Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 2

  “Juliette! Is that you?”

  I spot Maggie strutting toward us.

  “Maggie! Hey!” I exclaim in excitement—it feels good to see a familiar face.

  She pulls me into a hug and whispers into my ear, “Who is the guy?” I give her a fake smile, but she completely misses it. She introduces herself to John, even though she’ll never see him again. “How did you two meet?” Maggie asks, eyeing us both.

  “Blind date,” John says without delay.

  He just went for it—the truth. Maggie doesn’t need to know all these details. We could have come up with some cute story about how we met at the game, locking eyes across the packed stadium and knew we needed to talk to each other.

  “Who set you up?” she asks as her whole face lights up. It’s as if her entire perky little frame is radiating energy. She can calm her chakras down a few notches.

  “Grace. She works with Juliette.” All the details spill out of John like he’s on trial. Why can’t he shut up and consult me before giving Maggie unnecessary information?

  “I work with them too,” she exclaims. “I didn’t know you were looking to be set up, Juliette?”

  This date is getting weirder by the minute. Does she have someone she wants me to date too? I go from dateless four weeks ago to two, possibly three, dates in a blink of an eye. I really don’t want all the ladies at work to think they can be my matchmaker.

  “Next!” the teen behind the counter screams in our direction.

  John takes the lead. “One corn dog, please.”

  Red flag number four: He just ordered one motherfucking corn dog. One. Just for himself. No corn dogs for Juliette paid for by John.

  Maybe blind dates are supposed to be a ‘go dutch’ type of thing? No. This entire thing feels off.

  I’m not quite sure John is truly in the market for a relationship. He’s certainly not acting like it.

  Maggie gives me a curious look while John stands at the register waiting for his solo corn dog. What a wiener.

  “When you want to go on a real date with a real man, call me. I know just the guy,” Maggie whispers into my ear. “Bye, John! It was nice to meet you.”

  And just like that—she’s long gone.

  “Next.”

  Walking up to stand directly next to John, I place an order for a corn dog plus a medium soda. I glance over in his direction and give him an awkward smile, which he returns back to me.

  The kid hands me my order as I place a couple bucks in his tip jar.

  “Juliette! Juliette!” My friends swarm us as we’re walking back to the bleachers. They introduce themselves to John and all pass me questioning looks. They are probably wondering why my date looks like he just left the gym. His entire t-shirt is now covered in sweat.

  “Hey man.” John gently pulls on my arm to separate us from the group. “Your drink looks awesome. I’m going to grab myself one. Do you want to stay with your friends while I go?”

  The polite thing would be to let him have a sip of my drink, but no.

  “Alright, we will be right here.” I point toward the section where our seats are located.

  “Did he just call you ‘man’?” Whitney asks. I nod and we both bust out laughing when he’s out of hearing distance.

  As the game goes on, John never returns. And the truth is that I don’t miss him. When I’m walking back to my car, my phone vibrates indicating a new text message.

  From: John

  Hey. I ran into my brother and his girlfriend. Just felt kind of weird with a whole group of people I didn’t know. Sorry.

  Red flag number five: He disappears and sends a text message instead.

  Red flag number six: He’s not comfortable around a group of people he doesn’t know. That’s how an attorney handles himself? He can’t win over strangers? That seems extremely odd.

  Good thing I secretly wished he’d never return when he left for his soda.

  I’m done with all this bullshit dating. Swearing off men sounds like a great idea right about now.

  I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Grace. Her heart is going to be broken. I bet she’s already picked out her bridesmaid dress.

  4

  The DJ is spinning the hottest jams, neon disco lights are brightening up the room, and everyone is dancing as they have the time of their lives.

  At a club?

  Not a chance.

  “Anymore punch, Ms. Roman?” a tenth-grade girl asks me.

  I pour more punch into a plastic cup. Chaperoning the homecoming dance is more my style than a night out clubbing. I’ve never been the party kind of girl; some would say that’s probably why I’m still single.

  “Juliette, I’m happy you’re here,” Eve, the school therapist, says, approaching the table I’m standing at. “I was trapped with Olga. She keeps pushing kids apart and telling them they need to save room for Jesus.”

  I laugh. I believe our eighty-year-old librarian would say that.

  The rules at this private school are ridiculous; however, too many students push the limits. They live very privileged lives, and outside of school they are not reprimanded. If we don’t step in every once in awhile, someone is likely to get knocked up, and at Riverside there are no teen moms allowed. They’d be sent away for nine months until their parents welcomed them back into society, by pretending the entire thing never happened.

  “You are welcome to keep me company on punch duty.”

  “I’d love to!” Eve claps her hands together.

  If she weren’t so sweet, Eve would be the girl you’d love to hate. She’s classy, graceful, and always seems to know the right thing to say, wear, eat—you name it. Yet, she’s incredibly humble, which makes her impossible to dislike.

  “So Grace told me she recently set you up with one of her husband’s family members. How did it go?” Eve asks.

  “Not good.” I grimace at the memory of Mr. Sweaty.

  Eve hands a few students cups of punch and then turns toward me. “Get this … she wants to pawn him off on me now.”

  I grip her shoulders and give her a little shake. “Run. Save yourself.”

  Eve laughs as she pushes a lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder. “I told her I’m not in the market to be set up right now, but I’ll let her know later.” She winks. “We both know that means never.”

  That’s when it hits me that Eve is in the single market. This goddess of a woman is on the prowl for men, just like me. I’m royally screwed.

  I’ve always been curious what other women are like on these dating apps. Does Eve use the apps? Maybe she knows of a more elite way to go about dating.

  I can’t dwell on that for much longer though because I spot trouble coming our way. Patrick O’ Rielly, a freshman football player, is stumbling in our direction. His face looks green as he holds onto his stomach. He’s staring directly at the gymnasium floor and reeks of alcohol. Alcohol that he shouldn’t be drinking at his age.

  Without trying to draw attention, I grab a trashcan and wheel it in Patrick’s direction. But I don’t make it. He empties the contents of his stomach onto the floor, as well as on my pants and shoes.

  A janitor rushes over to clean up what Patrick managed to get all over the ground. The smell from the vomit makes its way to my nostrils, now I’m going to throw up.

  Rushing into the nearest bathroom, I scrub my pants feverishly while plugging my nose. This is absolute torture. When I’ve got it as good as it’s going to get, I grab my purse and leave the school. I don’t even bother to say goodbye to anyone. They all witnessed the vomit fiasco; they know why I’m leaving.

  On the long walk to my apartment, I pass what I now know is Jackie’s. Without a second thought, I push the door open and find a seat at the bar. I need a drink, stat.

  “What can I get ya?” The bartender asks.

  “I’ll take a vodka Red Bull, please.”

  The bartender nods in my direction and slips away.

  A few patrons get up
from their seats near me to sit at the complete opposite end of the bar. I feel their side-eye glares.

  What gives?

  “Sit down with anymore strangers lately?” Clark asks, sliding onto the open barstool next to me.

  “Ha-ha,” I mock. I don’t want to relive the horrible mix-up with Wes. Instead, tonight I want to forget all of my troubles.

  “So…?” He gives me a questioning look.

  “So, what?” I ask, annoyed.

  “Any more date mistakes?”

  It’s as if my dating life is entertainment for the entire world to grill me about. My dates are no one’s business. I’d much rather talk about anything else, or be left alone entirely.

  The bartender slides my drink over as well as a whiskey for Clark, which I never heard him order. He must be a regular. I find it odd because he’s the only person in this bar in a suit. He stands out amongst the rest.

  “Hey Clark,” a voluptuous brunette waitress says before winking as she passes by with a tray full of food.

  Oh yeah, he’s definitely a regular. Every woman knows his goddamn name.

  “Yes, more dates. No, no more mistakes.” I sip my drink and fight back the urge to spit it all over the place. This thing is insanely strong. Is there any Red Bull in here?

  “Can’t handle a little vodka?”

  “Is this how the night is going to go?” I sigh and chug a little more of my drink. I make a dramatic show as I swallow it with ease. I’m dying a little on the inside because it still tastes like crap.

  “What do you mean?” Clark sips his whiskey like a professional.

  “You’re extremely annoying and condescending.”

  “You know you smell like puke, right?”

  I drop my shoulders in defeat. I completely forgot. Thanks for nothing, Patrick.

  I down my entire drink and signal for another. This night is the worst.

  “I was chaperoning the homecoming dance when a student threw up on me. He’s a good kid, but tonight he screwed up,” I ramble while I look down into my empty glass.

  “Do you have a kid?” His quizzical expression reaches me.

  “About one hundred and fifty.”

  “Damn. You get around,” he laughs as his smile reaches his chestnut brown eyes. “And I have to say, you look great for having more than a hundred kids.”

  “Thank you.” I blush at his fake compliment.

  The bartender slides over two more drinks as Clark slips her some cash.

  “So what’s with all the kids?”

  “I’m a teacher,” I answer, taking a big swig of my second drink. “I teach English at Riverside Academy.”

  “The good ol’ homecoming dance. That was a fun time in high school,” Clark says, swirling his whiskey glass around. He’s looking down at the drink as if remembering the good times.

  “Let me guess … you were the homecoming King?” I ask with an edge of sass. I can imagine Clark sitting in a black convertible waving his hand while smiling in the parade. That’s before walking down the football field where a gold crown is placed on his head. “High school glory days?”

  He smiles with a knowing look. King Clark. I bet he nailed the Homecoming Queen in the back of a muscle car or something sleazy like that.

  “I was not the homecoming King. In fact, far from it. I used to fight with the jocks and get kicked out of all school dances.”

  “The bad kid?” I ask in shock, surprised by this revelation. “I pegged you as Mr. Popular, maybe even a jock yourself.”

  “Never a jock. Don’t insult me like that,” he winks at me. “I would have never made the football team.”

  “Why not?” I ask, an image of Clark on the football field evaporating from my mind.

  “I was the skinniest kid at my high school up until senior year when I hit the weight room, and then I was hooked.”

  Clark’s biceps strain out of his black dress shirt—you’d never guess he was ever the skinny guy. I’d bet any money he’s sporting washboard abs under there.

  “If you were skinny, how did you fight?”

  He laughs. “I had a lot of friends who were tough. They’d just stand around me. I guess you could say I delegated out my fighting.”

  That gets a laugh out of me. He looks like the kind of man who still delegates today.

  I don’t have time to ask him more questions, or continue staring at his muscles, because the bartender puts a plate of warm pretzel bites and cheese in front of us. I practically drool. I was so caught up in preparing for the dance, that I forgot to eat dinner. My stomach growls loud enough for both of us to hear.

  “You going to eye fuck that cheese or dig in?” Clark asks, shoving a pretzel in my direction.

  No one has ever spoken to me the way he does. And, as much as I hate to say this, I kind of like it. Vulgarity is not a normal turn on for me, and if anyone else were this straightforward, I’d slap them.

  “Give me the damn thing,” I say, reaching for the pretzel that he’s holding out. But he pulls it back, just out of my reach. “What’s with the tease?”

  He dips the pretzel into the cheese and swirls it around and then slowly brings it to my mouth. I debate whether or not I want to open it for him.

  Who am I kidding? I want whatever he’s offering.

  Parting my lips, Clark brings the pretzel to my mouth as I bite down on the salty treat. Cheese oozes down my lips. Slipping my tongue out to wipe it away, Clark brings his finger to my mouth to clean me up. I end up licking his index finger. His eyes lock on mine. Even though he knew what he was doing, he seems shocked by my action as well.

  “Anything else I can get you two?” the flirty waitress asks. Where did she come from? Why is she breaking up our moment?

  As if she can feel my annoyance, she shoots daggers from her eyes back at me. Two can play at this game, I guess. Has she been with Clark before?

  “We’re all set, Denise,” Clark says.

  “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Denise practically purrs like a cat in heat. She’s no longer looking in my direction whatsoever.

  “You going to eye fuck the waitress or…?” I ask, catching Clark staring a little too long at Denise as she sways her hips from side-to-side towards one of her tables.

  “Does that bother you?” Clark asks.

  Does it? Yes.

  Should it? Absolutely not. He’s free to do whatever he pleases.

  Does it bother me that he asked me that stupid question? Yes, he put me on the spot and embarrassed me on purpose.

  Do I want to put up with a guy like Clark? No.

  Not tonight.

  “Thanks for the drink.” I nod in the direction of his cash on top of our tab. Getting up from the bar stool, I say, “It was nice running into you again. Well, that’s not true but it felt like the polite thing to say.”

  And with that, I ditch out of the bar without looking back. Screw that dude and his “bad boy” attitude. I’d rather be with a former jock.

  I’m going to browse the eLove app tonight and see if I can find one—after I wash the rest of the puke off my shoes and clothes.

  5

  Clark

  I stare at the donation papers for a new wing at St. Marcus hospital as my assistant, Karyn, storms into my office.

  “You finished with those forms yet?” the feisty redhead asks. She’s holding what looks like a three-hundred-page novel. “I have more for you to sign. These aren’t as fun as donating to a hospital though.” She plops them down on my desk. They make a loud thud upon impact. “But they need to get done.”

  “Why do you always show up with more work for me?”

  “Because I’m here to keep you in line and on your toes,” she says before placing a black coffee down on my desk beside the forms.

  “Thank you,” I say, picking up the drink. “I’m glad you interned for my father all those years ago. You’re the best we’ve got.”

  Karyn’s hand rests on the hip she just popped out to the
side. Great, she’s angry. When women are angry, I know. Most of the time it has something to do with me. Most of the time I don’t care, but that’s not true with Karyn. She’s vital to my business operations.

  “All those years ago?” She taps her foot loudly against the floor and squints her eyes at me. “I’m not a senior citizen. I interned for your father when I was eighteen. You little prick.”

  Karyn is the only person allowed to speak however she wants to me. That’s because she’s been working for Chambers & Company for thirty years. I was just three years old when she started working for my parents, and she’s been a staple in our lives.

  As she turns to leave my office, I yell out, “Before you go to lunch, I need a favor.”

  Juliette

  Grace waltzes into my classroom during my prep hour with a bouquet of pink and white, long-stemmed roses.

  “These are for you,” she says, placing them on my desk in their crystal vase. She stares at me. “Well, who are they from?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Sliding the white envelope off its plastic stick, I find a note. If I don’t look now she’s going to be hovering over me all day.

  Princess –

  You’re a wild woman. You don’t hide it well. Grab another drink with me.

  Friday night, 8pm, Jackie’s.

  Sincerely Yours,

  Not the Athlete, possibly the Criminal

  Is he making a Breakfast Club reference? That’s my favorite movie of all time.

  Smiling down at the card, I laugh before remembering Grace is peering over my shoulder.

  “Does that card say criminal?” she asks, pushing the black-rimmed glasses up her nose as she looks over my shoulder.

  Pulling the card out of her view, I slip it back into the envelope. “It’s from a friend. Not a boyfriend. Calm down.”

  “A prison pen pal kind of friend?” She raises her eyebrows.

  “No,” I say, laughing and shaking my head. “I’m not ready for something like that.”

  “You never know,” she says winking before leaving my classroom as the bell rings and my students flock in.