Text Me, Maybe Page 6

  “Thanks. I really didn’t want to go alone,” he said.

  Nice of him to make it seem like I’m doing him a favor and not the other way around.

  A cab pulled up to the curb, and Matthew opened the door.

  She hopped in and wondered at the extent of her happiness when he slid in next to her.

  It’s not a date. It’s not a date.

  She clasped her hands on her lap and looked out the window. It’s not a date. No matter how much part of her wished otherwise.

  All too soon, their cab stopped in front of a wide, silver building.

  Wanting him to understand she appreciated his being nice to the lonely girl in town, and that she didn’t have unrealistic expectations regarding their relationship status, she pushed a few dollar bills toward him. “Here’s half.”

  Matthew frowned at the singles, but didn’t argue, then added his bills to the pile before paying the driver.

  “Want the audio tour?” he asked as they strode inside the museum.

  “What?” Lexie shook her head to relinquish her daydream about kissing her trainer in the back of a New York City cab.

  “We can use our phones, hook them up to MoMA’s free wifi.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” A knot formed in the pit of her stomach at his mention of phones. She didn’t want to think about the unsavory role she played in her boss’s dating life. “Maybe that art history course I took sophomore year will finally come in handy.”

  Matthew led the way toward the short line while she checked out their surroundings—the ground level of a modern, open space. Then he was showing their passes and grabbing a purple brochure from the cashier’s desk as they walked in and stopped to get their bearings. Deliciously close to her, he flipped the guide open between them. “Choose a section.”

  Running her finger down the list of artists on the floor plan, she struggled to focus on the art. “Is Van Gogh here?”

  “Starry Night fan?”

  She nodded.

  “Fifth floor.”

  “Really? Oh my God, I so want to hug you right now—but I won’t.” She stepped back. “Just know you have my undying gratitude.” For the art, yes, but also for inviting me.

  Even if it was a totally spontaneous gesture on his part.

  “Well, let’s go.” She headed for the escalator, her heels clicking a quick rhythm on the tile floor, his heavy, sure steps close behind. Only when she was safely on a moving step, did she dare look back.

  His mouth was so fascinating. What kind of kisser was he? Would he wrap her in his arms first, like he had on the street Wednesday? Or would he lean in, like, Look, Ma, no hands? Was his style hard and fast, or slow and sensual?

  “Lexie?”

  She lifted her gaze. “Huh?”

  “Be careful of the gap, or I might have to catch you.”

  She whipped her head around, stepped off the first set of stairs, and headed for the next.

  Was Matthew laughing at her?

  Or is he letting me know he’s there for me?

  Still dazed when they arrived at the fifth floor, she followed him through a pair of glass doors into a gallery.

  “Starry Night’s straight ahead, on the other side of that divider.”

  A few moments later, her hands clasped to her chest, she got her first real-life view of the masterpiece.

  Swirling, whimsical hope.

  “Live up to the hype?” he asked.

  “Better. Way better. So beautiful.”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat.

  She turned to find him shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. Was her writer’s imagination on overdrive today, or was more than art appreciation going on here?

  “Want a picture standing next to it?”

  Lexie blinked. “That’s allowed?”

  “Sure. Just don’t stand too close.” He shrugged in response to her raised eyebrows. “I came here a lot as a kid. My housekeeper insisted I learn some culture.”

  Matthew had a housekeeper? Hmm. She hadn’t thought about him coming from money. Maybe he didn’t. Lots of people had housekeepers.

  She handed her cell to him.

  “Smile, beautiful.” He gazed at the screen.

  “Thanks.” She wasn’t beautiful. Pretty on a good day. In the right light. With figure flattering clothes. But definitely not beautiful. Still, he was sweet to say so.

  Except there was no sweet lie in the way he was looking at her.

  It was more like…hunger. The same hunger she felt.

  Now I’m definitely seeing things.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

  Matthew continued to stare at the screen. “You.”

  “What do you mean?” She accepted her phone from him and glanced at the photo he’d taken. “Oh.” So, that was what Naughty Girl looked like when she came out to play.

  Tucking the phone in her purse, she moved to the far wall and stared absently at a seascape. She liked him. It should be a good thing that he liked her, too.

  Except she wasn’t ready for another relationship.

  Another loss.

  Matthew joined her. “What do you think?”

  “Nice palette.” Better to pretend he’d asked about the art and not the picture he’d snapped of her.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What next?”

  She pushed out a shaky breath. Thank God, he was going to let the subject drop. “Your turn.”

  “Nah. It’s your first time. We can do whatever you want. Just say the word.”

  She looked away.

  I’m not going there again, Naughty Girl. He didn’t mean it the way it came out. His voice didn’t drop an octave. That’s your wishful thinking.

  He smiled. “Clock’s ticking.”

  She straightened her skirt and pointed. “How about that section?”

  Matthew proved to be an efficient tour guide, supplying the facts when she couldn’t remember details from that art history class. She found herself laughing as they took turns interpreting Matisse’s wild jungle painting, and then debating which of Monet’s expansive lily pond murals was nicer—she preferring the softer tones of one while he liked the brighter tones of the other.

  They were headed for the escalators to explore another floor when he stopped in front of the men’s room. “Be right back, okay?”

  “Sure.” Lexie sauntered over to the railing and was idly examining the full-scale helicopter suspended by wires near the third floor level when her phone vibrated.

  ‘She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that’s best of dark and light.’ I glimpsed you again on your way out of work. I hope you made it home safe.

  She nodded in agreement. Ms. Swann did deserve a quiet night after her hectic week and the sore throat that had blossomed into a full-blown cold. Thanks, what’s up?

  Out with a friend.

  She smiled. Me, too.

  Wait. Hadn’t Steel texted that he couldn’t get together with Ms. Swann on this particular date because of work? Why was he texting her a romantic quote while he was out with a friend? Scratching her arm, she mulled over her new concerns. Something didn’t add up.

  Recalling Sam’s advice about not wasting her energy, she typed: Sorry, I’m under the weather. Talk tomorrow?

  Sure, just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. Feel better soon!

  Lexie glanced down at her arm, at the red streaks from her nails, and frowned. There was no way to know for certain if Steel was the real deal or not.

  Too many players out here for a woman’s peace of mind. How do I know which men can be trusted?

  “We have time for one more exhibit before they kick us out.”

  Matthew’s voice poured over her, and she tilted her head at him, thinking about Sam’s second piece of advice. Should she keep her eyes open to him? “Okay, show me your favorite.”

  When they arrived at a small room, empty apart from blue shapes arranged on three walls, she scru
nched her nose. “What’s this?”

  He moved so she couldn’t read the wall sign next to the exhibit. “Take your time.”

  “I wasn’t going to peek.” Okay. So maybe she’d thought about it. “Let’s see. Water maybe? Yes, and there’s a woman’s shape like she’s diving.”

  He nodded.

  He’s so close, and so sexy. I want to step into his arms so badly while he sweet talks to me about art.

  She shivered. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s another Henri Matisse,” he said, moving to the center of the small room. “The artist was old and sick when he created this work. The story goes that he asked to be taken to Cannes one day to see the divers, but the sun was too much. When he returned to the hotel where he lived, he told his assistants to paint sheets of paper blue, and after the sheets dried, he cut large shapes from them. They say it took months to arrange the cut outs according to his directions.”

  Lexie rotated in a circle, taking in all three walls.

  “Cool?”

  “Very.”

  “Well, time’s up.”

  I don’t want our night to end. I want to know more about him.

  “You look hungry.” Matthew reached out, his eyes warm. “Let’s find you something.”

  Smiling, she met him halfway and curled her hand over his.

  Next thing she knew, they were flying past the exhibits, down the escalators to street level, and floating to the curb to hail a cab.

  “There’s a rooftop lounge near here. It’s laid-back, decent bar food. Sound good?” He squeezed her hand gently.

  Holding her hair in a makeshift ponytail, Lexie gazed up at him, determined to keep her eyes wide open. “Sounds great.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Getting to know the real Lexie Bloom when she was pretending to be her boss?

  Not his brightest idea. The sooner he ended that farce, the better.

  But being with her one on one, outside of their roles as trainer and client, that was a whole other story. Look at him now, cozying up with her at the Bookcase Lounge. MoMA had been his idea, but he’d used the let-her-come-to-you approach his psych professor friend had suggested: Let her lead the conversations. Let her make the first move. Let her see your soft side.

  Matthew sank back and glanced around the hotel bar masquerading as an upscale penthouse apartment, and settled for the softness of her hand on his and the warmth of her leg as she shifted next to him on the cozy sofa.

  She gazed up at the open sky beyond the glass enclosure protecting the rooftop lounge from the elements. “What a view.” With the orange fire framing her face, she leaned closer and met his eyes, that yearning expression he’d photographed at the museum making his heart skip a beat.

  “Would you like a few minutes or should I take your drink order now?” the waiter asked.

  Forcing himself not to curse the man’s unfortunate timing, Matthew grabbed a menu. Maybe a strong drink would take the edge off. “I’ll have a Hemingway.” He turned to her. “Know what you want?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and his hopes grew—along with a certain part of his anatomy.

  Say the word and we’re out of here.

  “I’ll have the Tequila Mockingbird.” Her tongue darted out to moisten full lips.

  God, that mouth. He bit back a groan. What he wanted wasn’t going to be on the menu tonight. He shifted. Going slow required an iron will, not to mention balls, and his were bound to get bluer by the day.

  “Looks like they’re setting up for karaoke.”

  He followed her gaze. Shit. Just his luck. A coffee shop would’ve been the smarter choice. “We can go somewhere else.” Matthew leaned forward to stand.

  “Oh no, I wasn’t complaining. It’s a nice surprise.” She laughed, her hand leaving his so she could pick up a binder from the table.

  Amazing how a fucking song list could bring on a cold sweat. He wiped his forehead. “You sing?” he croaked.

  “Hardly, but karaoke’s just for fun, right?”

  He swallowed. “If you consider embarrassing yourself in front of a crowd a good time.”

  She stopped flipping pages. “Not your thing?”

  Times a million. Matthew shrugged to hide the shudder zipping up his spine. “You could say that.”

  “Guess a duet’s out.” Her shoulders drooped.

  Aw, hell. Why did she have to like the one activity he avoided like the plague? “I don’t sing for a crowd.”

  “Crowd?” Lexie glanced around the quiet lounge, then back at him. “There’s like, what, twenty people in the place?”

  He snorted. “That’s about nineteen too many.”

  “Really?”

  Damnit, that earnest expression on her face made him want to tell her anything. “Let’s just say that on mandatory chorus performance days, I was the kid that managed to become sick every single time.”

  Her eyes filled with compassion, and she closed the binder softly before leaning back on the sofa.

  He released a breath, turning toward her and away from the makeshift stage. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. You’re braver than me.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m so—” She stopped, her eyes wide. “Ooh, that gives me an idea.”

  Matthew watched her pull a notebook and pen from her purse. “Writing about it won’t help. Believe me, I’ve tried everything.” She was cute, wanting to help him overcome his phobia, but it was no use. He wasn’t getting over it, and that was okay. Nobody was perfect.

  She clicked her pen. “Not you. Me. Mind if I jot a few notes before they fly out of my head?”

  Ah, so she really was a writer. Even better, she wasn’t looking to fix him. “Sure. No rush.”

  While she scribbled in her notebook, the waiter brought the appetizers he ordered. “What’re you writing?” he asked, when she’d set down her pen.

  Her eyes skittered away. “Nothing much.” She picked up a quesadilla and bit into it with gusto.

  Shield up. Blocked again.

  While he didn’t know much about psychology, his friend might be right. Lexie didn’t trust easily.

  He’d sunk his teeth into spicy chicken blanketed in a hearty trio of melted cheeses when a ringtone sounded nearby. Rocky? Classic.

  She glanced at her phone and sighed.

  “Your mom?”

  “Brother. Thinks he’s my big protector.” She curled a lip then downed the rest of her cocktail.

  “Smothering you with love?”

  “Something like that.” She wadded up the cocktail napkin in her hand. “We were best friends when we were little. Barely talk now. If you can’t depend on your own family relationships to stay strong, how can you ever trust any others to work out?”

  Like with me?

  “Then there’s this guy a friend of mine likes. He’s been texting with, uh, her, and we both got a great vibe from him. But then he did something that makes me wonder if he really cares about her, or if he’s playing her.”

  Aw, fuck. No question she’s talking about me now.

  “I’m frustrated with the whole deal. All I have is a freaking cell number.” She leaned forward. “I’m supposed to be helping her, but what if I’m setting this all up for her and she gets hurt by him.”

  Like you’ve been hurt?

  Matthew scrubbed his chin. “You’re texting the guy for her?”

  “It’s kind of my job, and it wasn’t so bad at the beginning. I mean, he quotes classical poetry.” She tipped her head back and smiled at the sky. “My kryptonite.”

  Her husky voice and dewy skin inspired more quotes, but if he were going to have a chance with her the pretense had to continue. Matthew pulled back and rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Oldest pick-up lines in the book.”

  She shook her head, her dark hair floating around her soft shoulders. “It’s not like that. He and I texted about that. He’s a Brit Lit Professor so it’s legit, and—”

  He made a T with his hands. “Time out. Is that the gu
y you asked me about last week? The one that works at J&C Fitness?”

  Lexie nodded slowly, regret creeping into her eyes.

  “And the person he thinks he’s communicating with is your boss?”

  She glared at her glass. “I’ve said way too much. I swear I won’t breathe a word about you breaking into a cold sweat at the thought of singing anywhere other than your own shower if you promise to never, ever repeat what I’ve just told you.”

  “No worries.” Amazing what a little self-restraint on his part, combined with a cocktail on hers, had on her. Suddenly she was confiding in him about mixed feelings and suspicions regarding his alter ego.

  And imagining him in his shower…

  He swallowed. “So, what’re you going to do?”

  She gazed up at him, her eyes wide. “Nothing.”

  They were at the point in the evening when he’d typically move in for the kiss, and ask her back to his place or agree to go to hers. But tonight, he was going to follow Lexie’s lead—and do absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Matthew glanced out the second floor window of his soon-to-be office in Whittaker Hall on Manhattan University’s Midtown campus, and his hand froze in midair, his tome of The Riverside Shakespeare in his arms all but forgotten.

  He moved to the window for a closer look. A woman sat on one of the stone benches facing the building, a veil of shiny brown hair hiding her face as she bent over an open book on her lap. The flowing blue top, dark blue leggings hugging lower curves, and a pair of soft flat shoes gave her a fresh, delicate look. She glanced up, her hair falling back to reveal clear eyes and an awesomely kissable mouth. His jeans went tight at the crotch. Lexie. Should’ve known. No other woman captivated him to the point he’d catalogue the details of her outfit.

  Did she attend classes here? Or had she fibbed when she told him she planned to do nothing about her mystery man? He cursed.

  “What’s the problem, bro?”

  He tore his gaze from the window to find his colleague standing in the doorway.

  “You look like I caught you plagiarizing.” Chris cocked his head. “Everything okay?”

  Matthew glanced out the window. “You know that situation I told you about over coffee? Well, she’s sitting out front.”