Page 34 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

“What are you talking about? At dinner, you said you liked the pasta.”

Blinking rapidly, I try to make the connection between liking the pasta and liking him. “I did. It was great. Thank you for dinner,” I say, staring at him.

Chad’s eyes ping-pong between Nick and me but land in my direction again. With his mouth dropped open, he works his way up from my chest, a place he gave more attention than my personality while consuming said delicious pasta. Then he starts laughing deliriously while looking around. “This is a joke, right?”

“Ashton’s not going to pop out of the bushes.”

“Who?” he asks.

“Never mind.” I sigh, realizing the awesomeness of the showPunk’ddoesn’t live on. Guess I’m the only one who loves to watch old shows. Clapping my hands together, I add, “I think this a good place for us to say goodbye.” I offer him a friendly handshake.

“What?” With a furrowed brow, he glances at my hand and then up to me. “Wait . . . are you blowing me off?”

“No. Not at all. The date was over, so I’m saying goodbye.”

“But I’m a stockbroker. I work on Wall Street.”

“Please don’t take this personally . . .well, I do hate lying. The fact is, it’s you, Chad. We’re just not a good fit, so I think goodbye is best.”

“Forever?”

“Yes, forever. Goodbye, Chad.”

His mouth falls open again, and then he shoots Nick a glare full of daggers. “Asshole.”

Nick shrugs. “You win some. You lose some.”

Chad looks back at me. “Don’t call me?—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t have your number.”

The bitterness trails him as he storms away. When he’s out of earshot, Nick asks, “The Chad?”

Pleading, I ask, “Can we forget this ever happened?”

“Most definitely not,” he says, chuckling.

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Great.”

“Let me ask you, Natalie, how’d you set up a date if you don’t have each other’s numbers?”

“I deleted it at dinner.”

“The Chad was that bad, huh?”

“Worse than you can imagine.” A horn blaring from across the street draws my attention. I truly never thought I’d see Nick again, and it’s not that I’m rendered mute now, but where do I start? Our first conversation was determined by the confidence attained from too much tequila.Or was it rum?Our next, a broken Vespa. In other words, there was no typical context to draw from, drunken or otherwise. But now? I want to know what he’s been doing. Has he been back to Catalina? Is he in New York for only a short time or staying?

I want to know if he’s dating someone. Please let him be single.

And has he thought about me as I’ve thought about him? Or even a little. I’d settle for a thought or two over the months since we parted ways. Although I want to know everything about him, every detail we glossed over the first time, I probably shouldn’t hit him with fifty soul-searching questions, so I start with a softball. “How are you?”

“I’m good, better now.” When his gaze veers to the surroundings, I take the chance to get a good look at him. Is it strange to notice that although he looks like the Nick I once met, he also appears different in the slightest of ways?

Are the lines beside his eyes a little deeper, or is it an offshoot shadow from the dry cleaner’s fluorescent sign? Surely, his shoulders can’t be broader.Can they?Has he been working out . . . more than he did before, that is? Maybe the final stages of boy to man have come to take their rightful place.And let me tell you, it is oh, so right.

I bite my lower lip before I even reach the superficial stuff like the stainless-steel blue-faced Omega watch wrapped around his wrist. Blue, not black.Friendly. Business yet approachable.

In California, he oozed the lifestyle of the West Coast in his casual but refined taste of old money. Nick said he’s here on business, so the dark suit makes sense and gives off a Manhattan vibe. But the tie isn’t missing because it was never a part of the look. That crisp white shirt shows no signs of wrinkling around the collar and highlights a tan that couldn’t have lingered from last summer but appears to be a part of him naturally.

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