Blue Plaid

Duct Tape

In which Stella contemplates the many uses of duct tape. 

“Thanks for shopping with us. Come back soon!”

I shot the saleswoman a polite smile as I pulled my shopping bags from the counter and looped them over my arm. As they settled in the crook of my elbow, I dug through my purse to pull out my phone.

After typing in the passcode, I groaned in frustration when I noticed no new messages. I had been texting Georgia incessantly for the past hour and she had yet to respond.

I’d recently been hired to be the face of a casual chic clothing company that had just gone national. As a result, and in an effort to promote their clothing, they’d given me a budget of one thousand dollars to spend in their stores. And as much as I adored clothing, I wasn’t particularly good at shopping. Georgia was generally extremely helpful in that area.

So I’d texted asking if she wanted to join me on my quest to look good for work, but she was apparently ignoring me. Sighing, I dropped my phone back into my purse and pushed open the door, breathing deeply as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

It was warm for June, but a light breeze lifted the ends of my hair and I pushed my black fedora further down on my head as I strolled down the street. People watching was my favorite thing to do in the city. The locals were out in full force, hurrying in and out of shops as they ran errands and just generally enjoyed the vibrant city vibe.

If anyone ever tells you that New York isn’t the best city on earth, they’re either lying, or they don’t know what they’re talking about.

I’d loved this city since I was a kid. And once I’d decided that modeling was my career of choice, I’d made it my mission to move here. Best decision ever.

Humming happily, I practically skipped down the street, skidding to a stop when two young girls stepped into my path. They looked to be about fifteen, dressed in skirts and button up shirts as though they’d just gotten out of school.

The one on the right, with auburn hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, looked at me shyly. “Hi Stella. We’re big fans and we were wondering if we could get a picture.”

I blinked. Surely I’d misheard her. I’d only just recently become the face of a major brand and I was under the impression that not many people knew who was. My expression broke into a wide smile and I nodded as my cheeks flushed.

“Of course,” I replied breathily.

They giggled excitedly, settling into either side of me as the other one held up her phone and snapped a picture.

“Thank you,” they gushed simultaneously.

“Of course,” I answered, smiling brightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you lovely ladies?”

They shook their heads, raising their hands in waves as they scurried down the sidewalk in the other direction.

“I must be hallucinating.”

I froze, my fingers automatically balling into fists. I’d recognize that damn accent anywhere. Combined with those deep tones that made you feel like you were drowning in chocolate, it had the capability to make men and women alike weak at the knees. It really was a shame that the person it was attached to was such an annoying human being.

Sighing, I spun on my heels and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Tyson.”

“I’m serious,” he deadpanned. “This must be an alternate universe because I could swear I just saw you be kind to another person.”

I glared at him, but he seemed unaffected. At this point, it probably didn’t matter. Sarcastic and biting banter was how our relationship seemed to work.

Which was really a pity, to be honest. Because Tyson Kingsley was absolutely dazzling.

Dark curls which were usually falling across his forehead were pushed to the side, leaving his almost too symmetrical face and high cheekbones unobstructed. His lips were plump and startlingly pink and his eyes…well his eyes were another matter entirely.

They changed color depending on what he was wearing, I’d noticed. They ranged from dark chocolate to a clear amber. Today, they were a pale brown to contrast nicely with the blue plaid of his shirt.

I looked him up and down, admiring his lean frame and the toned arm muscles beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt which were flexing slightly against the weight of his shopping bags. Cursing myself for not having a roll of duct tape handy with which to ensure I didn’t have to sit through the wave of sarcastic banter that was sure to follow, I pursed my lips and glared.

“Don’t you have better things to do than stalk me, Kingsley?” I replied.

“Trust me,” he rolled his eyes. “I would never purposefully interact with you.”

I held in a sigh. To be entirely honest, I wasn’t sure how our dynamic had ended up this way. Tyson had never liked me. He’d been cold since we first met. So naturally, I’d returned the frost immediately.

He and Eric had met when Eric was studying abroad in Australia for a year and had become fast friends. Once Tyson finished school, he moved to New York to pursue his culinary career. Georgia had been so excited to introduce us and I had figured he had to be decent if he was friends with Eric.

Boy was I wrong.

“Yes,” I answered in a clipped tone. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Good,” he nodded, prepared to walk away and pretend this interaction hadn’t occurred.

“Do you live around here?” I wondered aloud.

I’d been shopping in this neighborhood since I’d first moved to the city six years ago and this was the first time I’d ever run into Tyson. We did a pretty good job of completely avoiding each other when we weren’t forced to be together.

He nodded, lifting his chin to gesture to a street behind me. “Just over there. I moved last year because it’s closer to my work.”

“You work around here as well?” I asked, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Way to not know a single thing about me, Stella.”

“Sorry,” I retorted. “I only take an interest in the lives of people I actually care about.”

“And I don’t fall into that category?” He jutted out his bottom lip in a childish pout and I tried my best to be annoyed but he looked so damn adorable with his eyes wide that I ended up laughing instead.

Rolling my eyes in frustration at my own weakness, I sighed. “I think we’d actually have to have a conversation for you to fit into that category.”

“What do you call what we’re doing right now?”

“Arguing.”

“No, arguing would imply that we’re disagreeing about something.”

“We are,” I retorted. “We’re disagreeing about whether or not we’re disagreeing.”

I expected some sort of sarcastic reply, but instead, he pressed his lips together, his eyes twinkling as his mouth kinked into a smirk that looked almost amused. “Fair point.”

“Wow,” I let out a low whistle. “I think this is the most civil ending to an argument we’ve ever had.”

He laughed, nodding behind me once more. “I work at Pavarotti’s around the corner.”

“I’ve been there,” I nodded, recalling a girlfriend’s birthday dinner from a couple months ago. “Good food. If I had known you were there, I would have…”

“What, left immediately?” he smirked.

“Hey,” I scoffed. “I may dislike you greatly, Kingsley, but I’ve never turned away a meal.”

“I’ve noticed,” he replied, shifting his bag to his other hand and shaking out his arm. “You practically inhaled the cake at Cooper’s party. I’m pretty sure I saw you lick frosting off the back of someone else’s fork.”

My eyes narrowed at the reminder of our encounter two weeks ago. We’d managed to keep our usual bickering to a low for the sake of the birthday boy, mostly because we steered clear of each other entirely. I wondered what would happen if Tyson and I spent a period of time together where we exchanged nothing but polite and casual conversation.

The world would probably spontaneously combust or something.

“At least I didn’t get so drunk at Eric’s bachelor party that I stood up on a table and did a strip tease to ‘Like A Virgin’,” I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I will have you know,” he raised a finger in defense. “I walked away from that night a very rich man. And if we’re really going to go down the embarrassing stories path, we’re going to be here for hours.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I sighed, holding in a yawn. “And this has been the highlight of my day, but I’m much too tired to continue.”

Although my tone was riddled with sarcasm, he did seem surprised that I’d conceded so quickly to ending our conversation. The truth, was that I had plans with some take out Chinese food, my bed, and list of movies in desperate need of watching on Netflix.

Nodding, he cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get on your way, then. It was a pleasure as always, Stella.”

I returned the nod and turned my torso to walk back to my apartment, only to realize Tyson was following me. Looking over my shoulder, I sent him a confused glare. “What are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re going the same direction. My place is this way as well.”

“Right,” I replied softly, clutching the strap of my purse.

We walked in silence, a little farther apart than was probably necessarily. Partly because we needed to keep our bags from colliding and partly because then maybe we wouldn’t have to talk. Mostly the second one, though.

Still, I took the opportunity to assess Tyson while he wasn’t fuming. His pink lips were set in a natural pout and he had a nicely square jaw and cheeks that I found myself resisting the urge to kiss.

It really was sad that the only time I enjoyed being in his presence was when neither of us were actually speaking. 

“Have you heard from Eric today?”

I heard myself speak before realizing I had said anything at all. It was a strange phenomenon. One that I most definitely needed to work on because blurting things out often ended in disaster. At least this question was one in which I had a particular interest in regards to the answer.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but licked his lips and shook his head. “Not really. He texted me this morning saying that he and Georgia were going on a date tonight, but I haven’t talked to him since.”

Pursing my lips, I nodded, staring at the light across the street and willing it to change so we could cross.

“Is something wrong?”

His tone sounded almost concerned and when I turned to face him, I was pleasantly surprised to find his eyes had darkened with the fading sunlight and were now a brilliant black coffee color.

I shook my head, nodding when the light changed. We hurried across the street and I spoke once we returned to our normal strides. “Georgia just isn’t answering my text messages.”

“Is that unusual? Eric usually takes hours to respond.”

I laughed. “Georgia usually responds within minutes.”

He shrugged. “She’s probably just preoccupied with other things. After all, she and Eric are on a date.”

“That’s true,” I smiled, letting out a sigh of slight relief.

His lips stretched into a wide grin that left me strangely light headed, but I fortunately able to keep from pondering this change in emotion when Tyson’s phone began to ring. He stopped walking to answer it, digging it out of the pocket of his jeans, (lord knows how seeing as the things were practically painted on), and holding it to his ear to answer.

I wasn’t sure whether I was meant to stick around, so I flashed him a tight smile and prepared to set on my way, but was stopped when his arm flew out and two fingers wrapped around my wrist. It was the hand that was also holding his shopping bag, so he struggled to keep hold as he stopped me from leaving.

Confused, I glanced down at his hand and up to his face, my brow furrowing when I found his complexion ashen. He spoke a whispered thank you into the phone, his hand shaking as he lowered it back into his pocket.

“Tyson? What’s wrong?” I asked. I’d never seen him upset before. Or at least not in this way. When we interacted, he was generally angry or annoyed or irritatingly amused. But the look in his eyes now was one I’d never before witnessed: one of absolute despair.

His lips parted, trembling, his eyes wide and it took him a minute before he actually formed words. “I know why Georgia isn’t texting you back.”