FUSE (3 page)

She scratches the top of her head as if she's trying to comprehend the statement. That can’t surprise me. Bridget is notoriously bad at picking up after herself and she's unabashedly comfortable being nude. I'm never surprised to come home to find all kinds of lingerie and clothing splayed out over the floor of the apartment. I've finally given up trying to pick up after her. She likes nice lingerie. I do too but I like to keep mine under wraps.

"You can borrow one of mine." She touches the edge of her breast. "You're bigger than me but a little will just spill out the top. It won't matter."

Yes. It will matter. I'm trying to establish myself as a potential candidate for a prestigious law school. I can't walk down the street in Manhattan with my nipples peeking out of the top of my shirt. With the luck that life gifts me with, I'd run straight into someone from the law school admissions' committee and they'd remember me as the girl with the uncontrollable tits.

"I think I look fine," I say with no conviction at all. I need to work on my delivery if I hope to be arguing cases in court one day.

"Give it a few more weeks and you'll be begging to wear my bra."

"She'll be what?" Elliott, the manager of the pub, steps into my peripheral vision. "Zoe wants to wear your bra?"

I close my eyes, shaking my head from side-to-side to try and ward off the fact that he just overheard that part of our conversation. Elliott is Bridget's ex. I haven't asked for details but I've heard enough of her disjointed stories about him to know that it ended amicably and they both have regrets.

"No...I don’t want...no, " I stammer as I try to string together a cohesive response.

"I was giving her tips on tips." Bridget laughs at her own pun. "I told her that you don't expect her to wear that ugly shirt every time she works."

His eyes scan my chest and I suddenly feel self-conscious. "Zoe looks great. She's adorable."

It's a word I've heard before from the lips of a man. Given the fact that I'm voluptuous, it's not surprising. Beautiful is reserved for women like Bridget. I'm more the attractive, adorable and cute type. I'm completely fine with it. When I look in the mirror, there's nothing about myself that I'd change.

"Thanks Elliott." I flash him a quick grin.

"I mean it." His mouth curls up into a sly smile. "I'm not the only one. There was a guy in here earlier looking for you."

I feel the panic rushing through me so rapidly that I don't even have time to steady myself. This can't be happening. There's absolutely no way Tim knows where I am.

"What guy?" Bridget interjects. "A guy came in here looking for Zoe?"

I cover my eyes with my palm. I don't want details. I have no idea how I'll react if Elliott mentions Tim's name or if he describes his short grey hair and brown eyes.  I left Philadelphia to escape Tim's wrath. My hope, when I moved to Manhattan, was that he'd finally realize that he had to let go of the past.

"His name was..." he hesitates and my hand instinctively balls into a fist. The tension I feel inside is thick and vast. It's swallowing me by the second.

I move my hand to the top of my head, smoothing it across my long brown hair. It's the only motion I can think of that will mask the quivering I'm feeling. I know my hand is shaking. My knees are buckling. I'm very close to pushing Elliott to the side so I can sit down at one of the stools next to the bar.

"Beck," he blurts out quickly. "That's it. The guy said his name was Beck."

"Holy shit, Zoe." Bridget's hands grab tightly to my shoulders and I'm instantly grateful for the support. "Brighton Beck is looking for you."

I nod slowly as if the news is expected. I'm still stuck back in the fear induced frozen state I was in when I thought Tim had found me. I'm so relieved that he isn't here that I'm on the brink of tears. I bite my lip to ward off everything I'm feeling, hoping Bridget will keep moving the conversation forward.

"He said he made a mistake when he was in the other night." Elliott's dark brow cocks. "Was there a problem, Zoe?"

I lock eyes with him. This has to be about the five hundred dollars. I move my head from side-to-side hoping that he's not aware of the amount of the tip. I gave the required percentage to the bartender that night and I took the rest home. It's my right. I don't have to be an aspiring lawyer to know that my employment contract with Elliott clearly states that my tips are rightfully mine.

"He said he's coming back to talk to you." He motions towards the entrance. "We're opening soon. Get things set up."

Bridget and I nod in unison as she throws me a coy smile. "Are you sure you don't want to borrow my bra, Zoe? If his tip was good, there's more where that came from."

I toss her back a grin as I nod towards my chest. "I'll pass. Why mess with a good thing?"

B
eck

She wasn't there. I'd dropped by the pub too early. I was too anxious to see Zoe again and I'd arrived before the place even opened. The guy, who answered the door after I'd tapped on the glass for more than a minute, was cordial enough. I could tell he was curious about why I wanted to talk to her. It wasn't the type of curiosity that's there when a man comes around asking about your woman. This was more brotherly concern. He's protective. For some abstract reason, I like knowing that. I like feeling as though someone is watching out for her, even though all I know about the woman is her first name and the fact that she doesn't take shit from assholes like me.

I peer through the foggy glass of the pub. It's past ten now and I've sat in a sandwich shop for the past few hours wasting time by playing mindless puzzle games on my smartphone. I should have gone home or to my studio. I should be working on new pieces and planning what I'm going to show at the London museum. I should be anywhere but here, but I'm not.

I step into the crowded pub and the buzz of the near capacity crowd hits me immediately. Normally, I'd revel in this and introduce myself without hesitation to the first attractive woman I laid eyes on. I'd do that over and over again until someone recognized my name. I'd let them spread the word that I was in the space and before long, women would be buying me drinks, slipping me their numbers and whispering promises of unbelievable sex in my ear.

I pull the collar of my jacket closer to my neck as I scan the room for Zoe's face. I spot her instantly. She's almost clear across the room, her hip jutting out as she teeters on her black stilettos in front of a booth filled with young men. The faded jeans she's wearing accentuate her hourglass frame. Her long dark hair curls over her shoulders as she tilts her head to the left. A few days ago, I wouldn't have given her a second glance. I own that. I know that the only thing that initially draws me to a woman is a toned body and ass, but this one is different. There was something in her eyes when she spoke about loss that connected with me.

"Hey. You're Brighton Beck, aren't you?" The unmistakable fragrance of expensive perfume assaults me before I feel the delicate hand of a woman touch my back. "I'd know that handsome face anywhere."

I dart my head to the left to catch a glimpse of the woman attached to the touch just as she comes into full view. She's breathtaking. Her blonde hair pulled back tightly into a high ponytail. Her make-up is impeccably applied and the blue dress she's wearing is doing little to hide the myriad of pleasures that waits beneath it. I should be all over this. I should be steering her out the door and into a cab headed straight for my bed.

"I'm not him." I shrug my shoulders slightly.

"You're not Brighton Beck?"

"I've never heard of the guy."

She glances down to her smartphone, her elegant, long fingers skillfully racing over the screen before she holds it up towards me. "Look. You're seriously telling me you're not Brighton Beck?"

I stare at the picture of myself. It's not a great one. It was taken at the opening of one of my shows more than two years ago. My hair is shorter, I don't have a beard and I actually look like I care about the colorful canvas I'm standing next to.

"You're him." She turns the phone quickly back towards her. "I know it's you."

"That guy looks nothing like me," I say convincingly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to someone."

***

"Y
ou didn't have to wait until my shift was over." She pulls a short, black wool coat around her body. "I don’t have all the money with me. I have some in tips tonight. Let me count how much and then I can get you the rest tomorrow."

My eyes fall down to her hands. She's rifling quickly through a stack of small bills as numbers fly off her lips in a hushed tone. What the fuck? She doesn't actually think I want the money I gave her back, does she? "Zoe, what are you doing?"

Her hands stop in place as her eyes settle on mine. I study her face as I wait for her to answer. Her features are delicate, her eyes wide and brilliant. Her full lips move slightly as if she's readying herself to speak.

"I don't want the money back," I interject. "I didn't come here to take it back."

I see a flash of relief in her eyes. I can tell by the worn toes of her shoes that she's not living it up in Manhattan. She's making ends meet and the thought of taking away something that I'd already given to her, makes me cringe inside. I know I've been fortunate in life. I've never wanted for a thing. I offer help as I can which is why I gave her the tip in the first place.

"My boss said you came in earlier because you made a mistake the other night." She motions towards me with the wad of cash in her hand. "I'd understand completely if you gave me more than you intended. You had a lot to drink after all."

I smile at the diplomacy in her words. She's being kind. I saw witness to that when I confessed to her about Alexa and Noah. She hadn't pitied me. I didn't see a trace of that within her reaction. She understood the emotional pain I'm in and I still see that within her eyes as I look at her on this sidewalk outside the closed pub.

"I told your boss that I wanted to talk to you." I nod slowly. I want this to come out right. I don't carry the same way with words within me that she obviously does. I'm going to stumble through this the best I can though. I need her to understand that I'm not really that guy she met the other night. Technically, I am, but if that first impression she got of me, is the only impression she ever has, that's going to nag at me for a long time. I want this woman to understand I'm more than a drunken ass who tries to pick up random waitresses. 

"What about?" She looks past me to where a group of her co-workers are gathered on the opposite side of the street.

"I said things I shouldn't have said." I bend my head slightly forward hoping to catch her gaze.

The edge of her mouth curls up into a smile as her eyes lock with mine. "Like I said, you had a lot to drink. Most people who come in and drink that much say things they shouldn't say."

"I was in a really bad place." My hand dips into the front pocket of my jeans.

Her eyes follow its movement. "I could tell."

"I can't remember word-for-word what I said to you," I stop to swallow hard. "I'm pretty sure that at some point I said something about women and wanting sex and maybe wanting to have sex with you."

In the dim light of the street lamps it's hard to gauge how deep the blush that takes over her freckled cheeks is. She pulls her hand to her face to cover it but there's no mistaking that the words hit a nerve. I know I said something to her about wanting to fuck her. I know that I say it to women all the time and I've never felt this much regret about it before. I can't place why, but I don't want her to view me as that kind of guy.

"You wanted to have sex with everyone who was working that night." She lowers her hand along with her gaze. "I mean, I don't think you hit on the men. I'm not saying that it would be wrong if you did, but I don't know if you did. I just know that you hit on me and on a few of the other..."

"I regret what I said to you," I interrupt her because I can tell that she's flailing. "I apologize for treating you that way."

Her eyes dart up to scan mine. Her brow furrows slightly and I see the unmistakable flash of doubt in her expression. "I appreciate that but you didn't have to come back to say that to me. You really didn't have to wait three hours for my shift to end to tell me you're sorry."

"I did." I push my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "I needed to."

"Why?" I can hear the smile within the question even though she's an expert at keeping her composure and giving little away through her stoic expression.

"I'm pretty sure you and I are meant to be friends, Zoe." I lean closer to her. "I think I came into the pub that night because you and I were destined to meet."

Z
oe

I stare down at the mug of hot cocoa Beck bought for me when he ushered me into this all night diner a few blocks from Times Square. After he told me that he thought we were destined to be friends, he asked me for an hour of my time to talk. The part of my brain that is logical and sensible was screaming at me to go home and crawl into bed. The other part of me that is lonely and curious, agreed to an hour as long as I got a mug of hot cocoa. He doesn't strike me as the type that can whip up anything beyond a glass of tap water so I knew that he'd have to take me some place, other than where he lived, to accommodate my request.

"I thought you were a baseball player," I say quietly as he slides his jacket off revealing a dark t-shirt. The colorful tattoo on his arm is a work of art in itself. I want to ask if he designed it and what meaning, if any it carries, but it's not the place, or the time for that. Right now, I want to understand why someone like him wants to be friends with someone like me.

"You thought I was a baseball player?" He leans back into the torn red vinyl of the booth we're sitting in crossing his arms over his chest.

I smile softly when I realize he's staring across the table at me. "I didn't know who you were when you came into the pub the other night. Someone told me you were famous so I thought you were a Yankee. I mean I thought you played for the Yankees."