Rocked by Him (6 page)

I glanced at my watch as I checked to make sure my door was locked. Coming up on eight. That would leave me enough time for breakfast, if I ate quickly. I stepped into the elevator. It lurched as it started, making my stomach feel even weirder.

As I watched it move from "3" to "2" I also experienced a pang of regret. I'd had a not so subtle desire to see Drake again as I recalled my fantasy after the shower.

Oh well, it was one less distraction. Today I wasn't going to be late!

The elevator chimed as the door opened to reveal the lobby. The first thing I saw when I stepped out was the concierge. He was an older guy, with grey hair.

Drake was the second thing I saw. He wore his standard uniform of jeans, a t-shirt, and the skull-emblazoned leather jacket. At that moment, he leaned against the front desk, chatting with the concierge about something.

When he heard the elevator, he turned and smiled at me. I almost started walking faster. I almost ignored him. If I got caught up, I knew I'd probably miss breakfast and likely be late for work.

"Hey, Jenn," he said, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he sauntered over to me.

He stood between
myself and the door. I could see the traffic already choking the street, consisting mostly of yellow taxis. They honked incessantly at each other.

"Hey yourself.
What, no drunken girl hanging off your arm yet?" I said, trying to step around him.

He blocked me, smiling as I frowned up at him.

"Not yet. Hey, wanna grab some food? There's this great bagel shop like three doors down from here."

I paused, trying to formulate a reply. I had a sneaking suspicion that the bagel shop he mentioned was the same little cafe I wanted to go to.

Just do it! something in me said. The bad side of me. The part of me that liked the whole rebel thing Drake had going on.

The rest of me knew it was a bad idea. That crooked smile of his broadened as he saw my confusion.

"Come on, let me get your breakfast..." he said, looking over his shoulder at the concierge and then lowering his voice for the next part, "It's the least I can do. With my luck, I would still be in the holding cell right now."

My stomach grumbled at the mention of breakfast. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I tried passing it off as noise from outside. What could it hurt? It was just breakfast. I was going to get some anyway.

And this way, it would be free! Free food is always the best food.

"Fine," I said, giving him a mock roll of my eyes.

Then he did something surprising. He turned and offered me the crook of his arm. I took it after a moment. The leather of his jacket was soft and warm as he led me out, holding the door open and everything.

He even smelled nice.
That clean, masculine scent of plain soap and a good shower. As we stepped outside, I wondered if he'd showered especially for me.

Did that mean that I'd showered especially for him? I wasn't sure.

The bagel shop cafe was busy, but through a team effort I snagged us a small table in the corner while Drake went and got our breakfast. The air was heavy with the smell of fresh baking, and recently brewed coffee. My mouth watered as I pulled my chair out and sat down.

Drake disappeared into the long line, which stretched out the door seemingly right after we came in. Very lucky, I thought. I checked my watch again. About quarter after eight. I had time to gulp down some coffee, gobble up a bagel, and run to the subway.

I promised myself that I wouldn't let him hold me up. He was just being polite, thanking me for keeping him from getting arrested. That was all.

Drake wove his way around customers and between tables
. He held the tray with our coffee and bagels up high.

The coffee was a bit too hot, and black (I liked it one cream and two sugars) but I didn't have the time to let it cool and
get it tasting just right.

"Thanks!" I said.

He motioned at the food, "No, thank you. Really."

I started in right away, but he sat there for a bit and watched me, hardly blinking. I became very aware of how I must look, chomping down on a bagel half and washing it down with big gulps from my cup of too-hot steaming black coffee.

I slowed down, meeting his eyes. It was one of those times where you want to say something, but your mouth is busy chewing too much food. I had to hold up my finger and chew as quickly as I could even as he raised that eyebrow at me again.

"What are you looking at?"

"You," he said.

I picked up a napkin and dabbed at my lips, desperately hoping there were no crumbs or bits of
cream cheese stuck to them.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked, balling the napkin up.

He shrugged with that perfect apathy and nonchalance of his, "I guess. I'm just not a human vacuum cleaner like you."

"Shut up!" I said, unable t
o keep my lips from twitching into a smile.

I covered my mouth, again worrying that there might be food stuck to my teeth. Why did he make me feel so self conscious? Just
remember Jerry, I told myself, and what he did.

"Whatever," he said, winking. "But seriously, thanks again. This might be too much info, but that would have been my third strike. You really saved my ass."

"Really? So... you owe me big-time, then?"

He snorted, then finally picked up his bagel and took a bite. He chewed with agonizing slowness, clearly
reveling in my annoyance at his lack of response. If this had been back in elementary school, it would have been like him pulling my pigtails at recess.

That made me think
of Bud. Not really the best association, and it soured my mood again. I checked my watch. Twenty five after eight. I still had a few minutes before having to rush out. This was the most fun I'd had in days, and I felt the desire to claw as much as I could out of the experience to help get me through work.

He swallowed, then daintily dabbed at his lips with his napkin in an
exaggerated fashion. He was making fun of me!

"Hey!" I said, snatching the napkin away from him.

"Why'd you do that? I need to make certain my perfect lips are clean!"

We laughed. I'd never felt so comfortable with a person right away. It was like he didn't care for all that pretension, all that getting-to-know-you crap, and just jumped right into familiarity.

I could see how he managed to get so many girls. He made you feel good, feel happy. It was something not many people could do. And that whole bad boy, rebel look and attitude he put on just completed the package and made him almost irresistible. Almost.

"So what do you do?" I said.

He shrugged, "I'm in a band."

"And that pays the bills?"

He gave me that crooked smile and stretched his arms up above his head. I got the impression he could seem like he was relaxed anywhere.

"I'm not
gonna lie, we're kind of a big deal."

"Shut up!" I said.

"No, really. We've got so many gigs that we have to turn down most of them. Every night a different bar in Manhattan."

This was just getting ridiculous. He's in a band? Are you kidding me?

"What do you do in it?" I said, already having a pretty good guess.

"Vocals.
Some rhythm guitar if we need it. I wrote most of our stuff, too."

Yep. Lead singer in a band. I laughed and shook my head.

"What? What's so funny?" he said.

"You're just too much.
Really."

He leaned forward and I found our eyes locked together. It was an intense stare. The world fell away around us.
The noise of customers, the clink of the cash register and the hum of the ovens. It felt like there were just the two of us. He was good. Damn good.

"But you like it. I can tell," he said.

"I'm not another one of your barflies," I whispered, making him lean forward even more so that he could hear.

His eyes widened as he realized it wasn't working. Well, it wasn't working as well as he thought, anyway. I had to admit, there were impure thoughts flying about in my mind. The only thing that saved me was
reveling in his sudden discomfort and disappointment.

That,
and glancing down at my watch. It read "8:37."

"Damn it!" I said, pushing up to my feet and nearly knocking over an old man trying to bring a tray to his similarly elderly wife sitting at the table beside us. She gave me a look.

"What?" Drake said, also jumping up, looking around for the source of my alarm.

"I'm going to be late! I have to go!"

I turned to run out of there, but his hand fell on my shoulder.

"Hey, thanks again.
Really."

"No problem. Thanks for breakfast!" I said, trying to get out of there. As I rushed out onto the busy street, I wondered when I'd see him again.

***

As I ran out onto the street, I thought of hailing a cab. My thought pattern was basically: Car is faster than Subway.

However, I ran right into a large mob of pedestrians. Cyclists shot by at worrying speed, weaving around the knots of people or hopping out onto the pavement and navigating the thin space between traffic and parked cars.

"Hey!" I said as one particularly belligerent biker chose to use his little chime to simply bull his way through the people right in front of me. He didn't even glance back.

My heart started sinking when I suppressed my panic long enough to figure out what was happening.

It was rush hour in New York City. There was no way a cab would get me to work faster than the subway.
Unless it was a flying cab, anyway.

The street might as well have been a parking lot. It sounded a lot like one, what with people laying on their horns and all.

Decision made, I walked as quickly as I could towards the nearest subway entrance. I felt the urge to break into a trot, but the sheer volume of people prevented that.

We approached the broad stairwell and, like on a highway, the traffic split. A large number of people started going down the stairs while the rest continued on their way. As I grabbed the railing and put my foot on the first step, I took small comfort in the fact that there wouldn't be any maniacal cyclists down there.

And, miracle of miracles, I actually managed to snag a seat! As more and more people flooded into the train, I realized that getting up and out would be the real problems. I had to squish my legs together and pull them towards me, the edge of the bench digging into the back of my knees.

It was so full that there weren't enough handholds for everyone to keep steady with. Not that it mattered. A mumbled announcement came over the PA system and we lurched ahead. Those without handholds were simply held up by the sheer mass of the crowd.

A cacophony of noises swelled up, attempting to drown out the clack of the train on the tracks. Conversations, ringtones. The enclosed space magnified and mixed them all, so much that I wished I had some headphones or something.

How late would I be? I hoped no more than fifteen minutes or so. Lucinda would cover for me that long, I thought. I'm sure Bud would want a nice long chat about tardiness in the privacy of his office.

I tried to think about that breakfast. It had been rushed, but, when I considered it, enjoyable. Drake was a nice guy. He had a nice smile, a nice sense of humor, a nice face.

I stopped. It felt like I was filling out what I wanted in a guy on some dating site.

I didn't want to date Drake, though. Did I? Jerry really was just a few days ago. Drake would just be a rebound. Nothing meaningful.

But was meaningful really what I wanted right now? With all those girls going in and out of his apartment, that must mean he knew what he was doing. Maybe I just needed...

I cut that line of thought off right there.

"Madison..." I thought I heard the conductor say. That was my stop!

"Sorry! Ouch. Excuse me, please. Pardon..." I said as I fought my way to the doors.

I squeezed out between the people trying to get in and those trying to get out, putting my elbows to good use.

I wasn't proud of having to fight my way out like that, but what else was I supposed to do?

I checked my watch as I emerged from the subway out onto Madison Ave. It was 8:53. I wasn't going to be quite as late as I'd feared! Dashing down the sidewalk far faster than my shoes wanted to allow, I tried pushing an image of Drake's smiling face out of my mind.

No, I was a career girl now. I'd told myself that before. No time for boys or men. The better I did at work, the faster I'd be away from Bud.

I got out of the elevator at work three floors below
Styrex. From there, I ran up the service stairs. It would cut at least a minute off my trip.

By the time I smiled at the receptionist and walked into the office, my watch read 9:08. Not even ten minutes late!