Love Nouveau (12 page)

Rock throwing aside, I really miss you, too…but probably not as much as you miss me. After all, I
am
pretty awesome. ;)

Ivy

P.S. How’d you get my email?

Feeling fifty pounds lighter, I float off my bed and traipse into the bathroom. I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth when I hear my phone ringing from the other room.

“Huwwo?” I muffle into the phone over the sound of my faucet.

“Uh, Ivy?” a male voice asks hesitantly. “It’s Phoenix.”

Oh, shit.
I quickly spit the toothpaste from my mouth and shut the water off in what is arguably my classiest move to date.

“Hey! Sorry, I thought you were Rachel.” I try to control my emotions so I don’t come off as overeager. It’s a good thing he can only hear me and not see the ridiculous grin on my face.

“I’m so sorry,” he croons into the phone, “but my phone battery died earlier, so I didn’t get your text messages until a little bit ago. I rarely use this thing. I’ll try and do a better job of keeping it juiced up. Is this a bad time?”

“No, I was just getting ready for bed. How was your day?”

“Long. I spent most of the day working on some blueprints from home and dealing with an overdramatic Sully on the side. Yours?”

I know firsthand how draining it can be dealing with other people. Dealing with Genevieve was a full-time job growing up. Hell, we’re not even close anymore and it’s still a full-time job.

“Sounds better than mine. Bridezilla towed me all around Chicago obsessing over mundane details.” I yawn and lie back into the cloud of pillows on my bed. “Did you know that you can have monograms hand painted on rose petals in gold leaf? Or that you can have a cake built into three-dimensional shapes?” The absurdity of Genevieve’s wedding decisions knows no bounds.

Phoenix chuckles softly in my ear. “All in a day’s work, maid of honor.”

He’s such a good sport letting me unload. Normally I hate talking on the phone, but there’s an ease with Phoenix on the other end of the line. My guard is down and I willingly offer up all more information than what is socially acceptable.

“Seriously, though. How’d you get my email?”

“Well … I tried Googling you.” He sounds a little embarrassed by his confession.

Admittedly, I’m a bit flattered that he has taken to cyber-stalking me. “And what did you find?” I bite my lip flirtatiously, even though he can’t see me.

“Nothing, actually. It’s like you don’t even exist online. And believe me, I tried just about everything.”

And that makes perfect sense considering Ivy Phillips does not exist outside of the boundaries that I put in place. Had he been Googling Ivy Cotter he would find pages of high school swim meet results, newspaper articles from my time on the Junior League board, and all of my tomfoolery plastered on my Facebook page. There is no reason he needs to see old pictures of me with Matt. Or me dancing on bars. Or me on one knee taking a beer bong like a champ. Though that was one of my crowning collegiate moments.

I make a mental note to go through and clean up my Facebook pictures … just in case.

But the truth is, I like being incognito with him. I can be
me
without my family’s notoriety getting in the way. He gets to be my little secret. And I, his.

“Anyway … the morning after the bachelor party one of Sully’s brother’s roommates said that you were his Art History TA. So when I couldn’t find you online, I reached out to him to get it. It only put me back a case of beer.”

“For being so anti-technology, you sure know how to use it to your advantage.”

“I never said I was anti-technology. I only said that I much prefer the company of an engaging person rather than the backside of their cellphone.”

When I look at the clock, I’m shocked to see it’s nearing one in the morning and we’ve been talking for more than three hours. It feels like we’ve been on the phone for thirty minutes. I hear him stifle a yawn on the other end of the line.

“I better let you go, sleepyhead. You’ve got work to take care of in the morning.”

Phoenix hums softly into the phone, a sign of contentment. “Promise to text me tomorrow?”

“I’ll see your text, and raise you a phone call.”

“Then I will have hit the jackpot.” The smile in his voice warms me. “Good night, Ivy.”

“Night, Phoenix.”

As I fall asleep, I succumb to the overwhelming urge to take a gamble on this man, this distance, and this undeniable connection threading us together.

WITHOUT EVEN KNOCKING, RACHEL BARRELS through my bedroom door and stands at the edge of my bed, arms crossed. She looks livid. But that’s probably because she is. The last time I saw her this angry, Garrett Gregory had ditched her at senior prom and went back to his ex-girlfriend.

I have no idea what time it is, but I’m exhausted and just want to go to finish texting with Phoenix and just go to bed. That seems to be all I do these days, not that I’m complaining.

When I’m not talking with Phoenix on the phone, we’re texting. When we’re not texting, I’m thinking about him, daydreaming of all the wonderful things we would do together if our current circumstances were different. Envisioning all of the scandalous things I want to do to him … the sounds he’d make … the way he’d taste … he was consuming my every thought in the most amazing ways possible.

Nearly every night this week, I have stayed up late texting and talking with him on the phone. Last night, or rather this morning, we even saw the clock hit four in the morning. He’s just so easy to talk to. Being on the phone with him is like slipping into my favorite pair of yoga pants—comfortable and inviting. We talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. And I learn something new and endearing with each call. Phoenix has quickly become my favorite reason to lose sleep.

Much to Rachel’s chagrin, I’ve blown her off—twice—so I really shouldn’t be surprised to see her standing in my doorway with a pissed off look on her face.

“What the hell, Ivy?”

“What? I’m tired. Leave me be.” I bury my head under a pillow.

“No. You’re texting. With him. And you were supposed to be at my apartment an hour ago. This is so unlike you.”

I rollover and glance at the clock, then groan. It’s only eight forty-five. I could have sworn it was after midnight. I sit up and look at Rachel.

“You look cute,” I say with a smile, hoping the compliment will take down her edge. Only Rachel can pull off bright red skinny jeans, a backless black top and studded heels. Her blonde bombshell status certainly doesn’t hurt her appeal either.

“I know. And it’s because we were supposed to get cute together and go dancing. Now get your tiny ass up. You’re not ditching me again. Who knows how many more nights out we‘ll have together.”

She’s right, even though I honestly have no recollection of making plans with her.

Just last week, Rachel was pushing me to go for it, to be with him any way I possibly can. And now that I’m putting myself out there for this long-distance … well, whatever
this
is, she chastises me. I sigh and remind myself that even in the midst of relationships, we always make time for each other.

I drag myself out from the comforts of my bed and slip into the bathroom. This past week I have mastered the art of the five-minute shower and I’m ready to go in record time.

“You can’t wear that.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I look down at my favorite pair of black jeans and plaid, capped-sleeve shirt.

“We’re going to The Masonry. You have to actually look like you give a shit.”

I stifle an annoyed groan. She’s right. I would never even be let in the doors of The Masonry looking like this. I pull Rachel into my closet and grant her permission to play dress up.

Minutes later we’re hailing a cab as I yank my mini skirt down over my ass—no bending this evening.

We’re only a few blocks away from the club when my phone chimes from my clutch. Rachel rolls her eyes.

“Just this once. When we get out of the cab, that boy toy does not exist. You’re mine,” she says, gesturing for me to answer it.

Phoenix:
You never answered my last question. Is everything okay?

Ivy:
Sorry about that. Rachel showed up and dragged me out for a night on the town.

The past few days have been filled with playful rapid-fire questions back and forth getting to know each other better.

MONDAY …

Ivy:
Greatest embarrassment?

Phoenix:
Hitting the side of Mom’s house the moment I realized I couldn’t drive manual transmission. What about you?

Ivy:
If I told you I’d have to kill you.

TUESDAY …

Phoenix:
Favorite song?

Ivy:
Zeppelin’s
Trampled Under Foot.
Yours? And answer carefully
…
I’m judging you.

Phoenix:
Everlong
by Foo Fighters. Greatest love song of all time.

WEDNESDAY …

Ivy:
Cats or dogs?

Phoenix:
Dogs. Cats are the root of all evil.

THURSDAY …

Phoenix:
Ever get caught fooling around?

Ivy:
Yeah. With BOB.

Phoenix:
Capital letters? He must’ve been pretty good.

Ivy:
Not exactly. Rachel walked in on me with my Battery Operated Boyfriend junior year
…

Ivy:
Now I have to kill you.

We’ve learned all sorts of charming—and mortifying—nuggets about each other this week. But strangely, I want him to know my ridiculous quirks.

I quickly flip back through his previous texts, wondering what he asked. My first concert? Oh man, if I tell the truth I will undoubtedly lose all of my music cred with him, but I don’t want to lie to him either.

Ivy:
Hanson. But only because Rachel made me go with her

Ivy:
The first concert that I actually wanted to see? U2.

Phoenix:
Hanson? I never pegged you for liking girl groups ;) Mine was Radiohead in Grant Park.

Ivy:
OMG! I was at that show too!

Phoenix:
Remind me to tell you how I got backstage during the encore. Have fun tonight.

Ivy:
Same to you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.

I make eye contact with Rachel and theatrically toss my phone back into my purse for safekeeping.

“Thank you!” she says with a smile.

The Masonry is the club where you go to see and be seen, and I would much rather hit up a dive bar in my pajamas than be dressed to the nines, but I do it for Rachel because she is the only one who puts up with my shit and doesn’t complain. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

The music is so loud that my ribcage vibrates and the visibility is near zero. Rachel grabs me by the hand and weaves us through the crowd up to the bar. It takes us nearly fifteen minutes to get the bartender’s attention, then we each order two drinks and double-fist our way through the crowd to try and find a place to sit.

We’re fortunate enough to spy an open table on the other side of the dance floor, so we quickly make our way over and saddle up on the silver barstools. I quickly toss back my first old fashioned and trace my fingers over the rim of the empty glass. The cool burn makes its way down to my belly and I feel warm all over instantly.

I zone out and let Rachel ramble about Eric and decorating her new apartment and job hunting. I’m not sure exactly what details she gives, but I look up when I feel the back of her hand swat my arm. A pair of attractive twenty-somethings approaches our table and gesture for us to join them on the dance floor.

Politely, I shake my head no. I’m not shy, and under normal circumstances I would have been on the dance floor fifteen minutes ago, but dancing with strange men just feels wrong right now. Like I’d be cheating. I’d much rather be dancing with Phoenix. Thinking back to the house party before I blacked out, I remember how in sync our bodies were as we moved to the music.

I try to shoo Rachel out onto the dance floor, but she insists on staying with me and takes a rain check with the guys before they leave, dejected.

“This is weird, right?” I shout over the music.

“What is?”

“This,” I say with a shrug. “The way I’m feeling. We’re sitting here in this club, surrounded by hot guys who want to buy us drinks and dance, and all I can think about is Phoenix.” The truth is, it is taking all of my willpower not to pick up the phone and call him and curl up in his voice.

“You have got it so bad.” She grins warmly as she plucks the olive from her martini and pops it into her mouth. Her smile tells me that she’s genuinely happy for me right now. I look out over the mob of people dancing and stifle a yawn. As much as I’d rather not be here, I really do enjoy Rachel’s company.