It was the middle of September when Lauren Blanco's plane touched down in her hometown. She had been gone for 3 years, but to her it felt like just an instant. She looked out onto the tarmac of the familiar Midway International Airport in Chicago, sighed heavily, and thought to herself, "This is it. You're home. No chance to run now." She smiled politely as the middle-aged man next to her grumbled something incomprehensible. He had been complaining about the flight to no one in particular the whole time they were in the air. "Some people are unsatisfiable," she thought as she feigned empathy for the man, failing to see the irony in her thoughts. Lauren left her home in search of something that didn't exist, a perfect life. At least she wrapped up her Bachelor's degree while living South; something no one else in her immediate family can claim.
As the plane cleared out, she dug for her sweater at the bottom of her bag. She laughed to herself at the thought of wearing a sweater in September, having become so acclimated to the heat of Texas. Just a few years ago she wouldn't dream of pulling out the warm clothes until it got below 55 degrees. How was she going to handle the rink after all this time, she wondered. Time will tell, time will tell. She repeated that phrase to herself over and over again for as long as she could remember. It helped soothe her anxiety somewhat when she was reminded that things have a way of working themselves out. As she grabbed her bag from the overhead bin, her stomach did flips. Trent, she remembered. She was supposed to meet Trent, her old teammate and coworker at the rink, tonight. Oh why did she promise that? She had just two hours to settle into her hotel room and then meet him at her favorite hot dog place in River North. Fuck.
The city was just as she remembered it. The ambiance was exactly the same, even if they have developed all her old stomping grounds into unrecognizable shells of their former selves. Lauren looked at her watch as she transferred from the Orange Line to the Red. "An hour and fifteen minutes, fuck," she whispered out loud. She was un-showered, exhausted, and she wouldn't be able to really settle in for a long while. Why did Trent have to be so subtly irresistible? "No biggie if you can't meet up tomorrow," Lauren remembered him saying, "but I will be in Toronto for a couple of weeks so it's either then or you'll have to wait..." He knew Lauren would never choose to wait. While Trent wasn't exactly immodest, he knew how to charm women... especially Lauren. They clicked so well, so many years ago, they both knew they would have a connection through anything.
"Late for something?" quipped a young professional, standing next to Lauren on the train platform. At about 5'10", thin but not wiry, in a tailored gray suit, Lauren found him to be nonthreatening, but also not very interesting. He had a stock hair cut, a veneered smile, and probably worked at the Board of Trade at some soul sucking job that he figures earns him the affection of all women who are at a "7 or above". She knew the type, and they were a dime a dozen in Chicago.
"Heh, no, just social obligations that never end," she replied, trying to be polite while absently looking at her phone. She wasn't in the mood to chat, and certainly not with this yuppie. He looked her up and down, obviously liking what he saw. Lauren was a petite girl, but had something very solid about her. At 5'3" and 120lbs, she wasn't very tall, but she stood up straight and had the body language of a very confident woman. Her shoulders were square and not slumped, her natural brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders and down her back, right around her bra strap. Her makeup was simple and brought out her big hazel eyes and naturally soft, plump lips. She looked put together, but effortless.
"Well if you ever have room in that schedule, you should give me a call," said the stranger as he handed her his card. His gaze went from her eyes down to her body. Her curvy frame wore the light gray jersey knit dress well. It clung to the curves of her breasts, down to her stomach, hips, and thighs. There wasn't much skin showing, but there didn't have to be. The fabric left little to the imagination, despite her having a sweater on and the dress being down to her knees. The relative chill of the Chicago air, combined with her growing excitement of her date with Trent caused her nipples to harden and her face and lips were colored light pink from natural flush.
Lauren smiled in her usual way, politely and tight lipped, and took his card. Jason Reinli, works at NYSE Euronext. Of course. She can read these guys from a mile away. Another day, another stock jock. She shoved the card into her pocket and let out a silent sigh of relief when he exited the train at the next station. After scrolling aimlessly up and down her smartphone menu screen, she finally decided to text Trent. She had let him message her three times before deciding what to say back.
Trent 5:55pm: Welcome home, bby girl! Saw your plane landed, txt me
Trent 6:21pm: See you at Portillo's at 8? Wanna get a drink or five after, meet up with the guys?
Trent 6:58pm: Yes? No? Maybe so?
It shouldn't be so hard to just act normal around someone you've known since you were 14, right? Their friendship started so easily, it flowed organically, never forced. Even when they didn't talk for a couple of years at a time, they simply picked up where they left off. Still, the thought of seeing Trent again gave her chills. She had her share of men while in Texas, but they didn't hold a candle to Trent, even though their relationship had always been, aside from one indescretion, platonic. It didn't matter, he was the person in which she compared all other men, whether it was conscious or not.
As she hit the reply button on her phone her body became hot suddenly. She felt the heat rise from her stomach, up her through her chest, and finally settling on her face and neck. She wanted to take her sweater off, but didn't want to cause any unwanted attention as she already felt overwhelmed by a man who wasn't even standing near her.
Lauren 7:03pm: Portillo's 8pm Yes. Drinks after? Maybe. The guys? Not so much. Dig?
Not even a minute later, as she stared at her message, overanalyzing it, Trent wrote back:
Trent 7:04pm: Purrfect. See you there, kitten.
