Calling All David Ryans

Chapter 4

                                                                                   IV.

A/N: After I post up the next chapter I will focus my attention on revising this.  So, expect some changes.

I never knew how bad my sense of direction was until I implanted myself into a strange city.

I hustled around Chicago looking for the address Dave had given me.  I thanked the heavens that I found the place on time.  That would have never had happened without divine intervention.

Second thoughts started to circulate through out my head.  Maybe, I should have listened to those red flags sounding off.  But, no, I made up my mind.  There was no turning back.

I marched up to that old brick building and knocked on a dirty glass window.  For a second, no one answered.  Relief almost washed over me when I thought I was relieved from my commitment. 

My eyes glanced around at my surroundings.  Gray clouds loomed just past the tall buildings of the sprawling metropolis.  People and cars passed, seemingly unaware of the coming storm.  The city looked like what most folks pictured a city.  Dark, drab, and about to get wet.

The door jolted open.  I stumbled back in surprise. 

"Oh, Dave," I said with my hand on my heart, attempting to calm my beating nerves, "you startled me."

Dave raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.  A cocky smile lifted his lips.  His stance was intimidating, playful, and oddly tempting.  "I knew you would come, Divy," he said.

Inside, I was just a wee bit ticked off.  How dare he assume my future actions?  I almost turned and left.  But, the promise to myself I made earlier fluttered back into my the forefront of my mind and my pride refused to sway.  I would play his game and do so with pleasure.

"You must be a psychic," I joked as I walked inside.

"Hardly," Dave closed the door, "I just said that to irritate you." 

I chose to ignore his comment.  "Looks like a storm coming," I said with a forced smile.

Dave rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, storms seem to do that, come and go, you know."

 The room in which Dave and I sat in was dimly lit and grew darker when the outside clouds closed in on Chicago.  Piles upon piles of art supplies and covered canvases crowded the surroundings.  The room was not dirty just messy.

"How many cubes of sugar would you like?" David asked.  He offered me tea before.  At first, I declined.  But he insisted and claimed that tea can rejuvenate me more than coffee could ever dream of doing.  I finally caved in and took the tea, despite my cup of coffee in the morning and the paranoia of my teeth turning yellow.

"Three, please," I said with a smile.  Dave plopped three sugar cubes in my drink.

"I'll have three too."

I stirred my drink and picked up my cup.  The warmth of the liquid seeped through the porcelain and lingered on my fingertips.  The sweet aroma of tea filled my senses.  I bravely took a sip.

"How do you like it?" Dave asked when I sat the teacup down.

I swallowed.  "It tastes like a hodgepodge of water, spices, creme, and sugar thrown together randomly."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes, I mean no.  I mean, I do not really like it, but I can tell that it was cooked, brewed, simmered, whatever you call it, nicely."