The Story of You and Me (2 page)

Alejandro grabbed a set of keys from his pocket, held them up in the air and jangled them. “Yo, Freddie!”
 

The bartender looked up. “What?”

“Call a cab before you let Thomas out. I’m officially off duty. I am not driving his privileged drunk ass home.”
 

Freddie saluted him. “Got it, Alex.”

Alejandro, aka Alex, shoved the keys back in his pants pocket, grabbed my purse from the beer soaked booth and placed my dead e-reader inside it. “And now we’re on our way to Emergency. I’m driving.”

Chapter Two

“I do not want you to hold my hand!” I lay semi-reclined on a gurney in the USCLA emergency room area for non-life threatening wounds. After the resident doctor examined me, a young intern had injected my face in seven locations with lidocaine or cocaine or whatever-caine combo they used at this teaching hospital. Now he was pulling out beer bottle splinters from my face with gleaming stainless steel tweezers as I tried not to flinch.

“Actually, you do,” Alejandro said. “You’re in the passenger seat tonight. Stop hitting your imaginary brakes.”

“Don’t move, Sophie,” Dr. Dewitt said. “And unless you want these cuts to leave some scars, I’d be quiet if I were you.”

“Good luck with that one.” Alex squeezed my hand. “You could not have gotten all these out on your own. You would have screwed up your beautiful, pale, midwestern dairy queen face.”

The waitress was right about the hospital being close by. The ride from the Grill to the ER took all of two minutes. Alejandro asked about my accent. “What accent?” I asked. “That accent,” he said.
 

So I told him I had just flown in from Wisconsin. I’d arrived two hours before my flight at the Milwaukee airport and was patted up by TSA. I flew to Denver and then had a lay over. My flight to L.A. was delayed due to tornadoes or thunderstorms, or whatever always delayed flights. By the time I boarded the plane I was seated next to a screaming toddler whose ears kept popping. Neither of us had a relaxing flight.

“And… voilà!” Dr. Dewitt smiled and held up a tiny piece of colored glass with his medical tweezers. “We have captured the last culprit.” He plopped it into a small, pristine, stainless steel dish, then leaned in and fussed over my face. “No stitches. I’m prescribing a round of oral antibiotics, a topical antibiotic creme and Mederma to reduce chance of scarring.”
 

“Oral antibiotics?” I asked. “Research has proven the overuse of oral antibiotics has paved the way for superbugs. Why do I need oral antibiotics?” I yanked my hand from Alejandro’s and pushed myself to a seated position.

“Do you know how many people, places or things that beer bottle came in contact with before its fragments penetrated your pretty face?” He pulled out a pad of paper and wrote a script. “Hand this to the pharmacy on your way out. Don’t leave here without your drugs. Here’s a card for Dr. An’gel Ducote. She’s the best plastic surgeon at the hospital should you change your mind and want a consultation. Call her assistant tomorrow to get a prompt appointment.”

“Thank you,” I said.
No way I’d be calling another doctor.
 

“In regards to physical restrictions you need to forget about yoga or hitting the roller-coaster rides at Magic Mountain for a couple of days.”
 

I rolled my eyes. “Got it.”

“Nice of you to drive your girlfriend here,” he said to Alejandro. “I’m sure you have only the best intentions. Do I need to spell out the rest?”

“I’m not his girl—”

Alex shook his head. “Apparently, you do?”

“You need to curtail sexual activity for the next couple of weeks so her wounds heal properly.”

My eyes widened. “He’s not my boyfriend and we’re not—”

Alex nodded, somber. “Thanks, Dr. Dewitt. Will do.” His mouth squirmed, an impossibly sexy dimple formed in his cheek as he shoved back a smile. “Sophie didn’t want to go to the ER. I had to convince her. Now she’s going to be even madder at me.” He cocked his head and winked at me.

I shot him a look that could kill. Or, at least, hopefully maim. “I’m not like that. I just met him tonight! I cannot believe that—”

“Yes, yes, young love will survive.” The doctor scribbled notes on my chart.
 

“We are
not
having
any
—”

“You already argued with the good doctor about the antibiotics, Bonita. Pick your battles.” Alex stifled laughter and shook his finger at me. “No sex. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

“I will not—”

“Everyone says that,” Dr. Dewitt said. “Patients and their significant others consent. But then it’s a special occasion, or an anniversary and everyone boards the passion train. Those wounds that were healing? Break open. Some even get infected. I see them back here or at the clinic, but it’s usually too late. Then, good luck with the plastic surgery. I recommend either abstinence, or if you can’t manage that? Just make do for a week or so with some basic foreplay.” He pointed to Alex. “Yes, she’s super pretty. Practice restraint.”
 

Alex slapped his hands up in the air like he’d just been arrested. “I’ll try my best to abide by your rules, Doc. But Sophie’s her own woman, very opinionated. She does what she wants. That’s one of the reasons I like her.”

I blasted Alejandro with my most evil death glare, grabbed the prescription forms and business card, yanked the stupid cubicle curtain out of the way and stomped toward the front desk. “Worst. Day. Ever.”

* * *

I sat in the passenger seat as Alex drove his Jeep down yet another residential L.A. block filled with short apartment buildings that looked exactly alike. “Do you have your new address written down somewhere in your purse?” He asked. “Your wallet? Your phone?”

“All of the above. I even embroidered it onto a pillowcase while I was delayed in Denver. Because I, Sophie Marie Priebe, am so freaking organized that if I was only twenty-five years older, I could be the head CPA for The Container Store. I left the paperwork in the apartment with a copy of the lease. I’ve landed in Stepford, haven’t I? Shoot me now. Oh wait! That one looks familiar. Pull over, please!”
 

He parked the Jeep at the curb. I got out walked onto the grass and squinted at the building.
 
“This is it. There’s something super familiar about it.” I walked up, grabbed my keys from my purse and they slid wet across my fingers. Lovely—they too were soaked in beer. I stuck one in the front door lock of the first-floor walk-up and turned it.
 

Five minutes later, I was still finagling the key in the stupid lock.

“Are you sure this is your apartment?” Alex asked
 

“Damned if I know?
Boyfriend.
” I glared at him and stuck out my tongue. “I’ve been up for twenty-one hours, been in Lost Angeles for eight of them and I’m the next thing to brain-dead. Yes, this looks like my apartment. But guess what?” I threw my hands up in the air and then pointed to another apartment building across the street. “So does that one.” I gestured at another complex a block down. “And, that one does too!”

Alex reached out and took a hold of the keys. “Hand ’em over. Let me try.”

I yanked them from him like I’d touched a lit burner on the stove. “I appreciate all your help, Alejandro, Mr. Driver, don’t-know your last name. But, hey?” I returned to wrangling the key in the door. “You allowed—no—let me re-phrase that.” I swiveled and jabbed the key toward his chest. “You
encouraged
an ER doctor to think I’m a stupid-headed slut. Which, I’m not. How dare you! What if I run into him again?”

“I know you’re not a stupid slut. You need to stop threatening me with a violent keychain and put that weapon back in that door. If we play our cards right, your cuts are going to heal just fine. You’re never going to see that doctor again.” Alex said. “Look. Sometimes I get carried away. Stupid things pop out of my mouth because I’m going for the joke that will hopefully make people forget whatever their problem is and just find a little peace for a moment. A little calm in their storm. I’m sorry.”
 

I grumbled. “You don’t have to stay here. I’d lay odds California Barbie’s still at the Westwood Grill tossing back Coronas and shots with her triplet friends. I’m sure she’d let you to take her for a ride.”

“I already took that ride,” Alex said.

I paused for a moment.
Of course he did. Forget Magic Mountain and Disneyland. This guy was so smokin’ hot that he was probably the most favorite ride in town.

“Shocker.”

“It’s not a ride I want to take again.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” When my legs that already felt weak started to tremble ever so slightly.
I had to get rid of him. Now. Before—
“Oh, look the door is opening! Yay! Thanks so much for your help. It was great meeting you, Alejandro, Alex, whatever your name is. See you around the neighborhood.”

If I played my cards right, I’d never be seeing him again.

I jiggled the keys dramatically. “Home sweet, home!”

“If the lock’s opening why isn’t the door opening?” He peered at me, perplexed. “You’re lying to me. That lock is still locked and that door is totally not opening. We’re not even dating and you’re lying to me? Is it just you, or are all Wisconsin chicks this devious?” He frowned. “I’m staying.”
 

A small smile snuck onto my lips and almost betrayed me. I quickly erased it. “You’ve helped me just about enough for one day. Leave.” My face ached. My bones were weary. My legs were so tired I prayed they wouldn’t start twitching or worse—give out underneath me.

“I’m not going until I know you are safe and sound inside your new apartment.”

I turned and stared at him. The streetlight shone high above and behind Alex illuminating his black hair, his earnest, handsome, chiseled face and his wide muscular shoulders. In combination with the moonlight, he was almost too beautiful to be of this world. He looked like a dark, dangerous angel. I half expected wings to pop out of his back. I blinked and squinted at him. No wings. Just one hundred percent stubborn human male gorgeousness.
 

He was funny, smart and stunning. The Deadly Dangerous Guy Trifecta. Totally not fair.

But then I remembered my secret power, which could get rid of a guy like Off!, the mosquito repellant. I had it down to a science.

The nice boys, the sweethearts who I called the Beta Boys, would give up easily.
 

“Hey, Sophie? So, um, want to go to a party with me this weekend?” Beta Boy would ask.
 

Me: “Thanks, can’t. Got family in town visiting.”
 

Beta Boy: “Okay.”

I felt bad about letting them down, but it only would have been more hurtful for them down the road.

The Alpha Boys were tougher. Their sub-categories included: Brilliant. Boneheads. Bad boys. Broken. As well as all combinations, thereof. I’d turn the Alpha Boys down over and over. I’d make fun of the ones that wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d insult their manly egos. I’d be standoffish. After all, it was for their own good. With enough work and the right technique I could get an Alpha Boy—oh hell, I could get any guy to stop asking me out. Walk away. Leave me alone.

Yeah, I got called some names. “Frigid bitch” seemed to be pretty popular. Eventually I’d hear the obligatory gossip about how they told their friends that I was obviously gay. Actually, that might have made it easier.
Unfortunately I just wasn’t wired that way.

But now, looking up at Alejandro, I couldn’t even think of cruel words let alone say them. And I wasn’t sure if it was him, or if it was me. Maybe I was just overly tired. I’d been told a hundred times not to get too stressed: that it could do a number on me. I’d been warned this trip might not be a good idea. That it might trigger anxiety, additional symptoms or be too much for my system to handle.

But I didn’t listen to the naysayers, because I had hope. And hope can make you do weird things. Hope made me take this journey two-thousand miles away from everyone I knew and loved.

So what if tonight started with a small misstep, a little trip to the ER? I was here. I would confront my fears. I would stagger through them one misstep, one shard of glass in the face at a time.

“Are you okay?” Alejandro asked.
 

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you’ve been talking non-stop ever since I met you and suddenly you’re quiet. Too quiet.”
 

I shook my head and sat down on the front stoop. “I’m fine.” I told my brain to get a grip and admonished my heart to stop pounding like a stupid teenager’s. Oh wait—I was still nineteen, so maybe that last reminder didn’t count.
Cut it out, Sophie. You didn’t come to L.A. for romance.
“Thank you so much for your help, Alejandro. Let’s stay in touch. Right now all I want to do is bury my head in a pillow and go to sleep.”

“Where do you plan on doing that if you can’t find your apartment? I don’t live that far away. You could come to my place. I have plenty of room—”
 

“No.”

“Okay.” He paced back and forth in front of me on the sidewalk. His legs were long, his jeans were fitted and showed off his body that was blessed by nature and enhanced by working out, being an athlete, or both.
 

Maybe God only wanted to hear big important prayers, but I couldn’t help myself and uttered a silent “thank you” for the fact that Alejandro didn’t wear his jeans half way down his ass like some gangsta wannabe.

“You want me to take you to a motel?”

“Um…”

He stopped pacing, stared at me and gestured with two fingers from my gaze that was locked on his posterior… up to his face. “Eyes up here, Bonita.”

“Oh. Perhaps I was dozing for a moment.”
Or perhaps a sinkhole would appear underneath me and swallow me whole.
“What were you saying?”

“Do you want to go to a motel?”

“That would be a definite no.”

“Do you even remember your new address?” He asked.

“2132… 2138… 3821…” I dropped my keychain into my lap and my forehead into my hands.