Angie, a live-in-the-now singer-songwriter on the cusp of fame, sweeps Mike, a proper Mama's boy and a structural engineer by day, off his feet the moment they shake hands.
They can't deny the chemistry between them, so they start with a boom. What'...
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▪️Saturday, December 19th, 2017▪️
▪️Los Angeles, CA▪️
Los Angeles airport brings no memories. Not that I've been to that many airports, but there is none of the feeling of coming home I half-expected. I stay calm. Maybe the ten years between leaving from here to Chicago and coming back severed all connections I thought I might have to this place. Childhood stomping grounds might be only in my memory. LA didn't wait breathlessly for me to come back and decide if I'll continue to love it.
I'm out of the airport in no time. My backpack fits into the overhead luggage, because the bike I'm renting doesn't have storage for more than that. SUZUKI BOULEVARD isn't as sleek as my Beauty but perfect for Angie and me to ride around Orange County. December in LA has ideal weather for my jacket, and I don't miss the parka I left home. I cruise between the stopped cars on the highway. Another reason a motorcycle is a better idea here. I might get places on time.
The Ritz-Carlton is a name I know, and it speaks of luxury before I reach the hotel. The fifty bucks plus tax for the twenty-four-hour parking matches my idea of a place Angie's staying at. My leather jacket is closer in wear-and-tear to the mats at the dojang than the sleek leather armchairs that pose in an alcove by the elevators.
At least I didn't have to go through the lobby. I walk down the hallway matching the numbers by the hotel rooms to the one blazing in my brain. I knock on the door. That's when my heart catches up, then tries to run away, but it's trapped. I'm trapped. The 'what am I doing here' thoughts beat on the inside of my skull. This is not the feeling I was hoping for when I started planning this trip.
If I turn, go stay with Mom and Louka at their hotel, and tell Angie this is not going to work, what will happen? Will she be hurt or relieved? Will I be hurt or relieved?
The door opens, and the face I've traced and marveled at on screen over the last month is in front of me. My heart freezes mid-run. I stiffen, and shivers run from my neck to my toes. The doubts shatter and fall in a deafening crash in my head. The moment I shook Angie's hand at the Thanksgiving Bash is back, because I'm no longer in a hotel hallway, or LA, and I'm no longer Mike Stavros, the play-it-by-the rules guy. I'm a new man whose defenses have been broken, whose heart is delirious, who wants the woman in front of him more than he wants for his life to make sense. I'm in the right place at the right time. If I would've turned away, I would've missed out on seeing Angie's face, on the light that bursts out of her at the sight of me. I would've missed out on living.
"I remember this jacket." She finishes her scan of my body on my bike boots. "And those boots."
My lips tug in a smile. I wait for her to return to my face, and when she does, I let my heart escape my chest and travel into my eyes, to shine through at the girl that makes it come up with the poetic shit I've never thought possible. Structural engineer. Not a poet. Unless she's near, then I'm whatever she wants me to be.
"Coming in?" She steps away from the door, and I enter the space that looks better that the photos I checked out on their website. A tiny Christmas tree and a mug of Rudolph the Red Nose Deer sits on the desk. A large mirror to the side of a king bed reflects the view from the window. I'm glad I don't have a fear of heights. LA looks impressive from this angle, and the prospect of exploring it through Angie's eyes is gaining in appeal. I put down my backpack and turn my back to the view out of the window, facing the view of Angie I came here for.
"Hi." She stays by the door twelve feet away. That's so much closer than the distance between us these weeks. Yet, I don't feel closer. I want her. My heart, my body, every cell in me craves her, but I'm back to being the fifteen-year-old geeky beanpole Mike. I want this to go perfectly. I don't want to start us off on the wrong foot. Do I kiss her? Do we hug? Shake hands? Wave at each other across the room? Which is what we are currently doing. My fists are giant hammers at my sides. I don't know what to do with myself.
"Hi." I shove my fingers into the pockets of my jeans.
Angie walks over to the bed and sits. Her eyes don't leave mine. The expression in them could be anything. A request for a kiss. A warning to stay where I am. A disappointment at my presence here. I wish we were in a movie and an out-of-body voice would narrate her internal monologue to me, so I could know what she's thinking. So I could do exactly what she's imagining me doing, because it can't possibly be me being this awkward stranger who's afraid to touch her.
A knock at the door interrupts our staring match. Angie jumps to her feet and walks over. "Probably housekeeping. I'll put on a do not disturb sign."
It's not housekeeping.
"I saw this and thought about you." The guy in the doorway extends a Snickers bar to Angie, notices me, and his smirk falters.
"How thoughtful." Angie takes the bar and tries to shut the door on him.
"Gonna introduce me?" The guy braces against the doorframe, and his tattooed arm goes between him and me.
"Mike, this is Neil, Neil this is Mike." She doesn't attach labels to him or me. I'm not a boyfriend or a friend, but neither is he. I don't want to be on the same playing field where Angie's concerned. I want to be the only one on Team Angie.
Neil juts his chin out and repeats the once-over Angie gave me when I was the one standing in the doorway. Hers felt welcome and awkward. His is an evaluation of an adversary. "Didn't know you had a brother."
Neil's good. "Didn't know she had an assistant." I look at the Snickers in Angie's hands. "Can you get me one too? I didn't have lunch yet."
The smirk is back on Neil's face.
"Are you done with your pissing match?" Angie's words break our verbal sparring. I'd much rather it were an actual sparring, because I have seventy pounds on him. Even though he looks in good shape, I'm a head taller and my muscles are not for show at concerts. I use mine. Kicking and punching is what they've been doing for almost twenty years. I could crush him.
"I guess not." She waves her hand. We both look at her. "Better. I'm not surprised with you." She points the Snickers bar in Neil's direction. "But you?" Snickers darts my way. "I thought you had manners."
Fuck. I've never wanted to constantly be near a woman, never cared how other guys looked at them. Today I want the friends label out of the window. I need for Neil and the rest of the world to know Angie and I are together, that I'll fight for the place next to her.
"Is he leaving?" I ask Angie. My voice rough, to match the possessive caveman that's beating at his chest inside me.
She turns to Neil. "I think the Snickers transfer is complete. See you at the rehearsal." She shuts the door and leans against it.
The distance between us is intolerable. I cross the room and put my hands against the door on each side of her.
"Hi." I return to the conversation our eyes were having before the tattooed fuck interrupted us. I lean to her mouth, ready to stake my claim. She turns her face for my lips to land on her cheek.
