CHAPTER SEVEN
A hickey. Finnegan McRyan gave me a hickey. I’m going to kill him. Thank God, San Francisco is permanently celebrating fall, so I’ll get away with using a scarf as a fashion statement to hide the small purple mark at the base of my neck. The blue scarf doesn’t match my spring jacket, but I have no more time to waste.
Cars move at a snail’s pace on the street as I push through my building’s front door and stop outside. I wore jeans and sneakers to make the walk to our brunch meetup easier, but now the task is overwhelming no matter my footwear. Yesterday on a map, the walk from Pacific Heights to the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood didn’t seem so bad. Today I’m already an hour late and the idea of walking all the way past Golden Gate Park for some Tahiti French Toast sounds impossible. It’s all uphill.
I eye the road in front of the building and can’t spot a single Taxi. Why is it so hard to get a cab in this town? Marissa had to drive in, but with parking there is no way I can ask her to get me. She mentioned in at least five of her last fifteen text messages that she and Amanda are already in line and are going to eat tasty brunch without me. I have no choice but to walk it. And walk it fast.
I turn ready to start my journey when a black Escalade pulls to the curb in front of me. The passenger side window rolls down and a familiar face smiles at me from the driver’s side.
“Aspen! Are you okay? You look upset?” Jake is out of the car and in front of me before I have time to form an answer. Do I look that distraught over the walk?
I haven’t realized how tall and imposing the man can be until I’m faced off next to him on a street corner. His black suit is pressed similar to the last few times I’ve seen him. It makes me worry aliens are about to invade and he’s here to remove my memories.
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Thanks. I’m meeting friends for brunch and I’m late. I can’t get a cab so I have to walk. I’ll never make it in time.” I turn away ready to start off again when he grabs my upper arm to stop my advance.
Jake pulls the backseat door open. “Come on. Hop in,” he says.
“No. I’m okay. You’re here for a reason. I’m sure Finn needs you." I try to pull my arm from his grasp, but Jake begins to slowly lead me toward the waiting vehicle.
He flashes me a questioning look. “Finn would want me to make sure you made it safely with your friends. He’s going to meet friends as well. Trust me, he can wait. I’d get in more trouble for not giving you a ride.” His makes a jerking motion with his head to suggest I get in the vehicle.
The whole situation is surreal and why is no one on the street stopping to help me? What if this big buzzed cut guy was kidnapping me? Just because he’s in a suit doesn’t mean he’s not up to no good.
The truth is I don’t have time to argue and a car will get me there faster, even in this ridiculous traffic. Plus, Finn gave me a hickey. He owes me. “Uurgh. Fine.” I voice my displeasure but give in and settle into the backseat.
Jake closes the door and rounds the front of the vehicle before hopping back into the driver’s seat. “Where to?”
“Zazie’s? It’s on Cole Street.”
“I know the place. Great French toast.” His reply is quick and then the car is back in traffic headed in the direction I’d planned to walk. Traffic still isn't moving much faster, but at least I won’t be sweaty by the time I get there.
“Thanks, Jake. I appreciate this.” I clip my seat belt. “Why are you working on a Sunday?” Does Finn’s company make the poor man work seven days a week?
Jake laughs. “Finn and the other guys have a place they like to meet a few times a week. Spend money. Grunt at each other. You know, man stuff.”
My thoughts run wild and I voice the first question my mind forms. “They go to a strip club?” I’m horrified and it comes through in my tone.
He loses it in the front seat and his boisterous laughter fills the car. “No. A strip club on a Sunday morning?” he questions me with disbelief. “Their place is more of the comic book variety.”
I’m embarrassed that I jumped directly to the stripper conclusion. A comic book store never entered my thought process as somewhere men gather to spend money and grunt, but to each their own I suppose. I’ve never actually been in a comic store, so I have no idea what goes on in one.
Jake taps his fingers on the wheel to some imaginary song and turns to a side street with lighter traffic. “I think Finn has started to enjoy the use of a company vehicle. He asked for someone to pick him up this morning and I volunteered. Overtime and all that. He’s starting to see his position has some perks besides not getting dressed daily or having to leave the house. You’ve been good for him.”
I’ve been good for him? I’ve known Finn a week, I couldn’t have had much of an impact. Rather than using my time questioning why Jake thinks I've been good for Finn, I spend the rest of my fifteen-minute ride holding on for dear life as Jake finds a way to dodge in between vehicles to gain a better position with each move. My stomach tenses each time his foot slams on the brake. Jake even speeds up around corners in an attempt to make up time. I try to close my eyes, but the uncertainty of my imminent death is too great. I finally resort to a death grip on the hand rest with wide eyes staring out the front window in case I need to scream before impact.
My legs shake as I exit the car, but I remain on two feet as I search the crowd for Marissa and Amanda. The line stretches outside the building and around a corner ending in some unseen location. Jake dropped me at the restaurant’s front, a cute beige scalloped banner greeting customers as they wait. Two small patio tables sit out front, and both are already filled with people. As I walk by the large window, the inside is packed. Finn was right. Brunch is a serious ordeal around here. What have we gotten ourselves into?
I spot Amanda’s bright yellow coat and short blonde hair halfway down the line and make my way to them. Marissa, cute as always, stands beside her. Her long straight brown hair frames her face and a large scarf covers the bottom half of her chin. I’m more excited about her scarf than a normal person because it means she can’t question the one wrapped around my own neck — the one hiding a certain mark.
“It’s about time you made it. I was so going to eat your share.” Marissa pulls me in for a hug as I join them. The person directly behind us releases a loud huff at my line jumping, which I pretend to not hear.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning, but you met Amanda so that’s all good.”
“Yeah, we’ve already caught up. We were here at eight as planned, but they didn’t open until nine. The line has moved fast." Amanda joins our conversation and I’m glad the two seem to be getting along.
