Of Love & Regret (Madison & Logan 1)
Chapter One
“Crap,” I muttered as I futilely clicked my mouse with mounting aggravation as I faced the gray screen of death on my Mac. I was on a tight deadline for my column and this was the last thing I needed. As understanding as my boss was, I doubted he would accept the excuse of a crappy old laptop as a reason for not handing in my article on time.
I sighed in resignation and held down the power button to restart my computer, praying that the auto-save function had actually done its job. While I waited for my laptop to reboot, I got up from the desk and refreshed my cup of coffee in the kitchen. I wandered over to the window and stared out at the dreary sky that cast a gray light over my neighborhood of Lincoln Park. It was a rainy day, which wasn’t unusual for Chicago in early April. There was nothing I hated more than cold, rainy days. For the thousandth time, I reminded myself how lucky I was to be able to work from home so that I didn’t have to deal with pesky things like a commute and inclement weather. Landing a job four years ago at The Monitor Reports—an online magazine that dealt with everything from foreign news to local chili cook-offs—had been a boon. I never tired of seeing by Madison Bailey on the byline, and I usually loved the process of working on my weekly column, but my mind was wandering today. I was finding it hard to concentrate and the latest hiccup with my less than state-of-the-art computer wasn’t helping matters.
As I watched the raindrops fall, I noticed a woman crossing the street with her purse over her head, woefully trying to shield herself from the downpour. I clucked my tongue in sympathy when suddenly my breath caught. I squinted, trying to get a better look at the woman. Her blonde hair was drenched and plastered against the sides of her face, but I caught a clear shot of her profile. My heart started thudding against my ribcage, my mind rebelling at the instant recognition. My pulse thrummed erratically as I watched her with bated breath. Time seemed to move in slow motion as she started to turn her head in my direction. My stomach clenched in a mixture of anticipation and dread until I finally saw her face. The tension slowly dissipated, and I took a deep breath as a mixture of relief and disappointment coursed through me. I was suddenly aware of the rain hitting against the windowpane again, and everything shifted back into real-time. I momentarily closed my eyes to pull myself together. When I opened them again, the woman was scurrying down the sidewalk, and although I knew she was a stranger, I watched her until she was out of sight.
My attention returned to my computer when I heard the beep signaling that it had restarted. I walked back to my desk, pushing the woman out of my thoughts. I was relieved when I saw that auto-save had indeed saved my ass, and I concentrated on finishing my article about the statistics of gun ownership and its reflection on the current attitude towards owning firearms. Jameson, my boss, was pretty open-minded and usually let me write about whatever I wanted, not minding that my columns fluctuated from serious to frivolous. I enjoyed writing on both ends of the spectrum, since life wasn’t solely one or the other.
Two hours later, I breathed a sigh of relief as I finished re-reading my column for the last time and emailed it to Jameson. It was late Friday afternoon and the weekend had now officially started for me. I had plans with my boyfriend, Adam, later tonight, but I had a few hours to kill before then.
I turned on the television, but was quickly bored by the banality of daytime programming and picked up my phone, flicking through my emails. I switched over to my texts and typed out a quick message.
What are you doing? I’m bored.
While I waited for a response, I absentmindedly watched a daytime talk show where a woman was ranting about her cheating boyfriend who had apparently fathered four children with four other women. I grabbed my phone when it beeped and Logan Delaney’s named popped up with an incoming text.
Working. That’s what you should be doing. Still stuck on your article?
Logan was one of my closest friends, and we had gotten into the habit of texting each other our daily happenings. I had already told him about my writer’s block earlier in the week.
Me: Done and sent! Now I’m lazing about watching a trashy talk show. Jealous?
Logan: Extremely. I’m not complete without a dose of baby daddies and DNA tests every day. Are you hanging out with Adam tonight?
Me: Yeah, I think we’re going out to dinner. Are you going out with Ella?
Logan: Nah, I don’t want her getting any ideas. She’ll interpret a Friday night date as a proposal of commitment.
Me: You’re such a pig. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Logan: Have fun. I hope Adam lets you supersize your meal tonight.
I rolled my eyes at his last comment, but couldn’t suppress a laugh as I put my phone down. I found myself thinking about Logan’s relationship with Ella as I half-heartedly paid attention to the television. They had been going out for a few months, but he was adamant that they were just casually dating. Ella, however, was ready to tack the label of boyfriend on Logan as soon as he was willing. He and I had been friends during college, but had lost touch afterwards. We had reconnected three years ago when he had moved to Chicago and looked me up. We had been friendly the first couple of years, but this past year, we had grown even closer. My best friend, Emily, was doubtful about our strictly platonic relationship, but that was all Logan and I were: just friends.
Besides, Adam and I had been together for three years. At one point, I had believed I was in love with him, but I had started to doubt that in the past six months. Lately, I was noticing his obnoxious behavior more and more, and I found myself trying to put some distance between us. Emily was convinced the end was near, but the thought of having to put myself out there and start dating again was daunting. I was hoping that Adam would just stop being so annoying.
As if on cue, my phone rang and a picture of Adam’s face filled the screen of my phone.
“Hi, Adam.”
“Hey, babe. Wanna do dinner at your place?”
I frowned. I knew what that meant. He wanted me to cook. Adam had never been the type to shower me with fancy meals and expensive gifts, but lately he had become even cheaper. Hence Logan’s comment about supersizing a meal at McDonald’s. Adam came from a wealthy family, and I knew they supported him, even though he hated to admit it. He had a “fight the establishment” sort of attitude, but not when it interfered with paying for his weekly yoga sessions and his expensive monthly juice cleanses. Yeah, he was really starting to get on my nerves.
“Not really,” I answered. “I’ve been stuck inside all day. I want to go out somewhere and
interact with people, like a normal human being.”
Adam sighed heavily. “Alright, but let’s stay low key. Do you want to go to Cornucopia?”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
Cornucopia was a vegan restaurant, but I didn’t mind since the food there was actually pretty good. Adam had recently become a vegan, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he still ate meat when no one was looking. The empty package of bacon I had found in his trash the other day was pretty damning evidence. I had been tempted to expose him, but instead I kept my mouth shut and just added it to the list of things that I found irritating about him. The list seemed to be growing quickly.
I hung up the phone after we made plans for Adam to swing by my apartment before dinner. As I watched the woman on the television start screaming at a cowering man for cheating on her, I told myself for the hundredth time that I needed to do something about our relationship. The easy answer was to end it, but after three years, I was comfortable with him, and the thought of rocking the boat was tiring. Adam was a companion when I needed one, an automatic date on New Year’s Eve, and someone to scratch the itch when I was feeling horny. I knew that was a sad description of a relationship, but I wasn’t sure I wanted more than that at this point in my life.