TRUST Page 4

  “Um, yeah.” I glance towards Boyd then give Jake a high-five. “Thanks for helping me catch the Pokemon, buddy.” And then they’re gone and I’m left with Mr. Hottie.

  I really need to go home and take off my pants.

  Instead I nod to Boyd to follow me towards Sophie’s room. Her room is only a few doors down from the elevator, but it feels like a really long walk with Boyd behind me. His shoes click against the linoleum floor while mine make the occasional squeak. Am I breathing weirdly? I think I’m breathing weirdly. I wonder how ridiculous these leggings look from behind. I remind myself to look in the mirror when I get home just so I have a clear mental image of this moment to torment myself with.

  “Is this going to be our thing now?” he asks.

  “Donuts?” I ask, confused, glancing at him behind me.

  His eyes move to my leggings-covered ass and he laughs. “No, awkward meetings.”

  “Why are you dressed like that?” I blurt out, then slap my hand over my mouth.

  “Excuse me?” he replies, brows raised.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, I think you had a question about my clothing?” he says, glancing down at his suit and then back to me. He takes a moment to run his eyes over my donut leggings before meeting my eyes.

  “I teach the second grade!” I protest, in defense.

  “I catch criminals,” he retorts. “What’s wrong with my suit?”

  “The federal government cannot be paying you enough to dress like James Bond.”

  “So you like the way I look,” he clarifies with a confident smirk.

  “Obviously,” I say, then catch myself and add a sarcastic, “Not,” to the end. What is wrong with me? Why am I behaving like a bitch? If I had any idea what I was doing with men I’d be doing it right now, not insulting him. I pause in front of Sophie’s door and turn to him. “Thank you for going along with me back there,” I say, referring to my fib to Everly about not having met him previously. “I love Everly, but she’s a little…” I trail off.

  “Nuts. The girl is nuts,” he says. “But it’s fine. Now you owe me a favor,” he adds with a little lift to his eyebrow, then pushes open the door to Sophie’s room. I follow him in, confused about what kind of favor he could want from me, but I don’t have time to think about it too hard.

  “Boyd!” Sophie calls, as we walk into the room. “I’m so glad you could make it. Thank you for the flowers.”

  The baby is back in the weird plastic hospital bassinet and she lets out a little cry, calling our attention to her.

  “I’ll get her,” I tell Sophie when it looks like she might get out of bed to grab her. “No one should have to get up in one of those hospital gowns,” I add. I calm her and then Sophie insists Boyd should hold his niece.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He nods from his position by the window.

  “You’ll hold her,” I snip. “She’s only going to be a day old once.”

  I realize this is a mistake as soon as I’m in front of him with the baby. Not because he’s not capable, no. He takes the baby with ease. Not because standing this close I now know how good he smells. And not because I now know how freaking firm his chest is against my arm as I gently pass Christine to him. No, all of those things I could handle. It’s the brush of his fingertips against my breast—completely innocent—as the baby is passed from me to him. The brush of fingertips that instantly makes both nipples hard. He didn’t even touch both of them. Is that normal? Are they supposed to get hard together? I mentally add this to my list of things I need to Google as I cross my arms across my chest and step away from him.

  He shoots me a smile that makes me suspect he knows exactly how uncomfortable he makes me before turning his attention to the baby in his arms. I grab my jacket and congratulate Sophie again and let her know I’ll stop by this week once she’s home. Then I book it outta there.

  Five

  Chloe

  The next couple of days pass in the usual blur of lesson plans, notes to parents, and breaking up the bickering of seven-year-olds. I love it. I might be almost as new to teaching as I am to dating, but unlike dating, I’m good at teaching. Plus I’ve worked hard to prepare myself to be a great teacher. Which, now that I’m thinking of it like that, reminds me that I just need more practice with dating. It’s not like I gave up the first time a kid was difficult. Nope. Maybe I should study? Like a course, or a book. I wonder if there’s a Dating for Dummies book? I’m going to Google that right now… there is! Um, look, there’s a Sex for Dummies too. I bite my lip, then add them both to my online cart and check out. I’m a great student. I’ve totally got this.

  My books will be here in a couple of days. In the meantime, I’ve got another date tonight. Another chance to practice, if you will. Like homework. I’m just meeting the guy for coffee—that’s my go-to first date. I need to stop at home first and freshen up. One time I met someone after work and didn’t realize until later that I had a streak of blue Sharpie down my arm the entire time. So I pack up and drive home first to get ready.

  I’m meeting Joe at a Starbucks near my apartment, the one on South Broad Street. It’s not the closest coffee shop to my apartment—not even the closest Starbucks. I never meet dates super close to my apartment, just in case. Like, what if it’s a horrible date and I keep bumping into them at my favorite Starbucks? That would be awful. Plus the employees would see me in there all the time with different guys. So embarrassing.

  Luckily I can leave school early enough to avoid some of the rush-hour traffic, so I make it home in under twenty minutes. Teacher perk. I park my car for the night in the cheap monthly parking garage I found a couple of blocks from my apartment. I don’t live anywhere fancy enough to include parking. The location is amazing though. I’m downtown in Center City, Philadelphia, only a few blocks away from Sophie and less than ten blocks from both Sandra and Everly. But I live in a small studio apartment. One-bedrooms were way out of my price range if I wanted to be downtown. So I don’t have fancy amenities like parking or in-unit laundry, or a doorman. But it’s a secure building with a great location and it’s really all I need.

  I’m on the eighth floor, which makes for a nice view and somewhat reduced noise coming from the street. I walk inside and drop the bag I bring to school with me on one of the chairs at my small two-seat kitchen table and shrug out of my jacket. I stuff today’s clothes into my hamper then change into jeans and a black sweater before checking my hair and makeup. My hair is kind of a sandy brown with streaks of auburn and right now, it’s a mess. A glance at the clock tells me I don’t have time to do much with it, so I brush it out and fasten it in a low pony. It will have to do. I apply a little more makeup than I wear to school then freshen my Chapstick before applying a nude lipstick on top. Perfect. I check my phone to make sure he hasn’t cancelled then grab my purse and jacket and head out.

  I’ll walk to Starbucks. It’s less than a mile and it’s nice out. I cut through Rittenhouse Square to 18th Street, then walk a few blocks down before turning and making my way towards South Broad. I’m a little apprehensive after my date last weekend, but I Googled this guy and I’m reasonably sure he’s a real person. I found some pictures online that match the pictures on his dating profile, so assuming the guy in the pictures is the guy who shows up, I should be okay.

  But this is why I always meet first dates in a public place. I let Cal pick me up on the second date, but I didn’t let him come upstairs. I met him in the lobby. I live in a large building so I figure it’s okay to meet them in the lobby for the second date. I haven’t actually let anyone into my apartment yet. I should probably stop watching Criminal Minds if I want to get a boyfriend. It’s just so good. But I think it might be making me paranoid. I mean, the agents on Criminal Minds catch at least twenty new serial killers every season. There can’t possibly be that many serial killers wandering around, right? There’s probably like… ten in the United States at any given time. I bet it’s ten. I’m gonna look that up later.

  I wonder what Boyd meant about me owing him a favor. I wonder if he meant anything by it? I wonder what I want him to mean. I stuff my hands into my pockets as I walk. Like, what if he meant a sexual favor? No, that’s stupid. Stupid. As if he’d need a sexual favor from me. He probably meant a favor like helping him move. I wrinkle my nose and step around a couple arguing in the middle of the sidewalk. Or maybe a favor like a ride to the airport. That’s probably what he meant. I can’t really picture him sitting in the passenger seat of my Toyota Corolla though, even for a free ride to the airport.

  I roll my eyes at myself as I walk. I’m sure he meant nothing by it. It’s just a stupid saying. It does not, in any way, imply that he was thinking dirty thoughts about me. As if he would look twice at me anyway. I’m cute enough, I suppose. But that’s the thing. I’m cute. I get freckles in the summer. I wear leggings and I’m happy with my hair in a ponytail. He seems like he’d appreciate someone a little more… polished than me. Plus, he’s older. I seem to recall that he’s ten years older than Sophie, which would make him thirty-two and way more experienced than me. Forget about it. But maybe I should increase my age limit on the dating app I’m using. I think I have it capped at twenty-eight. Maybe I should raise it because I think thirty-two-year-olds might be my thing. You know, as long as they have badges and look like Boyd.

  I blow out a breath and tap my foot on the pavement while I wait for the light to change so I can cross 15th Street. What would I even do with a guy like Boyd? He’s probably into crazy shit like having sex with the lights on. It’s just… I swear I felt something when we met. The moment he walked into the room on Sunday the energy changed. Granted I was about to be questioned by the FBI, so that might have had something to do with the energy in the room, but I don’t know. The problem with chemistry is that it’s not always reciprocated. Sometimes one person is picturing Hollywood-worthy wall sex and the other person is thinking about what they should pick up for dinner on the way home from work.

  It’s likely it will be months before I see him again anyway, owed favor or not. I managed to go almost a year without meeting him the first time. He met Sophie for the first time last fall after discovering she was his half-sister, and Everly’s crossed paths with him, but I hadn’t until Sunday. So there’s no reason I will again. Just put him out of your head, Chloe. He’s way too much for you anyway. Everly would know what to do with a guy like that. Me, not so much.

  I make it to the Starbucks on Broad with a little under ten minutes to spare, so I get in line to order. I like to avoid the awkward who-is-going-to-pay shuffle at the counter and scope out a good table and I’ve got just enough time to do both. I order the seasonal pumpkin spice latte in decaf then nab an empty two-seat table with a good view of the door so I can keep an eye out for Joe. He arrives a couple of minutes later and scans the cafe for me and when his gaze lands on me I confirm with a small wave. He nods with a small smile and heads my way.

  “Can I get anything else for you?” he asks, nodding at the cup in my hands as he removes his coat and places it over the back of the chair across from mine.

  “No, thank you. I’m good with this,” I say, lifting the paper cup an inch off the table. “Go grab something for yourself,” I tell him with a smile. Luckily there’s no line so he’s back shortly, drink in hand.

  “So, Chloe, it’s nice to meet you,” he says as he takes a seat.

  “You as well,” I return. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

  “No problem. I live in the Washington Square area so this wasn’t too far for me.” He takes a sip from his cup then continues when I don’t say anything. “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you online. I’m glad we were finally able to meet.”

  “I’m just happy you match your photos,” I say, then try not to visibly cringe. What a stupid thing to say. He’s really cute. And nice. And I’m my usual nervous awkward self. But he just laughs like it’s no big deal.

  “Were you worried I was a forty-year-old guy using old photos?” he asks with a wide smile, clearly trying to put me at ease.

  “No, no. I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just that I went out last weekend with a guy who gave me a fake name and got arrested on our date,” I babble, trying to explain. Why did I just say that? That’s worse. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to bring it up.

  “Um, wow,” he responds, the smile slipping just a little.

  “I’m not usually that bad at picking them,” I reveal, then wish I could suck it back in. Shut up, Chloe!

  “So, you’re a teacher?” he asks after a moment, clearly throwing me a lifeline and trying to redirect the conversation.

  “Yeah,” I say, thankful for the switch in topics and happy that he’s obviously better at this than I am. “Second grade,” I add, my voice trailing off as I catch something over Joe’s shoulder.

  Boyd Gallagher.

  He’s got a cup in hand and he’s striding towards the exit when he turns his head and his eyes land on mine. I see the flicker of surprise cross his face as I turn my attention back to Joe.

  “Second grade,” I repeat. “I teach second grade. I love it.”

  Joe nods. “My mom’s a teacher, so I know how hard you work.”

  I’m focusing on Joe but I see Boyd approaching from the corner of my eye. Is he going to interrupt my date to say hi? So awkward.

  But he doesn’t.

  No.

  Instead, he takes a seat at the table next to ours. In the seat next to Joe so he’s facing me. And then he ignores me.

  He’s… pretending he doesn’t know me? Seriously? I dart another glance in his direction but he’s not looking at me. He’s set his coffee on the table and is doing something with his phone. His posture is relaxed as if he’s intending to stay a while. What the heck is he doing? I know he saw me. I know he did. A fact confirmed when he meets my gaze dead on the next time I glance in his direction, a brow raised in amusement. He’s in another fancy suit today. It’s black and the white shirt he’s wearing underneath it looks crisp and fresh, even though this must be the end of his day as well. He’s wearing a charcoal tie which he straightens, his fingers running down the midsection of the tie, smoothing the material as he takes a sip from his cup.

  “Is everything okay?” Joe asks.

  “Yes!” I agree quickly. “I was just checking out the light fixtures,” I say, nodding to the Starbucks decor. “They’re nice, don’t you think?” Not a total lie. I’ve always appreciated the ambiance here. “They must have them custom-made,” I muse. Brilliant conversational skills, Chloe.

  “I guess.” Joe shrugs.

  “I mean, it’s not like you can buy them just anywhere,” I add, because I never quit when I should.

  “I imagine not,” he agrees. “They don’t want just anyone to get their hands on their exclusive light fixtures.” He says it kindly, like he’s not bothered by my inane light fixture observations.

  “Right.” I nod. Joe is really so nice. And he’s really good-looking. He’s got beautiful thick dark hair. “Are you Italian?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Well, I don’t think so. I’m adopted so I’ve got no idea. My parents are of Scottish and German descent.”

  Oh. “I love Italian food,” I respond. Because that’s an appropriate response to sticking your foot in your mouth.

  “I hate Italian.” Joe frowns and shakes his head, then laughs. “Just kidding. Who doesn’t love Italian food?”

  Why is Boyd watching? Is this some sort of payback for pretending not to know him the other day at the hospital? I’m sure I can’t be the only girl questioned by the FBI who didn’t want her friends to know about it. Sheesh. Oh, my God. Is he on a stakeout? Is he investigating this date too? No. I mentally shake my head. Not possible.

  “Have you ever been to Serafina? On 18th? My friend went into labor there last week.”

  “Um, wow. Okay.” He pauses. “Congratulations to your friend,” he adds slowly, because he’s probably unsure what the correct response is to that tidbit of information.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, waving my hand. “I meant to say, they have great Italian food there. My friend did go into labor at lunch, but you probably didn’t need to know that part.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m sure that was a pretty exciting lunch.”

  “Yeah.” We sit in silence for a moment and then, “Hey, do you want to hear a joke?” Say no. Stop speaking, Chloe.

  “Sure.”

  “Why did the banana go to the doctor?” Yup. I’m telling second-grade jokes.

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t peeling well!”

  Joe nods and does a fake laugh. So I continue, like an idiot. “Wait, I’ve got a better one,” I blurt out. “Why did the jellybean go to school?”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to become a Smartie!”

  I wish I could say I stopped here. But I think I told at least two more before Joe finally gave up and politely checked his watch. I don’t think I’m ready for dating. The single men of Philadelphia should not be subjected to the disaster that is me. And Boyd watching did not help.

  “Okay, well, thanks!” I say, shooting to my feet and sticking my hand out like I just completed a job interview, not a date. Yeah. I imagine it’s going to be a solid decade before I can erase this memory from my mind.

  His eyes widen a bit in surprise but, ever the gentleman, he quickly recovers and shakes my hand, wishing me a good night. Then he bolts out of there. I watch as the glass door swings open and he retreats from view before I turn to Boyd. He’s smiling.

  Six

  Boyd