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I sat on the bed and put on my boots. I grabbed my coat from in front of the door and turned, surprised to see him walking toward me.
“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t planning on seeing me again?” he asked.
I looked down at my feet and back up at him. “Too much has happened, Dexter.”
“Nothing has happened since the time you walked in that door to now. We had sex. We made love. I felt closer to any semblance of emotion in those few hours than I have in seven years.” He stepped in my space, backing me all the way up to the door. “I can’t not see you, Noa. Especially when I know you feel the same.”
I pulled my card from my pocket and handed it to him. “Give me a few days. Then give me a call.” I let him kiss me goodbye, clinging to him more than I would have liked to.
While he stared, I pulled my phone out and requested an Uber.
He walked back into the room, grabbing the cell phone beside his bed. “Let me call my car to take you wherever you’re going,” he said as I stepped out.
The door clicked and I strode to the elevators, not looking back. Once it started to descend, I let the tears fall. I heard thepingof the elevator and walked through the hotel lobby, my vision blurred. I waited a few minutes before my car pulled up, wondering how I’d sleep knowing Dexter Andrews was in my city. Knowing that I had sex with a ghost.
When the car pulled up, I got in and—to the driver’s dismay—ugly cried all the way back to my apartment.
* * *
I was being a coward.A week later, I was hiding out in my studio, covered in paint. My phone was at my apartment, and I’d just stepped back from the canvas when I heard banging on the door. It could only be one person.
“Open the door, Noa.”
No hiding now.
I wiped my hands off quickly before unlocking and sliding the massive door. She walked in, appraising my workspace like she hadn’t been in it a million times. Miranda was the owner of the gallery that showed all my work. She was the first woman to take a chance on me, and as it turned out, it worked in both our favors.
Miranda and I had been working together since I landed in Washington. She found me selling my paintings for dirt cheap and insisted I come with her. She also launched an online site, specifically for any and all things Noa Cruz. While I tended to stick to paint, acrylic mostly, I gravitated toward creating in any form.
“There was a man, a veryhandsomeman, looking for you at the gallery. I didn’t tell him where you could be found, but I was sure you’d want to know. Why are you hiding from good-looking men, Noa?” She finally turned to me, peering curiously at me from beneath blunt bangs. Her red-stained lips pursed thoughtfully when her eyes went to the canvas I’d been working on. “Different. Warm. I’m guessing this man has something to do with that.”
I blushed, thinking back to that night. Miranda understood emotions on canvas; that’s what made her so successful.
“And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you his name.” I picked up my brushes and tossed them in the sink, leaving them for my cleaning lady before stripping out of my large sweater. I went to the fridge and pulled out a ginger ale, offering her one.
She shook her head and I walked toward her, waiting for her to tell me.
“Mr. Andrews,” she answered. She looked at me expectantly and when I tilted my head, her eyes grew so large I thought they might pop out of her skull. “Mr. Andrews. Dexter? No!”
“Yes, Miranda. It’s Dexter.” I snapped open the can of ginger ale and gulped, needing the sugar after a day of not eating. I’d gotten too wrapped up in colors.
“And?” She waved her hands, telling me to continue.
With her being ten years older than me, it was easy to rely on her for comfort and advice, even if she was a little persnickety.
Miranda always held out hope for Dexter, so this was probably like a wet dream for her.
“I ran into him a few days ago at the restaurant.” I set the can down and walked over to my closet, pulling out some clothes for me to jog back home in. I hadn’t gone for a run since I came here a week ago and hid like a wimp. My body craved the feeling of it.
“Where I’m sure you were eating alone, of course. Go on.”
I peeled off my clothes and turned on the shower, Miranda following me. “And…we had sex.” I shrugged. “Adults have sex all the time. You have sexallthe time. It’s not that big of a deal.” I climbed into the shower, scrubbing viciously at the paint that had found its way all over my skin.
“Then why are you running?”
I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at her. The steam from the hot water couldn’t penetrate the black strands. They wouldn’t move and they wouldn’t frizz. She stood, her eyes knowing and her smile sad.
“Oh, you and all your wisdom.” I snapped the curtain back and turned the water off. I only wanted to wash off the paint. I was about to go on a run, after all. I grabbed the towel she held out and wrapped my body impatiently. “Miranda, I love you. But I can’t do this with him. I have too much baggage now. I had too much baggage then. He isn’t built for this stuff.”
