3
“Can I get you anything else?” The server stood in front of me, collecting my empty plate and half-filled coffee cup. Her attempts at starting a conversation with me were fruitless. It’s not her fault, though; she didn’t know that I had no interest. Her eyes darted to my muscles, and her lips pressed together.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you,” I said, forcing my lips into a believable smile.
“Umm,” she said as she reached into her apron, pulling out a small pad and pen. She scribbled on the cream-colored paper and slid it across the table. “I’m off at 10 PM.” Her ass brushed against my left bicep as she walked past me. I tapped my fingers against the wooden table before picking it up.
Jewel. Call me! 587-3348
The paper crumbled in my palms. I leaned against the back of the chair as the paper dissolved in the glass of water on the table. Sorry Jewel, I’m pre-occupied with someone else. I wasn’t a fan of unwanted attention. I missed the scrawny, invisible boy that I used to be. When I graduated high school and joined the army, bulking became inevitable. Now I couldn’t even walk down the street without women’s eyes popping out of their heads. A short blonde server carried a mint mojito on a round tray to a table near the back of the restaurant. A tall and curvy woman with copper-red hair, a button nose, and brown eyes sat in the booth. When I first saw Samantha, her features struck a chord, and I had no choice; I had to pursue her. Our flight from London landed in New York. We were strangers, and she had no idea that I would be following her all the way home.
A brunette walked past my table. I winched as her mousy voice shouted Samantha’s name. I recognized her from all of Samantha’s social media posts. Samantha was a divorced Chicago socialite. That’s all I knew about her when I first looked into her background. I followed her to Chicago to see where she lived, how she lived, and who she associated with, and as each week passed, I continued to lose interest.
A genuine woman is what I craved. Samantha had a coldness to her, and it cloaked her. She had no soul, she felt no pain, and the only thing she cared about was the zeros in her bank account. I needed someone who could make me happy, someone who could save me, heal me. A sharp pain radiated through my jaw as I glared at the utter disappointment in front of me. I regretted not doing more research on her before I invested in a condo and planted myself here in the windy city. I didn’t desire her anymore; she no longer made my mouth water and my heart race. She couldn’t make me happy. Her laughter echoed through the restaurant, and she dug her fingers into her purse to retrieve her wallet. It was Thursday afternoon, and like clockwork, she finished her day drinking by 1 PM before heading to the spa. I wouldn’t be following her, though; my obsession with her ended today. I placed two crisps twenty-dollar bills on the table and left.
My leather jacket squeaked as my arms seesawed back and forth with each stride. The late afternoon air sent a chill down my spine as it swept past me. The sides of my phone indented the palm of my hand as my thumb hovered over the locked notepad icon. Heat washed over me as I scrolled the long list of details that belonged to her. Wasted time is what I hated more than anything. Time was imperative. The note slid into the trash can once I pressed delete—what a waste of time.
“Hey! Jackass, don’t you see the cone!” a voice yelled. His thick eyebrows knitted, and his eyes squinted as he glared up at me.
“The cone!” he yelled once more. I looked behind me to see a small orange cone toppled over on the grated metal.
“Didn’t see it. Just like I didn’t see you.” The short man huffed and attempted to size me up but was interrupted by a soft voice.
“It’s okay. We got the shot.” My eyes slid to a woman on the left of me. I blinked as I consumed every inch of her. Her legs were a mile long, her skin pale, and her hair a sweet sunset red. Tiny freckles splattered across her t-zone, resembling little stars glowing in the sun.
“Whatever you say, Dalia. I’ll get these over to the agency.” The short man tinkered with his camera then shoved it into the black backpack that sat next to the cone.
Dalia. Dalia. My tongue flicked over each syllable. I repeated it under my breath once more. It was sweet, innocent, and pure. She grabbed onto the belt and loosened it until it fell to the side. I could almost see a twinkle in her coffee-colored eyes, but then they slid away. My legs became heavy, like someone tied fifty-pound weights to my ankles. She turned on her heels, severing the fixation I desperately tried to hold onto. Her figure became smaller as she disappeared into the crowd of people that saturated the sidewalk, and that’s when it hit me. Dalia was the one, and I would do anything to make her mine.