The Pregnant Virgin. Anne Eames
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she would keep crossing his path this way. First at the clinic last Monday, which had provided him with enough stimulation to get the job done, and then later in the week in the cafeteria. It had been hard to take his eyes off her both times. Now again today. Each encounter with her added another layer of unwanted attraction.
“Hey, you got that stressed-out look on your face again. It’s Saturday night.” Craig punched his shoulder. “Lighten up, guy. Let’s go find us a party.”
“Don’t you have to work in the morning?”
“Negative. You?”
“Some of us have to keep the place going.”
They walked a ways without talking, stepping around slower moving pedestrians, and Brad thought he was home free. Craig hadn’t mentioned Ali once.
“So what did you think?”
Damn. “About what?”
“Ali, man. You do have a pulse, don’t you?”
Brad shrugged and hoped he looked unimpressed. “She’s okay, I guess. I don’t know. She didn’t have much to say.”
“Who cares? Did you look at her? I mean really look at her?” Craig let out a low wolf whistle. “The way that old alma mater lettering stretched across her breast pocket. I thought the stitching was going to pop any second. Wow. And what a face! That blond hair looked like it could be natural, too. And those eyes! Elizabeth Taylor, eat your heart out. I’ve never seen such violet eyes.”
Brad laughed in spite of himself. “Maybe you should ask her out.”
“Huh. I don’t think she knew I was there. She only had eyes for you, my man. Sad, but true.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I watched her watching you all through the meal. She barely ate, poor girl.”
“Give me a break.”
“I’m serious. She was really checking you out. So why don’t you ask her out?”
“Don’t even start.”
“What are you? Some kind of monk? I can’t remember the last time I saw you with a woman. Third year med school?”
Brad walked faster and ignored the question. They both remembered how that had worked out—an ambitious redhead with eyes on the brass ring.
“Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t give Ali a call.”
“I’m too busy.”
“Never stopped me. I work as many hours as you do.”
“Then I don’t have your energy.” Nor your money. A simple fact that Craig had never had to face. Dates cost. Still, he knew neither time nor money was the true reason to avoid Ali.
“Come on, man. Ya gotta have some fun.”
“I do. Today was fun.” Most of it.
Craig stopped at the intersection and faced him. “I could find out where she works. Maybe you could—”
“It isn’t going to happen, so forget it.” He turned away and eyed the traffic light impatiently.
Craig didn’t move when the light changed. “I detect there’s more to this story. Am I right?”
Brad stepped off the curb and Craig stopped him.
“Well? Am I?”
Brad let out a long breath and backed up onto the sidewalk. There was only one way to shut Craig up and that was to tell him the truth. “Okay. But I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.”’
“What? What?”
Brad leaned closer and whispered, “She works at the clinic.”
“What clinic?” Craig said loudly, catching the interest of a passing couple.
Brad gave him a bugged-eyed stare and a few seconds to figure it out.
“No! You don’t mean—”
Brad nodded, wishing this would be the end of the subject, but knowing sooner or later Craig would bring it up again.
Craig just stood there shaking his head, until finally he said, “Sure you don’t want to hang out with me tonight?”
“Positive.”
The light turned green again and they crossed the street. “What a waste,” Craig mumbled under his breath.
Brad wished he could disagree. But he couldn’t. It had been a long time since he’d been attracted to someone. All through dinner he had felt an undercurrent of something going on between them. And the one time he had accidentally brushed her leg under the table he’d felt his pulse quicken. The mere closeness of her had generated more heat than his rusted radiator on the coldest night. Strange. They had barely spoken to each other, yet—
Craig stopped in front of Trapper’s Alley. A few nurses from the hospital standing just inside saw him and came running out. Brad called good-night over his shoulder and kept walking, glad to be alone with his thoughts. If he was going to spend the evening debating what to do about Ali—
Wait a minute. What debate? Was there a choice?
Okay, maybe. In either case, he much preferred the quiet privacy of his Murphy bed to sort things out than on some ear-splitting dance floor.
He rounded the last corner to his building and had a sudden image of dancing with Ali. He could almost feel her—
A wino staggered out of an alley and Brad nearly knocked him down. After righting the guy, Brad apologized and went on, telling himself to get a grip.
Across the street, framed in the first-floor picture window, he saw his landlady rocking away, watching the world go by. When she spotted him she smiled a gap-toothed smile and waved a gnarled brown hand. Her door to the hall was open, so he called out to her as he climbed the stairs.
“Good night, Sally.”
“You in for the night?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled.
“That’s a good boy.”
The old lady could sometimes be a pain, but he knew she cared about her building and her tenants.
There was a lot to be said for that.
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