Chapter 70: Chapter Six.-2

"I know who he is. Even more reason for me to go." The thing about Hardin is that when he makes his mind up, his mind is made up. Wow, I'm great at explaining things. "Let me put my shoes on." He looks at my clothes, his eyes moving up and down. "You're wearing that? Doesn't Nadia work there?" "Yes, Nora works there. And yes I'm wearing this." If Nora is working, I highly doubt she's going to speak to me anyway, and my clothes are comfortable. Not as slick as Hardin's all black, but at least my pants let my dick breathe, unlike his. Ten minutes later, I'm wearing dark jeans and a button up plaid shirt. My sleeves are short and my pants are a little too tight, but Hardin sat on the couch refusing to let me leave wearing "pajamas" and I really am hungry. During the walk to Lookout, Hardin asks about my classes, my job, and every other non-Tessa topic under the sun. He's much more talkative than he was when I first met him. He's come a long way since. We spot Tessa before she spots us. Lookout is a modern restaurant with Industrial themed décor and Tessa is standing just behind a big metal tree. The branches have clockwork on the limbs and instead of leaves, there are clocks. The dessert display is right next to the hostess stand near the entrance and I can't help but search for Nora's dark hair. I see a flash of black hair and olive skin as Hardin asks for Tessa's section, but it's gone before I could get a good look. Ironically, Hardin acts as though he doesn't have a clue who Robert is. "I'll be right back," Robert glances at Hardin and then back to the other side of the restaurant. It's not a big place, only about twenty tables line the walls. "What a fucking prick," Hardin says to Robert's back. I ignore his annoyance. Nora appears from behind the counter, a tray of small cakes in her hands. Her hair is tied up high, messy strands frame her face. Her eyes are unfocused as she stares straight ahead. Does she know I'm here? Does she care? "Tessa," I hear Hardin say. I keep my eyes on Nora. She opens the large case and begins unloading the tray of cakes, lining them neatly in the display case. Nora doesn't look away from her task. It's dark in here, but I can tell she's exhausted. I can see the low set of her shoulders from here. "Hardin wanted to come here," I tell Tessa, just in case she's uncomfortable. I want her to know this isn't my doing, I'm just following along to keep the peace. Tessa doesn't reply, her eyes are locked on Hardin. "We don't have to stay and eat here if you are busy," I offer. I can't read the energy between these two maniacs. Hardin's fingers are wrapped around Tessa's wrist and her eyes are bright, brighter than they've burned in months. "No," Tessa breathes. "It's okay, really," Tessa pulls her hand away from Hardin's grip and grabs two menus from behind the hostess stand. I follow Tessa to the table and glance back to Nora once more time. She still doesn't look at me. I can't tell if she's ignoring me or just doesn't see me. How can she not notice me staring at her? Hardin and Tessa make small talk while I climb into the booth and Hardin pretends he doesn't know how late Tessa works. He doesn't pretend that it doesn't drive him crazy knowing she's walking home that late. "Is Sophia busy?" I ask Tessa when we get our food. She nods and doesn't correct my use of her name. Does she know something's going on? Am I a bad friend for hiding it from her? "She's busy. Sorry," Tessa frowns and Hardin leans toward her. Does he even notice the way his body moves with hers? When her fingers move to write down our order, his eyes watch intently, his shoulders rise and fall to match her breathing. These two make me sick. I'm a lonely schmuck and these two are magnets to one another. They will always be together. I know this is the truth. I can't be a magnet, in order to be a magnet you have to have someone to latch on to. It's a sad day when one wishes to be a magnet. When Tessa tells us that Nora wrote our check off, Hardin leaves an enormous tip that Tessa shoves back into my pocket as we are leaving. During the meal I couldn't think about anything other than Nora's close proximity. I watched the walkway leading out of the kitchen the entire time. I didn't even notice when I cleared my plate. The food was great, I'm sure. It drives me crazy that Nora knows I'm here but hasn't come out to the table. I didn't mean to hurt her and I deserve the chance to explain myself. She has had over an hour to at least walk by, wave or smile politely. When we reach the door to leave, I pull on Hardin's sleeve. "I'll meet you back at my place." I tell him. I need to talk to Nora. Hardin doesn't ask any questions, doesn't offer to stay with me. He just nods and walks away. I'm glad for it. I sit down on the bench outside the restaurant and check the time on my phone. It's ten minutes past nine and I have no idea when Nora's shift is over. I will wait outside until she's off, I decided. Even if it's two in the morning. I look around the street and lean back against the cool brick. The fall air is calm and holds a slight chill. The sidewalks are nearly empty, which is not common for Brooklyn on a Friday night in September. While I wait, I try to think about what to say to her. How will I begin the conversation? Two hours later, when she emerges from Lookout, I still haven't decided. She walks right past me, her long hair bounces down her back. When she stops at the corner of the street, she pulls her hair down and shakes her head. She's stunning, even under the unforgiving street lights. I should make my presence known, I should call her name and face her instead of silently following her. But something inside stops me. Where is she going anyway? Is she back at her apartment with Dakota? I don't know, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out. Nora walks through the quiet streets, turning down the smallest side streets. It worries me that she doesn't notice she's being followed. She hasn't looked back once. She put headphones in her ears and seems to be content roaming the streets of Brooklyn at eleven at night without paying attention to her surroundings. She crosses to Nostrand Avenue and I assume she's going to take the subway. Should I really be following her? Why doesn't this feel creepy, watching her and following her like a psychopath? Either way, I find myself crossing the street and following her down the steps of the subway entrance. I stay behind her, at least twenty feet, and allow a group of people come between us. Nora bobs her head while she waits to scan her subway card. She walks through the turnstile and I do the same. The subway car is nearly empty when I step inside, and if Nora even glances toward me, she will see me. I take a seat next to an elderly woman reading a newspaper and hope that it will block Nora from being able to see me if she happens to look away from her phone. The car is eerily quiet and when I cough, I decide that I'm not that great of a stalker. Nora pulls her phone from her pocket and stares at the screen. She swipes and sighs and swipes again. Ten minutes later, she stands to get off and I follow to the next stop. Forty-five minutes later, we are at Grand Central Terminal and I have no freaking clue where this woman is going, or why I'm still following her. Another thirty minutes passes and we arrive at Scarsdale station. I have no idea where Scarsdale is, or why we are here. When we get above ground, Nora stops at a bench and unbuttons her work shirt. She's wearing a black undershirt made from a mesh like material. Her bra is showing and I try to pretend that I barely notice as she shoves her shirt into her bag and zips it back up. Nora pulls her phone out of the front pocket of her purse and I hide behind a sign for an insurance company before she sees me. "I'm here, I'll meet the driver outside the station. How was his dinner? Did he eat at all?" I hear her ask whoever is on the other line. A few seconds pass. "Well, I'll help. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She hangs up the phone and turns toward where I'm hiding. I duck down further. What was my plan here? Whose driver is picking her up? "Your feet are sticking out from under that sign, Landon."