Whispered Curses

Stepping outside of myself, I was fully aware of how nuts that sounded. If a buddy of mine came to me and explained this situation, I’d tell him to try texting her again next week, then let it go and move on.

There was no way in heaven or hell I was going to let Eden go.

I went home from work a bit early to sit in the center of my living room in sweat pants and a tank top, likely looking disheveled and pathetic. My giant sketchpad was always how I brainstormed things. Somehow scribbling and making a mess helped me think.

She didn’t even tell me her last name. How could I not have gotten that information? I was normally extremely detail-oriented.

But until she was about to leave, there was zero doubt in my mind that I’d be seeing her again within a day or two.

I shut my eyes and tried to focus. All I could think of was the feeling of her skin. The way she was so polite until we were naked. She seemed so shy at first, then with the slightest encouragement, she blurted out that she needed me.

Holy shit, that was officially the hottest moment of my life. Feeling her surrender to the moment was more satisfying than my own climax, which was mind-scrambling, for the record.

Focus. Serious brainstorm time. It was effective with projects at work. This was much bigger, much more important. What clues did I have that would help me find her?

While we were joking about the dreadful music at the club, she mentioned a band she liked. I looked them up earlier, and they weren’t playing in town any time soon.

She mentioned sending a text to her friend Kelly to say that she was safe. I was pretty sure that she didn’t go to that dance club often, but I’d go there every Friday and Saturday night until the end of time if that’s what it took.

But she didn’t seem to really like the music there. She wasn’t a party girl. What did she like?

Just picturing her in that little red dress made my heart rate soar. Red. Didn’t she say something about a color?

I sat on the floor, trying to concentrate. I didn’t know why sitting on the ground always seemed to help. I doodled circles in the margins of the page. Then diamonds. Then arrows. Maybe I should try colored pens instead of a pencil.

Blue. Her tongue would have been blue if she’d been drinking blue beaches.

I’d thought at the time I must have misheard her, but that sounded like a cocktail. It was something.

Grabbing my phone, I made a call that would definitely change my status from a nice guy to a potential stalker, and I didn't care.

"Yes, Mr. Stone?" The crisp voice that answered was the epitome of efficiency.

"Patricia, I am so sorry, but I need to send you on an insane wild goose chase."

I could almost hear her grabbing her ever-present notebook and pen. "Go ahead."

It was freaking hilarious that I could probably have sent my assistant to comparison shop for supercars, pick out women's high heels in my size, or analyze every Chinese food restaurant in the city. She would approach the project with an equal amount of dedication, while pointedly rolling her eyes at me. As she should.

“There is a bar, cocktail lounge, or pub somewhere in the city that serves a drink called a Blue Beach. I need to find out where that is."

There was a long pause. She probably thought I'd gone off the deep end this time. "Is it a central location, sir?"

"Probably. I would start with a two-mile radius around the club district and work out from there."

"Priority?"

I sighed heavily. "Obviously office work comes ahead of this, but I'm sort of desperate."

She paused for a moment. "Sir, the two new interns have been looking for a research project. Shall I give thi

s to them, and make it sound like some sort of test?"

"Perfect," I said. "Give them each a bonus for trying hard, and give the winner something extra.”

"I'm on it. Is there anything else?"

"That's it. Thanks, Patricia."