I point at the magazine. “Sorry to bother you, but could I see your catalogue for a second?” She blinks in confusion. “I know that’s a weird thing to ask, I just—I know her, that girl.” I tap the image of Des.
The girl slides the magazine toward me and I spin it so it’s right-side up.
God, Des.
She really is a model, now. She’s a bit slimmer in this image than when I knew her, although that could be Photoshop. She’s got a mysterious half-smile on her lips, and she’s wearing a lot more makeup than she needs. But she’s Des, and so lovely it makes my chest ache. I find myself touching the glossy image of her face and wondering where she is, and why she never called me. I wonder if she’s found a boyfriend.
I blink hard, push it all down, force a polite smile on my face and slide the catalogue back to the mystified girl. “Thanks,” I tell her. “Sorry to bother you.”
“No—it was not a bother.” She smiles at me finally, and then her fingers clench around the bar napkin near her martini glass. “Could you…I mean—”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” I take my Sharpie from my pocket and sign my name on the napkin. “Here ya go.”
“Can I help you?” a deep male voice says from behind me. “You bothering my girlfriend?”
I wink at the girl, and then unfold to my full height. The guy is big, but still a third my size. I pat him on the shoulder. “Nope. I just saw someone I know in her catalogue.”
He furrows his brow and glances at the table, at the girl, and at the catalogue. “In the fat chick magazine?”
The girl’s face falls apart, hurt spreading across her features. She’s a girl with curves, sure enough, but she’s pretty, with bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair and high cheekbones. The way she buries the hurt so quickly tells me this isn’t the first time this asshole has said something like that.
I don’t even think, I just react. Before he can finish his next sentence, I’ve got him across the bar, pinned against the wall with my forearm against his throat. “What…the fuck…did you say?”
“I—I—” he gurgles.
“Listen to me, you ugly, sloppy, piece of shit.” I get in his face, and I see real terror. “How about you get the fuck out of here, and you leave that girl alone, huh? You don’t get to talk to her or anyone else that way. Not ever. I should break you in fucking half for talking like that, you pathetic little cocksucker.” I drop him, spin, and shove him toward the exit. “Get the fuck out of here, douche-canoe.”
He stumbles, lands on his ass, scrambles to his feet and runs out the door. People clap, a few whistle. Oliver is standing guard, keeping the bouncer at bay. I flex my hands into fists, shake and release them, and then sit down across from the girl. She’s quivering, fighting back the tears.
I touch her chin, and she looks at me. “Hey. What’s your name?”
“Quinn.”
“You listen to me, Quinn.” I pin her with my eyes, let her see my sincerity. “You don’t need a piece of shit like him. If he doesn’t appreciate how pretty you are, just the way you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
She searches me. “You think I’m—pretty?”
“Yeah, Quinn, I do. And anyone with eyes can see that, too, as long as they’re not shallow, spineless assholes like that guy.”
“He’s not so bad. He’s nice enough most of the time. He just…he wants me to be healthy.”
“That’s bullshit. He just says that because he thinks it’s an easy way to manipulate you. He thinks he can make you believe he’s got your best interests in mind, when all he really wants is an easy target.” I grab her hands. “But you’re not an easy target, are you, Quinn? You’re the type of girl who stands up for herself, right? You want a guy to like you for you, who finds you attractive exactly the way you are. Isn’t that right? You wouldn’t date a pathetic loser just because you think it’s all you can get, would you? You aren’t that girl, are you, Quinn?”
I can see her processing my words, my challenge. She lifts her chin, and determination hardens her features. “No. I’m not that girl.”
I smile at her. “Good.”
She tosses back her martini, and stands up. “Thanks, Mr. Trenton.”
I stand up too and shake her hand, and then pull her in for a quick hug. “When that loser tries to get you back, you tell him to fuck off. Okay?”
“I will.”
I gather my things and stop by the bar, hand a few large bills to the bartender. “Pay her tab and mine, keep what’s left.”
The bartender’s eyes bug out and he nods.
I leave the bar, hand my script to Oliver and tell him to find somewhere to park. I need to walk. Need to clear my head. Seeing Des, even in a magazine, has me flipped out all over again. I’d buried it all, moved on. Or so I’d thought. But obviously, I hadn’t.
I walk aimlessly, my thoughts whirling. Every once in awhile I see Oliver pass by me in the Rover, circling me to make sure I’m not getting mugged or anything.
Eventually I realize I’m outside Wayne State University. Students are filing out in singles, twos, and threes. A late class must have just let out. I watch them go, scanning the faces, not sure what I’m looking for, or why I’m here. Des isn’t here, I know she isn’t. She’s in New York, modeling. But I don’t walk away; I lean against the pole of a streetlight and watch the students from across the street.
They’re gone now. The thirty or thirty-five students have quickly dispersed, and the street is empty again.
I turn away, and then I hear the building door swing open. I glance back, out of instinct, I guess.
And there she is.
Des.
Hands in her jeans pockets, backpack slung across her shoulders, hair in a sleek ponytail.
I’m running across the street without thinking, ignoring the honk and the squeal of brakes. She turns at the noise, sees me, and then I’m in front of her.
She’s in my arms, chest to chest, and her warm brown eyes are staring into mine, wondering, amazed, fearful, hesitant. “Adam?”
There are too many things to say, and I don’t even know where to start. I feel as if I’m in a dream.
“I’m sorry I never called—” she starts.
A million thoughts skirl in my brain, and I can’t even begin sorting them out. All I know is this is Des, here, in my arms, and her lips are wet, like she’s just licked them, and I need to kiss her.