Crash Into Me (3 page)

"Thanks."

I
waited a long moment just in case he wanted to lean in and kiss me, but he
simply smiled and stared into my eyes, making me feel intensely insecure.
Finally, I blurted out, "Goodbye," and got out.

Crossing
in front of the car, I forced myself not to look inside at him. Whatever this
had been, it was over, and I needed to get over it. I felt his stare on my back
as I stepped onto the sidewalk, but I told myself to not turn around.

Then
from behind me I heard the car window lower and he said my name. Turning
around,  I was struck by how lonely he looked in that car all by himself. I
waved and smiled, and he said quietly, "Nina, be careful getting in cars
with strange men. You could get hurt, and I wouldn't want anything bad to
happen to you."

He
drove off, leaving me more confused than before. Frustrated and baffled by my
time with Tristan Stone, I hurried into my building.

Chapter Two

Sundays
were always the best day of the week, as far as I was concerned. My father had
never been a very religious man after my mother died, so my sister and I had
never done the Sunday church thing. For us, the last day of the weekend meant
sleeping in and then a late breakfast of pancakes and waffles smothered in
butter and maple syrup and lovingly made by my father.

I'd
continued this tradition as often as possible, even while I was in college, and
now that I was out on my own, I loved Sundays even more. Granted, there were no
pancakes or waffles usually, but there was sleeping in.

Beautiful,
luxurious sleeping in.

Jordan thankfully shared my love of Sunday mornings, so our apartment was like a tomb often
until early afternoon. The former best friend of my college roommate, she had
been the opposite of Alyssa, who acted like weekends were her own personal
version of boot camp. Jordan had joined with me to refuse to rise and shine at
the crack of dawn one snowy February Sunday in freshman year, and we'd been
friends ever since. We liked to say that it had been in our rebellion against
the dawn and Alyssa that we'd become friends.

She
hadn't been home when I returned from my bizarre time with Tristan, so I was
eager to tell her about it all and get her opinion. But even crazy guy stories
didn't warrant waking up before noon on a Sunday.

I
rolled over and saw on my alarm clock that it was just about that time, so it
was fair game to head down the hall and hope she was awake. Dressed in my usual
shorts and a t-shirt I liked to sleep in, I padded barefoot toward her room
only to find it empty. She had been getting more serious with Justin lately, so
I assumed she'd spent the night at his place. Disappointed, I shuffled back to
my room and flopped down on my bed once again.

The
discussion of Tristan Stone and his sexiness would have to wait.

That
didn't mean he was leaving my mind anytime soon. Even if we hadn't spent any time
together, he'd still be rambling around the corners of my brain. I was
infatuated, so the memory of his gorgeous face would stick with me for a while.

Clicking
on the television, I stared at the show on the screen while I daydreamed about
the events of the previous night. Why had he come to find me if all he wanted
was someone to drive upstate with? He had many friends, I imagined, so why seek
out a stranger who was so unlike him?

Just
admitting to myself that I wasn't of his social level made me wince. I hadn't
grown up around money, but my father had always made sure my sister and I were
taken care of, so money was never a real issue. We weren't wealthy, but we
weren't poor. The idea that someone's income would make them better than
someone else was foreign to me, but in my time living in New York, it had
become very clear that my feelings on money weren't everyone's.

Tristan
Stone was very wealthy and far above my place in the world, even if I still
counted myself as the middle class person I'd always been before living on my
own. This made his actions the night before even less understandable.

I
scrubbed my hands over my face in frustration. I wanted him to like me as much
as I liked him. I wanted him to be lying in bed thinking of me. Even better would
be him lying in bed alone thinking of me. But just thinking of me would be
nice.

Who
was I kidding? He was likely in bed with the brunette or the group of women
he'd attended the show with. A stab of jealousy pinched at me as I imagined
what he looked like out of that grey suit and naked in bed...with other women.

Get
over it, Nina. It was some kind of game he was playing and it's over.

I
silently repeated that a few times trying to convince myself to forget him and
the time we'd spent together. I knew I should.

I
just couldn't.

He
filled my mind, and I loved it. Inhaling deeply, I still could smell his
cologne, either as a wonderful memory or because of some fragment remaining
inside my olfactory system. Masculine and powerful, it would forever remind me
of him. I closed my eyes to imagine his face. The deep brown eyes that spoke
volumes even when he didn't. The perfectly shaped mouth and the lips that had
lightly brushed my cheek for just a moment, sending my body into overdrive. The
masculine jaw of a man who looked like a man, not a boy.

What
did he look like when he was just lying around on an early Sunday afternoon?
Did he wear boxers or boxer briefs? Or did he sleep naked? I wanted to know
what he looked like under his clothes. He had stood at least half a foot taller
than I, probably more if I wasn't in those ridiculous three-inch heels Sheila
made me wear to shows. He had appeared imposing, but I couldn't say if he was a
big man or lean.

All
I knew is that I wanted to know.

I
let my mind drift back to the house he'd shown me. I fantasized about how he'd
look standing in the doorway of one of its enormous rooms dressed in a suit
much like the one he'd worn on our ride. In my mind's eye, he looked perfect.
He wore a midnight blue shirt and matching tie that he fussed with. I saw
myself there with him, straightening that tie as I stood in front of him
admiring how truly stunning he was.

The
sound of the front door slamming yanked me out of my daydream, and I heard Jordan yell, "Nina! Even I don't think you should be sleeping this late on this
gorgeous day!"

Before
I could get out of bed, she was standing in my doorway, all smiles. "Good
morning, sleepyhead. What are you still doing in bed?"

Her
happiness was catching, and I smiled. "Just hanging out. Where were you?
Justin's?"

Her
smile grew even bigger. "Yes. He and I have moved to me staying over, so
you get to have the apartment all to yourself on nights like last night. Tell
me you took advantage of that and didn't just come home after slaving away for
Shitty Sheila and her crappy art show."

I
didn't say anything, but my cheeks grew hot and my blush signaled that I had
something to tell her. "Well, there was something. It's probably nothing,
but..."

Jordan squealed. "Ooooh! I'm going to get a drink and you need to meet me in the
living room to tell me everything. Get up and start talking!"

I
loved that she was willing to listen to my silly ramblings about what would
likely amount to nothing. Some friends only wanted someone to listen to them but
weren't there for you when you had some juicy details, or in this case, wishful
juicy details. But that wasn't Jordan.

By
the time I made it out to the living room, she was planted in her favorite
comfy chair with a glass of diet soda in front of her. "I'm ready, so hit
me with the details."

I
took a seat across from her and folded my legs under me. For a second,
embarrassment rushed through my body. I was twenty-four years old and no
stranger to dating. It's not like I was a virgin either. Suddenly, I felt silly
about making a big deal out of my time with Tristan.

"Well?"
Jordan asked impatiently.

"I
met someone, sort of," I said, struggling to describe exactly what had
happened.

"Nina,
you never like the guys we meet. He must be something pretty damn good."

I
screwed my face into a grimace. "I like some of them," I protested
half-heartedly, knowing she was probably more right than wrong.

"Uh-huh.
Name one."

I
couldn't name one. They were all perfectly nice, I guess, but none of them
really got me going. It never took long for me to fall out of like with them.

"That's
not the point."

"No.
The point is that you met someone you actually like. Tell me everything!"

"His
name is Tristan. Tristan Stone. He..."

Just
as I began to tell my story, Jordan's green eyes grew wide and she leaped out
of her chair, nearly knocking over her glass. Marching over to the table by the
window, she rifled through the half dozen newspapers she bought every day on
her way to work downtown. When she turned around, she held up one in front of
her. "You mean him?"

I
craned my neck to look at a picture of a couple at some gala event. She walked
a few steps closer, and I saw the man in the couple was Tristan. The woman on
his arm didn't seem to be any of the women I'd seen surrounding him at the
gallery the night before, though.

"What
day is this from?"

Searching
for the date, Jordan said, "Tuesday. Now tell me what happened with
someone so famous that he ends up on Page Six regularly."

Stunned,
I sat back in my seat, unsure what to tell her. I didn't know him like that.
"What do you know about him?"

"Nina,
you're the one who met him. I've only read about him in the gossip page."

God,
I felt stupid! He wasn't just some good looking guy with a great car. He was
someone famous. Now I was sure last night hadn't meant anything to him.

"I
don't know anything about him like that. I saw him at the show and then he
showed up at the gallery later on."

Jordan sat down and shook her head. "What do you mean he showed up later on? To buy
something? I bet Sheila loved that."

"No,
he was waiting outside the gallery in the alley way after I locked up."

"What
do you mean? Had you spoken to him during the show?"

I
shook my head. "No. He was there with a bevy of hot women and never even
spoke to me."

"So
what happened? You're killing me here! I swear you tell stories like my
students."

To
be compared to a group of fourth grade Catholic school kids wasn't helping, no
matter how exclusive Jordan's school was. I wrinkled my nose and smirked at
her. "Thanks."

"Neen!
Give up the details!"

"He
was waiting behind the gallery when I was leaving and asked me to go for a ride
with him in his Jaguar. He offered to take me home, but instead we ended up
driving upstate to see a house he said he was thinking of buying."

"Shut
up!" she squealed. "Is he as stunning in person as he is in the
papers?"

I
reached out my hand to take the newspaper from her. "I don't know. Let me
see." She handed me Page Six and there he was, just as gorgeous as he was
last night. I secretly wanted to keep this picture so I'd always have him near
me.

"So?
Is he?"

Tearing
my gaze from the newspaper, I nodded. "Yeah. Maybe even more, although I
didn't see him dressed in a tux. He wore only a suit to the show."

"Did
you sleep with him, Nina?"

"No!"

Jordan knitted her eyebrows. "Stop acting like it's 1952. Sleeping with a hot guy is
permissible these days."

"I
know all about feminism, Jordan. I just don't choose to jump into bed with
every guy I meet."

Pointing
to the newspaper I'd stuffed down in between the sofa cushions next to me, she
said, "You see the woman in that picture with him? That's the fifth or
sixth different one I've seen him with this month. The rumors are that he
sleeps with a different woman each night."

I
raised my eyebrows more in despair than disgust. "Really? You believe
everything you read in the papers?"

"No,
but you know how celebrities are. And if the pictures are any indication, he
likes tall brunettes who look more like stick figures than humans."

I
looked down at my less impressive five foot seven frame and what I liked to
call a "healthy" body. I was in pretty good shape, but I was
definitely not a stick figure.

"I'm
sorry, Nina. I didn't mean to say he wouldn't like someone like you. He'd be
damn lucky if he did."

Jordan's sympathetic smile made me feel better and worse at the same time. The reality was
that if he was a man who slept with a different woman every night, no matter
what type of women he preferred, he hadn't wanted to sleep with me. He hadn't
even wanted to kiss me.

"It's
okay. I've never had a problem not being a stick figure," I joked.

"So,
if you didn't sleep with him, what did you do with Tristan Stone?"

I
wasn't sure how to explain it, so I chose to go with the boring truth. "We
hung out. Nothing more."

"Nothing?"
she asked, her voice sing-song.

"Nothing."

Jordan looked confused. I understood her confusion. I still had no idea why he'd come to
find me and then never even really touched me.

"Any
plans to see him again?"

I
tried to tamp down my disappointment. I didn't want pity now. "Not really.
It wasn't much of anything, Jordan, so there's no reason to believe he'd want
to hang out again."

"This
sounds like a mystery to me. Why would he come find you and then not want to
see you again? What was the conversation like while you were heading
upstate?"

"Monosyllabic."

"You
or him?"

"Him.
I spent most of my time worried he was going to kill me and leave me on the
side of the road."

Jordan sat back in her seat and chuckled. "Don't be silly, Nina. Wealthy people don't
kill people. They hire people to do that."

Rolling
my eyes, I mumbled, "Funny. I'll keep that in mind if I ever see anyone
who might look like his butler or driver near here."

"Seriously,
though. What do you plan to do about him? You obviously like him."

Even
though Jordan knew me as well as anyone in the world, I didn't want to admit
what I planned to do. It's not like I could coincidentally show up where he
spent his time. We lived in two different worlds, and I likely couldn't afford
the cover charge to get into that life. What I could do was click around online
and find out about him.

Some
might call that stalking. She'd likely call it stalking. I liked to think of it
as research for my fantasies.

"There's
nothing to do about him. We'll stay in our separate areas of the world and
that's that."