Pretty Ever After (Chicago Nights Book 3) Page 17

  “Roger, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

  He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, it’s...” I pause, unsure what to even say. “Rob and I are just...”

  “Soulmates,” he says. “In sixty seconds, right?”

  I press my lips together. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

  “No, you are. But it’s okay. Really. I know when to step aside.”

  “Is that why you switched off Sundays?” I ask. “So you didn’t have to see me anymore?”

  He pauses with a furrowed brow. “Yes,” he answers. “That’s one reason. And while I haven’t always acted with the best moral intentions, I can’t in good conscience continue pursuing the ex-wife of someone I’m sponsoring. I have some responsibility to do the right thing, as much as it sucks.”

  “Right,” I say. “So, does he… know? About how you feel about me?”

  Roger shakes his head. “I want to tell him, but I’m not sure how it’d affect his progress.”

  “True,” I say, feeling wretched.

  “Maybe someday, when he doesn’t need me anymore.” Still, Roger smiles at me. “He really loves you, you know.”

  I look down into my coffee mug. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Well, he does. More than anything. Second chances are tough — believe me, I know — but I think he’s worth one, if my opinion means anything at all.”

  “It does.” I smile. “You’re a really good friend, Roger.”

  “Certainly trying to be,” he says, his gaze briefly falling to my chest. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

  I blush. “Thanks.”

  “You know, if things were different...” He bites his bottom lip and sits back suddenly. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “No, I shouldn’t say.”

  I laugh. “No, go ahead.”

  Roger hesitates before standing up from his chair and taking a single wide step in my direction.

  He kisses me. I freeze in place, delicately shocked as his parted lips tease mine open and they blend so... smoothly.

  Oh, my...

  Roger breaks the kiss, but he hovers less than an inch away. “Just wanted a taste of what could have been,” he whispers, backing up. “I should go.”

  I press my tingling lips together. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. That’s... for the best.”

  He stands, his delicious mouth smirking once more as he reaches into his pocket and drops a twenty-dollar bill on the table to pay for our coffees. “Goodnight, Ms. Rose,” he says.

  “G-g-goodnight, Roger.”

  Roger strides away from the table, the edges of his scarf waving behind him.

  I stare into my coffee mug until my pulse finally relaxes again.

  Well, I guess that’s that, then.

  It really wasn’t Robbie.

  Twenty-Seven

  Robbie

  I stare at my phone on the coffee table in front of me. My fingers tap against my knee. My ankles bounce on the floor. I tell myself I will not check the time, but I do it anyway.

  6:47.

  What the hell is happening?

  Am I screwed? It’d be nice to know if I’m screwed.

  My door opens. I flinch, sitting forward in anticipation as Roger steps inside.

  “How’d it go?” I ask, equally needing and dreading the answer.

  “Well…” He closes the door and leans his back against it. “She bought it.”

  I keep my breath held tight. “She did?”

  He nods. “She did.”

  “Okay, well…” I lean forward until I’m practically sliding off the couch. “What did she say?” I ask.

  Roger slips his hands into his coat pocket and shrugs. “You were right. She asked about the colors.”

  I knew it.

  Melanie’s too sharp not to have noticed the colors on my tattoo match up exactly to the ones dangling from a magnet on her fridge. Best-case scenario, she shrugged it off as coincidence. Worst-case scenario, she suspected me and I had to throw her off my scent.

  “She was surprised,” Roger continues. “A little confused, rightfully so, but we had a pleasant chat about it and parted as acquaintances.”

  I turn up my hands. “That’s it?”

  “Was there something else you were expecting?”

  “Ah.” I sit back, knowing that face. “You’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”

  “That’s sponsor for mad.”

  “No, that’s just what you say when your friend is determined to destroy everything he’s built. So, congratulations, Rob. You’re off scot-free. You are safe to continue lying to Melanie for the rest of your lives together.”

  “If you were so against it, then why did you agree to help?”

  “Oh…” He pushes off the door, his eyes more devious than usual. “I didn’t do this out of the goodness of my heart. I did this because now… I own your ass.”

  I chortle. “Okay, yeah. I owe you one.”

  “No, no, no.” He steps forward. “Someday… maybe not soon, but someday, I will call upon you for a favor and you will not deny me.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He smirks. I grow nervous. “Also, I told her you don’t know about my feelings for her, so she probably won’t bring it up. Don’t hold it against her.”

  “I won’t.” I bow my head in respect. “Thank you again for doing this, Rog. You really saved my ass.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re cool.” He licks his lips and hums pleasantly. “You know, she’s named after a flower, but she sure tastes like a peach.”

  I frown. “She what?”

  He hops back and opens my door. “I’m going to go see Val.”

  “Wait—” I jump off the couch. “Roger.”

  He exits into the hallway. I chase after him, pausing in the doorway as he knocks on Val’s door.

  “You kissed her?” I ask, my nostrils flaring.

  “Oh, be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m…” I exhale my anger. Melanie was right. I am the jealous type. “Roger.”

  He looks at me. I nod again.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Val’s door opens behind him. Her arm extends outward, and she grabs Roger by the collar.

  “You’re welcome,” he says.

  Roger takes the old phone from his jacket pocket and tosses it at me underhand. I catch it as Val successfully yanks him into her apartment and slams the door.

  I laugh with relief as I step back into my apartment. If Roger is right, then I’m not competing with myself anymore. The secret admirer is over and done with, but that’s not the only obstacle in my path anymore.

  Melanie is leaving Chicago, but I can stop that.

  She just needs one solid pull in the right direction.

  I grab my real phone off the coffee table and sit down as I make the call.

  “Hello?” Melanie answers.

  I smile. “Hey, there.”

  “Hey, there,” she repeats.

  “You busy?” I ask.

  “Not really.”

  “What are you up to tonight?”

  “Just… chilling,” she answers. “What about you?”

  “I have something to ask you. It’s very important.”

  “Okay. What?”

  I lean back, feeling more comfortable. “Tomorrow is my last day of work before they shut down the site for the holidays and I thought that maybe you’d like to have dinner with me to celebrate.”

  “Dinner, huh?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s your important question?” she asks.

  “It might not seem like it, but this is life and death.”

  She chuckles and my heart skips. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “If it’s that important, then okay. Dinner where?”

  “Here. I’ll cook. You show up and look pretty.”

  “I think I can h
andle that,” she says. “What time?”

  “Seven. And be on time for once. I have a surprise for you.”

  “It’s not your penis again, is it?”

  I laugh. “No. But he will be there, too. I can’t exactly leave him home alone, you know?”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be there.”

  “Great,” I say, smiling. “So, what are you wearing?”

  Melanie scoffs. “Goodnight, Rob.”

  “Goodnight, Mel.”

  She hangs up.

  Fuck yeah.

  Twenty-Eight

  Melanie

  I chuckle into my phone as I trudge up the stairs of Robbie’s building. I’d meant for this call to end long before I even got here, but once Francie Rose gets going, it’s hard to make her stop.

  “Sounds like you and Dad are having a wonderful time,” I say.

  “And we haven’t even made port yet!” she says, laughing. “Can you hear me? Make port. I’m like a sailor!”

  I reach Robbie’s floor. I exhale, happy not to have to climb any more stairs. “Okay, well, I will let you go, then. Go have more fun — but not too much!”

  “Is something wrong, honey?” she asks, not taking the hint. “You sound winded.”

  “Just climbed some stairs, that’s all.”

  “Doesn’t your condo have an elevator?”

  “Right, yeah, but…” A door down the hall swings open and Val steps out. “I’ve been making an effort to get more exercise lately.”

  Val sees me and waves. I wave back, expecting to pass her by, but we both step toward Robbie’s door.

  “Oh, honey, you don’t need exercise,” my mother chirps in my ear. “You’re far too thin as it is.”

  Val and I stop next to each other. I squint as she smiles and knocks twice on Robbie’s door.

  “Mom, I need to go now,” I say. “Lots of words to write.”

  “Take care, dear! Love you.”

  “Love you. Bye.” I hang up and Val chuckles.

  “Clingy parents?” she asks.

  “A little, yeah,” I answer.

  She winks. “I know the feeling.”

  Robbie’s door opens. He instantly makes eye contact with me and smiles. “Hey, Melanie,” he says, purposefully giving me his attention over the barely legal teenager standing beside me.

  I open my mouth to greet him, but my words catch in my throat. I look down, blissfully aware of his outfit. Shiny black shoes. Black pants. A white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up because of-fucking-course they are.

  “Hey,” I finally say.

  He steps to the side. “Come on in.”

  I step forward, and he nods at Val.

  “What’s up, Val?” he asks.

  “I was just stopping by to see if you had any rope,” she says.

  I pause a few steps into the living room. The lights are low. Several candles are lit on the center of the dinner table. My nose twitches with sweet, delicious smells of garlic and baked bread.

  Okay, then.

  “Rope?” Robbie repeats.

  “Yep!” she says. “Some regular everyday rope.”

  Robbie chuckles. “No, I don’t have rope.”

  “A few old ties, maybe?” she suggests. “I’ll take the zip variety, if you got ‘em.”

  He begins closing the door. “No, sorry, Val. Gotta run.”

  “Okay, then. Have a good night—”

  The door latches, and Robbie deflates.

  “Sorry about that,” he says. “She must have Roger over tonight.”

  I chuckle, playing cool at the mention of his name. “Whatever happened to the days when the most a neighbor ever asked for was a cup of sugar?” I ask.

  “Good question.” He steps toward me. “Your coat?”

  “Oh, uh…” I slide it off and he takes it. “Sorry about the jeans,” I say, gesturing at my casual outfit. “Am I under-dressed?”

  “No.” Robbie chuckles as he hangs my coat on the hook on the back of the door. “No, I mostly just threw this on because I was happy to put away my utility belt for a while. Want a drink? I’ve got cherry soda.”

  He walks into the kitchenette. I follow.

  “Sure,” I say, taking another look around. “So…”

  Robbie grabs a liter bottle from the refrigerator door and twists the cap off before setting it on the counter. “So…?”

  “What’s going on here?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  He fills a glass halfway and hands it to me.

  “This all seems very…” I think of the right word, “fancy.”

  “Fancy?” he parrots back.

  “The candles. The place settings.” I raise my glass. “Cherry soda in a glass.”

  Robbie chuckles. “It’s nice.”

  “It’s a date,” I say.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You tucked in your shirt. This is a date.”

  “I thought it’d be fun!” he says, smiling. “That’s what we do now, right?”

  The oven chimes, and he turns before I can reply. He sleeves a mitt and opens the oven, grabbing a tray of fresh, golden breadsticks off the top rack.

  “And…” Robbie says as he sets them down on the stove. “I don’t know about you, but to me, nothing in this world says fun quite like garlic bread.”

  I grin as my mouth waters. “Well, you’ve got me there.”

  He tosses the mitt aside and sidles over to me, hovering a respectable foot away with his own glass. “Now, will you please calm those wonderful, ample tits of yours long enough to enjoy a fun night of delicious pasta goodness with me?”

  “What kind of pasta?” I ask.

  “Your favorite.”

  “That doesn’t smell like Gorgonzola Alfredo.”

  “Your real favorite,” he says. “Not the one you claim is your favorite to look cultured at dinner parties. No, you like plain, old, boring baked spaghetti just like Mama used to make. In fact, it is the one your mother used to make. I swiped the recipe from her at the Christmas party.”

  My stomach growls. “You did?”

  He clinks our glasses together. “Are we having fun yet?” he asks.

  I take another look around, my senses buzzing on overload. The pleasant atmosphere, the delicious smells. Handsome, perfect Robbie. Is this really who he is now? Is this what life could be like from now on? Or, at least, for the time being?

  What so wrong about that?

  “Yes,” I answer before taking a sip.

  I twirl my fork around a few limp, saucy noodles, stabbing a fair amount of melted mozzarella before shoveling it in my mouth. “Oh, my god,” I say as everything melts on my tongue. “This is just like Mom’s.”

  Robbie chuckles across the table for two. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.” I dab my mouth with a napkin. “You know, I’ve gotten used to this new culinary persona you’ve got going on.”

  “Have you?” he asks as he dips a breadstick in his sauce.

  “Yeah, do you deliver? Because I’ve got a lot of work to do next week and since you’re temporary unemployed, I thought…”

  “I’ll get you a menu,” he jokes.

  “Excellent.”

  I take a victory sip from my glass, finishing it. Robbie gazes at me across the table, his bright eyes flickering in the soft candlelight between us. I look away before it becomes something, but it might also be too late for that.

  This is something.

  Maybe not a date per se…

  But something.

  Robbie places his fork down and flexes his right hand twice before reaching for his napkin.

  I look at it, curious. “So, what’s up with that?” I ask.

  “With that?” he asks.

  “Your wound,” I say, tapping my palm.

  He glances at it and chuckles. “Oh, this old thing?”

  “Yea
h, that old thing.” I sit back, a foolish attempt at putting distance between myself and my delicious plate. “As I recall, you put a nail through your hand.”

  “Well, hey—” He points a stiff finger at me. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  I raise a teasing brow. “So you said.”

  “Some new guy at work was goofing off with a nail gun and my hand ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I told you all of this before.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “Do you believe it now?” he asks.

  I think on it. “Yeah, I do.” I watch as he flexes it again. “Does it still hurt? I’ve noticed you do that sometimes.”

  “Not really,” he answers. “It can feel tight, though. Another year and it’ll just be a scar, or so I hope.”

  I shudder, remembering everything. “Man, I couldn’t sleep for days after watching them yank it out.”

  “You didn’t have to stick around and watch,” he says.

  “I know, but I was morbidly curious.” I shrug. “And there was no way I was leaving you alone with that nurse.”

  “Why?” He smirks. “You weren’t… jealous, were you?”

  “Uh, no. She was being very unprofessional. I was just doing my duty as your emergency contact and acting in your best interests.”

  “Hm…” he hums. “I didn’t realize the duty of the emergency contact was to whine, bitch, and moan about being an emergency contact.”

  “I was tired. And if I wasn’t getting laid, you sure as shit wasn’t, either.”

  “Fair enough.” He laughs as he looks at his palm again. “Actually, the going in and yanking out parts didn’t hurt as much as you’d expect. The weeks after without painkillers, though. That was unpleasant.”

  I squint. “No, the doctor prescribed you something. I saw her.”

  “Yeah, but I threw it out.”

  My breath catches. “You went through all of that without painkillers?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was three months sober at the time,” he says.

  “Surely it doesn’t count, though, right? You didn’t choose to shoot a nail through your hand. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “You’re right. It wouldn’t have counted against me, but I…” He takes a breath. “I didn’t want to remind myself what it was like to feel numb. I thought it would be too tempting, so I powered through without. I don’t regret it.”