Collection, p.1
Collection, page 1
Copyright 2013 Melissa Ward
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Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Rachel Brookhart
PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-127-3
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-107-5
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2013934307
For my husband, Eric. You wanted this for me as much as I wanted it for you. There's an O. Henry story in that somewhere.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Krista and Bash for introducing me to Booktrope. You gave me the perfect motivation to stay up late and get my butt in gear.
Many thanks to the wonderful team at Booktrope including Rachel Brookhart, Cathy Shaw, Victoria Wolffe, and Greg Simanson. You've made quite a few characters happy to be out of my brain and into the sunlight.
1
“WHY AM I HERE?”
“Jane, are you calling me from a tunnel or something? The phone is all echoey.” Jane held her cell phone closer to her mouth so that Sadie couldn't tell where she was.
“Focus, Sadie! Why am I here?”
“Because you want to get laid?” Sadie didn't bother to conceal her blunt lechery.
“No! You know, when I told you I would call you if I needed your help you said you would be supportive. That is not being supportive.” Jane's whisper devolved into a guttural hiss.
“So you don't want to get laid?”
“I didn't say that, but it sounds really pathetic if that's the only reason.” The automatic toilet picked that exact moment to flush. Jane grimaced and waited for the sound to subside. Sadie sighed loudly.
“You're hiding in the bathroom? Now that's pathetic.”
“Sadie, a little help here? Pep talk time. Go.” Silence. “I can hear your eyes rolling.”
“Eww. Um…okay…you deserve happiness?” Sadie's voice quirked into a question mark and Jane couldn't help but feel a little insulted.
“This isn't a multiple choice quiz! You're my best friend. You need to support me in a decision that, though asinine, is important to me. Hell, last night, you were going on about it like I was a friggin’ genius. All I'm asking for is a little reinforcement here.”
“We were really drunk last night.”
“I know, but I'm not drunk anymore, and they don't serve shots at the museum snack bar, which is totally ridiculous, so HELP ME OUT!” Jane's panic echoed in the deserted bathroom. Luckily, nobody else was at the museum this early in the morning. Other people had better things to do on a Friday. Go figure.
“Okay, for real this time. Let me just channel my inner advice columnist.” Sadie took a deep breath. “Jane, you are a beautiful, funny, sexy woman who absolutely deserves happiness. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you are kind of boring. You are there in that museum, hungover, at the ungodly hour of ten o'clock in the morning because you want to get laid. There's a MAN waiting for you if you can drag yourself away from all those magnificent, but regrettably unhot, toilets. You have to pay to play…or something. My head really hurts now.”
Jane paused to absorb Sadie's words. “You know that's not bad. It was going downhill fast when you called me boring, but I think you recovered nicely.”
“Get out of the bathroom, Jane! Don't be stupid!”
“I'm going. God.” She emerged from the stall, hung up her phone, and went to the mirror for a quick assessment. Did she look stupid? Not exactly. More like a little bewildered. Jane felt like her capacity for reason wasn't quite keeping her impulsiveness in check as it should. It probably had something to do with being single, twenty years old, and yeah, perhaps a little boring. What had seemed like a really inspired notion last night after a few very strong and very girly drinks, now seemed kind of silly. It was the “uh-oh” moment when you realize you may have gone down the wrong road at full speed. She was coming to her senses. Well, it wasn't anything she couldn't put off for a little bit longer.
The hum of the fluorescent lights gave her a headache and made her pale skin appear even paler in the mirror. Jane checked her hair in dismay. The careful blow-drying and straightening this morning had become wasted time. Her hairstyle evolved from high-fashion sexpot to “Hiya, just came from the jungle,” thanks to this morning's typical Georgia summer rain shower.
She should have gotten Sadie to do her hair up into a more attractive and weatherproof style, but her roommate rarely got up before noon on summer vacation. Despite her habit of gesturing obscenely with the straightening iron, Sadie knew how to do hair, and often helped Jane with hers. Still, the drama inherent in waking Sadie up before daybreak probably wouldn't have been worth the result.
While standing in front of the mirror, Jane could see her blonde-brown hair expanding from the heat and moisture of the sudden storm. She got a hair elastic from her purse and decided a ponytail/bun combo of some sort would be better than the Bride of Frankenstein look. Despite a late night, she had gotten an early start from Branley College to make it to Atlanta's High Museum by opening, and she now lacked the patience for problem hair. She touched up her makeup, and made sure that the raindrops on her clothes were drying. The green dress she had borrowed from Sadie brought out her eyes and a reasonable V-neck made sure everyone knew she was a girl. Sadie had also offered the use of her bra, a full cup size smaller than Jane's. The end result was indecent, which is why Sadie offered. Jane's cleavage was the one physical asset that she was proud of, though she only revealed it on special occasions.
Her shoes were her own silver flats, which was lucky, considering they had suffered in the rain along with her hair and now squeaked from both heels if she walked too quickly. Jane may be able to get away with borrowing a dress from Sadie, but if she returned a pair of designer shoes in less than pristine condition, she doubted she would live to see another day. She looked good. It was the most effort she had put into her appearance in a while. She hoped it wasn't a waste of time.
Summer provided her with a few precious months to make serious money for school, and a few nights off in which to lose herself in the drunken revelry that was expected and necessary for a college student her age. She had been innocent of the proper way to debauch until Sadie came along, and together they were making up for lost time. Last night had been a slow night waitressing at the bar, and her boss had allowed her to quit early as long as Sadie and she stayed and got drunk at a table visible from the street. They were chum in the water, but they didn't mind. Sadie could pull in any guy within a three-mile radius, and she did just that.
Before long, she had doubled the crowd and the take from the bar was going to make it a profitable night despite the sparse student population on summer break. Jane had just sat back and watched it happen, as she did most nights. Between sly glances and obvious lip licking directed at the vulnerable males in her orbit, Sadie had somehow convinced Jane that a visit to the museum today was a great idea. Jane had been in absolute accord. She had been absolutely blitzed.
Getting out of bed when her alarm clock went off too few hours later took most of her willpower. She was determined to go through with her little episode of insanity. Confidence was still high that The Guy was going to be there today. It was Friday, and the last time she had seen him was a Friday. Additionally, he had not been there the previous two Fridays, and she felt that he must be coming back today since the exhibits had changed. This was a slyly manufactured rationale, but Jane had needed it to get up early and drive all the way to Atlanta from Branley.
She remembered her excitement when she first told Sadie that she had talked to The Guy during a field trip the previous month with one of her Art History courses. It had been near the end of their time at the museum when she spotted him sitting alone by one of the massive bronze sculptures on display. Jane had sat down on a nearby bench to sketch the sculpture. He was gorgeous, tall, muscular, and completely unapproachable
Infatuation had robbed her at least three consecutive Fridays of her precious vacation and additional countless hours of vacant obsessing about whether or not he was interested or if he might actually come back to the museum like her very own “boomerang boy.” That was what Sadie called the guys she was bored with. She stopped calling, but they inevitably found a way to bump into her in an attempt to regain her capricious favor. Throw them away, and they still come right back. Cold though it sounded, they knew what they were getting into when they tangled with Sadie. She never met a guy she couldn't find fault with. Conveniently, she discovered these faults after she had done whatever it was she wanted to do with them in the first place.
Now Jane wished she had the ability to dismiss men the way Sadie could. She hadn't planned on coming today until last night and a row of magically empty shot glasses changed her mind. Today was the last day she would wait for him. She had the uneasy feeling that she had passed “pathetic” several days ago and was on her way to “mentally unstable.” One last day, and then no more.
She headed to her usual seat in her usual gallery. It was the exact same place where she had first seen him, and so this is where she waited. The wandering guards now knew her by sight and didn't bother to hover around her anymore. They knew she would just sit and sketch for hours without making any suspicious moves towards defacing the art.
The gallery had changed a little with the new exhibit, but Jane still remembered every moment of her brief encounter with her mystery man several weeks ago. Expecting a boring day at the museum, Jane had kept her headphones on for most of their trip. She was engrossed with her sketching, but when she saw him, she couldn't resist a closer look and sat down a couple of feet away. She was finished with a quick study of the bronze lion they were both viewing, and she turned her attention to him. As carefully and surreptitiously as she could, she managed to draw him also. It was slightly less forward than taking a picture of him with her cell phone, and maybe a little less aggressive. Maybe.
He was definitely tall, even sitting down, Jane could tell that. He was reclined with his arms behind him supporting his weight. He had broad shoulders and his white button down shirt revealed a little of the impressive chest that lay underneath. He was wearing khaki pants and brown leather work boots, all of which looked a bit worn but well cared for. He had to be 25 years old at the most, but Jane couldn't tell. When she started to fill in his face, she found her glances started to border on a wide-eyed stare. She tried to focus on the drawing and filled in a strong jaw and cheekbones. The eyebrows were a little unruly - expressive. His eyes were medium brown, probably dark sienna if she had to pick a paint color for them. His hair was longish and a lighter shade of brown with lighter ends as though he'd been in the sun. She was trying to look everywhere but straight at him, but his eyes never deviated from the bronze on the central pedestal of the exhibit. As much as Jane was concentrating on him, he was focused on the sculpture. He was following every contour, and Jane wondered what it would be like to be the object of his undivided attention. She forced her own eyes to the sculpture to try to figure out what was so interesting. The bronze lion was rearing from a snake that was poised to strike from the ground near its leg. The muscles of the animals were twisted and tensed but frozen, the next second of motion was surely death for one or the other.
“Do you like it?”
Jane looked up at The Guy and hurriedly removed her earphones. “What? Sorry…” He smiled and repeated the question Jane had heard the first time.
“Do you like it?” He angled his perfectly formed face toward the bronze, and then right back at her. His eyes. She was not prepared for them. Those were the eyes of the guy that listened to your problems (with humor when necessary,) of a guy who said “I love you” without any fear, and a guy with utter confidence in his ability to make a woman climax, repeatedly. He was The Guy.
Jane looked back at the lion hoping an intelligent reply would spontaneously emerge from her lips, “I think that snake is toast.” He smiled, a small grin that showed only at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, the little guy always has a fighting chance.”
Jane paused and tried to think of something else to say that wouldn't make her seem like a tourist. “It's very powerful. I like the expressiveness of the form. It's very vigorous, I guess.” Jane realized she'd been using her hands to gesture wildly and self-consciously put them in her lap with her fingers tightly interlaced.
“Yeah. You know it was very difficult to cast a bronze of this size and detail given the technology of the time. It's still difficult to get it just right even today. It takes a lot of effort.” Jane was entranced by his voice. She remembered something her mother had told her about men with husky voices and bad intentions, but it didn't seem particularly helpful at this point. She continued to look at the bronze, not trusting herself to look at his eyes again without gaping. She wanted to keep talking to him, and listen to that voice and imagine those eyes looking at hers with familiarity and maybe something more. Sadie always said that the best way to hold a man's attention was to appeal to his natural conceit. Actually, she'd said, “Talk about him, him, him, blah, blah, blah, then he buys you dinner.” Jane tried to think of a question that might engage him.
“Are you an art student also? I mean, I'm here with my Art History class from Branley to look at the exhibit for an assignment.”
She could tell that he'd turned toward her. His answer seemed guarded. “No, I'm not an art student, but I am a fan. I come to most of the new exhibits here.”
Just as Jane was warming up to the conversation, her art history professor appeared at her elbow. Professor Corlyn was the best teacher Jane had ever had. She was artistic, she wore improbably cool hemp overalls, and she blasted rap and alternative music during studio time. Her students loved her, and one of the perks of being a campus favorite was that she could make her students do just about anything.
“Jane, we're loading up. If you haven't drawn it by now, you never will. Be on the bus in five minutes or you're hitching home.” She disappeared towards the exit in a flurry of dark dreads and the scent of patchouli. Professor Corlyn was patient with Jane's tendency to lose focus on the task at hand, but only to a point.
Jane started to gather her things. She risked a glance at him. “You know, I wonder if the real one is as impressive.” The Guy smiled oddly.
“What do you mean ‘the real one’?”
Jane grimaced as she shoved her sketchbook into her bag. “The original bronze. This one's a copy. It's good, but it's not the genuine article.”
The Guy looked much more serious. “How do you know it's a copy?”
Jane realized she had talked herself into a corner. If she said too much she would be the “weird girl.” She didn't want to be the weird girl this time, not to this guy. She hesitated.
“Well, it's got that ‘new bronze’ smell, I guess.” Lame! She tried to cover herself with a more rational explanation. “You know, a lot of museums put out copies. I've seen quite a few. I'm sure it has something to do with the insurance risk or whatever. What your admission-paying public doesn't know won't hurt them, I guess.”
The Guy looked back intently at the bronze, and leaned forward; he was very concerned now. It was like he was trying to see through it, trying to see what she was talking about, but couldn't explain.
Jane stammered. “Don't feel cheated or anything. Seriously, most people don't even realize it, so I guess it's just a good business practice.”
He looked at Jane intently now, as if he wanted to say more, but Jane was saved by the return of her teacher.
