Pretty Ever After (Chicago Nights Book 3) Page 16

  “But I cut out the subplot involving her roommate and move the forced orgasm up a scene or two?” she asks.

  I halt my snore. “Forced orgasm?”

  Melanie nods.

  “When is that?” I ask.

  “Chapter 25.”

  “No, I mean between us.” I smirk. “Because my schedule today is open.”

  She slaps my shoulder. “I’ll move it up to chapter 18. Compromise?”

  I glance at the manuscript and nod. “Deleting that roommate subplot will help.”

  She stretches her arms over her head and yawns. “Okay...”

  “But save it in case we figure out how to tie it into the theme.”

  I scroll back to where I was in the manuscript and start skimming again. After a moment, I feel the tickle of her eyes still locked on me. I look up and she half-smiles, her expression light beneath the afternoon sun coming in from the windows behind us.

  “What?” I ask her.

  Melanie shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She chuckles. “This is fun, that’s all.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t remember the last time we had a good argument about theme.”

  “Oh, I do,” I say. “You threw a knife at my head.”

  Her jaw drops. “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did!”

  “It wasn’t a knife.”

  “It was metal and sharp.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.” Her lips twitch. “It was a nail file.”

  “It drew blood.”

  “I think a few drops of blood is a minor price to pay for an air-tight theme.”

  “And I think,” I set my laptop aside as I shift toward her, “that someone—”

  “Rob.”

  “Owes me—”

  She giggles. “Don’t—”

  “A few drops of blood.”

  “I have a deadline!”

  I playfully sink my teeth into her neck without breaking skin. She writhes in my arms, giggling louder with each sloppy kiss I give her. I crush my mouth on hers and she goes quiet, our lips blending with warm, silent kisses. My heart pounds, pumping blood south, but I ignore the throbbing urge building in me to take her. I can hardly believe it myself, but I don’t want sex right now. I want her laughter. Her voice. The soft sounds of her fingers tapping keys while she works. I want quiet afternoons just like this one until we die of old age a few minutes apart holding hands.

  Melanie hums as she strokes my cheek. “You know what we need?” she asks. “Some coffee.”

  I grunt. “You read my mind.”

  She slides out from under me and stands up. “Iced vanilla macchiato?” she asks with a smile as she grabs her purse.

  I swoon. “You remembered.”

  “How could I forget?” she teases.

  “Want me to go with you?” I ask.

  “No, you read. I’m not kidding about that deadline. If I don’t have this manuscript to Deb before she’s off for the holidays, she’ll have my ass.”

  I give her a thumbs up as I grab my laptop. “I will continue reading, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But tonight... we should talk.”

  She pauses with one arm inside her coat. “About what?” she asks, nervous.

  I feign offense. “Forced orgasms, woman.”

  Her eyes roll. “Okay.”

  “They sound fun.”

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  She walks out into the hall and closes the door, leaving me to get back to work.

  Derrick took his time. He’d never tasted a woman as sweet as Cady and he would relish every moment. He kissed her thighs. He pursed his lips and blew cool air along her most sensitive—

  Knock, knock.

  I set the laptop down, a little disappointed that the good stuff has once again been interrupted. Poor Derrick and Cady will never get it on.

  I peek through the peephole to see who knocked, recognizing Melanie’s father, Glenn, grinning in the hallway.

  I open the door for him and his face twitches in surprise.

  “Hey, Glenn,” I greet, shifting to the side to let him in.

  “Robbie?” He steps inside with a few broken down cardboard boxes pinched under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

  “Um…” I pause, realizing how suspicious it must be for me to be in his daughter’s apartment. “I’m just—”

  He sets the boxes down by the door. “You and Mel back together again?” he asks.

  “Oh, no!” I wave a hand. “No, no, no. I’m just here helping her with her new book. She asked me to look over it before she sent it off to her agent.”

  “I see.”

  “She’s on a coffee run but she’ll be back in a minute if you want to wait.”

  “I would, but I’m just dropping these off for her.” He chuckles as he glances around the apartment. “With all the junk she has, she’s got to start packing up now, I suppose.”

  “Packing?” I ask.

  “For the big move to New York!” he answers. “But I’m sure she told you all about that by now.”

  No. She definitely hasn’t.

  “Right, yeah.” I nod slowly. “New York. She told me all about that.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get home and get packed myself. Francie and I board that cruise tonight. You won’t see us again until after New Year’s and then we have big plans for Valentine’s!”

  I chuckle. “You guys have fun. I’ll tell Melanie you stopped by.”

  “Thanks. Good to see you, Rob.”

  “You, too.”

  He leaves, but I don’t move an inch for I’m not sure how long.

  Melanie is moving to New York?

  Since fucking when?

  I plop back down on the couch. I stare at the boxes leaning against the wall. I try to focus on the manuscript, but I just end up glaring at the same words for far too long until they become nonsensical black shapes.

  Why hasn’t Melanie mentioned this yet?

  The door opens, and she walks in with a brown drink carrier in one hand. “I’m back!” she announces, smiling as she takes a sip of her coffee.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She steps forward and sets the drink carrier down on the table in front of me. “Did you get past that boring chapter yet?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, just about.”

  “Good.”

  She spins back around, peeling her coat off as she moves toward the door. I watch from the couch, waiting for when she sees the boxes.

  She spots them and pauses mid-stride.

  “Your dad stopped by,” I say, gesturing at them.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He said you needed those for some work thing.”

  Melanie looks at me, her smile brief and strategic. “Right.” She waves a hand. “Deb wanted me to sign some paperbacks and send them to her before January. Some reader convention or whatever.”

  She lied to me.

  “Cool,” I say.

  Melanie hangs up her coat. “So, I was thinking Thai for dinner. I passed by that new takeout place on the corner and got a mad craving,” she says. “Are you okay?”

  I look up, not even realizing how hard I was staring at the floor. “Yeah,” I say. “Thai sounds good.”

  She lied to me.

  She smiles and walks off down the hall toward the bathroom.

  She’s never lied to like this me before.

  I sit forward as my gut ties into a million knots.

  So, this is what that feels like.

  Twenty-Five

  Melanie

  “And you’ll be living alone?” Sylvia asks, her voice light and chirpy through the phone.

  “Yes, but I’m looking for a two-bedroom,” I answer as I pace back and forth through my kitchen. I peek behind me into my empty living room, lamenting the messy desk in the corner. “I work from home, so I need office space. Not working with much of it a
t the moment...”

  “Oh, absolutely!” She laughs. “I know exactly what you mean — and I have just the short list of places. When will you be free to come and check out a few of them in person?”

  “Oh, not until January,” I say, pumping her brakes. “After the holidays. I won’t be in the position to leave town until then.”

  “You betcha. I’ll make a note to give you a nudge after the first. Until then, I’ll send you over the listings so you can take a virtual look. There are some beautiful places on the upper west side that I think you will adore!”

  “Thanks, Sylvia. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “So am I! You know, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve worked with some high-profile clients before, but when I saw your name on my docket, I had myself a little fan-girl moment. I just love your books!”

  My cheeks brighten as I lean against the counter. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes straying upward toward the ribbons hanging from a magnet. “I honestly never tire of hearing that.”

  Sylvia laughs. “Well, I think that’s all I needed from you today, but if you have any questions for me...”

  I gently run my fingers through the ribbons, my thoughts drifting back to him as I count them. Why hasn’t he messaged me back? Did I say something wrong?

  I turn the ribbons over in my palm. First month red. Second month gold...

  “Third month green,” I mutter aloud.

  “What was that, hun?”

  I lower my hand. “Uh... no. Nothing. I have no questions, Sylvia. It all sounds great.”

  “Excellent! I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks again.”

  I hang up and stare at the ribbons for a little longer.

  They’re the same colors from Robbie’s tattoo. Or... I think are they? I can’t say for sure. I haven’t taken the closest look at them, truthfully. I get distracted by... well, the rest of him when he’s naked. Maybe I’m remembering them wrong.

  Either way, it’s a coincidence.

  The secret admirer is not Robbie. It can’t be. He openly mocked the secret admirer. He questioned him and made fun of it. But if he were the secret admirer, isn’t that exactly what Robbie would do?

  I lean against the counter again, thoughts swirling in my head as I swipe my phone on again. I open the message thread between me and him, my secret admirer.

  There’s only one way to know for sure.

  Hey, I think we should finally meet. Tonight?

  I hit send.

  Twenty-Six

  Melanie

  6 PM. Moira’s Cafe.

  The evening crowd at Moira’s differs from the Sunday brunch crowd. They’re younger, for starters, and hipper, making me feel uncomfortably old for the first time in a good while. But it’s the perfect place to meet him for the first time.

  Assuming this will be the first time.

  6 PM. Moira’s Cafe.

  I read his response again. He sent it a few minutes after I asked to finally meet and my mind has been buzzing ever since.

  I check the time. 5:59. Sixty seconds to go before I know for sure. If he shows up at all, that is.

  Are you really Robbie?

  Or are you someone new?

  If he doesn’t show, then I’ll know it’s him. Then again, that could also mean they stood me up and I’ll be right back at square one. But if he wasn’t going to show, then why reply to my invitation at all?

  But if it is Robbie...

  I don’t even know how I’ll react to that yet.

  I exhale hard. My breath turns white against the cool winter air. I tap my toes on the sidewalk as I scan the faces passing by. I check the time again.

  6:01.

  He’s not coming.

  “Hey, Ms. Rose.”

  I look up and smile at the familiar face in front of me. “Hey, Roger,” I greet. “You working the late shift tonight?”

  “Uh...” He returns a pleasant smile above a fashionable black jacket with a blue scarf wrapped around his neck. “No, I’m meeting someone, actually.”

  “Nice. Me, too.”

  I check my phone again, acting on a social instinct to look busy.

  Roger doesn’t move.

  I peek up again. His smirk remains, lighting up his handsome face, but he awkwardly presses his lips together.

  My chest flutters.

  No way.

  Roger chuckles softly as he pulls an old flip phone from his pocket. He taps out a text and hits send, making my phone vibrate in my palm.

  Hello, beautiful.

  My jaw drops, silently stunned.

  It was him?

  Roger puts his phone away and looks through the cafe windows. “You want to get some coffee?” he asks, his flirtatious smile rising again. “We should talk.”

  He doesn’t wait for my response. He steps forward and holds the door open for me. I nod slowly, the truth still sinking in.

  “Okay,” I say, confused and intrigued.

  I follow him inside, my thoughts racing as we pass right by the hostess station. All the late-night chats. The sexy banter. The flowers and sweet messages. It was Roger, a man I knew as nothing more than the amazing server who always earned his tip. I imagine him diligently checking our table every few minutes, refilling our half-full mimosas, and thinking of... me.

  How did I miss this?

  Roger leads me to a table for two near the front windows. He pulls out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture, as I think of all the things Nora’s told me about him. He’s a regular at her kink club, The Red Brick Road, and from what she’s said, kink is far more than just a lifestyle to him.

  I sit down and he takes the seat across from me. A server instantly appears beside us, fully prepared with two small mugs, a pitcher of coffee, and containers for cream and sugar.

  “Thanks, Amy,” Roger says to her.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” she says, smiling politely at the two of us before she disappears again.

  “Well,” he says as he reaches for the coffee, “by your expression, I guess this wasn’t what you expected.”

  I shake my head once, sitting back a bit as he fills my mug. “No,” I say, exhaling. “Not at all. But not in a bad way, of course!” I add quickly. “You just... don’t seem like the type to do this kind of thing.” I cringe. “Sorry if I’m not wording well here.”

  He chuckles. “It’s fine. Writers are good with words on paper.”

  “Right. It doesn’t always translate well to the speech part.”

  “You’re doing great,” he says. “But I know what you mean. It’s weird for a guy who occasionally dresses in a full black latex suit to pick up women to be so shy, but...” He shrugs. “What can I say? You’re a little intimidating.”

  I nod. “I’ve been told that.”

  “I guess I should explain. From the beginning.”

  I lean forward with my warm mug safely snug between my palms.

  Roger clears his throat. “Do you remember, about a year back, when you interviewed a few of us at the club?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer, thinking back. “But... I don’t remember interviewing you.”

  “I backed out at the last minute,” he says.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because I found out you were married.”

  “Oh...”

  “It sort of ruined my plans a bit,” he adds, chuckling.

  “I see,” I say.

  “Anyway, I moved on, but then I got my job here and suddenly there you were. Every Sunday.”

  “Brunch with the girls.”

  “Gossip and bottomless mimosas. I thought, whatever, it’s cool. I get to wait on her pretty face once a week. No harm done.”

  My lips twitch.

  “But then,” he says, “I overheard one Sunday morning that you were going through a divorce. I figured then that I might have a shot. I planned on asking you out once I knew it was officially over, but then...”

  I blink. “Then, what?”

  “The
n, I met Robbie.”

  “Robbie?” I repeat.

  “I’d already seen him a few times here with you, so I recognized him when he started showing up at meetings.” He pauses. “Hi, I’m Roger and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Yeah, Rob mentioned that you were his sponsor.”

  “He spoke a lot about you so I, once again, pumped the brakes on officially asking you out. I thought the last thing you’d want to do was date another alcoholic.”

  I nod. “You’re probably right about that.”

  “That’s when I came up with the flower thing instead. I’d send a bouquet of roses every few weeks with a cute note attached to it. Let you know someone was thinking about you.” He bites his cheek. “I used to watch them being delivered from afar just so I could see you smile.”

  My breath catches. “That’s really sweet,” I say. “Um… about the ribbons.”

  “The ribbons?”

  “On the bouquets. Were they… significant to you? The colors, I mean.”

  “Oh, yeah. The sobriety coins.” He nods. “I have a chart in my office. Keeps me on track, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  So, it was just a coincidence.

  Roger continues. “After a few months, you left your number with the delivery service.”

  “And then we started texting, and...” I chuckle. “Well...”

  “Lots of texting,” he says, smirking.

  I look down. “Uh-huh.”

  “I wanted you to get to know me on a deeper level before you found out about... all the heavy stuff, you know?” he says. “It feels wrong to have kept it from you, in hindsight. I’m sorry about that.”

  “No, it’s okay. I get it,” I say, taking a breath. “So, if things were going so well, then why have you ignored my messages?”

  Roger nods. “That is what I really came here tonight to explain,” he says. “I wanted to meet you, but I also wanted to... take a step back, as weird as that sounds.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiles. “I mean Robbie.”

  I sit back. “What about him?”

  “Well, we’ve gotten close, he and I,” he says. “I know how he feels about you. I thought that was an unrequited thing, but then I saw you at his place last week.”

  “Oh...” My gut clenches.

  “And again here…” He glances over my shoulder. “In the men’s room…”