-11Obtaining the number hadn't been difficult. Alex wasn't the most secretive guy. Meaning he had tossed the phone in his duffle bag, left it on top for anyone to find. For her to find. Taking it hadn't really been an option. He would known it was her.
Staring at the number she had copied down, Izzie twirls a lock of pale blond hair around her index finger. Out of the corner of her eye she spots Bob, the man in the cubicle next to her staring. She flashes him a stiff smile, then resumes the stare at the post it. Unlike her, Bob was the perfect insurance rep. Always put together in a dull gray suit with a bland monotone tie. While the white and black floral sheath dress she wore wasn't inappropriate it wasn't exactly conducive to the image the company liked to present to customers.
She takes a deep breath, then using the number pad connected to her phone, she dials the number. After three rings the same woman from the night before comes on. "You know what I want, so why don't you give it me," she purrs. Mouth opening, Izzie hit's the end button.
"I'm sorry."
Frowning slightly, she looks in Bob's direction once more. "Thank you," she mumbled back. Sorry. When would people stop saying that? She was sick to death of sorry.
"My cousin had a friend who had the same thing happen to them. Well, not the same thing. The guy didn't drown on a fishing trip. He was snow boarding and the board came out from under him. Slit his jugular when it came down. Blood all over the snow. It ended up all over the side of the mountain cause you know…people were skiing and such."
Her stomach knots up. Reaching for her purse, she mumbles some excuse about not feeling well before hurrying from the office. She didn't slow her pace until she was several blocks away. Stopping to catch her breath, she pauses to look where her feet had carried her. The Emerald City Bar. Providence. As she needed a drink. A nice strong drink. Yanking the door open, she strides inside, not caring that she was out of place, not caring that people were staring.
"I need a drink.." She reads the bartenders name tag, "Joe. Something strong." Pulling a twenty from her purse, she slaps it on the bar. "Keep them coming and let me know when I need to pay more." The first of many shot glasses full of tequila was set before her.
Two hours later….
"Let me ask you something, Mark," Izzie smiled at the man sitting on the stool next to her's. Mark the plastic surgeon from Manhattan. In town for a medical conference. Sexy, with piercing blue eyes, and dimples. Her best friend Meredith would have called him a panty dropper, man candy at its finest. "If a woman told you 'You know what I want, so why don't you give it me?' What would you think?"
A slow, sexy grin spread across Mark's face. A finger reaches out, traces her collar bone. In her drunken haze, she forgot to be worried, forgot to think of what the words implied. Her only thought was Denny and his damn secrets. "I know exactly what give you."
"She doesn't want it."
Izzie looks up, scowling. "Go away," she slurs. "You're like everywhere. Are you stalking me? Do you like following me around or something?"
"Not really. You see Joe here, he's a friend. I came to see him. Not you." Alex crossed his arms, shooting a warning look in the direction of Mark the sexy plastic surgeon. "Touch her again, and I'll break your fingers off one by one."
"You're hot, but not that hot," Mark cast her one last grin before tossing a fifty in Joe's direction. She watches as he retreats.
"He was my friend," she whined. Damn Alex. He ruined everything. "He was going to tell me why that woman said what she said. You know what I want, so why don't give it me? What kind of woman says that!"
"I don't know," Alex murmured, slipping an arm under her arm. "Why don't you tell me though? On the way home."
She allowed him to lead her from the bar, to settle her in the passenger seat of his car. The car was nice. Soft leather seats. Plush carpeting. Even smelled nice. It smelled new. She kicks her shoes off, wiggling her toes in the softness of the carpet. The silence was to much, making her eye lids droopy. Sighing, she reaches over to flip the radio on, hitting buttons until she found a song she liked. With tequila braced bravery, she sang along. When he helped from the car and up the steps she continued to sing. When he led her into the house, past a shocked George and a brooding Preston, she still sang. The words died off as he gently let her fall back on the bed. Mumbling good night, she curled up, reminding herself to ask him about the woman in Los Angles. It wasn't a coincidence. Denny's mystery woman was from the same place Alex lived. He knew. Whatever secrets Denny had, Alex knew.
