Unexpectedly Yours Page 2

  I feel a surge of lust. Damn. Five seconds in, and I could already write a song about that mouth.

  I lean against the bar beside her and flash my best grin, the one Nashville Sound voted the hottest smile in music.

  “Hey darlin’,” I drawl, “have you been waiting for me?

  I wait for that flash of recognition on her face—for her eyes to brighten, and her breath to catch, and her to swoon right into my arms the way women always do.

  Instead, she bursts out laughing.

  3.

  Sophie

  “I’m sorry,” I splutter with laughter. “I can’t… I mean…”

  I gasp for air, trying to stop my hysterics. He’s standing there in front of me, looking totally dumbfounded. I can understand why. A man like this has probably never been turned down in his life. Smoldering blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and messy brown hair just begging to be touched. He’s wearing a pair of worn dark jeans that fit his ass like a glove, and with that ass…?

  I’m guessing women throw their panties at his feet before he even opens his mouth. And if they didn’t, well, they certainly would be stripping once they get a hint of that smoky Southern drawl: low and sweet and sexy.

  This guy is illegally hot. He’s also the same man who knocked me over at the airport, stole my cab, and has spent the past halfhour hitting on every girl in his phone book.

  “Are you OK?” He recovers that charming grin. “Maybe you’re having some kind of fit?” He gestures to the bartender for a glass of water.

  I take it, and thankfully take a gulp.

  “OK,” I gasp. “I’m good, I promise…” I catch his eye again and can’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry!”

  “No problem,” he looks puzzled. “Mind letting me in on the joke?”

  “I’m afraid it’s you.”

  He stares.

  “I mean, the way you hit on me just now,” I add quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just… I’ve been sitting in the booth over there.” I point. “Right next to you. So, I’ve heard pretty much everything you’ve said for the past half hour. And all the girls you’ve been saying it to,” I add meaningfully.

  Realization dawns. “Oh shit.” Then he laughs, a full, throaty laugh—full of warmth. He shakes his head. “That wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

  “I’d imagine not.” I smile, relieved he’s taking this so well. Other guys might have gotten angry or offended to have some girl laugh hysterically right in their face. “So what’s the big emergency?” I ask curiously. “It’s your last night on earth, and you don’t want to die alone?”

  He gives me another devastating smile, casually stealing a sip of my drink. “Would it work if it was true?”

  I take my drink back from him and ignore the flutter in my stomach. God, this guy is hot.

  “I’m meeting my boyfriend,” I say firmly. My boyfriend who’s running two hours late now. I checked into the room and hung out for a while, but I got too impatient up there, so I came down for a drink to calm my nerves.

  He’s probably just caught in traffic, I’ve been telling myself. Or off buying a last-minute surprise gift for me. That has to be it.

  “A boyfriend, huh? I should have known. But he shouldn’t keep you waiting,” the hot stranger grins at me. “Some handsome stranger might come along and sweep you off your feet.”

  “Why, have you seen any?” I shoot back.

  He clutches his chest. “Struck down again. You wound me.”

  “You’ll live,” I smile. “Something tells me, you have a very healthy ego. Like the number of girls you just called. They were really all busy?” I ask, frowning. Unless this guy has terrible personal hygiene or doubles as a serial killer, I can’t understand why he’s struck out.

  I lean in and subtly inhale. He smells like winter: crisp and clean, with a hint of spicy cologne.

  Must be the serial killer thing.

  “What can I say? The universe is conspiring to bring us together.” He’s still leaning against the bar, watching me with those piercing blue eyes, and looking like he just stepped out of a magazine spread.

  Or your dreams.

  I shake off the traitorous thought. “You really believe in fate?” I ask him, dubious. Guys who have that many girls on speed-dial don’t tend to be the soulmate kind.

  He shakes his head. “Not at all. Just make believe bullshit. We’re all random atoms spinning in the vastness of space.”

  “That’s depressing,” I protest.

  “Not at all,” he shrugs. “There’s something pretty beautiful, if you think about it. All of history, since the very beginning of time, has had to align to bring us both to this moment, right here. A hundred million random coincidences and split-second choices, just to put two people in a bar together on the night before Christmas.”

  “We’re not together,” I smile. Despite everything, I’m charmed. It’s not just the smile and the body and the laughter in his eyes; he’s funny and smart too. There’s a poetry to his words, and I wonder for a moment if he’s a writer.

  “We could be,” he contends. “C’mon,” he adds, his voice turning quiet. Intimate. “Let me buy you dinner. You can tell me all about this asshole ex-boyfriend of yours who stood you up.”

  “He hasn’t stood me up.” I bridle defensively. “We flew all the way from California to spend Christmas together in New York.”

  “And yet here you are, all alone.”

  I stare at him, feeling that shiver of unease again. Matt was supposed to be here hours ago. It’s not like him not to call or text.

  Except it is, a little voice reminds me. He’s been dropping out these past couple of weeks: showing up late, not replying to my messages. He swears it’s just work, they’re always slammed in the ER before the holidays, but now I wonder…

  My feelings must have shown, because the hot stranger softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure he’s just running late.”

  I slowly nod.

  “There’s no way he’d stand a girl like you up,” he adds with a rueful look. “Trust me. He’d have to be crazy, or strung up in traction somewhere.”

  Fear slams through me. “You think he might have been in an accident?” I didn’t even think of it, but it happens all the time. Some unsuspecting tourist steps off the curb without looking twice, and BAM.

  “Oh my god,” I gulp, scrabbling for my purse. Panic races in my veins. “Should I start calling hospitals, you think? It’s been hours now. They don’t let you file a missing persons report for a full day, but maybe I should call the police and—”

  My cellphone starts ringing just as I pull it out. I check the caller display, my heart still racing with terror. Matt.

  Relief crashes over me. “It’s him!” I quickly lift the phone to my ear. “Thank God, I was freaking out thinking you got into some kind of accident.”

  Matt clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

  “Is everything OK?” I ask, worried. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”

  There’s silence.

  “Matt?” I check. The hot stranger is still standing beside me, listening to every word, so I slip down from my stool and walk out to the hotel lobby. It’s quieter here, all gleaming marble floors and chic cubed furniture. I sink down on one of the square seats in the corner and try to ignore the knot in my stomach. “Matt?” I ask again, hating the trembling note in my voice. “When do you think you’ll get here? I picked us a great place for dinner,” I add, “and this bar I read about online. It’s hidden away, nobody knows about it, and they say it’s the best spot in the city.”

  I know I’m babbling, but I can’t stop. If I do, Matt will have to speak, and tell me why he’s not here right now, starting what was meant to be our perfect romantic trip.

  “Sophie…” His voice is reluctant.

  “Or we can stay in and order room service,” I give a nervous laugh. “Whatever you want!”

  “Soph!”


  I fall silent.

  “Listen, we both know this hasn’t been working.”

  Blood pounds in my ears. My face tingles, hot. “Don’t—” I say, but he presses on in a halting, guilty voice.

  “I told you when we started dating I didn’t have the time. And you should, you know, be with someone who can make time for you.”

  “But you said this is just for the year, until you finish your residency,” I protest desperately.

  “Come on, Sophie. You know that’s not it. We just…we aren’t compatible. Not like that.”

  There’s silence. All my worst insecurities come rushing out. The terrible secret I’ve worked so hard to ignore.

  “Is this about…?” I whisper, but he quickly cuts me off.

  “When it’s not right, it’s not right.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “And everything with us, well, it’s a sign.”

  “A sign,” I echo dully. Across the lobby, a happy couple is checking in, bundled up in coats and scarves against the cold. The woman is beaming, pink-cheeked, and the guy drops a laughing kiss on her lips.

  That was supposed to be me. Us.

  “But what about the trip?” I ask, tears stinging in my throat. “I’ve been planning it for months. I told you everything. The sleigh ride. The ice skating… Why didn’t you say something before now?”

  Before I got on a plane and flew all the way across the country. Before I sublet my room for the holidays, and spent way too much money on the perfect hostess gifts for his mother.

  “I… I guess I didn’t think it through,” Matt admits. “I’m at my parents’,” he continues, haltingly. “I, uh, talked to the hotel. It was too late to get a refund on the room, but we can work that out when you’re back in LA. So I’ll…uh, goodbye.” Matt says quietly, and then without waiting for my reply—for any sign that I’m OK with this—he hangs up.

  And just like that, it’s over.

  I stare at my phone in a daze. He broke up with me. I can’t believe it. Rejection and sadness spiral through me. I don’t understand.

  He could have done this weeks ago. Days, even. Every time I showed him a new article with fun tourist activities, every time I emailed him a link to the perfect brunch spot or romantic place to get dinner. This whole trip was even his suggestion, back in the fall. “Let’s go to New York,” he told me, lying in bed one rare morning he didn’t have to get to the hospital. “You’re always talking about it. We can go stay with my parents after. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

  So what changed?

  Why wasn’t I good enough for him?

  Tears well up again, and I quickly duck into the elevator, heading upstairs. I find my room—our room—and swipe the keycard three times before the door finally opens and I can stumble into the room.

  The door closes. I’m alone.

  I look around. It’s beautiful, luxurious, perfect for a romantic trip. The king bed is made with crisp white linens, there are fresh roses on the nightstand, and there’s a huge marble tub in the bathroom made for two. I planned a long hot soak with Matt, drinking champagne and relaxing in the bubbles.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. This is your fault, a small voice whispers. If you’d been more understanding…more exciting…sexier…

  I try to block out the chorus of blame. Then I realize what he just said to me on the phone.

  He checked with the hotel. It was too late to get a refund on the room.

  He tried to cancel.

  My rejection hardens to anger, sharp in my gut. He called behind my back, tried to cancel the reservation. He would have left me stranded here in New York with no warning and no place to stay—all because he didn’t have the guts to break up with me back at home?

  Asshole.

  I repeat the word out loud, stronger. “Asshole!”

  It feels good. I leap up, and check myself in the mirror by the door. I quickly wipe away my smudges of tearful mascara, smooth my hair down, and take a deep breath. The sexy vintage dress I picked out to wow Matt clings to my body, showing off my long legs and a hint of cleavage.

  I’m here in New York, I’m suddenly single, and there’s a gorgeous man in the bar who wants to show me a good time. The psychology student in me says that I’m in denial: deflecting my rejection and avoiding my real feelings.

  The woman in me says, why the hell not?

  “Screw you, Matt,” I tell my reflection. I grab my purse and coat and scarf and head back downstairs. My pulse races as I step off the elevator and sashay through the lobby. Part of me is panicked he’s found another girl to pass the time with, but then I see him, still alone by the bar.

  Still hot enough to melt the snow on the sidewalks outside.

  Maybe it’s denial and avoidance. Maybe it’s something more. But some instinct I can’t explain propels me across the bar, and brings me to a stop right in front of him. “Hi,” I start, my heart pounding in my chest. He looks surprised, opening his mouth to speak, but I keep talking. “My name’s Sophie,” I blurt out. “It turns out I’m free tonight after all. Do you still want to go to dinner?”

  4.

  Austin

  It’s the easiest question of my life.

  “Yes,” I say, before she’s even finished asking it. “Let’s go.”

  Relief flashes across her face. “Oh, good.” Sophie exhales with a rueful grin. “I figured you might have changed your mind.”

  “Not at all.” I watch her carefully. “But what changed yours? Your boyfriend not going to show?”

  She presses her lips in a thin line. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore¸” she finally answers.

  I have a hundred questions right now, starting with, "Is he crazy?” and ending with “How about ordering in—from my room?” But I can see from her reluctant expression she doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to screw up a good thing before the night is even started, so I push back my curiosity and remind myself, this isn’t the kind of girl to fall for my charming bullshit lines.

  Instead, I gesture towards the exit and offer her my arm. “After you.”

  I take her to one of my favorite spots, a real old-school New York deli just a couple of blocks from the hotel. Anika would never step foot somewhere without valet parking and a wine list, but I have an instinct that Sophie will get a kick out of the noise and bustle, the huge chalkboard menus and the way the cooks yell out their orders across the room.

  She lights up the minute we walk in. “It’s just like the deli in When Harry Met Sally!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together.

  “That’s Katz’s, downtown,” I chuckle, leading her to a free booth in the corner. “But they’re packed with tourists these days. This is the real deal. Best pastrami melt in town.”

  Sophie slips off her coat and gloves, revealing her figure-hugging blue dress. She looks like an old-fashioned movie star, with her tiny pearl earrings and the seam of her stockings running up the back of her legs. I watch her hips shift as she moves, mesmerized. I’m not the only one: every guy here turns to watch her walk across the room. By the time she slides into the booth, she’s blushing bright pink. “I’m kind of over-dressed,” she whispers, looking down self-consciously.

  “You look amazing,” I reassure her. “They’re all just wishing they were sitting in my place right now.”

  She just gives me a suspicious look, like she can’t trust my compliments. “Thank you.” Sophie replies carefully, then reaches for the menu.

  And then I realize, whatever happened to send her marching up to me in the bar, she still hasn’t forgotten everything that happened before then. How I made a fool of myself dialing every girl in my phone before going to hit on her—and how she called me on it right away. She’s not one of those fluttering fangirls trying to get backstage after the show; or those cool model It Girls who love getting photographed with me for the tabloids.

  In fact, as I watch her scanning t
he menu, ignoring me completely, I wonder. Does she even know who I am?

  “I’m Austin, by the way,” I say casually.

  Sophie’s eyes snap up. She gasps. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t even ask you your name!”

  I smile. “That’s OK.” I watch for any sign of recognition, but none comes.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie says. She shakes her head. “I guess my mind is just all over the place. Nothing about today has worked out like I planned.”

  I exhale. I’m surprised to feel relief. I’m not going to complain about the perks that come with being a famous rock star, but it’s nice to escape from it too: to sit across from a woman and not wonder if she’s going to text all her friends the minute I go to the bathroom, or sneak my coffee cup into her purse to sell on eBay.

  True story.

  But Sophie doesn’t know who I am, or if she does, she doesn’t care. She just looks at me with open curiosity. “So what’s your deal?” she asks. “Did you get stranded too?”

  “Yup. I’m supposed to be on a flight to London right now,” I explain. “I was going to meet my family there for the holidays, but it was cancelled.”

  “That’s too bad.” Sophie looks sympathetic. “Mine are traveling right now. Otherwise I’d go see them. Nobody should be alone for Christmas.”

  “Why not?” I shrug. “It’s just like any other day.”

  Her mouth drops open. “It’s not! It’s the holidays, a time for family, and celebrations, and—”

  “Hallmark cards and stupid gifts everyone’s going to return in the morning anyway?” I finish, amused by the passion in her voice.

  “Scrooge,” she shoots back, but she’s smiling as she says it.

  I laugh. “And you’re stuck with me.” The waitress brings us plastic water glasses, and I raise mine in a toast. “Here’s to getting stuck.”

  Sophie cracks a smile and taps hers to mine.

  “You guys ready to order?” The waitress demands. She’s a brassy woman in her fifties with a pencil through her bun.

  “Um, I’m not sure…” Sophie looks back at the menu. I take it from her hands.