Page 23

Paige

T he next few weeks fly by in a heartbeat with my time spent between preparations for the event and two modeling jobs I’d completely forgotten about. One last week for a swimwear magazine, and the other yesterday and today—a campaign for an up-and-coming designer brand. And God, has this one been fun. There’s a group of us involved, and so far the shoot has taken us to various landmarks around San Francisco. All places I’d planned to visit but never found the time. We’ve already danced on Alcatraz Island, brooded on the tiled steps of 16th Avenue, and casually strolled past the Painted Ladies. Next up, we’re staging a fake runway on the Golden Gate Bridge—which I’m told is going to be wild and windy—and then we’ll end the shoot in a secret location. It’s like a dream. And something I almost turned down.

While we’re waiting for them to set up the bridge runway, I bounce up and down on the spot, trying to keep warm in my skimpy dress. I’m just about to ask for something to cover myself when a warm coat wraps around my shoulders.

“Whoever you are,” I say, assuming it’s someone from the crew, “I love you.”

I turn to find one of my fellow models—a guy from Germany with boyish charm—and smile at his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you, Ben. You’re a godsend. I wish they’d set up before we got here.”

“I don’t think they were allowed. They’re limited with how much time they get here.”

“That makes sense. It would be fine if it wasn’t so windy.” But I guess I was warned.

Ben nods before stepping in beside me as we watch the traffic driving by. “Want to get a drink after the shoot?” he asks, and while he’s super cute and looks amazing in designer clothes, he’s not really my type. “I think we’re finishing up near the Wharf,” he adds when I turn to face him. “It’s touristy but I know a place.”

“I’ve only been here a few months which I think makes me still half tourist, so I’m game. Who else is coming?” I spin in anticipation to find we’re alone, and when I turn back to face him, he’s gesturing between the two of us.

“Just us,” he confirms.

“Like a date?” A lump forms in my throat and I wish I’d paid more attention to where the other models had gone because when I glance back, I find them huddled under a tent I didn’t even realize they’d erected. Smart .

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” Ben’s quick to say, perhaps sensing my hesitation. “It can be whatever you want it to be. A drink or two…or something else entirely.”

I smile while an uncomfortable feeling settles low in my stomach. “I’m kind of seeing someone, but a drink would be nice. To new friends.”

His face pulls into the smallest frown before he schools his features and smiles. “Yes. Yes. To new friends.”

“Perfect.”

The runway shoot is even more fun than I thought it would be, despite the wind, and when we’re done, I’m full of giddy excitement for our final destination.

“Okay, everyone, listen up.” The campaign assistant gets our attention while we’re waiting for our transportation to arrive. “We’ve got a short drive and then we’re ending our day with a photo shoot on one of San Francisco’s famous cable cars en route to Fisherman’s Wharf.”

Ben was right.

The fashion designer heading up this new brand was born in San Francisco and wanted to showcase the beauty this city has to offer, while also “pitching it to an international market,” their words not mine. It makes sense that they’d keep the locations iconic, and now I get to cross a lot of tourist attractions off my list, so I can focus on exploring the real San Francisco, when I have the time.

After we wrap for the day, my new friend Ben is waiting for me, ready to go as planned, and I can’t shake the strange energy coursing through me—as though I’m doing something wrong. But it doesn’t take long for that feeling to dissipate when it's apparent that he took my friendship offer seriously, never even offering to pull out my chair.

Thanks, Dad, for setting that as the standard for how a man should treat a girl.

We’ve been in this cute eclectic bar for a couple of hours now and I’ve got to say, I’m having fun. It’s been a while since I had a drinking session like this and I miss it. I miss letting go.

“So you snuck out in the middle of the night?” I burst out laughing as Ben regales me with stories of his time backpacking around the world before he was discovered in London a couple of years ago, signing with one of the country's top agencies.

“I did.” He chuckles. “But did you really expect me to stay? The guy talked about eating slugs and worms in his sleep. Descriptively.” He pulls a face and I gag.

“Eww. You told me you weren’t going to mention the disgusting things he was dreaming about.”

Ben shrugs. “I lied.”

“Yeah, you did. And ew.” I hide my face as I cringe.

“You said that already.”

The drinks keep flowing and we keep talking until I can’t hide my yawns anymore. “I have to call it a night.” I scrunch my nose, because I’ve actually had a great time.

“I can tell.” Ben grins and I frown apologetically. “Am I boring you?”

“No, not at all. This has been fun.”

“I agree. I like drinking with new friends.”

“Me too. I like it way better than drinking with old friends.” Ben raises a brow and I giggle. “Don’t mind me. That’s a long story for another time.”

“Well, you’ve got my number if you want to talk.”

“I do?” I stare at him confused, squinting my eyes as I try to recall that moment, but I don’t remember getting his number. Am I that drunk?

Ben laughs before standing up and offering me his hand for support. Which I happily take. “My number was on the information sheet from today. If you want to do this again. As friends.”

“Oh, that’s right. The sheet. That means you have my number too. And look how easy that was. We talked about numbers without giving it a second thought.”

“Another story for another time?” Ben questions and I replay my words in my head before laughing.

“Yep. Another story for another time.”

How is it possible that Easton and I never exchanged numbers? I’d really like to text him and ask right now. But I can’t. Because I don’t have his number.

“Which way are you headed?” Ben asks, concern etched in his features when I stumble slightly. “Can I help with an Uber?”

“I’m south of here. But I’ve got someone I can call.”

“The guy you’re seeing?”

I picture my ride and giggle hysterically. “No. Not this time. It’s my dad’s driver.”

“Okay, good. Would you like me to wait? I’m going to walk home. I live a few blocks from here.”

“Uphill?” My face scrunches and Ben laughs.

“Yes, most of it’s uphill, but I don’t mind. It keeps me fit.”

“I don’t think I could walk straight right now, let alone up . But good for you.”

I text my dad’s driver as we walk toward the street, and when he tells me he’s fifteen minutes away, Ben waits, both of us people watching in a comfortable silence.

I wave when my ride arrives, and the second I’m settled in my seat, my eyes drift closed, my mind immediately bombarding me with images of Easton. As though I cheated on him. When it’s not even close to the truth. Because my night was innocent, and even if I’d kissed him good night, it wouldn’t be cheating because we’re not together. We’re barely even talking at the moment. In fact, I think I’ve had more conversations with his son recently. Like Easton, we keep running into each other, and he’s so freaking cute. Unlike Easton who’s ridiculously hot and so deliciously tempting.

I hate to admit that this mess with Easton is driving me crazy. He’s driving me crazy, and I’m not sure I like this feeling.

It’s after midnight by the time I get home, and as I enter the lobby, I find myself holding my breath, hoping I’ll run into him again. That he’ll be in the elevator when I get there. Waiting for me. Desperate to see me. Feral for it. Like he was in the gym.

But he’s a dad. And it’s late. I may as well be dreaming because it’s the only way I’m going to see him.

The doors to the elevator open and my jaw drops until an old man exits, walking his giant dog as he sleepily rubs his eyes.

I laugh to myself as I get in, and I’m so lost in thought that I press Easton’s floor number instead of my own, feigning shock when it opens on his level.

I hold the doors ajar and search the space for any sign of Easton, but of course there's nothing. Even if I was crazy enough to forget all our reasons and knock on his door in the middle of the night, I don’t know his apartment number and I can’t freaking call him. Nope, we relied on the fact that we kept running into each other and never worried about a time when that may not happen. Like now. But it’s probably good that it doesn’t.

Laughing again, I stumble back inside and press twelve, closing my eyes as the elevator starts to move. My head falls forward, snapping me out of my microsleep when the doors open and my dad steps in, his expression filled with relief.

“You’re here.”

“Dad?” I startle. “What are you doing up so late?” I slur slightly and he frowns.

“I work later than this, Paige. It’s not that late.”

“It’s not?” I stare confused. Wasn’t it after midnight?

“No. Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because my driver called. He wasn’t sure you’d make it to your apartment by yourself.”

“Your driver called you?”

“Yes.”

I stare at him for a second before my eyes widen and I pout, stomping my foot with my hands on my hips. “Isn’t that a gross invasion of my privacy?”

“You called my driver to pick you up.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know he was a tattletale.”

“Wow. And I didn’t know you reverted back to your childish self when you drank. It’s fun getting to know you again.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

“I was worried, Paige. And so was he.”

“As you can see, I’m fine. So I want you to get out and let me prove that I can get home all by myself.”

“This is your floor.”

“Ugh.” I throw my hands in the air. “Well, let’s go up to your floor and then I’ll come back down alone .”

Dad bites back a smile and it makes me frown.

“Okay, fine,” he says, giving in, knowing I have some stubborn tendencies. “But you’re being ridiculous. How will I know that you got home safe?”

“I’ll text you.”

Dad pushes the button for his floor and we travel in silence, only speaking as he gets out, wishing each other good night. And then I’m alone again.

I’ve lived by myself since I was eighteen. I don’t need help getting home, and I don’t need Dad checking up on me.

I rock as the elevator takes me back down to my floor, but when the doors open, I’m shocked awake. Or maybe I passed out and didn’t realize. Because this is a dream.

“Easton Wilder, is that you?” My heart races as a heat consumes me.

Easton—or my imagination—frowns as he steps inside, turning my way when the doors close. I sway when we start moving again and he catches me, his strong grip curling around my arms. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” I fan myself. “Though I had no idea there was a gentleman under all that gruff hotness.” Since he’s holding my arm, I figure it’s only fair that I do the same and reach out to squeeze his bicep before letting my hand fall to his fingers. “I miss these fingers,” I say, lifting his hand for closer examination. “You really have talent.”

“Football?”

What? Ooh. “Yes. Of course, football.” That’s totally what I was thinking.

Easton smiles, and the sight of it makes me dizzy as the elevator comes to a stop.

“We’re here,” he says, making me frown as I fight to remember where we were going.

“At your floor,” he adds, pointing into the hallway, his eyes on my door.

“Oooh. Are you coming in?”

“No, Paige.” He smiles. “Not tonight.”

“Shame.” I pout and he shakes his head.

“It really fucking is. But how about I walk you to your door?”

“I like what happened last time you did that.”

Easton chuckles and it lights up his face, making me giddy. “You should laugh more. It suits you.”

“Thanks. Do you have your key?”

“Yep.” I pull out my key and unlock the door, but I can’t bring myself to step inside. “You’re really not coming in?”

“Paige,” he warns, his deep, strained voice making me shiver. “I—”

“You can’t. I get it. I do. But just so you know, I really want you to. Actually, I want you in general.” I step forward and walk my fingers up his chest as I whisper, “All the damn time.”

“Fuuck, Paige.” Easton steps back and runs his hand through his hair, his expression pained.

“Sorry. I—” My phone rings, cutting me off, and I groan. “Shit, that’s my dad. I better answer.”

“You better. I have to go anyway.”

He takes another step back but doesn’t press the button until I walk inside, waiting. I hold the door open and wave, my longing gaze lingering as I sigh.

“Night, Paige.” Easton shakes his head and spins around.

“Night, Window-Seat Guy,” I say to his back, smiling when his shoulders lift in another laugh.

“I’m home, Dad,” I answer when the doors shut. “Safe and sound.” And very much alone, just like I wanted.

Only I no longer wish that were true.