Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (8 page)

Chapter 8

My heart thumps anxiously against my ribcage as I await Deke’s answer. Much to my surprise, I want him to say yes so badly that I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses.

Deke lifts both hands to his head, slowly rakes them through his hair, and exhales sharply.

“You’re not what you appear to be, Avery Andrews,” he says, shaking his head. “I never would have pegged you to be stubborn and argumentative.”

“Then apparently your camera isn’t telling you everything you need to know.”

Deke chuckles softly. “
Touché
.”

He bends down and picks up his gear. “I’ll lock this up in my car, and then we can go to Starbucks so you can grill me, all right?”

I quickly search his face and notice that his eyes are shining back at me. I grin happily in response and follow him downstairs.

We head outside in the warm summer sun and excitement buzzes through me. Finally I’ll be able to unwrap all the mysterious layers that surround Deke Ryan. There are so many things that I don’t know about him. I have a million questions already flowing through my head, but something tells me not to start interviewing him here on Armitage Avenue.

One of my questions is answered as he reaches into a pocket on his cargo shorts and takes out his keys. Deke then hits his remote and a Jeep Grand Cherokee flashes its lights in front of me.

Hmmm. So he drives an SUV. Understandable, considering that he’s always lugging around a camera and gear.

I silently watch as he loads up the camera equipment in the back. Then he slams the hatch and puts on his sunglasses, which he had hanging from the beat-up collar of an ancient Guns and Roses concert T-shirt, circa 1989.

As soon as he does, my breath hitches in my throat. Despite the crappy shirt, Deke is smokin’
hot
in his aviator-style sunglasses. The sun is shining on his golden-brown hair, and there’s just a trace of blond stubble on his jaw line.

Now I realize it’s just me and him, with no camera between us. I notice that he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, just like he did in the meeting on Wednesday. It’s obvious that he’s uncomfortable around me without the camera as a buffer, which makes my heart melt a little bit. His shyness is the exact opposite of Sullivan, whose cockiness I always thought was attractive.

But as I stand here with Deke, taking in his honest shyness, I suddenly don’t think Sullivan is so attractive anymore.

“Ready?” Deke asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I say. We begin moving in the direction of Starbucks and he falls into step next to me. “And buck up, you might see some fashionistas while you walk.”

“But don’t they spend Saturdays on Michigan Avenue shopping?”

“Shut up,” I say, beginning to laugh.

“Oh here we go,” he says. “Annoying Male Species coming toward us.”

I look straight ahead and there’s the guy talking loudly on his cell as he moves down the sidewalk. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt, khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a Chicago Cubs baseball hat.

“Dude, I totally would have bagged that chick if her roommate hadn’t come home,” he says confidently as he strides past.

I roll my eyes after he’s gone by. “Nice.”

“And there are so many more like him,” Deke says.

“Stupid and preppy?” I ask.

He grins. “Oh, Fashionista, there’s more to it than that. But there’s a whole subset of males like him. Preppy guy with a good job. He drives a showy car and makes a shitload of money. He pounds booze with his college buddies and can’t seem to grasp the idea that college is over. He’s superficial. But I’m sure you already know the type if you are into the bar scene at all. They hang out in the bars around here like rats in an alley.”

I quickly do some math in my head and come up with the following equation:

Sullivan Preston III = President of the Annoying Male Species Subset

“Uh, yes, I do,” I say as we stroll past more vintage greystones.

“So is that the kind of guy you’re looking for?” Deke asks, glancing down at me.

I gaze up at him, wishing I could see his eyes behind his sunglasses. To see if his eyes are searching mine like I want to search his.

“Superficial?” I ask, although I know that’s not what he’s getting at. “No.”

“Okay, if I take that off the table, does the rest of the description line up with what you want in a guy?”

“I used to think that’s what I wanted,” I say slowly, lightly treading into these new waters with Deke, testing the temperature and seeing if I like what I’m feeling. Seeing if I want to step further into these waters or if I want to stay on the shore where we are now.

“Used to. Interesting choice of words,” he says as we walk underneath an elevated train, which rumbles loudly overhead.

I pause as the train goes by, as I don’t want to shout over the noise. After it passes, I nod at Deke.

“I used to think someone with a similar college experience and high career expectations would be good qualities to look for,” I say slowly. “But I’m starting to realize there’s a lot more out there in this world.” 

A silence falls between us, and butterflies dance nervously in my stomach. I quickly glance into the bay window of a boutique store as a diversion.

“Oh, I love that skirt. It’s so cute.” I pause outside the glass, peering into the expensive shop.

“Is it like $300 dollars?” Deke asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

“To be well dressed doesn’t always take a lot of money,” I say, turning to him. “For example, you could buy some really nice T-shirts at Banana Republic.”

“Why would I go there for a
T-shirt
?” Deke asks, sounding incredulous. “I got this one for $3!”

I sigh heavily. Why does that response not surprise me at all? But still, I decide to give him a fashion nudge.

“Deke, Deke, Deke. Sometimes the best investment in yourself can be made in your personal wardrobe. Anyway, not that you’re asking me for fashion advice, but I’m telling you, men can’t go wrong with a good quality T-shirt.”

“Right,” he says. “Like I’d ever pay more than $10 dollars for a T-shirt.”

I frown. Apparently it will take more than a gentle nudge to get him out of his crappy T-shirts.

“So what else would you recommend as far as my personal wardrobe goes?” he asks. “Besides paying more for T-shirts, I mean.”

“Well,” I say, pausing outside a bath products shop, “a fragrance wardrobe is
essential
.”

“Hmmm, fragrance,” Deke says, sounding as if he’s seriously mulling over my advice. “Do you mean like drugstore aftershave?”

I stop dead in my tracks, horrified. He
can’t
be serious. But he’s looking at me rather earnestly, as if a $2 bottle of aftershave from Walgreen’s clearance bin is a good option for cologne.

“Well, I suppose it can be a start,” I say carefully, not wanting to insult Deke. But I’m starting to get a really scary image of the medicine cabinet back at his apartment. Oh, God. What if he has aftershave in there like the kind my grandpa uses? No, he couldn’t. Could he?

But suddenly he grins wickedly at me, and I know the corners of his eyes are crinkling up again, despite the fact that I can’t see them behind his sunglasses.

“Gotcha,” Deke says.

I pretend to be mad. “I’m not going to give you fragrance wardrobe advice if you aren’t going to be serious about the topic.”

“Sorry. Please continue,” he says as we begin moving again.

I find myself smiling, enjoying the fact that he feels comfortable enough to tease me.

“Well, a good cologne is like the perfect accessory,” I say honestly. “It brings everything together.”

“I only like cologne for special occasions,” Deke says simply. “But more or less because I’m always shooting outside, except for this project. Cologne attracts mosquitoes big time. It also wears off quickly when you’re sweating in the sun or in the surf all day.”

“You’ve shot while in the ocean?” I ask, completely curious and forgetting my vow to wait until we reach Starbucks to start grilling him.

“Yeah, I actually worked on a special about surfing last year,” Deke says. “I had to get in the water to shoot the host learning how to surf. We shot that in Kauai. That was a great assignment. I got to go to Hawaii, spend all day in the ocean, stay in a five-star resort, and I got paid to do it. What more could a guy ask for?”

I pause for a moment, thinking if he’s used to assignments like that, then how on earth is he handling this one with me? I have to be painfully boring compared to shooting in the ocean in Hawaii all day long.

I’m about to ask him another question about it, but I’m suddenly distracted by a pile of
Lincoln Park Vibe
tabloids sitting out on a step.

“Oh, I have to get one of these,” I say, bending down and scooping up a copy. “I have to read the
Ask Emily!
column. I think advice columns are so interesting.”

Deke begins laughing again.

I stop on the sidewalk and stare up at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“I think most advice columns are full of crap.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” I tease. “You’ve never even read
Ask Emily!
You never know, she might have very insightful advice today.”

“Don’t have to. I know I’m right.”

“You really shouldn’t judge her until you’ve read her,” I say.

Deke pauses as we reach the Starbucks entrance. He takes off his aviator sunglasses and clips them on the worn-out collar of his shirt. Then his Caribbean Sea-colored eyes gaze down into mine.

“You’re correct, Avery,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t make snap judgments about people. Apparently it’s a problem I have.”

My heart stops as I realize that he’s talking about our first shooting and the way he judged me without even knowing me.

“It’s all right,” I say honestly, wishing I could take my sunglasses off so he could gaze directly into my eyes. “Sometimes people aren’t what they seem to be. Or what they’re supposed to be.”

And as I say that, I think that applies to both Deke and Sullivan.

His eyes linger on my face for a moment. “I think you’re right about that.”

My heart skips a beat as he stares at me. Then he opens the door, letting me go into Starbucks first.

I step inside and inhale the wonderfully delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee. We go up to the counter and I place my usual order for a non-fat grande cappuccino. Deke then orders a grande vanilla latte with soymilk.

I instantly turn to him, curious. “Soymilk?”

He grins at me as he reaches for his wallet. “I don’t believe the inquisition is supposed to start until after I have a drink.”

I laugh as I take out my wallet, too. “Of course. My mistake. And this is on me, by the way.” I’m about to hand the clerk my Starbucks reloadable card when Deke stops me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, creasing his brow.

I furrow my brow back at him. Except he probably can’t see it behind my humongous sunglasses.

“Paying for your drink,” I say, wondering why this is confusing him. “I asked you to come here, didn’t I?”

“But you don’t have to do that. Really.”

“No, I don’t, but I want to,” I say, handing the card to the clerk, who immediately swipes it. He returns my card, and I tuck it back into my little Coach wallet.

I glance up at Deke, and a mystified look passes over his face.

“Thank you,” he says, still studying me.

“You act like a woman has never treated you to anything before.”

“You’re the first.”

My eyes widen in surprise. Wow. Are most women like Sasha? Ones who expect a man to pay for everything all the time? That just doesn’t seem fair to me.

“Well, I’m glad we did this today for that reason alone,” I say, smiling at him.

We get our drinks and find a quiet table next to the window, so we can see Armitage Avenue. I bravely remove my sunglasses and drop them into my tote.

“How does it feel?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“I really don’t notice it now,” I say honestly.

Because at this moment, the only thing I’m aware of is getting to spend this day with Deke.

I’m about to start my interrogation but Deke speaks first.

“I need to read
Ask Emily
,” he says, picking up the copy of the
Vibe
that I’ve put down on our table.

“What? You don’t seriously want to read that, do you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, flipping the tabloid open. “I might be underestimating Emily’s ability to advise the population on the trials and tribulations of life.”

I burst out laughing.

Deke grins at me, and his eyes crinkle up in the corners as he does. And as I take a sip of my cappuccino, I already know that he has a good sense of humor.

“Here we go,” Deke says. He clears his throat and begins reading. “
Dear Emily, I don’t know what to do. My last boyfriend cheated on me. I’m with a new guy now, but I’m always reading his text messages when he leaves his phone out and checking his Connectivity page to see who he’s been talking to. I trust him completely, but I always want to know what he’s doing. But this is normal, isn’t it? Sincerely, Social Media Checker in Wicker Park.
”

He lifts his eyes from the paper and glances up at me. “Got that?”

“I’m with you,” I say. “Go on.”

“Here’s Emily’s answer:
Dear Social Media Checker, It’s obvious he must be untrustworthy if you are checking his accounts—
” Deke abruptly stops reading and glances up at me. “Are you
kidding
me? That’s her advice?”