Being Me(Inside Out 02)(34)

My fingers press to the tightness at my temples and I massage. I’m worried about Rebecca. I’m worried about Ella. I don’t know how to locate either of them. Heck, for the longest time,
I don’t think I even knew how to find myself, even when I was staring at myself in the mirror.
One thing I do know, though, is that all these things seem more doable with Chris in my life. I can’t sit back and wait for us to crash and burn, but I feel like we are headed that way. I draw a heavy breath and accept that I have to talk to Chris, to lift more of the proverbial veil, and do so before I lose my courage.
Snatching my jacket from the back of my chair, I shove the papers into my briefcase, grab my phone and purse, and head out of my office toward the reception desk. I bring Amanda into focus and keep walking past her. “I’m going next door to get a mocha and study some work I was given, if Bossman is looking for me.”
I start rehearsing different ways to approach Chris about what’s on my mind before I’ve ever left the gallery, but the biting wind blasts coherent thoughts into oblivion. I push through it and enter the coffee shop, where I have mixed feelings about the young college guy behind the counter who takes my order, indicating Ava’s absence. Picking her brain about Rebecca and
Alvarez before tonight’s meeting is on my agenda today, but at this moment, I can’t think of anything but Chris anyway.
With more coffee I don’t need, I settle into a corner table, slide out of my jacket, and retrieve my phone from the pocket.
I take a deep breath and dial Chris. My pulse beats about ten times for every ring until his voice mail picks up. I don’t leave a message and I’m officially sick to my stomach. I’m not touching my coffee.
My cell vibrates in my hand and I look down to see a text from Chris.
Hey baby. I had an early breakfast and didn’t want to wake you up. At the hospital. Is everything okay?
My entire body feels lighter with his message and I type: Yes. Just wanted to talk. Call me when you get a break?
His reply is instant. Already planned to. Call you in about an hour.
Thanks, I reply automatically.
Thanks? You sure you’re okay?
Yes. Too much caffeine. I hesitate and decide there is no in between. Not enough you.
I’ll make you prove that over and over when I get back.
I plan to, I respond and set my phone down, not expecting a reply or getting one.
My pleasure at the exchange should calm me down a bit, but it only sparks a heavier dose of nerves. Can I really tell him?

Chapter Ten

I’m staring at the clock, waiting for Chris’s call, when Ava walks into the coffee shop. Needing a distraction from the circles I’m running in my head, I watch her pause by the coatrack at the door and peel off her jacket. She’s in slim black slacks with a red blouse, and her tousled long, dark hair is striking as it cascades down her back. Maybe it’s the numerous tables and displays separating us, but her skin, even just out of the harsh wind, appears a flawless milk chocolate.
Spotting me, Ava waves and heads toward my table. There is a casual confidence and grace about her that I admire immensely.
I am confident that Ava would not spill her coffee as I had the first day I’d encountered Chris here at the coffee shop.
Ava slides into the seat in front of me and we exchange greetings. My laptop is occupying the small round table and I shut the lid, drawing her gaze to the papers in front of me. “More assignments from Mark?”
It hits me that she has just called him by name, and it throws me for a loop since no one else but Chris does. But then, what else would someone he’s acquainted with, but not having sex with, call him?
“Yes,” I confirm, and try to find an angle to discover how well Ava knew Rebecca. “I wonder if Rebecca went through this or if he’s reserved the fun for me. He does seem to enjoy the irony of the schoolteacher doing homework.”
Her lips lift. “Men do seem to have little schoolteacher fantasies, don’t they?” she asks, leaving Rebecca out of the picture.
I grimace at the familiar comment. “In my experience, all the wrong men.”
“I think you’ll discover at least one man worthy of a fantasy or two. How’s a certain sexy artist we both know and lust over?”
The sting of her question is instant. Silly as it might be when she’s probably just making girl talk, saying the things girls say to each other about a hot man, jealousy flares inside me and I try unsuccessfully to squash it.
“Actually,” I comment a bit hoarsely, eager to change the subject, “today I’ve got an artist on my mind all right. Have you met Ricco Alvarez?”
“I know him, yes. He used to stop by quite frequently and make small talk.”