Finding Opa! (2 page)

Hunter laughed. It was odd to him that she would refer to the Greeks when speaking of love.

Stacey automatically misinterpreted his laugh. She had just poured out her heart to him, and he didn’t take her the least bit serious. Irritated, she growled. “So, how in the hell could you possibly help me, unless you have a loose manuscript in those incredibly tight jeans of yours?”

“Well, that depends,” he said, looking down at his pants. He didn’t think his jeans were tight, but at least her statement meant that she was checking him out. His large elbows were planted on the table, giving a better view of his sculpted forearms and the chrome Cartier watch on his wrist, gleaming under the light. “When you say that you don’t have a muse, does that mean that you’re single?” His tone was suggestive. The inflection in his voice was just a tad bit playful.

“My husband died,” Stacey answered flatly, countering his flirtatious demeanor. “He’s gone.” She nodded as sympathy washed Hunter’s beautiful face. “So, I have no reason to write elegant stories about whimsical love anymore, because I don’t’ have a love anymore. I’m not single. I’m widowed. There is a difference, at least in my mind.”

“How long?” he asked more serious than before.

“Two
miserable
years, three months and five days.”

“And you haven’t dated since he passed?” His question was filled with sincerity, like he actually cared about her feelings.

“I haven’t tried.” She felt the need again to fight back tears.

“I see.” Hunter sat back. “Well, there’s your problem and your answer. You need a love interest – a
muse
as you so eloquently put it - to help ignite your passion again so that you can finish this book. Then when it’s over, you can get rid of him. Think of it as a creative booster.”

Stacey laughed aloud. The thought was preposterous. “How many have
you
had to drink tonight?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink.
This guy was more ridiculous than her non-romantic love story.

“Just a couple.” He smiled. Leaning towards her, he made his plea. “I think that I should be your muse. I’m willing to give myself over to the science of love in the effort to help you with your book.”

His suggestion floored her. Deflated, she slouched her thin shoulders and squinted her tired eyes. “Are you serious?” she asked. “You don’t know anything about me. For all you know, I could be a nut or vice versa.”

“Oh, come on. People do it every day. They see each other. They are attracted to one another. They begin to date, and often enough they break up. But they serve a purpose, stay a season. What do you have to lose?” he asked.

“You said that they have to be attracted to one another, right? What makes you think that I would be attracted to you?” she asked intrigued. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched the twinkle in his eye. She did find him attractive – any woman would.

He lowered his sultry voice. “Well, you did let me sit down.”

“I was only being nice.” Involuntarily, she felt herself flirting.

“I see. Well, there is only one way to solve this. Do you find me attractive, Stacey?” The muscles along his jawline tightened.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes,” she answered, running her finger over the rim of her glass. “For a white boy.”

“Oh…” he laughed. “I need more melanin; is that it?”

She laughed also, forgetting about her book and Drew for a brief moment. “Hey, that could be one strike against you for all you know. The second strike would be making me buy your drink.”

“Just as long as I don’t strike out, I’m okay. Because I see a beautiful Nubian princess in front of me, and I would hate to miss out,” he answered.

“Oh, then on top of that you purposefully played the race card,” she said, shaking her head. His humor was so refreshing until she almost considered it. Almost.

“What’s your number? Maybe I could give you a call…” he started to say before she cut him off.

“I don’t give out my number.” Eyeing his napkin, she shut down.

“Well, how am I going to get in touch with you?” he asked, picking up the pen sitting on the edge of the table.

The reality of what he was suggesting set in for Stacey, and she instantly pulled back. “This isn’t going to happen,” she said, looking down at her hands.

Suddenly, the sounds of the bar were back, drowning her thoughts and dragging her back into her reality.
What am I doing
, she asked herself.

Hunter picked up on the disconnect and made one last-ditch effort to close the deal. “Well, let me give you my number.”

Stacey had heard enough. She didn’t like the way this guy made her feel with his warm eyes, wide mouth, strong jaw and devilish charm. Maybe it was that she had been drinking far too long, but maybe, just maybe this guy had sparked something deep inside of her. Either way, it was alarming.

“
Oooookay
,” she said, looking down at her watch. “Look at the time. I’ve gotta go.”

“But you haven’t even considered my proposal,” he countered eagerly.

“What are you – a salesman?” she asked, pulling herself up from her seat. “This was fun. But I’m not interested. Trust me; your little pitch is pretty cute. I’m sure that it will work on someone, just not me.” She threw down the money on the table.

“What would work on you, I wonder,” he said finally.

“The world will never know.” Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she looked over at him once more and raised her brow. “It was
strange
to meet you, Hunter” she said, pulling her sandy brown dreadlocks behind her ear.

Hunter swallowed hard, still gazing at her with his dreamy green eyes. “It was
awesome
to meet you, Stacey. I assure you that I’ve never made a pitch like that to anyone woman. You are the first,” he said, raising his drink to salute her. “And thanks for the free booze. I’ll make sure to pick up your novel the next time I’m in the book store.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically.

Waving at the waitress and bartender, who sat across the room at the bar watching, Stacey walked away from the table.

She was certain that the stranger was still watching her, still trying to figure out an angle. But she didn’t turn back. Instead, she kept her eyes on the door. Who was she kidding anyway? Anything that sounded too good to be true often was. Her father had one saying he had used repeatedly when she was a child that came to mind now:
Caveat emptor
for sure
,
baby
.

***

The cool rainwater soaked Stacey as she gripped the sides of her green North Face backpack and hiked several blocks up the waterfront to her lonely loft.

With each step she took in the briny air, feeling it jet into her lungs and feed her body, her buzz began to wear off, but the thoughts of Hunter did not. She wondered if she had just made a huge mistake by turning him down or if she had saved herself from a ridiculous situation.

That was the strange thing about life. Sometimes, there was no clear answer. Right now, Hunter could be back at the bar using the same line on another woman, or he could have been seriously interested in only her and went home alone. One thing was for sure. She would never know.

As she hit the steps of her dark bricked building, she looked up to her front window two stories above to see her cat looking down at her. It never failed, and never ceased to amaze Stacey. She swore that Rapture could sense her a hundred miles away.
Who said that dogs were more faithful?

Wiping the rainwater from her face, she stomped her brown hiking boots on the black, plastic welcome mat at the base of the lobby door and slipped her key in the lock. With a twist of her wrist, she was safely inside out of the elements and standing face-to-face with Clive Blackstone.

Stacey wasn’t sure if Blackstone was Clive’s real surname, but it definitely fit him. Stuck in the grudge-age and devoted to heavy metal, the part-time guitarist and full-time IT tech, was hopelessly pulled between two worlds.

If Stacey saw Clive from 8-5, Monday through Friday, he was in belted jeans, a button down and clean hair. However, after hours, he wore black eyeliner, a tattered, Matrix-like trench coat and gel-slicked hair that only further pronounced his receding hairline. She found his duality strange but refreshing. At least he had the balls to fly his freak colors.

“Hello, Clive,” she said, moving out of the doorway to let him pass with his arms full of equipment. “It’s raining out there. You may want to pull your car around first,” she suggested.

“It’s cool,” he said drably, already in character for tonight’s performance. “Thanks though.”

Stacey always wondered if he got into character to perform at the clubs or if he got into character to perform at work. Closing the door behind him, she decided not to give another moment of thought to Clive or his complex existence.

After a short trip up her elevator to the second floor, she exited out to her front door and stomped her feet again on her own welcome mat before she dashed inside. As she opened her doors, Rapture was right there to gracefully swirl in between her legs with his arched back offered to freely rub.

“Missed you too, cat,” she said, closing the door behind her. Dropping her backpack in the corner, she kneeled and picked up her friend, rubbing its fur against her face as she walked over to the table in her living room to listen to her missed messages.

Pushing down on the blinking red button, she heard the message that she had been dreading for days.

“Well, hello, hello,” the female, east coast caller said over the machine. “I expected to find you home working on that wonderful manuscript you promised me,” her agent, Valerie Morrow, said in a demanding tone. “Call me when you get home. I don’t care what time. I just need to know that you’re
on schedule
.”

Stacey looked at her cat and shook her head. “I’ve got to pull something out of my ass quickly, or I’m going to need to move into the litter box with you, Rapture,” she said, kissing her cat on the nose. A quick, warm lick from the cat was returned for her favor.

Stacey picked up her cordless phone and walked with her cat in her arms to the kitchen to make a cup of ginger tea. Her agent picked up on the first ring.

“How’s my favorite author?” Valerie asked with too much energy for so late at night.

“Not so well,” Stacey answered, putting her pewter-colored kettle on the stove. “I have writer’s block.”

There was a brief silence on the phone. “Well, what do you need to get you motivated? A trip? A new car?”

“A new man,” Stacey laughed. “I’ll figure it out,” she said, thinking involuntarily of Hunter. “Let me send you what I have tomorrow afternoon. I have an appointment in the morning with my new OBGYN.”

“It’s a date,” Valerie said, getting what she needed. “Well, I’ll talk to you then, doll. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Stacey said, hanging up the phone.

Rapture ran his furry head against Stacey’s neck as she put the phone down. Smiling, Stacey purred like a cat. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Two

Commuting in Seattle could be very difficult if one didn’t use public transportation, drive a car or use cabs. In this case, the one in question was Stacey. So she tried to make sure that everything that she needed was in a twenty-mile radius of her home to ensure that she could either ride her bike or drive her plum-colored Vespa.

However, considering that it rained a lot, she often arrived to all of her engagements soaking wet and somewhat irritable. It was days like this one, sunny and clear, that she wished would last forever. If she could find a place that was perpetually tranquil, she’d move there forever.

Dr. H. C. Fourakis had come highly recommended on several accredited websites. Due for an annual checkup, she wondered why she even bothered to go considering she had not been sexually active since the Stone Age. The only thing that was pushing her was the knowledge of how real cervical cancer could be and her desire to be cleared of all possibilities. Her mother had died when she was very young of cervical cancer, and since then she had religiously gone to the doctor for checkups.