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I scream in anger again, thinking for a moment that I should just text Melissa and cancel. I should tell her there was a problem with the money I got out, and that I don’t have any way or reason to go through with the date tomorrow.
But as I take out my phone and prepare to do just that, I can’t. Something in my heart won’t let me crush Melissa’s excitement or her joy at our plans tomorrow. I’ve just seen the kisses and hearts she sent me with her last text. I stare at them, feeling them warm the edges of my spirit that haven’t been snapped in two.
I have no idea how I’m going to make this date anything like what it was supposed to be, but I can’t let it be ruined like this. I won’t let it be. Dad may have ruined my plans, pilfered the money I was going to use, but he doesn’t get to ruin her plans. If I’m any good at being your boss and your boyfriend, I’ll defend you from that. I must. It’s the least you deserve after all the kindness you’ve shown me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Melissa
I wake up with a smile on my face. I get dressed in my finest, most casual clothes with a lightness and a spring in my step. Even as I’m having a bit of breakfast, running over my plans for what kind of stores to visit with Tommy, what kind of styles I think would accentuate his build, his size, and the color of his hair and eyes, I’m trembling with excitement. I’m giggling at nothing except the thought of being with him all day.
Also, I want to bring him back here after the end of all of it for some much-needed, long-awaited intimate time — time I’ve also started to plan out in my head. I’ve decided we’re going to start out on the couch, then move to my bed or maybe even to the patio connected to my bedroom, since it’s not right next to another unit. My condo, unlike a lot of condos in this community, is actually open to Manhattan.
I have views of the cityscape, and the suburbs beyond. It’s a million-dollar view. That’s the price tag they wanted me to pay, but I happened to move in when construction wasn’t at its best, which meant I got this at a steal. I’d been hoping I would be able to show this view to Dennis, but I’m no longer heartbroken over that loss. It’s all his anyway. Still, I have plans for Tommy and me out here later, after everyone else has gone to bed.
I smile at the naughty thought I’ve just had, and grab my purse, keys, and cell phone, then head out. It’s a quick trip down to my car. Once inside and behind the wheel, I send Tommy a text. On my way. After sending this, I look through our old conversations for the one in which he tells me his address. I press the hyperlink for it and let my map application go to work.
About the same time that the map app. pulls up directions to his house — something that seems to be in a neighborhood and a part of town I’ve never visited, even in the ten years I’ve lived in Manhattan — I get a reply from Tommy. It’s simple, short, and to the point. It simply reads: K. Will be waiting for you.
Though it doesn’t say anything of the kind in what he writes me, I feel between the lines “Hurry up and get me. Rescue me. If you don’t come soon, I might just go crazy.”
With that driving me onward, I pull out of the parking lot and start navigating my way to Tommy’s. While it says it should take no more than ten or fifteen minutes in current traffic conditions, I find myself wishing I could just teleport to him and then teleport with him out of there to our little slice of retail paradise, but no. I’ve got to drive and go through all the motions. I can’t just wish myself. Damn.
On the way to Tommy’s, I turn on the radio. I’ve got a paid-for radio service. A premium access port to a world of music, literally. Something I’ve found to be an absolute necessity here in the states. It’s the only way I will hear current and popular music from England and the rest of Europe. Also, it has the unique and sexy new age and atmospheric music I like to listen to sometimes. What I’m listening to now, actually.
About ten or fifteen minutes later, just as my navigation program predicted, I’m at Tommy’s. But, as I pull up to his house, with the weed-infested front yard, the gnarly looking tree presiding over a baked-to-hell porch and house, I have trouble believing this is where my boyfriend lives. While I know he hasn’t been the most well-paid employee to work, it surprises me that he’s here in a rundown neighborhood like this.
