The Virgin Duet

Quickly grabbing my work pants and sneakers, I slide them on, and tuck one of Vanilla’s dress shirts into the pants. It’s all I’ve got, and will have to do until I make it back to the motel to grab my stuff.

It only takes me thirty minutes to make it across town using a cab with the cash Bray left me. I have the cabbie drop me off down the street from the motel so I can grab some donuts at the coffee shop nearby. When I finally make it to our room, I’m disappointed Sam isn’t here. Shit. I hope he got my message.

Dropping the donuts down on the bed, I pull out my new phone and call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. Double shit.

Heading to the bathroom, I start packing up my stuff. I guess I’ll just leave him a note. Then it dawns on me that I can text him.

Me: It’s Becs. Got a new phone.

Sam: Sorry I missed your call last night. Tried to call back but number came up unavailable.

Me: You coming home soon? Lots to talk about.

Sam: I’m busy. I got a job.

Me: Job?

Sam: Don’t worry about it.

Lovely—the kind of job he won’t talk about.

Me: Call me tonight?

Sam: Ya, going to Palm tonight. You should just come by. I’ll be there at 9. Miss your face.

Me: I’m working tonight.

Sam: I’ll call you or see you tonight. g2g.

Rolling my eyes, I slide the phone back into my pocket. He doesn’t need to go to the Palm. I think Nico’s family owns the place or something. He lets some of us sneak in the back because we aren’t old enough to get in. I stopped going because Nico would just stare at me. I used to have a blast there dancing all night, but it got weird after a while.

Grabbing the rest of my stuff, I phone for a cab before making my way to the front desk and paying for the next two weeks’ rent. I need to know that no matter what, Sam has a place to crash.

The rest of the day flies by. I loaded Bray’s fridge up with all kinds of different foods. I may have gone a little overboard at the store but I was just so excited about trying out some of the recipes I marked down last night. I found enough recipes to make dinner for the next five days.

Tonight I decided on crusted chicken with bacon and green bean casserole, and homemade mac and cheese. Then bread pudding for dessert. It’s a meal of comfort food and I know that’s something I could use right now. Setting the table, I bring all the food out at ten till seven, knowing he’ll be home any time like his note said. Vanilla doesn’t seem like someone who would be late for anything.

I went through and cleaned the penthouse the best I could, but there really wasn’t much to do. Besides the mess I made last night—that he already cleaned up—all I could really do was dust. I had extra time, so I unpacked all my stuff, though to be fair I don’t have much. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees I unpacked it in his room, closet, and bathroom. I even put my giant glittery Tinkerbell alarm clock on the side of the bed I slept on last night. He didn’t really give me any details as to what I should be doing. I know he said ‘dinners’, but if he wants me here full time, there has to be more he needs me to do.

When the clock hits ten after seven I decide to call him. I try his cell first, but after one ring it goes to voicemail. What is with everyone ignoring me when I call? Jesus. Next I try his office line. Maybe he got stuck working late.

“Spencer Holdings.” Cindy’s voice shrills into the phone.

“Is Vanill—, ,I mean Bray, in the office?” I ask

“I’m sorry but Bray and I are about to leave for the evening. We have a dinner reservation. Can I —” I hang up before she can finish. What the hell? He had a date but told me he would be home around seven. Maybe he didn’t plan to eat with me. The note didn’t say he did. But then why tell me when he would be home, and why say that I would be handling dinners?

Looking over at the table, I feel my shoulders drop. What’s wrong with me? I’m not his girlfriend. I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. Glancing down, I can’t help but laugh at the stupid blouse I have on. It’s the only nice thing I own, and I use it for job interviews. The dumb thing looks ridiculous with my multi-colored hair. I put it on for him. When I was cooking the dinner, all the food was turning out so perfectly, I wanted to feel like I fit at the table when we ate. I was doing something I told myself I would never do again—trying to fit in for someone else. I was trying to belong in a world that wasn’t mine.

Whatever.

Making my way to Bray’s bedroom, I undress and grab a pair of ripped-up skinny jeans, my boots, and a racer-back tee that reads ‘Polite as fuck’ across my chest. I grab my shit, and head out. Looks like I’m going to the Palms after all.

BRAY

I lean back in my office chair and look out at the skyline behind me. I tap my pen to my lips and think about Rebecca for the thousandth time today. I sit up angrily and throw my pen on my desk. “I can’t work like this.”

“Everything all right, Mr. Spencer?” Cindy’s voice, that I never had a problem with before, is now grating on my nerves with every syllable she speaks. How did I not notice it until Rebecca pointed it out?

“Fine, Cindy. Please close the door on your way out.”

“Actually I was coming in to let you know I made reservations at Bella Vita if you’re ready to call it a day.”