both raving about the music. At the counter, we place our order.

Before Bruce can reach for his wallet, I pull mine from my purse. “Let me get this.”

Bruce frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You took me to a wonderful concert—my first, by the way. The least I can do is treat you to pizza.”

“Okay. Thanks, Iris.”

A minute later, we’re sitting across from each other at a high top table. “This really was a blast. I loved the music.”

“Iris, I need to tell you something.” Bruce says the words in a rush. His cheeks are red, and he hasn’t taken a bite of his food.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried.

“You’re going to think I’m the world’s biggest jerk. Heck, I feel like it right now.” Bruce looks so forlorn I want to jump up and wrap him in a huge hug.

“Oh, there’s no way I could ever think you were anything but a sweetheart,” I assure him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Okay. I’m going to say it.” He exhales a huge breath. “Here’s the thing. I recently got out of a long relationship. I thought I was ready to date, but I’m not. You’re such an incredible person—stunning, kind, amazing with kids. I hate to give this ridiculous cliché, but in this case, it’s really not you, it’s me.”

First, it’s a little bubble in my chest. Then a short chuckle. Then I’m full on laughing. “Oh, no. Don’t look upset. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m laughing, but if you knew what I was thinking, you’d be laughing too.”

Bruce doesn’t look convinced.

“I was going to say the exact same thing to you. Well, except for the serious relationship part. I had feelings for someone, unrequited feelings. When you asked me out, I was thrilled because you’re as wonderful as the way you described me, if not more, but I’m having the same reaction as you.”

All the distress in Bruce’s expression disappears, replacing it with a small smile. “Man, am I glad to hear you say that. Friends?”

“Friends.”

No fizzle of electricity bursts from where our hands meet in a platonic shake. My shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. I may be new to the dating world, but the absence of physical attraction is too obvious to miss. There’s no zing between Bruce and me. I know all about the zing from Oscar. My heart pounds a couple of painful beats in my chest.

There he is again.

“No spark.” Bruce’s words are mournful. “I wish that there was more here. On paper, you’re my ideal girl, but Amanda . . .” He shakes his head wistfully. “She consumed me. I was hers, completely.”

“Bruce, forgive me for being intrusive, but it sounds like you still have feelings for Amanda.”

“I never stopped. She ended things with me,” he confesses. “She wanted to get married, but I told her I wasn’t ready, that I needed more time before I wanted to commit. Looking back, that was the dumbest thing I could have possibly told her. Hindsight is twenty/twenty, though. What a joke.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Amanda’s getting ready to move back to Galena. She came to Chicago with me because we said we’d eventually get married. Then she started wanting to make concrete plans, and I panicked.”

Leaning across the Formica tabletop, I grab Bruce’s hand in mine and speak urgently. “What are you doing talking to me about Amanda? If Amanda is all that you say she is, then don’t spend another moment talking about wanting her. Act on it. I wasted almost my entire life not following my heart. Don’t be like me. Go get your girl.”

“And all those details?” Bruce asks with a grimace. “My panic? I can’t ignore it.”

“No one asked you to lie about your emotions,” I tell Bruce gently. “Tell her how you feel. If you express to her one-tenth of the amount of love I see shining in your eyes, I’m sure she will hear you out.”

“For someone who claims to have little experience dating, you give excellent advice.”

“This advice doesn’t come from experience with romantic relationships. It’s more an analysis of the first twenty-six years of my life. I wish I hadn’t spent all that time being afraid of going after I wanted, but I did. That’s why I’m insistent that you track Amanda down and tell her how deeply your feelings for her go. It’s as plain as day to me, and I don’t know you all that well yet.”

Bruce clears his throat and looks around the small restaurant anxiously.

“Go!” Laughing, I wave a hand in the direction of the door. “I’ve got the trash. But you have to tell me what happens.”

“But I don’t want you to get home alone . . .”

“Bruce, I drove us here, remember? My car is two blocks away. No big deal.”

Bruce jumps to his feet and surprises me by rushing over and pressing his lips to my forehead in a chaste kiss.

“You are an angel, Iris Harper, a true angelic being. Thank you for the kick in the rear.” After I say good-bye, he rushes out the door. Warmth spreads through my chest. I genuinely hope he wins back his girl.

What about you?

Longing returns with brutal force. Keenly aware of how alone I am, both in the physical sense of sitting in a restaurant by myself and in the emotional sense, longing fills me. I grab my purse, toss out our garbage, and head out onto the street toward my car.

As fulfilling as my life is, I can’t help but be burdened by loneliness. As caring and wonderful as Violet is, she can’t meet all my needs for emotional and physical support. There is a reason why everyone pairs off into relationships. Friendships with siblings work only to provide a certain amount of fulfillment. I see how my sister gives Cameron a different side of herself than she does me. Because my parents weren’t a shining example of a healthy, enduring relationship, I didn’t realize what could be derived from a truly loving partner. I’m discovering what a true relationship looks like.

God, I want one of my own. I want a man to love me as deeply as I love him; a partner to call when I have a bad day; a person to call when I have a good day; a shoulder to lean on when I’m feeling insecure. But wanting a relationship doesn’t mean I’ll fall into one. The painful part of this process is learning that just because you dream something doesn’t mean you’ll get it overnight. I have no control over certain variable like attraction and time and willingness to be in a relationship. Despite oodles of attraction and commonalities, Oscar isn’t open to dating exclusively.

At the moment I pull my keys from my purse, my phone vibrates with an incoming call.

Oscar calling.

My mouth falls open in shock. Does this man have a tap into what I’m thinking? Gosh, it’s like his ears were burning.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Iris.” The husky timbre of his voice sends gooseflesh dotting all over my neck.

The car beeps when I press the unlock button. I climb in and lock the doors, then turn the car on to start running the heater. A November chill pushes the mild Indian summer temperature into a thing of the past.

“Isn’t it late for a social call?”

I can almost see Oscar’s unbothered expression. “You left me in a lurch today. We need to talk about the dinner, and with the holidays approaching, everyone’s schedule is filling.”

“Excuse me for having plans,” I mutter.

“Where were you off to in such a hurry?”

I frown at the question. “Oscar, I’m not sure how my plans are any of your business.”

“An innocent question from one friend to another.”

Friend, my bum. We hardly talk. “Look, I’m driving home. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Call me when you get home so I know you got there safely,” Oscar commands.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy, Oscar?” I’ve gotten used to how relaxed I am around Oscar, how easy it is to speak to him without fear of judgment.

His tone softens. “Knowing you got home in one piece will let me sleep better. Call me when you’re safe inside your house. Drive carefully, Iris.” The line goes dead. How typical. Oscar makes a demand and expects me to fall into line. Well, friends don’t push friends around.

Fifteen short minutes later, I’m stewing in annoyance. Thankfully, the apartment is empty. Violet’s not here because Cameron got back from a week away earlier today.

In my apartment, my hands tremble with unchecked anger. Muttering to myself, I swipe the phone with my thumbs until I get to his number. Oscar answers on the first ring.

“That was–”

“Who do you think you are, Oscar Alexander? You don’t have any right to boss me around. I don’t belong to you.” Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my pulse roars in that spot between my ears. I’m furious, and I’m not entirely sure why.

“I’m sorry; I thought this was Iris Harper on the other line. Who switched Aurora with the wicked sorceress?”

A puff of air is my attempt at a relaxing exhale. “Oscar, stop with the mixed messages. Friends don’t call friends at nearly midnight to check in. Friends don’t poke around in each other’s business. Friends don’t . . . Friends don’t sleep together. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not comfortable with the late night phone call and you digging into what I’m doing. Unless I missed something, I don’t think our friendship goes that deep.”

Silence reigns. “Seems as though I’m always apologizing to you, Iris,” Oscar says gruffly. My heart jumps into my throat as I wait for him to continue, wondering desperately what he will say next. “It wasn’t my intention to send mixed messages. I genuinely want to be your friend, and I was worried when you said you were driving home by yourself late at night. We live in a dangerous city.” Oscar sighs, and oddly enough, it sounds like he is miserable. “I’m asking for the impossible, but that’s how I got to where I am. Can we put the past behind us and be the kind of friends who care if the other one gets home safely?”

My instant response is a hard and fast no. The more I see of Oscar, the more he’ll be on my mind and the less chance I’ll have to mentally distance myself from the man who . . .
Who what?

“Okay. Let’s be the type of friends who care if the other gets home safely,” I agree in a voice soft enough to be called a whisper. Darn it. I have no self-control.

“Do you have time in your schedule for lunch tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, I’m taking the afternoon off. I’m going to the Art Institute.”

“Perfect. I’m a member there. Shall we say one?”

I freeze. “How did you manage to assume control of the situation again?”

“It’s a gift.”

“Okay, Oscar. I’ll meet you at the museum at twelve-thirty. Sleep well.” This time, I hang up first, but I can’t negotiate my body to move. Muscles tight, body frozen in place, I stare at the flat-screen of the phone in my palm.

This is a game, and I don’t know the rules. From the beginning, I’ve felt outmatched by Oscar Alexander. The worst part is I am almost willingly conceding power to Oscar because—what—we slept together? That’s certainly a piece of my connection to him, but it’s more than that. Call me crazy, but around Oscar, I feel completely myself. I feel no need to cover any part of my personality. I can’t truly say that with my sister because I don’t have the guts to tell her about Oscar. Equal parts dread and longing fill me when I think of seeing Oscar tomorrow. The idealistic part of my brain, the side that desperately hopes to convince Oscar that he is capable of having a romantic relationship with me, can’t wait to see his roguish grin tomorrow. The realistic part of my brain, the side that takes every single word from Oscar at face value, knows better than to dream big.

The funny thing about reality is it’s all about perception. Whatever part of my brain wins the perception battle dictates how I respond to any given stimuli. When it comes to Oscar Alexander, the hopeful section of my mind takes over perceiving the world. That’s why I go to sleep smiling, thinking of Oscar’s wavy dark hair and the mysteries lurking behind his cinnamon-colored eyes. The date with Bruce becomes such a non-event that it completely disappears from my memory.

The encouraged side wins out.

“Jana Sterling.” Violet collapses into her desk chair once the client safely leaves our office.

“Jana Sterling,” I repeat with equal amounts of weariness. Sitting on the ledge of Violet’s desk, I let my shoulders relax. “What is it about her specifically that is so draining? Jana’s not our only demanding client.”

“No, but she takes top honors.” Violet cracks her knuckles as if to forcibly push the tension from her body. “Come April tenth, we’ll be finished with her and reaping the benefits of throwing the wedding of the decade.”

“Expertly Planned will exceed Jana’s expectations to the point where she won’t use any other party planner in the city.” Mischievous notes twinkle in my voice. “Jana will be around forever.”

“Don’t threaten me,” my sister says with a mock groan. “If that’s the case, it’s on me to set better boundaries. No more weekly meetings unless she wants to pay additional costs. Our time is valuable, and with the hour we spend pacifying the same demands over and over, we could be working on other clients, building new business, networking . . . whatever we want.” Violet’s face reddens with each word.