Nate (The Princesses of Silicon Valley - Book 4) (5 page)

While Jamie showers and changes, I type “Juliette Cole” into Google. A link to her Facebook page and her Leland alumni information comes up. She’s pretty and smart. It looks like she graduated this past spring with a Masters in Engineering and Computer Science. This must make her around twenty-four or twenty-five. There are also links to some papers she’s written on k-means algorithms, and The Apriori algorithm. Pulling up the papers, not surprisingly, it’s all algorithms and charts with very few understandable words.

I bring up a presentation she gave at a conference; it’s definitely her. She’s articulate, all dressed up, her eyes flash dark, and her face looks pale since the camera doesn’t catch how luminescent her skin is. At the soccer game her hair was held back in a braid, on the video it’s down. Jamie interrupts my search as we head out to meet up with some of her friends.

The next morning I’m still thinking about Juliette Cole. During my first rotation in Jacksonville, I got into the habit of texting Mariana every morning. It became part of my routine, like brushing my teeth. After she left it was a painful habit to stop, I’d always feel like I forgot to do something as I headed to work. Performing a search on Facebook, Juliette’s name comes up. I send her a professional text hoping that I can use it as a good opening:

Nate:
I hope no unpleasant side effects, are you feeling well today?

Heading out to my meetings at the local sports medicine clinic, I see that she’s responded.

Juliette:
Feeling fine, I guess it was the fast medical attention. Did your sister have a problem with you saving the opposition?

Well, it’s not flirty, but then again she was friendly, not flirty. I wait until the next morning; I wouldn’t want to come across as desperate. This time I add a little flirt to my text.

Me:
I’m not that fast but I am thorough.

Juliette:
Are you a thorough doctor or do you just have an ankle fetish?

OK, that was a flirt, let’s see what kind of offer I get from this practice, I just might be seeing more of Juliette Cole. After two days of meeting the different docs and getting some hands on how they run their practice, I’m starting to think that this might be my next job. Juliette Cole is not the reason I’d move, but I take meeting her as sign that Northern California should be my next destination.

The next morning I flirt back with:
I have a lot of interests and my fetishes aren’t limited to ankles.

Juliette:
Name one of your interests?

As I drive to the medical offices with a smile on my face, I wonder if it’s flirting, or just having a woman that I want to flirt with that’s making me happy? Too bad she didn’t go with fetishes, now that could have been fun. She seems like a sweet, good girl. I think I might be ready for one like that.

Me:
I like playing hockey

Juliette:
Is your sister as big a fan of your hockey games as you are of her soccer games?

Clever girl. I bet she figured out I’m in Minnesota and is trying to find out more about me. I should give her a bit of help.

Me:
Hopefully she will be soon, I’m currently interviewing for a position in Palo Alto

About a week in, I get a departure from her G-rated flirty texts.

Juliette:
My roommate’s dating Luke Tomlin. She scored us tickets to today’s football game.

WOW, now that’s unexpected. Who’d think a conservative girl like Juliette would be hanging out with pro-athletes. Did I read her wrong?

I’m off on Sunday, after a double workout, the MMA studio in the morning then a hockey game in the early afternoon. I join my buddies at the local sports bar. The San Francisco team is in the game of the week. The weather in Santa Clara looks beautiful; Juliette is in for a good game. As they deliver my burger, I almost fall out of my seat. On TV, they flash to a gorgeous blond throwing kisses to Tomlin…and next to the hot blond is a women that looks just like Juliette. Picking up my phone I scroll to our conversation thread, she said her roommate’s dating Tomlin. That was not a figment of my imagination, that has to be Juliette on TV.

As the game proceeds, I’m transfixed. Will they flash on that blond again, is it really Juliette she’s with? With that quick flash on the screen, Juliette looks hot, but in the couple of seconds it took me to register the face I’m not sure if it’s really her. After they win back the ball, they flash on Tomlin’s girlfriend again, Juliette is clearly in the frame, leaning with her elbows on her knees. She has a demure, sweet smile on her face. Although, I’m sure no one is looking at her face but me, since her tight low cut shirt provides a perfect cleavage shot, and she has an amazing rack. Is this the same women I met last week and have been texting? The women on TV looks like sex on a stick. One of my buddies, hits my arm, “Lombard, wipe the drool off your chin.”

Shaking my head I point to the screen, “Last Sunday I met that women when I was visiting my sister. I’ve been texting her all week.”

“The blond?” he asks with a face filled with shock and awe.

“No, Juliette, the brunette,” I tell him with a smile. Damn, those soccer clothes definitely hid a hot little body.

“Man, I’ve heard stories about you, but I thought it was all bull,” one of the other guys says.

I’m now even more transfixed on the game, while I ponder, who is Juliette?

Before halftime they flash on the blond and Juliette again. All the guys at my table start cheering. Juliette’s standing with her hands over her head and her hot, curvy body in full display in that tight top. Now I’m even more determined to have a date with her when I go back for the partner interview.

In the second half. they flash on Juliette and her roommate three more times. They’re joking in the booth about how hot Tomlin’s girlfriend is. One of the broadcasters is totally smitten. Someone figures out she was in a beer commercial a few years ago. When I first got to Rochester the poster of the hot blond in a bikini was at the bar I frequented.

In the morning, after spending a night fantasizing about Juliette in that top, I debate about what to text her, finally deciding on:
Great football game, did you have fun?

My phone beeps on my way to the ER.

Juliette:
It’s always fun when they win. Are you a fan?

Usually I wait until the next day to respond, but her hot body in that red T-shirt plagued my dreams.

Me:
Buffalo’s my team—they’re not doing as well as your guys.

Juliette:
Buffalo?

Me:
That’s where I grew up.

Juliette:
There’s always next year…or you could cheer for a better team.

Me:
blasphemy!

Juliette:
So you pray every Sunday to the Buffalo team?

Me:
I pray every Sunday FOR the Buffalo team.

By now I’m at the ER. My attending gives me a strange look, “You sure are in a good mood.” Shaking my head and unable to contain my silly smile, I turn off my phone, put it in my pocket, and scrub in.

The next morning when I text Juliette, I see she’s responded to my last text.

Juliette:
That was my first NFL game – lots of fun – need to do it again.

If I get this job I just might be taking you.

Me:
My buddies didn’t believe me when I said you were the woman in California I’ve been texting.

Juliette:
I had no idea Cassie and I were on national TV. I couldn’t understand how everyone knew I went to the game.

Texting with Mariana was easy—shit like, “
have a good day,
” or “
Charm crazy patient,
” or “
I’ll be in OR 5 until 3
.” Reading over our texts I see they’re rather lame, I’m not even sure what to write; though this girl is hot and I’m assuming single. If I don’t work on keeping something going, someone else is going steal my game.

I’m about to send her my good morning message when I realize that last night she sent me a picture of her ass. It’s not a selfie, but it is a great ass shot. Did one of her friends do this as a prank? Whatever, this gives me an idea. Yeah, I’m not about to send a dick shot, I still don’t get what’s with that. Instead, I stand in front of the mirror and take a selfie of my tattoo. After cropping it, I think, this is fun, a lot better than trying to think of what next to say. Our texts continue on, with interesting G-rated selfies. She sends me a picture of her lips puckered up for a kiss, so I send her a picture of my back flexed. Finally, I get a call back from the practice in Palo Alto.

As soon as I have a plane reservation, I set up a date with Juliette.

Driving out of SFO, I use my phone app to navigate over to Juliette’s place. I’m excited to see her. That low cut red shirt with her boobs in full display is seared in my mind. Is her skin as luminescent as I remember; is she as spunky? I know she’s hot. Finally, I arrive at a tree lined residential street. With a deep breath to manage my energy, I ring the doorbell.

    She opens the door and with a sweet friendly smile says, “Hey.”

She’s prettier than I remember, wearing running pants and a matching top. I think Lycra is my favorite material as I coolly reply, “Hey.”

She invites me in.

As she grabs her phone and purse she asks, “Do you want to drive or do you want me to drive?”

Years of living with Mariana compels me to skeptically ask, “Do you know where we’re going?”

She looks taken aback as she answers, “Yes, I hope so. It’s not too far from here.”

Shit, I didn’t mean to offend her, though explaining myself would be worse than just letting my comment ride.

Pointing through the open door towards the hills she continues, “It’s just at the top of the mountain.”

Reaching over, I pick up the bag of food she’s prepared. “I’ll drive,” I tell her. Our conversation is stilted, I was hoping with the texting our first date would be easier. Searching for something to say I ask, “Do you do this often?” This sounds weird, as I clarify, “hike and wine taste that is.”

She pauses before answering, “Surprisingly, not that often.” Then she pauses again as she wistfully continues, “It’s a great way to spend the day, but I guess living here I get busy with life.”

We talk about school and why I’m in town as we drive down the road.

Juliette abruptly changes the direction of our conversation. “We’re getting close to the street we want to take. It’s up there on the right. I should warn you, it’s all up hill with hairpin turns, the road is narrow, and there’re a lot of cyclists.”

I flash her a quick look before saying, “Wait, you’re taking me on a steep, narrow, twisting road with cyclists, to go wine tasting?”

She chuckles, then says, “Yeah, kind of an oxymoron.”

Oxymoron? Cyclists and wine tasting are not really compatible activities, I think, and then catch myself saying out loud, “I don’t think that’s the correct word.”

“What would you call it?” she questions.

The only word that comes to my mind is, “Ironic…?”

“Ironic? Yeah, I guess that would work, or maybe juxtaposed,” she responds.

As we drive up the hill Juliette gets quiet. I’m glad she’s not one of those women that fills every second with conversation. I need downtime to reflect.

After parking, Juliette tells me, “It’s only a mile or two walk to the view.”

The blue sky and warm temperature feels nice as I shed my fleece and grab the water bottle I took on the plane.

We walk down a wide dirt path in what looks like a high meadow. The path takes us through a small grove of trees. As we enter a clearing, she walks me to a lookout.

“How familiar are you with the bay area?” she asks.

“I’ve been here a few times—to San Francisco, Napa, and Monterey,” I explain.

She starts pointing out landmarks, but all I’m really interested in is her. She’s pretty, but in a way that women who don’t care about being pretty are. Some good looking female doctors I know are that way; they’re women that don’t derive their ego from their looks. She has an unencumbered attitude. She was ready when I came to the door, no games. She probably doesn’t change her outfit three times before she goes out either. Juliette’s definitely different than Mariana, which is good.

“What?” she says with a questioning smile once she realizes I’m looking at her, not the view.

I just shake my head. A pretty girl like her should be used to guys looking at her, which is curious. She changes the subject, “Drink up; you don’t sweat that much here because it’s so dry. People from back east never realize how dehydrated they’re getting.”

Drinking up, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her as she points while saying, “There’s a spigot with potable water. Let’s fill up before we head back to go wine tasting.”

The conversation becomes easy, and fun as we head back to the car on the same path we just took. She then guides me down the hill to the winery where we park.

“I recommend we put something in our stomachs before wine tasting,” she says.

Grabbing the bag with food out of the back, I say, “You lead the way.”

There’s a picnic area near the tasting room. She’s chosen some nice cheeses, fresh bread, and fruit. The weather feels like September, the air is warm with just a hint of a cool breeze, the sun feels good. At home, the leaves are off the trees and we’ve already had snow flurries. When we’re done eating, I gather up what’s left and put the bag back in the car. We meet back up; my hands just itch to touch her. With my hand on her back, I walk with her through the door and into the tasting room. My hand up to my elbow tingles from contact.

We each choose a wine series to taste and stand shoulder to shoulder. We’re so close I can’t help but look at her soft pink lips and wonder what they feel like, what sounds she’ll make when she comes. Pulling myself back, I tell myself, this isn’t a hookup, I need to slow myself down. Juliette’s a nice girl, the type I’ve spent most of my life avoiding. I can tell by her body language that if I push her too fast she’ll run. Then again, catching her might actually be fun.

We share our wines, every time we touch my skin sparks, I can tell I’m having the same effect on her, since her eyes get wide and her pupils dilate. As we continue to taste wine, she starts loosening up. She even starts getting a little flirtier. I find myself captivated with her shy, flirty side. Every moment I’m with this woman, I want to be with her more. I can feel her sucking me in, after this last year it feels exceptionally good.

Buying a couple bottles of the wine we both liked best, I figure I can bring one tonight to the partner dinner and leave one with Juliette. It will be a thank you for the nice day and an excuse to have dinner with her in the future.

Driving her back to her apartment, she starts exiting the car without her purse. Living with Mariana, who was constantly loosing things, has made me hyper aware as I remind Juliette, “Don’t forget your purse.”

She gives me a nice smile and a small shrug before exclaiming, “Oh, thanks,” then she chuckles. “But I wouldn’t have gotten too far without my keys.”

Walking her to her door, I can feel that she wouldn’t be receptive to a kiss. Which makes me wonder what’s going on, I know she was getting turned on while we were wine tasting. She must not be up for a hookup, which is cool. Not wanting to spook her, I hand her the bottle of wine saying, “I really enjoyed our day. Can I give you this bottle with the hope we can share it in the near future?”

Getting another one of her sweet, shy, flirty smiles she answers, “Sure, today was…nice.”

I stand on her stoop watching as she closes the door.
Juliette Cole, now this is worth pursuing.

At my hotel room after cleaning up for dinner, I shoot Juliette an e-mail.

Me:
Great day, thanks for being my guide.