Starkissed (3 page)

Chapter Four

Over the next four days, Alyssa’s schedule continues on its same tornado-like path, wiping out any and all plans she tries to make with me. Steve takes it upon himself to become my guide, somehow getting out of work for the next few days. He only ends up having to go into the office once, and brings me along with him for a tour.

We end up weaving our way across the city, eating in funky cafes and pricey restaurants (Steve foots the bill). He takes me to two broadways shows – gritting his teeth and smiling forcibly through
Mamma Mia
, but kind of enjoying
Wicked.
I catch him tapping his foot more than once and he claps just as hard as anyone at the end. By the time Friday rolls around any trace of the awkward silence from Monday is gone.

Saturday, my last full day in the city, Alyssa promises upon the heads of her future children that she will not flake out on me. She even persuades someone vaguely important from work to get us reservations at LIMA – a hotspot restaurant she can’t stop gushing about. But when I wake up Saturday morning there’s a sticky note pressed between my cheek and the pillow. I sit up and smooth the creased paper.

Syd,

Emergency at work! No way out of it. So sorry. Back in time for LIMA!

Love, Alyssa

I try not to focus on the disappointment settling in the pit of my stomach. We were supposed to go shopping. Despite Steve’s willingness, I’d been less than inclined to drag him out to Macy’s and Saks 5th Avenue with me. He was being so nice, the last thing I wanted was to put him through the hell of shoe shopping. Besides, that’s more of Alyssa’s department. She works at a fashion magazine after all.

I drift out of the guest room and into the kitchen. I’m the only one here. Steve’s off at work putting in a twelve hour day to make up for his absences this week. I could sit around the apartment by myself for the day, watch some TV on the 46 inch LED, or teach myself how to use Steve’s brand new Mac in the office. But, I can’t bring myself to waste my last day here stuck inside. Despite my mother’s rampant warnings that I’m not to go off on my own in the city, I shower, dress, and shove all the cash I have left into my wallet. Rules be damned, I’m going shopping.

We have a Macy’s back home, well not in West Plane, but in Albuquerque. Still the dull department store there and the bright, glitzy one here are two very different places. I become hypnotized by the sights and smells: silk dresses and $1000 dollar bottles of perfume. I can’t afford to shop here, not even on clearance, but who cares.

I continue to make my way around Herald Square, taking in the Manhattan Mall and spending the remainder of my money on a funky emerald green dress from JC Penny that brings out my eyes. On my way through the shoe department I forfeit the wad of emergency cash Mom gave me before I left for a pair of black wedges.

I get home around five and stare at my purchases with excitement. Alyssa said I could forage in her closet for something to wear tonight, but I’m too in love with my new dress to bother. I slip it on over my head and slide my feet in to my new shoes. I’m not very good at doing my hair, so I simply pull back two tendrils from each side of my face and secure them at the back of my head with a few bobby pins. A bit of make-up and I’m set. I take a look at myself in the mirror and nod with satisfaction. I never get dressed up and I barely ever wear more than mascara. What’s the point when no one is really looking? But I think I look good. Better than usual anyways.

I walk out in the living room and here the trill of my phone’s message alert. There’s a text from Alyssa:

Running late. Meet you at LIMA for seven.

I drop my phone into my bag and sit down on the couch. It’s just past six now. I wait half an hour, then traipse downstairs. Tom, the doorman from last Saturday is there.

“Ah Sydney!” Tom smiles. “Don’t you look like a picture!”

“Thanks. Can you call me a cab?”

“Sure thing.”

While I’m waiting, Tom asks me how I’ve enjoyed my week in the city and seems quite pleased and prideful when I tell him I had fun in his hometown. My cab arrives and Tom holds the door open as I slip inside, careful not to let my dress bunch up beneath me. Yes I do pay attention when my mother lectures on the rules of beauty...sometimes.

It takes a little over twenty minutes to get to the restaurant. I pay the driver then carefully scrutinize the sidewalk, looking for Alyssa. I try calling her cell, but there’s no answer. The windows to the place are all blocked by curtains, there’s no way to tell if she’s here already without going inside. The lobby is crowded; I have to push and shove to get to the hostesses podium in the front corner of the room. A model-pretty girl with sleek blonde hair and sharp-as- glass cheekbones is staring with boredom at the swarm of people before her. When a guy in a dark blue suit with a smarmy smile steps aside I swoop in.

“Um hi. My sister made a reservation, um Alyssa Kane for two I think?”

The girl clicks around on the computer monitor. “Uh huh,” she nods. “Is the rest of your party here?”

“Um, I guess not.”

“Right. Well why don’t you go sit in the lounge and when she gets here let us know. Okay?” She nods to her left and produces an insincere smile.

I step aside and follow the line of her chin toward an archway leading to a large room filled with people. The air is thick with laughter and talk, every chair seems to be filled with gloriously decorated people – men in tailored suits, women in gorgeous sheaths. I can’t see anywhere to sit, so I resign myself to lean up against the wall and I train my eye on the arch – waiting for Alyssa to appear.

After about ten minutes my feet are starting to ache in my new shoes and there’s still no sign of her. I spot a handful of people slip off their stools at the bar and make their way back into the restaurant. Desperate to get off my feet, I dart across the room and snag one of the stools before anyone can steal it from me.

I hate sitting on stools, and wish the people who left had been seated on one of those squishy leather chairs in the corner. I find myself trying, and pretty much failing, to balance on my tall perch without falling off. I finally find a position that doesn’t send me careening over and force myself to still.

The bartender’s gaze sweeps over me and I feel a squeeze of trepidation in my belly. Am I even allowed to be in here? Can he tell I’m only sixteen? Is he going to kick me out? He slips over to me and raises his eyebrows. I mentally prepare myself to stutter through some sort of excuse as to why I’m sitting at his bar. I clench my fists and wait for him to speak, but before he can utter a syllable, a woman on my left beckons his attention and he turns away.

Starting to get downright pissed with Alyssa for sending me here alone, I reach for my phone again, but just as my fingers snake around it, someone knocks the back of my seat and I tip left. My hand releases the phone, and it tumbles to the ground.

“Damn it,” I grumble and shove the stool back so I can slide off.

“Oof,” I hear from behind me.

I look over my shoulder and realize that I’ve just barreled the wooden backrest of my seat into some guy’s chest. He’s bent over a bit, massaging his ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, trying to wedge myself out from the space between the stool and bar. “I dropped my phone and I was just trying to grab it...and I should have looked...and I’m sorry.”

“That what you’re looking for?” He points down at the ground where my purple phone is resting against the plum colored carpet.

“Yeah, great,” I nod and immediately duck down to snatch it. Unfortunately, the guy does the same and instead of grabbing the phone, I end up knocking his forehead with my own. We both spring up.

“Oh crap,” I wince while rubbing my own head. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think...and...” I trail off. “Crap,” I add, defeated. Could I be any more lame or ridiculous?

He shakes his head. “No problem.”

Oh geez, I stare at him, only now seeing just how astoundingly gorgeous he is. He looks like he might be a couple years older than I am. His hair is brown, so dark it’s almost black, and carefully mussed, probably with the aid of some sort of product. His eyes are like dark chocolate with little flecks of orange and they’re surrounded by thick, black-as-night eyelashes – the kind most girls would commit murder for. Even though I’m in heels, he towers at least three or four inches over me.

Leave it to me to injure, not once, but twice, the hottest guy in the room, if not city.

Not interested in perpetuating my already unlucky streak with him, I turn around and attempt to climb back onto my stool, but realize too late that it’s a good foot too far from the bar. I’m just about to slide off again when I hear from behind me, “hey, let me help.” Then suddenly my stool, with me atop it, is being pushed forward until my stomach is just grazing the edge of the bar.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Gorgeous Guy indicates the empty seat beside me.

Afraid of either stuttering or squeaking, I opt to shake my head instead of saying no.

I drop my purse and phone on the bar and find some spot above the bartender’s head to focus on. But Gorgeous Guy is like a terrible car wreck, you just can’t help but look, and before long my head is slowly turning and my eyes are carefully flicking up and down, taking in all of him. The Rolex watch (he must be rich), his manicured fingernails (metro much?), and the darker hue of his skin, like pale caramel candy (yummm). God help me. I wish I was like my sisters, able to arm myself with charm and wittiness at a second’s notice – but there’s no switch inside of me that automatically flips to flirt when I come into range of a good looking guy. Although at this point I’d just be happy with a switch that flips to coherent.

As if he senses my stare, he looks over and catches my eye. I automatically look away, staring down at my fingernails, and once more curse Alyssa. Where the hell is she?

“You’re blushing,” he says.

Oh crap. My heart thumps against my chest. I blink at him and words stutter against my lips. “Huh? What?” I can feel my cheeks, which were already a little aflame, ignite to inferno. I reach up and touch my face, then quickly pull my hand away. “It’s not, I mean, it’s just warm in here and my skin is so pale...and I’m not like....well you know?”

He creases his brow and stares at me like I’m a crazy person, rightly so. “You’re phone,” he points to spot on the bar where I dropped it, “it’s buzzing...vibrating?”

Buzzing, blushing...why do they have to sound so similar? It’s just so loud in here and oh shit, the buzzing stopped. I reach for the phone, one missed call from Alyssa.

I dial voicemail and squish the phone against my ear so I can hear the message. Between the noise of the room and static of the call, her voice barely cracks above a whisper.

“Hey Syd, this place crazy, I’m sooooo sorry. But I’m about to leave now and I’m like only fifteen minutes away! See you soon.”

I place my phone back down on the bar and run my fingers against the wooden surface.

“Bad news?”

“Huh?”

Gorgeous Guy is peering at me again. “You look disappointed.”

I squint at him and shrug. “No, I’m not. My sister is just supposed to meet me here and she’s running late. But she’ll be here.” I say firmly, reassuring myself more than anything, I think. Why do I get the feeling she’s going to let me down once again?

“I hear you, my publi...I mean my friend was supposed to meet me here ten minutes ago. But you know,” he shrugs. “By the way I’m...” there’s a commotion on the other side of the room – a woman leaping up and screaming, “oh my God,” – and he sort of jumps, then looks around the room furtively, finally spotting her. She’s wiping at a large red stain on her white skirt, a wine glass lay empty at her feet. He swallows, seemingly relieved, and then looks back at me, “I’m Grant.”

He stares at me for a moment, as if waiting for something. I blink at him, curious what it is. Then I realize my own idiocy. He’s waiting for me to introduce myself, too.

“I’m Sydney.” I grin widely, excitedly. I have no idea why this guy is talking to me, out of all the girls in this room, but I’m not going to complain. “It’s really nice to meet you Grant.”

He chuckles to himself and looks down at the bar, lightly drumming his fingers against the surface. Then he pulls his hand back and reaches for mine to shake. “You too Sydney.”

His hand is smooth, like he moisturizes daily, but it’s also strong and large, practically engulfing my narrow fingers. We pull our hands back to our respective sides and both stare out in front of us.

“So are you like a student or something?” he asks.

“Uh yeah,” I nod, but leave out the part about high school. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you a student, or do you work somewhere…” I trail off. He’s giving me a really weird look. What did I do?

“Seriously?” he frowns at me like I’ve just posed to him the strangest question he’s ever been asked.

“Um, yeah.” I furrow my brow. I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole, totally out of my comfort zone. I just don’t know how to read guys and I certainly can’t talk to them without sounding ridiculous. Did I just make some sort of faux pas? Are you not supposed to ask cute guys what they do for a living? For once in my life I kind of wish Angelina was by my side whispering in my ear. She speaks fluent guy.

“Oh,” he drops his head, but I see a small smile play with the corners of his lips. When he looks back up at me there’s a sort of light in his eyes. “I’m a student at NYU right now.”

“Really? I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear they have an amazing creative writing program.”

“You’re a writer?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe. I hear they have a great art program too. I’m still a little clueless I guess. What about you, what are you studying?”

He pauses, seems to blank for a second, then swallows. “Uh, biology.”

“Oh. Ewe.”

“Not a fan?”

“Guts and gore...dissection. No thanks. I fainted in Bio 10 when we had to do dissect the cow eyes. Ick. I’m terrible. I can barely even watch gross movies. My sister Angelina is obsessed with that zombie movie –
Dead of Night
– and I just can’t stand it...”

“So you’ve seen the movie?” He curls his lips up and his voice pitches with surprise.

“Uh huh. She plays it over and over and over....I’ve had to sit through it a dozen times since the Blu-Ray came out. And my best friend is equally obsessed. I just don’t get it.” I scrunch up my nose and add a bodily shudder for effect.

“Really?” he knits his brow and purses his lips, then looks at me quizzically.

Something tells me this really isn’t going very well. Did I say something wrong again? Maybe he really likes that movie? Maybe it’s his favorite and I just insulted it? Smooth Sydney. Real smooth.

“So,” I exhale loudly, and desperately wrack my brain for something to say, something to get this conversation back on track, but before I can think of anything, my cell phone gyrates across the surface of the bar again.

“I better,” I shrug at Grant and grab the phone.

“Sydney?” Alyssa shouts from the other end of the line.

“Yeah?”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I was just about to leave and Marcelle showed up freaking out about some feather boa, and it was awful. I’m still stuck here and I don’t think I’m getting out for at least another hour.”

“What about our dinner?”

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible sister. I’m so so so sorry. But how about we order in something? I’ll meet you back at the apartment at like 9:30? We can watch bad TV and eat in our pajamas.”

“Yeah, pajamas,” I look down at my new dress and shoes. “Sounds...good.”

I jab the end call button and flip the phone closed.

“You don’t look happy.” Grant tips his head.

“That was my sister. She can’t make it. I’ve got to go meet her back at her place.”

“That sucks.”