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He holds up a finger as if to say just a minute and then rushes off, disappearing into his bedroom. He returns a moment later with a bright blue Chicago Cubs baseball cap, which he places on my head. “Remember how well one of these worked the last time?” He tucks some loose strands of my hair behind my ears and pulls the brim down low over my eyes. “No one will recognize you.”
I catch my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall and smile because he’s right. “Okay.”
Jason locks his door, and then we head for the elevator. Once inside, he presses the button marked LOBBY. “I’ve got to stop and pick up my mail.”
I’m smiling as we exit the elevator into a spacious, well-lit lobby. There are over a dozen people milling around, chatting by a coffee bar or relaxing on chairs and sofas scattered around the space. No one bothers to look our way as we head down a short hallway. Jason stops at a door marked MAILROOM, opens it, and I follow him inside a small room filled with locked boxes.
I stand beside him as he collects a small bundle of envelopes from his mailbox. He quickly flips through the envelopes, throwing half of them into a recycling bin.
“Junk mail,” he says.
As we leave the mailroom and head for the stairwell that leads down to the parking garage, I feel like I’m wearing a disguise. I could go anywhere in the city, and no one would recognize me. I’m just a girl, out with a guy.Nothing to see here, folks.I’m enjoying this way more than I should.
It’s not a date, you idiot.
I know, but it kind of feels like one.
Don’t be stupid.
Jason deposits his stuff into the trunk of his car. “Would you like to walk downtown? We wouldn’t have to worry about finding parking. It’s not far.”
When I gaze at my reflection in the car window, I’m reassured that the baseball cap does a good job of hiding my face. And I can’t remember the last time I walked around downtown Chicago, amidst the crowds of tourists and locals. “Sure. Let’s walk.”
After locking up the car, we walk toward the shopping district on North Michigan Avenue. The sidewalk is crowded with shoppers, mostly tourists. When a group of rowdy teenagers heads our way, Jason pulls me out of the way.
He ends up putting his arm around me and holding me close. “Don’t want you getting trampled.”
Being this close to him sends my pulse racing. I can feel the heat of his body and I can smell his scent, mixed with cologne. Suddenly I’m warm all over and certain parts of my body are tingling. For a moment, I think this is definitely what it’s like to go on a date.
It’s not a date, you idiot. Stop kidding yourself. He would never go out with a loser like you.
Butshe’swrong. This is sort of like what a date would be, isn’t it? Going out, going shopping. Walking together, side by side. And it’ll be lunch time soon, and Jason will insist that we stop and get something to eat. He’ll have to, so my sugar level doesn’t drop too low.
Chapter 25
Layla Alexander
“So, where to?” I ask Jason as we reach the shopping district.
Both sides of the street are filled with towering shopping malls and lots of huge name-brand stores. The streets are jammed bumper to bumper with cars and buses. The sidewalks are teeming with people, and on nearly every block there are panhandlers sitting out with their buckets, asking for money. A few of them play musical instruments or show off some talent in hopes of garnering donations.
“Under Armour,” Jason says, naming a store I’ve never been to. “And then a men’s clothing store. I need socks and underwear, jeans that aren’t ripped, and a suit and tie in case I need to escort you somewhere with a dress code.”
Grinning, I swat his arm. “Don’t be silly. I never go anywhere fancy.”
“Hey, you Alexanders are a pretty big deal in Chicago. I should upgrade my look.”
“My parents are a big deal, yes. But I’m not. I never attend any society functions with them.”
Jason stops in front of a brightly-lit, modern store on North Michigan. “This will do.”
I have to tip my head back to see the impressive store sign above.Under Armour. I peek through the glass storefront to see an army of physically fit male mannequins wearing all manner of men’s underwear and sportswear.Whoa.I didn’t know eye candy would be involved.
I feel the warm weight of Jason’s hand on my back as he opens the door and coaxes me inside. “Come on. I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time,” I tell him, my eyes wide as I take it all in. “I’m not in any rush.”
The store is bustling with shoppers, mostly men, who peruse the displays of sweatpants, T-shirts, running outfits, sneakers, hoodies, and all kinds of gear that athletic people would want. If the sheer number of shoppers is anything to go by, this is a pretty popular place.
