TWENTY EIGHT

Lexie

My cheeks felt like they were on fire the entire afternoon as I tried to hold back the tears. Even Victoria, the brand development specialist whose desk was immediately adjacent to mine and who had barely said "good morning" to me when I introduced myself, commented on the matter. It appears that she was not invited to lunch either because when I walked in the room, she was sitting at her desk eating a salad while looking a little bewildered and a lot embarrassed.

She asked me this question as I sank numbly into my uncomfortable chair. "Did you get a sunburn?" she inquired. I had earlier observed that everyone else had a fancy chair that was also ergonomic. Now I could barely feel the hard, uncushioned seat or the strange curve of the back that seemed designed to puncture the spine. Both of these features seemed intentionally designed to cause pain in the spine.

“What?” I inquired while attempting to support my arms on the armrests of the chair before realizing that it did not have any. Instead of that, I crisscrossed my arms over my chest. I was able to sense that my arms were still attempting to reach out to Ryder, moving away from my body as if of their own free will.

He had the impression that I was going to give him a hug. That was embarrassing, but it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as the truth. The truth was that I had no idea why I had reached out for him in the first place. Perhaps the only reason I hugged him was to say goodbye, a habit that had become second nature to me after spending four years in the sorority. But God, I couldn't be sure of anything. To touch him had been less of a deliberate act and more of an involuntary reaction to something that couldn't be stopped. Who knows what I would have done if he hadn't intervened and stopped me in my tracks.

It's likely that I would have embarrassed myself in a much more public way.

"A sunburn. I believe you have obtained it. Victoria remarked to me as she pointed the prongs of her fork at me and waved them around in front of me, "Your face is very red." You should start using sunscreen immediately unless your goal is to have the appearance of a leather handbag when you are thirty years old.

Lexie, you must understand that this organization is not a sorority. When you want to say goodbye to someone in the real world, you shake their hand instead of pressing your cheek against theirs.

Ryder had the impression that I was an idiotic and immature child. That stung. But not nearly as badly as if he believed that I was attempting to rub up against him. Mostly due to the fact that I was anxious that I was.

I was able to answer her finally by saying, "No, it's not a sunburn." But Victoria was looking at me too intently, so I couldn't put the palms of my hands to my cheeks to cool them off. I wished that she would continue to ignore me the way that she had been doing all morning long.

"Then, what exactly is it?" She asked me directly while taking a bite of salad and chewing intently, her intense gaze never leaving my face as she worked through the food.

I had a terrible need to talk to someone, but Victoria was the very last person I'd ever consider confiding in with my deepest, darkest secrets. I had only a cursory familiarity with her, but I was well aware of her type. She was curious about me at the moment because she had the impression that I was concealing something interesting about myself beneath this purported sunburn. If I gave her the opportunity, she would rummage around until she discovered something of value that she could take back to the other women who worked in the office and share with them. Then, she would act as if my confidences were some form of social currency and try to barter them for a lunch invitation.

I merely uttered the first thing that occurred to me. “Rosacea.”

Her nose wrinkled. She moved back in her chair just a little bit, as if the illness were contagious.

“Ew. Isn't there a lotion that can help with that?

Yes, but it's not useful at the moment." I couldn't resist the urge to put the backs of my hands to my cheeks and smile at her while doing so, but ultimately I gave in to the urge. It was up to me to look through things. "I'm confused as to why you didn't join the others for lunch."

I was aware of the reason. It was due to the fact that they hadn't questioned her. She was the newest employee at the office, even more so than I was. This was obviously a hierarchical setting, and years of service were taken into consideration. It left a sour taste in my mouth and gave me the impression that I was moving in the wrong direction. Since I was in high school, I hadn't encountered a clique like this one. In contrast to what many people believed about sororities and their tendency to be exclusive, ours had in fact always been welcoming to new members. Since I was nineteen years old, I'd been ensconced in the warmth of friendship. At the age of twenty-three, I had no idea that I would ever again sense the domineering presence of a queen bee.

During the process of chewing, swallowing, and spearing another bite, Victoria's rapt gaze occasionally wandered away. She made her statement with little conviction, "Someone has to stay here to watch the phones." I couldn't help but feel sorry for her when I saw how strained and miserable her face was. At least I was only here for a little over a month before I was transferred to a different department. Although she didn't appear to be much older than I was, Victoria was working hard to establish herself in this industry.

"I'll stay next time," I said.

"I mean, yeah. That would make everything even." She did a little crunching on her salad.

I rolled my eyes and shifted around in my chair, looking for a position that would be more comfortable for me. That would teach me the importance of being polite.

Nice. Earlier, when Ryder and I were talking, we were only discussing this topic. Friendly. It was nothing like what he made it out to be. Once more, I noticed that my cheeks were getting hot, but Victoria was too preoccupied with the phone for her to notice. I was both embarrassed and excited when I heard his low, tense voice in my ear for a second time. He was speaking very quietly. When I was thinking about "rubbing up against" Samantha's dad, but that wasn't how I thought about him anymore, a small voice in the distance reminded me that I was thinking about it.

My cheeks had the sensation that they would not cool off for the rest of the afternoon. After a while, I would forget about what took place with Ryder, but then something would take place that would put me right back on the sidewalk where I was before. The warmth of the sun on my back. My shadow expanded to the point where it was even with the tips of his fancy leather shoes. The manner in which his rough windows moved, beginning with surprise, then transitioning into something I couldn't place, and finally returning to the hard mask. I really wish he wouldn't carry those sunglasses with the dark frames everywhere he goes. It would help me understand him better if I could just look into his eyes for a moment.

I was completely worn out by the time the first day was over and it was time for me to leave. Having to contend with the insular politics of the brand development team would have been challenging enough on its own, but the manner in which Ryder had completely taken control of my mind was another challenge entirely. Not just my brain. My physical being kept reacting to the concept of him, to the idea that we were together. It did not matter that he had pulled away from me like I was a leper and that, even if he was interested, he was the one man I could never date. It did not matter that he had treated me like I was a leper. That was not the case at all with him.

That peculiar, deliciously unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me he might be wasn't real; it was just wishful thinking on my part. A young woman's idealized version of the sorority life. As soon as I stepped out into the bright sunshine, I said to myself, "Lexie, it's time to join the real world."

It was an absolutely stunning evening. The world appeared to be filled with light and luxury, and the sky above remained a brilliant blue. As I walked toward Samantha's condominium, it seemed like everywhere I looked, stunning people were getting into town cars that were ready to take them to upscale restaurants or exciting parties. It appeared to me that these people were all residing in an idealized version of the world that actually exists. They weren't going home by themselves while fantasizing about a person they could never have.

When I was nearing the end of my second week here, despite the fact that the day, the place, and the people were all breathtakingly beautiful, the weight of my heart increased with each step that I took. It wasn't until I was almost back at Samantha's apartment that I realized what I was experiencing.

I felt all alone.

Obviously, I was doing that. The majority of my time was spent by myself; the only company I had was the occasional chat with Victoria or a pleasant exchange with a nice guy named Damian who worked at my job. Mina, Ryder's Executive Assistant, was someone I'd gotten to know over the course of the past few years. She was always available to help Samantha and I when we were traveling and in a bind, so every once in a while, I would have lunch with her. But despite the fact that I liked her a lot, I still spent the majority of my time by myself.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt lonely because, good God, it had been so long. When I was in college, I shared an apartment with at least thirty other women. It was impossible to take a shower in complete privacy, without someone banging in to ask to borrow your clothes or to see if you wanted to grab coffee, let alone to feel lonely. It was also impossible to take a shower alone. When I was in high school, I was fortunate to have a few close friends.

I knew I could rely on you no matter what. I had to go all the way back to the beginning of middle school to find the source of this feeling. That was the time when my elementary school group fell apart and I found myself adrift, unmoored, in the sea of puberty.

It was heartbreaking to acknowledge that despite the passage of an entire lifetime, I still felt the same way I had back then: awkward, hopeful, and desperately alone.

When I got back to Samantha's apartment, I tried to ignore the feeling by unpacking everything and then searching through all of the cabinets to get a better idea of what I had to work with in the kitchen. But it was impossible. However, the sensation remained the same. I desired—no, I required—to have a conversation with another person. I tried to reach my mother, but she was at her book club when I called. I tried to get in touch with a good friend of mine, but she was busy at school. On the other hand, it was probably for the best that none of them answered the phone because the person I wanted to talk to the most was my closest friend.

Samantha.

I was unsure of what to do as I looked down at the phone in my hand, but suddenly it lit up. And there's no question that it was her. We were always much more like brothers and sisters. To the point where they can almost read each other's minds.

The first thing she said to me when I answered was, "You miss me, don't you?" This is typical of her behavior.

"Oh my God, you have no idea." I gave in to the overwhelmingly pleasant feeling of joy that her voice brought me.

"I've had a day."

While I was telling her about the brand development team, I poured another glass of the expensive dry white wine that I'd discovered in the refrigerator for myself. When I described how cliquish they had been, Samantha alternately laughed and groaned throughout my explanation.

"I'm sorry, Lexie. That's how things work in LA. I mean, you will find nice people in the end, but you're going to have to really search high and low for them. They are not going to appear all of a sudden." The silence was drawn out, and I could hear the clicking of keys on a computer. While we were having this conversation, Samantha was working on her homework. I pretended that I was sitting at the foot of her bed with my personal computer propped up on my crossed legs by closing my eyes and leaning my elbows on the cool granite countertop of the bar. I then opened my eyes.

"And what about you fellas?" After a short pause, Samantha inquired.

My eyes immediately opened wide. "What is the matter with them?"

Even though I had asked the question in a casual manner, Samantha paid attention to it because of the tone in my voice. "Oh," she exclaimed with a trace of glee in her voice.

"There's a guy over there."

I was correcting him when I said, "There is not a guy." It was authentic. In Los Angeles, there were a million and one guys. From my point of view, none of them stood out as being particularly exceptional in comparison to the others.

Again sidetracked, Samantha remarked that there was a male nearby. I could hear her returning and getting back to work after I heard the clicking of the keys. "Tell me all about him," I asked.

I let out a sigh as I slid off the barstool and walked around the living room before exiting through the back door onto the patio. I looked down to see people playing in the water far below.

At one end of the pool, a woman dressed in a lime green one-piece was swimming laps in an orderly fashion. While I was trying to think of what to say to Samantha, I stood there and watched as she glided through the water like a tropical fish. I had an overwhelming desire to unload my problems on her and tell her everything. It's highly unlikely that I was the first of her friends to think her dad had some serious sex appeal. Unless each and every one of them was blind.

Perhaps I would have been able to bring a sufficient amount of humor to the situation and told her the truth in that case. Obviously, I masked it with a joke, but even so, it's possible that I was being truthful. But I was unable to. Instead, I steered the conversation away from the reality of the situation by responding, "You know me too well." There is a gentleman here. Perhaps you are familiar with him, as I saw him at the pool the other day.

After that, I poured out everything I was thinking and feeling about Ryder and attached it to this enigmatic renter.

Samantha remarked, "I'm at a loss for words." "What gives him the idea that you're not mature enough for him?"

As I continued to watch the woman swimming in the lime green suit, I offered an explanation. "Because he's older," I said. "And I suppose I came across as a bit of a ditz."

Samantha responded with a skepticism-filled "Hmm." You don't really give off the impression of being a ditzy person. Did you say something dumb?"

I gave her a puzzled look before realizing that the reason why she couldn't see me was because I wasn't actually sitting at the foot of her bed. I shook my head. "I don't believe that to be the case, but as you are aware, I mentioned being a member of a sorority. You are aware of how people might react to that."

"Sure," she replied with some skepticism. "But if that's the conclusion that he jumped to, then he appears to be an asshat."

"He might be," I admitted with a sigh while picturing Ryder's dark eyes looking impatient as he greeted me at the airport. "He might be." "But Samantha, he's so handsome that it hardly matters," the voice said.

Now she let out a chuckle. "You sound like me! Don't let LA get in your head, Lexie. It doesn't matter how good looking he is; if he's an ass, he isn't good enough for you. "

"Sure, sure," I muttered. It was a funny experience for me because I had never been insecure before. Not since the beginning of middle school, at the very least. However, after only a few weeks in Los Angeles, I started having serious doubts about myself. It was unclear to me what proportion of that was due to the man and what proportion was due to the location. Before this one, I'd had crushes on other people, but this one was different. Crushing. I wanted Ryder to give me even a tenth of the mental attention that I was giving to him. It was something I yearned for with all of my being.

Samantha repeated, "Seriously," but I could hear the keys on her keyboard clicking beneath her long, polished nails. It is not worth your time to deal with him.

"You're right," I remarked, my determination growing stronger by the second. I decided that I would not waste any more time thinking about someone who was out of my reach in any way, shape, or form.

For me, Samantha held a significance that far outweighed that of her father at any point in time.