Long Ball(61)

“You just get busy?” His eyes are on my mouth and the space between my legs feels suddenly warmer.

I fight to focus on the conversation. “And I love playing”—I nod at my cello—“but that’s hours a day of practice, maintenance of the instrument, learning the music, perfecting bowing, listening to different peoples’ interpretations of those songs I’m supposed to learn. When I’m done with that, I like it to be quiet. I don’t care about the latest reality television show, or who’s marrying who in the tabloids. Entertainment becomes noise instead of information. I’d rather go out with my friends and talk about their lives than go see a movie, or talk about celebrities we’ve never met and never will meet. I have goals, but they require work. I don’t expect things to fall onto my lap.”

I lower my eyes hastily, aware that I likely sound boring and lame.

“You’re so different from most women I come across. In a good way,” he clarifies hastily.

I look up, my eyes meet his and I’m moved by the sincerity I find there. I feel myself blush.

“Thanks. I don’t want much, but the things I want, I need.”

“We’re more alike than I thought.”

My cheeks heat further as I smile and finish my pastry.

He balls his napkin and puts it back into the empty bag. “Confession time.”

A mild panic flashes through me as I imagine all the horrible things he could confess. Oh, God…what if he’s married? My gaze flicks to his left hand, searching for a ring, or a tan line where a ring would be.

He notices my stare and laughs. “I’m not married. And I don’t have a girlfriend, if you’re wondering. But I’m also not from Chicago.”

“Oh. Well, neither am I.” I shouldn’t feel so happy that he’s single. It really doesn’t matter considering where I am in my life.

“No, I mean I don’t live here. You’re moving and I’m only in town for another day or so, myself.”

I brush crumbs from my fingertips, a distraction from how disappointed that statement makes me. Not that he doesn’t live here, but that he’s only here for another day and that I’m moving. It’s an emphasis that we’re just ships passing in the night. Though, right now it’s daytime…

I cock my head at him. “What brings you to Chicago?”

“Just visiting.” He tilts his head, mirroring mine. “And I need a tourguide.”

He’s asking me to show him around. And I can’t. It’s not on my agenda. It’s not something I’d be good at. And, most importantly, it’s a bad, bad idea.

But saying no to him…“Do you have family here who can take you?”

“Nope. ”

I toy with the bottom of my cup. “And you can’t ask any of your friends to be your tour guide?”

“To be honest, the people I know here would be into going to loud bars and things I’ve already seen.” He pauses, makes sure I’m listening and I am. “Besides, I want you.”

I feel like I’ve fallen down a flight of stairs the way my pulse speeds up and my head gets all dizzy.

“I’m not the best to show you this city. I’ve barely seen much of it, myself.” I’m not even sure how I got those words out when all I’m thinking is he wants me!

Dylan grins. “All the more reason to see a few places before you move, right?”

He’s not wrong; it’s not the first time I’ve regretted not seeing more while I was here. But it doesn’t influence my answer. My answer was pretty much decided the minute he walked in the door, as bad as it is, as wrong as it feels. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

His smile is lightning fast and twice as hot. “I don’t want to see my normal things either, nothing loud and crowded.”

“That’s a deal.” I grimace exaggeratedly.

“See? You’re perfect for this adventure.”

“Maybe. But I don’t exactly know where that ‘perfect place’ you’re looking for is in Chicago; we’ll have to research. I could sneak you onto campus?” I’m more excited than I want to be, but I can’t help myself. It’s another day in alternate Rachel’s shoes and the thought is exhillerating.

“Let’s stay away from the usual stomping grounds.”

“Hang on.” I text Alex. Where should I take a tourist for something they won’t forget? Something cool and different?

Alex immediately texts me back a single word that makes me smile.

Alex: Tilt

I call for a cab and Dylan and I make our way downstairs to wait for it in the sunshine.

Tilt’s the perfect choice and definitely not something I’d ever do by myself, but I want to save that for last since it’s the showstopper, so I tell the cab driver to take us to Millennium Park first—somewhere, I learn, neither Dylan nor I have been.

“Isn’t that a little touristy?” Dylan slides on a pair of silver Aviator shades that hide too much of his face, reflecting too much of mine back at me.

I hate not being able to see peoples’ eyes when I’m talking to them. Correction—I hate not seeing Dylan’s eyes. “Maybe a bit, but it’s somewhere I’ve always meant to go. I’ve heard good things about—”