Page 55 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“No. Well, kind of.” Gabriel was the thing I wanted most but I had the feeling that choosing him was akin to jumping off a cliff without a parachute. You either had to be all in or you shouldn’t bother showing up at all. “Gabriel is Meg Ryan and I’m Billy Crystal.”

When Harry Met Sallywas Annika’s all-time favorite movie so she understood the reference immediately.

“Riiiight. So let me get this straight,” Annika said. “After you watch him fake an orgasm in Katz’s Deli, you wait a million years until youfinallydecide he’s perfect for you. But oh no, is it too late? You’re just going to have to run through the streets of Manhattan on New Year’s Eve, declare your undying love and tell him that he’s the last person you want to speak to before you go to bed every night. And then hope and pray Sally feels the same way about you?”

“Exactly! You see? You get me.”

“Solid plan. Go get ‘em, Harry.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I arrived late.

After a ridiculously long shower, soaping and lathering and shaving everywhere, my blow-dryer crapped out halfway through the drying process.

Then I had a mini meltdown when I searched my closet for a suitable outfit for tonight’sWhen Harry Met Sallymontage only to find that everything I wanted to wear tonight was in the dirty clothes bag waiting to be taken to the laundromat.

So I’d squeezed into my cleanest jeans, faded bell-bottom hip huggers that hugged my hips a little too snugly and donned a shrunken T-shirt with an illustration of a cowgirl riding a tiger.

Don’t ask me what kind of message I was trying to send withthatT-shirt but here we were. Off to an auspicious start.

The last time I came to a Monday night gig at Monks there were about a dozen girls and a handful of drunk guys who had stumbled in from the bar next door.

What a difference six months makes.

Tonight, the only available seat was at a table up front. I didn’t want to make a scene by asking to sit with a group of strangers in the middle of Gabriel’s set, and I didn’t want to sitright under his nose so I took advantage of the dark room and stood in the back, observing from a distance.

Gabriel wore a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt that was so stretched out and faded that Jimi’s hair was steel gray instead of black. Same boots, black jeans with a rip in the knee, same stubborn locks of dark hair falling over his forehead, and the same musical genius with the power to transport me to another stratosphere.

After he finished a cover of “Kashmir” that went on forat leasttwelve minutes, he stopped for a break and drank red wine from a water glass.

That’s when I noticed the four to one ratio of women to men in the room.

All the girls justlovedGabriel. I remember Annika saying that sometimes she felt like just another one of his groupies. No wonder. Gabriel was a guitar-slinging chick magnet.

“All right, let's try out this new song,” he said. “Go easy on me though. We’re experimenting tonight, remember?”

A few people laughed and a girl up front said something I didn’t quite catch but it sounded a lot like,You can experiment on me all you want.

Gabriel shot her an exasperated look. “Come on, baby, let’s not make this weird. Just enjoy the music, okay?”

With a shake of his head, he started playing while I craned my neck to see who this “baby” was that had the audacity to hit on Gabriel.

I didn’t have to wonder for long. As soon as he started singing, she stood up and started dancing, swiveling her hips and raising her arms in the air like he was a cult leader and she was his devoted follower.

Sit your ass down, blondie. Who do you think you are, blocking my view?

When her head swiveled to the left, I caught the glint of her gold nose ring.

It was the same blonde who had offered herself up to Gabriel in February.

My hands clenched into fists. I was tempted to march right up there and knock her out of the way. If it came down to a fight, I was pretty sure I could take her.

Oh my god, get a grip, Cleo.

I shook it off and focused on the music. The bluesy-rock song sounded like an eight-minute ode to the orgasm. His voice and the vibrations of his guitar shot straight to my core. He had me clenching my thighs and clutching my non-existent pearls.

What are you trying to do to me, Gabriel?