by Inara Scott
Besides, she was the one who initially hadn’t wanted him to come to Sonoma. He could very well have thought he was doing her a favor by not coming.
And most importantly, she wasn’t expecting anything from him. She wasn’t. They were having sex. Secret sex. Sex they’d agreed not to tell their friends about.
Clearly, you need to shut up and stop being a baby, Zoe.
She gave a deep sigh. “It’s not a big deal. Quit overreacting.”
Squinting through her headache, she forced herself to open his text message and write something in response. Something nice and noncommittal. Something that didn’t sounds like a crazy wannabe girlfriend.
The meeting with Aims went great! No worries about not coming. We can catch up later.
For a few minutes, she stared at the screen, half hoping a response would appear. Preferably one that said he was dying to see her as soon as possible and what was she doing later that night.
But the text never came.
Rubbing her temples in the vain hope the motion would magically dissolve her headache, Zoe climbed out of bed, pounded a few ibuprofen, and stepped into the shower. Once the throbbing in her head began to recede, she packed her few belongings and headed toward the lobby to meet the others for a late brunch.
Still nothing back from Connor.
Which was fine. Really. She wasn’t upset. She really wasn’t. Because nothing had happened. At least, nothing she didn’t know was coming. Connor had made her promise she wouldn’t count on him, and now he’d called her bluff. She’d had one of the most important meetings of her career, and he wasn’t there to share it. End of story.
He couldn’t be the person she most wanted to talk about her day with, or the first person she wanted to celebrate her success with. He’d made that clear from the start. And the last thing he deserved was her getting mad about the one thing he’d been completely honest about.
She thought about Hugh and the two very attractive guys she’d met at the bar last night. After this Aims thing was put to rest, she’d call them. Try again to figure out how to have a normal relationship. Connor was a white-hot, completely unexpected fling that was going to come to a natural end. This weekend had provided exactly the reminder she needed of that fact.
…
Connor turned onto his mother’s street, bag of scones on the seat next to him. He’d worked through the night, sleeping for only a few hours early that morning and getting right back into it after he woke up. It wasn’t until around two that they’d finally made some progress on the tech issues that had disrupted everything Friday afternoon, so he’d had to put off his baking till the afternoon. As a result, the pastries were still warm, and the car smelled like blueberries and butter.
The sweet smell did nothing for his mood. He’d texted Zoe right before he went to sleep, hoping he didn’t wake her up, but somehow also hoping he’d hear from her right away. Zoe’s return text to him, which had come around ten this morning, had been either completely normal or completely pissed. The problem was, he had no idea which.
We can catch up later…
Did that mean he should call her, or that she was so mad he hadn’t shown up to Sonoma she never wanted to see him again?
He’d responded to her text as soon as he’d gotten it. Which, admittedly, had been about three hours after she’d sent it.
Call me when you’re back in town, I’d love to hear the details.
But she hadn’t texted back.
She’d probably just been out with the gang, too busy to text. Or maybe heading back to town. Or hell, maybe she’d had someone with her, just like Mason had suggested. Someone other than him. They weren’t exclusive or anything. They weren’t even officially dating. Maybe she’d had a really great time with someone else and was a little relieved he hadn’t come.
The thought of it gutted him. Zoe, with another man. Unthinkable.
But it was her right, wasn’t it?
Just like it had been his right not to show up.
He’d actually spent all day Friday anticipating the weekend. Wondering what it would be like if they could be open about what they were doing and actually considering telling Mason and Nate the truth. They’d texted on and off about her meeting with Aims and how nervous and excited she was.
And somewhere along the way, he’d realized just how close they’d become. For two people determined not to have a relationship, they were clearly starting to act like two people in a relationship. And that had to stop. The work emergency had been just the excuse he was looking for. He had to dial it all back before he did something stupid. He needed to know he could flake out, change his mind, step back when he wanted, and it wouldn’t upset her. He needed to know she wasn’t depending on him.
But he had a bad feeling that wasn’t the case. In fact, he was starting to wonder if this “we’ll just have sex” plan, or whatever you wanted to call what he and Zoe were doing, made sense anymore. Or if it had ever made sense at all.
As he pulled up in front of his mother’s house, he groaned out loud at the sight of the little sky-blue Fiat across the street. How could he have forgotten that Zoe would be here? The bridge tournament was Wednesday, and the GPGs were insisting on as much time as she’d give them to practice. But he had no idea how to handle it when he saw her again. Apologize profusely? Shrug it off? Break it off?
And now he had to deal with her in combination with his mother and her friends?
He steeled himself as he approached the house, holding the scones like a shield. At the front door, he snapped before the voice prompted him, “Just let me in.”
His mother’s voice came back, gently reproving. “No need to get hostile.”
He would have loved to comment on the hostility of requiring your own son to go through a security system but figured he was being broadcast into the kitchen, so he held his breath.
Leticia met him at the door a moment later. Laughter came from the kitchen, one voice noticeably younger than the others. “You’re late, dear. We’ve already gotten started.”
“So sorry I didn’t arrange my schedule to suit you better.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?”
He held out the scones. “Why don’t you just take these and I’ll head home.”
The word chickenshit came to mind, but avoidance suddenly seemed like a much better alternative than trying to navigate seeing Zoe with a full audience.
“Goodness, no,” Leticia said. “Besides, Zoe is here. You should say hello.” She motioned for him to come inside. “Now hurry before the door locks.”
Resigned, he followed her into the kitchen, where Zoe was seated at the table with the other women, looking achingly beautiful wearing no makeup, her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail.
They must have been playing for some time, because there were coffee cups and a half-eaten plate of fruit and crackers on the table, along with papers scribbled with notes, score sheets, and multiple decks of cards.
There was a chorus of hellos. Zoe gave him a casual wave and then turned her attention back to her cards.
Clara called from her usual spot against the wall, “We missed you earlier. Leticia is trying to serve us coffee that resembles used motor oil.”
Minnie, who sat on a cushion to bring her up to table height, looked at him over the top of the heavy glasses that sat low on her nose. “Rough night?” she asked.
Connor realized in a rush that he hadn’t showered that morning and was probably sporting some very creative hair, in addition to a significant layer of stubble. “One of our companies had a meltdown,” he replied. “I worked most of the night.”
“We heard,” Shirley said. “Zoe told us all about Sonoma. She said you had to stay back.”
Great. So they’d been talking about him.
“Isn’t it wonderful about Zoe’s meeting? She managed to give the man what he wanted and still represent herself,” Clara said with approval. “Brilliant.”
>
Connor shook his head. “I haven’t heard about it yet.”
Something in the look that the GPGs shared said they were neither surprised nor impressed. He noticed that Zoe was still considering her cards.
Leticia took the bag out of his hands and busied herself arranging the pastries on a plate. “Oh, they’re still warm,” she moaned. “Ladies, come get one.”
Connor turned to the side to let the women move around him, then positioned himself to intercept Zoe on her way to the counter, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he should say or do. He felt as awkward as if he were back in eighth grade, trying to figure out where to put his hands during a slow dance.
“Hey,” he said. He’d never been good at subterfuge, so he decided to go with straightforward. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”
Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth, then back to his eyes. Her lips relaxed into an easy, deliberate line. She smiled, though he didn’t think it quite reached her eyes. “I totally understand. Not a big deal.”
She was hurt. A weight settled squarely on his shoulders and in the pit of his stomach.
“Can I make you dinner tonight? After bridge?”
“I’d love that, but it’s been a long week, and you know I’m flying out to Las Vegas Monday. I think I’m going to have an early night.” She gave him a half smile. “Rain check?”
He blinked. She was putting distance between them. Apparently he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do—thrown a bomb right into the middle of whatever they’d been building. He’d sent the message that he couldn’t be relied upon, and she’d gotten it, loud and clear.
It felt like shit.
And that’s why it was so necessary.
“Okay.” He glanced to the small group of women, who were practically leaning toward them in an effort to hear them better. “I understand.”
She nodded and moved past him, but to his mind, she seemed careful to make sure their bodies did not come into contact. The loss was visceral. Having her this close and not being able to touch her was a physical pain he hadn’t anticipated.
“I’ll be around tonight if you change your mind,” he heard himself saying, low and intense, hoping only she could hear but suddenly not caring if the entire room heard it as well.
He didn’t know what he was doing. Determined to keep her at a distance but unable to let her go. Pushing her away yet needing her close.
In the end, the greatest conceit of all would be for him to assume he got to make the call. Because he didn’t. She did. She knew what he was and what he was not.
And now that she’d seen firsthand what he’d been warning her about all along, why would she settle for so little?
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Zoe got back to her apartment that afternoon, she resolutely pulled out her barely used jog bra, a warm long-sleeve top, and a pair of leggings, and went for a run.
Run was a generous word for what she did—jog perhaps, or run-walk maybe?—regardless, since she kept moving for forty minutes, she considered the enterprise a success. She started along the beach, then cut into Golden Gate Park and made a loop back to her apartment, returning home just as a gray drizzle swallowed her view of the ocean.
She took a hot shower and changed into a pair of cozy fleece sweatpants and a sweatshirt that had seen better days. Then she surveyed the apartment she’d lived in for almost three years but hadn’t changed much from the day she’d arrived.
Other than the dirt and clutter, of course.
Thanks to her dedication to takeout, the stove had an honest-to-goodness layer of dust over the top. The once robust spider plant she had purchased a month ago in a fit of optimism was reduced to weeping brown leaves, and the stack of magazines and catalogs she’d planned to look through and recycle was at least two feet high.
And really, had she ever cleaned the floors?
“You are pathetic,” she told herself. “This has got to change.”
She started with the kitchen appliances and didn’t stop until they sparkled—even if she still didn’t have any plans to use them, at least they could be clean. Then she turned her attention to the stack of mail on her tiny dining table, ruthlessly disposing of the piles she knew she’d never get around to reading. Finally, she hit the kitchen and living room floors, vacuumed the carpet in her bedroom, and, reluctantly, turned her attention to the bathroom.
The shower alone took a good hour to scrub clean.
Despite the level of chaos, the good thing about having a four-hundred-square-foot apartment was that it could be deep cleaned in a day. After finishing her cleaning, she still had enough energy to drop her dirty linens in one of the apartment’s laundry machines and walk down to the grocery store to grab cereal, milk, and ice cream, her three primary food groups. She also bought a small bouquet of flowers—they were supposed to die, so she wouldn’t have to feel bad about it when they did—and a decorative dish towel.
On the way back, she passed a neighbor walking a tiny, multicolored wiener dog and wondered, for just a moment, what that might be like. Having something living that was excited when you got home each night.
But that was taking things way too far. She obviously needed to keep a plant alive before she could consider having a pet.
By nine, she was tired and achy, but her apartment was cleaner than it had been in years. When she looked around at the sparkly stove, fresh flowers, and adorable dish towel, she actually understood how people could be excited to come home at the end of the day. It suddenly seemed strange that she hadn’t figured it out before. The place was hers. Why had it taken her so long to claim it?
She collapsed into the couch to consider her evening plans. Tonight had “binge TV” written all over it. But when she finally stopped moving, her back, arms, and legs all screamed simultaneously about their unaccustomed exercise.
Good grief. Zoe winced at the rush of sensations. Even a night of Glee reruns couldn’t distract her from the throbbing in her thighs and butt. She really shouldn’t have thrown those squats into the mix, even if it did make her feel like a badass.
What she needed was a bath.
A long, hot, bubble bath in a tub surrounded by candles.
Only problem? She didn’t have a tub.
A slow sigh escaped her as she stared at the TV.
Then it occurred to her.
She didn’t have a tub, but Connor did.
In fact, Connor had the bathtub to end all bathtubs. The architect who’d done his remodel convinced him that a Jacuzzi tub would be great for resale. And given his size—and his money—he’d ended up with a six-foot-long, six-foot-wide corner tub that was ridiculously, absurdly, wonderfully decadent. Connor, of course, had never used it.
She peeked at her phone and refreshed her text messages. He had said he’d be home tonight, hadn’t he? She had no new messages from him, but of course, there wouldn’t be. She’d been carefully polite at Leticia’s house, but not exactly warm. She’d just been so hurt—and then trying so hard not to be hurt—that she couldn’t quite muster the will to pretend like nothing had changed.
Not when it was so clear that she’d become too dependent on him and needed to take a giant step back.
But then he’d looked at her with those sexy eyes of his, and offered to make her dinner, and seemed so damn sincere about the whole thing she couldn’t muster up the will to be mad anymore.
It wasn’t about him, anyway. The one she was really mad at was herself. Connor was just being Connor. He was giving her exactly what he’d promised. How could she hold that against him?
And now all she wanted was a soak in his ginormous bathtub. And maybe an orgasm or two.
But really, the tub was her first priority.
Restless, she paced her tiny apartment, considering. She pulled a carton of Ben and Jerry’s out of the freezer and stood in the kitchen, eating those magical calories that didn’t count because you neither served the food in a dish nor sat down to consume it.
&nbs
p; Every few seconds, she refreshed her messages and pondered the ethics of using a man for his bathtub.
Finally, she gave in.
You around?
The response came before she could set down the phone.
Yes.
It wasn’t exactly “come on over,” but she figured it would probably do.
Can I come by for a bit? I won’t stay too long.
Of course.
She waited, hoping for a joke, a welcoming phrase, or even a smiley face. Nothing. Damn it, he was back to the iceberg. She figured she only had herself to blame for that.
She drove across town and parked in his garage. He buzzed her up and met her at the door to his apartment, pausing to take in her sweatshirt and sweatpants with a wary expression.
“Did you—”
She held up her hand and shook her head. “I’m not here for a big emotional thing. I’m totally fine about you not coming to Sonoma. I admit I was disappointed at first, but really, I had a great time with the others, and I totally understood that you needed to stay back. And yes, I wanted you to text me sooner and maybe call, but that’s just teenage stuff and not your thing, and I get that.”
“Zoe—”
She shook her head again. “That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Now, can I come in?”
“Of course, but—”
“But nothing.” She sailed past him into the apartment. SportsCenter was on the television, and a glass of whiskey sat on the side table next to his recliner. “Really, we’re good. I was being honest when I said I was busy and need to prepare for my meeting on Monday. In fact, I’m really only here because I need a bath.”
He blinked. “A bath?”
“A bath.” She held up the container of bubble bath and collection of candles she’d bought along the way. “It’s been a long day. And I went for a run.”
He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “You ran? Were you being chased?”
“Ha. No. And don’t sound so amazed.”
He motioned toward the bathroom, seeming nonplussed. “Cleaning crew was in yesterday. Make yourself at home.”
