By the time I made it out to the living room, she was planted in her favorite comfy chair with a glass of diet soda in front of her. "I'm ready, so hit me with the details."
I took a seat across from her and folded my legs under me. For a second, embarrassment rushed through my body. I was twenty-four years old and no stranger to dating. It's not like I was a virgin either. Suddenly, I felt silly about making a big deal out of my time with Tristan.
"Well?" Jordan asked impatiently.
"I met someone, sort of," I said, struggling to describe exactly what had happened.
"Nina, you never like the guys we meet. He must be something pretty damn good."
I screwed my face into a grimace. "I like some of them," I protested half-heartedly, knowing she was probably more right than wrong.
"Uh-huh. Name one."
I couldn't name one. They were all perfectly nice, I guess, but none of them really got me going. It never took long for me to fall out of like with them.
"That's not the point."
"No. The point is that you met someone you actually like. Tell me everything!"
"His name is Tristan. Tristan Stone. He..."
Just as I began to tell my story, Jordan's green eyes grew wide and she leaped out of her chair, nearly knocking over her glass. Marching over to the table by the window, she rifled through the half dozen newspapers she bought every day on her way to work downtown. When she turned around, she held up one in front of her. "You mean him?"
I craned my neck to look at a picture of a couple at some gala event. She walked a few steps closer, and I saw the man in the couple was Tristan. The woman on his arm didn't seem to be any of the women I'd seen surrounding him at the gallery the night before, though.
"What day is this from?"
Searching for the date, Jordan said, "Tuesday. Now tell me what happened with someone so famous that he ends up on Page Six regularly."
Stunned, I sat back in my seat, unsure what to tell her. I didn't know him like that. "What do you know about him?"
"Nina, you're the one who met him. I've only read about him in the gossip page."
God, I felt stupid! He wasn't just some good looking guy with a great car. He was someone famous. Now I was sure last night hadn't meant anything to him.
"I don't know anything about him like that. I saw him at the show and then he showed up at the gallery later on."
Jordan sat down and shook her head. "What do you mean he showed up later on? To buy something? I bet Sheila loved that."
"No, he was waiting outside the gallery in the alley way after I locked up."
"What do you mean? Had you spoken to him during the show?"
I shook my head. "No. He was there with a bevy of hot women and never even spoke to me."
"So what happened? You're killing me here! I swear you tell stories like my students."
To be compared to a group of fourth grade Catholic school kids wasn't helping, no matter how exclusive Jordan's school was. I wrinkled my nose and smirked at her. "Thanks."
"Neen! Give up the details!"
"He was waiting behind the gallery when I was leaving and asked me to go for a ride with him in his Jaguar. He offered to take me home, but instead we ended up driving upstate to see a house he said he was thinking of buying."
"Shut up!" she squealed. "Is he as stunning in person as he is in the papers?"
I reached out my hand to take the newspaper from her. "I don't know. Let me see." She handed me Page Six and there he was, just as gorgeous as he was last night. I secretly wanted to keep this picture so I'd always have him near me.
"So? Is he?"
Tearing my gaze from the newspaper, I nodded. "Yeah. Maybe even more, although I didn't see him dressed in a tux. He wore only a suit to the show."
"Did you sleep with him, Nina?"
"No!"
Jordan knitted her eyebrows. "Stop acting like it's 1952. Sleeping with a hot guy is permissible these days."
"I know all about feminism, Jordan. I just don't choose to jump into bed with every guy I meet."
Pointing to the newspaper I'd stuffed down in between the sofa cushions next to me, she said, "You see the woman in that picture with him? That's the fifth or sixth different one I've seen him with this month. The rumors are that he sleeps with a different woman each night."
I raised my eyebrows more in despair than disgust. "Really? You believe everything you read in the papers?"
"No, but you know how celebrities are. And if the pictures are any indication, he likes tall brunettes who look more like stick figures than humans."
I looked down at my less impressive five foot seven frame and what I liked to call a "healthy" body. I was in pretty good shape, but I was definitely not a stick figure.
"I'm sorry, Nina. I didn't mean to say he wouldn't like someone like you. He'd be damn lucky if he did."
Jordan's sympathetic smile made me feel better and worse at the same time. The reality was that if he was a man who slept with a different woman every night, no matter what type of women he preferred, he hadn't wanted to sleep with me. He hadn't even wanted to kiss me.
"It's okay. I've never had a problem not being a stick figure," I joked.
"So, if you didn't sleep with him, what did you do with Tristan Stone?"
I wasn't sure how to explain it, so I chose to go with the boring truth. "We hung out. Nothing more."
"Nothing?" she asked, her voice sing-song.
"Nothing."
Jordan looked confused. I understood her confusion. I still had no idea why he'd come to find me and then never even really touched me.
"Any plans to see him again?"
I tried to tamp down my disappointment. I didn't want pity now. "Not really. It wasn't much of anything, Jordan, so there's no reason to believe he'd want to hang out again."
"This sounds like a mystery to me. Why would he come find you and then not want to see you again? What was the conversation like while you were heading upstate?"
"Monosyllabic."
"You or him?"
"Him. I spent most of my time worried he was going to kill me and leave me on the side of the road."
Jordan sat back in her seat and chuckled. "Don't be silly, Nina. Wealthy people don't kill people. They hire people to do that."
Rolling my eyes, I mumbled, "Funny. I'll keep that in mind if I ever see anyone who might look like his butler or driver near here."
"Seriously, though. What do you plan to do about him? You obviously like him."