by T Gephart
“Fine,” she conceded. “It’s good to hear from you too. I was spoiled when you didn’t immediately move after college and hoped we might bring you across to the dark side.”
“Yeah, well the only reason I didn’t move right away was because I couldn’t get a job. Then I had to sit for the bar, find an apartment and all that fun stuff. You know you got me to stay longer in Connecticut than I’d planned.”
“Whatever, I’m still going to be bitter and curse you out for leaving us. So tell me, what’s got your mind twisted in such a knot you need to call me at eight p.m. New York time on a Tuesday?”
What made Jackie a good friend were the same things that made her a good lawyer, she had a killer gut instinct and was rarely wrong. Oh, and she was one of the few people in the country who could read me like a book. Alex used to be one, but the jury was still out on whether he’d retained the skill.
“You remember that guy I told you about?” I had always been vague about Alex, referring to him only by first name and never mentioning his family connection. Partly to protect him, and partly to protect myself.
“The dude with the hot brother you wanted to marry and make babies with?” she asked, her mind remembering every detail like she would be called to give testimony at any minute.
“Yeah, that guy. So, I called him and we’re meeting up in a couple of hours.” I stopped unpacking boxes, the distraction no longer enough.
“Is his hot brother going to be there? If so, wear the red dress. Even with your natural and regular-sized boobs, it still makes them look impressive,” Jackie added, prompting me to roll my eyes.
“The brother already has a wife. I’m not trying to get married, have babies or seduce anyone. But I do feel stupidly nervous.” The hand that had previously been occupied putting away my five billion purchases from Target was white-knuckling a throw pillow I didn’t need.
“Babe, it’s normal to feel weird. You’ve been gone a long time. But my advice is to treat him like you would a client. Smile, be polite and retain your judgment. And wear the red dress anyway. It will be good practice for when you find someone you do want to seduce.”
“Other than your directive to flash my boobs, your advice is perfect as always, counselor.”
“That’s why you called me instead of Lisa. She gives you feels while I give you the facts.” She chuckled. “And by the way, I want a transcript of this meeting after it takes place.”
“Sure, I’ll take notes. Oh, and one other thing, he’s a lawyer too.”
I took a breath.
“Wait a minute, you can’t just drop that bombshell on me right when you’re about to hang up. What is he practicing? Where did he go to school?”
“All important questions which I intend to find the answers to tonight.”
“Transcript. Do not forget to send me details.”
“Yes, yes. And thanks for the pep talk, I needed it.”
“Thanks for the ego boost, Rodeo Drive, but you know you don’t need me as much as you pretend to.”
“That’s bullshit, Fifth Avenue, I’ll always need you.”
As the call ended, I felt better about my impending meeting. The conversation had gone great last night, and if nothing else, seeing him again would give me closure. Who knew, maybe we’d even see each other occasionally or even less likely, work a similar case.
It was still hard to believe that of all the professions in the world we had both ended up in the exact same one.
Not that it mattered at that moment, with the need to get ready and not freak out breathing down my neck. It would be okay, I reasoned, trying to quell nerves that had taken up residence in my gut. I had no idea what he thought about me or my family, or how any of that affected him. Time. Distance. And the deceit of my father might have been all too much. All of that was true, but I’d never remembered him to be vindictive.
Things might have changed between us but underneath it all, he’d always had the most amazing heart.
That wouldn’t have changed.
It would be okay.
And it was ridiculous how much I was worrying about it.
There was no need to worry at all.
None.
Fine, there was maybe a little reason to worry.
Gah!
I needed to get ready.
The Uber driver stopped in front of a duplex in West Hollywood. It was a hell of a lot nicer than my apartment, and in a way better part of town. But since I wasn’t there to give him a real estate appraisal, I stepped out of the car and continued up the stairs to his front door.
Wonder if he had a roommate? No first or second year associate in the country would make enough cash to cover that kind of rent.
I pressed the buzzer, pushing my shoulders back, straightening my ponytail, and applauded myself for not wearing the red dress. I instead went for a casual jean/V-neck combo that was more suitable to visiting someone at their home, and didn’t show the kind of skin that might tempt him to slide in a dollar.
Oh.
My.
God.
I wasn’t sure what opened wider, his front door or my mouth.
If that was Alex Larsson, then the years had been good to him.
Jesus.
He had always been tall, sporty, and blond, with a pair of blue eyes that could make the Mediterranean Sea jealous. But somewhere between then and now he had taken a right turn at cute and drove straight into hot.
Six-foot-OH-MY-GOD-how-tall-is-he? My eyes roamed from his toes to his head like they were inspecting a Picasso at Christie’s. And Lord, that body—all of it toned and delicious—I almost felt the need to genuflect as I stood there in front of it. His face didn’t help either, a perfect blend of story-book-prince and every-hot-guy-ever.
His perfectly mussed blond hair and seawater-blue eyes double barrel assaulted me. He’d gotten hotter than any Larsson—or man for that matter—I’d ever seen. Even his stubble was hot, the smattering shadow across his flawless jaw taunting me to touch it. There was nothing “old childhood best friend” about him. He was a work of art; my hands wanting to run over him like a piece of modeling clay and get dirty.
“Maya?” He smirked, looking me up and down as he stood barricading the door. Lord, he had muscles. He would have made an amazing firefighter. “Are you Maya Zaveri?”
I swallowed, my throat feeling like sandpaper as I found my voice. “That depends. Are you trying to serve me?”
He chuckled, his sea blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Exactly how many outstanding warrants do you have, possible Maya?”
“None in the state of California, but I only moved back yesterday.”
Oh.
My.
God.
Was I flirting with Alex Larsson?
Before I had a chance to give my conscience a good shake and banish any sexual thoughts to friend-zone, he pulled me into a hug. So instead of just thinking inappropriate things about his body, I was touching it with mine, and gathering evidence that proved Alex worked out a lot. Gone was the soft boyish body I’d seen a million times, and in its place was a work of art with the hard curves of a man. I swear to God, if there was ever a way to get pregnant fully clothed, it was wrapped around me creating an embryo. Sure made me grateful I’d taken my birth control before leaving my apartment.
“Hey, how are you?” My hands decided to gather their own reconnaissance, moving up his back like I was giving him a pat down. “It’s so good to see you.” My voice was about two octaves higher than it needed to be.
“Good, really good.” He pulled back briefly, flashing me a cocky smile that was on the wrong side of platonic. “Come in.”
As much as I wanted to continue to hold him—my hands unsatisfied as they hadn’t felt his abs—I untangled myself so we could shuffle through the door. He led and I followed, letting my eyes study his ass with great detail. Not because I wanted to, no. It was for the transcript I needed to compile for Jackie and Lisa.
It was weird.<
br />
My body and mind confused with feelings they should absolutely not be having. Yet, no amount of argument did me any good as I stood there gaping at him, trying really hard to imagine what he’d look like with his clothes off.
I needed to stop.
Think of something else, and stop acting like I was in his house for anything other than friendship. Hell, even that hadn’t been certain, so being annoyed I hadn’t worn the red dress served no purpose.
“Wine?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of me for a second.
“It will be the first time we’ve drunk it together and haven’t had to steal it from my mom or yours.”
“Oh, I stole the bottle from my mom. I only had beer in my fridge and didn’t have time to go to the liquor store. And because I had to work late, it is either drink the wine I pilfered from her last weekend or forgo the shower. And I remember how much you hated man-stink.”
Lies, if the stink came from a man who looked like him, I’d potentially bathe in it.
I laughed like an idiot, throwing my head back like an airhead, and immediately started wondering when I turned into one of those girls.
“Ha, well then as two respectable attorneys, we should definitely dispose of the evidence.”
Damn it.
I was still fucking flirting.
“You’re an attorney?” His eyebrow lifted in surprise.
SHIT.
Not only was I acting like a dumbass but I had inadvertently revealed I knew more about him than he did about me.
God, I hope he didn’t think I’d been stalking him all these years.
“Yes, and my mom mentioned you were too. Our moms apparently have been chatting,” I added, not sure if I was making it better or worse.
“Hmmm, interesting.” He stroked his chin, not giving anything away. “Sounds like I need to have a chat with my mother then.”
Making a silent vow I would stop behaving like a moron, I nodded when he gestured to his leather couch. I figured there was less trouble I could get into sitting down and used the time when he disappeared into the kitchen to get a handle on myself.
He was not some hot guy.
Oh, yes he was.
Fine, he was hot. But that wasn’t what I was there for, and I needed to remember that.
Ignoring that I was trying to demote him from his hot-man status and put him in the friend-zone, he strode back in with a bottle and two wineglasses, looking just as delicious as when he left. His sexy little smirk wasn’t helping either, and I was beginning to think drinking was going to be a serious mistake.
“I hope you like reds.” He rolled the bottle in his gorgeous, large—seriously, when did he get so huge—hand and showed off the label. “Because this baby is from my mom’s hidden stash.”
A quick glance at the bottle proved he hadn’t been kidding, the blended Cabernet from Bordeaux a little flashier than the wine we used to thieve.
“So, did you steal it with intention? Or did the bottle have another purpose?” It was a dumb question to ask because I really didn’t care about the wine.
No, the wine was irrelevant.
But, by his own admission he’d taken the bottle last weekend when I had still been part of his very distant past. Which begged the question.
Was the wine for someone else?
Another woman perhaps, who liked dry reds from France?
“Didn’t realize I was on the stand, counselor.” A playful grin hooked at the edges of his mouth, watching me the entire time. “But if you must know, I take a bottle a month. I set myself a little personal challenge to see if I can successfully get it out of the house and whether or not she notices.”
I swallowed, suddenly needing a drink of that wine pretty damn bad. “How’s that working out for you?”
“I haven’t bought a bottle of wine since last September.”
He was smoldering.
He didn’t used to smolder.
That had been Nick’s specialty.
Taking those good looks and making my insides twist was not something he used to do. But as his agile fingers worked the corkscrew that was exactly what was happening.
And if I didn’t turn the conversation around really quickly, I was going to say a lot of things I didn’t mean. Or maybe I meant them but it sure as hell wasn’t appropriate.
“Your poor mom. She probably needs that wine, not sure that raising the five of you wouldn’t have given me a dependency. And there you are, taking it for sport.”
He laughed, his gaze dropping briefly so he could pour the wine into the glasses. “Oh, so now you’re calling my mom an alcoholic? I think I’d prefer you just call me cheap. And to think she used to like you, that will probably change when I tell her.”
“I didn’t mean . . .” I snapped back defensively, not meaning to imply anything even close to that. “Just give me the damn wine.” I snagged the glass from the table and took a swig.
It was great wine.
“And you’ll tell her nothing, because if you do you’ll only be implicating yourself.”
“Well, you have a point there so I guess your secret’s safe with me.” He smirked, taking a slow mouthful from his glass. “So, talk.”
He’d always been to the point—neither of us having time for bullshit—but I had hoped we might paddle in the warm end of the pool before diving into all that was my past.
I pushed out a long steady breath. “My dad was a criminal—”
“I’m not asking about your father.” He cut me off, his eyes steadying themselves on me. “I don’t give a shit about him, I want to know about you.”
“Me?” I asked, his interruption surprising me. Surely he had questions, or at the very least whether I had suspected something.
“Yes, you Maya. What happened after you left?”
The cocky smirk was gone, but his voice hadn’t hardened. He lowered his glass, giving me the full weight of the attention his beautiful blue eyes could give. I’d never been able to lie to him, and tonight wasn’t going to be the day I started.
“I tried not to fall apart, it was all I could think about for a while. I hated Nevada, I hated high school, I hated . . . well just about everything.” The laugh that made its way up my throat sort of ironic. “But hate didn’t get me very far, so I decided to channel the emotion into something more productive—ambition.”
I settled into the couch, telling him all about growing up and then moving off to college, both of us filling in the blanks of the time we’d spent apart.
Time seemed to evaporate, the conversation flowing between us way more easily than I’d expected. Almost like I’d never left.
I felt lighter, the weight that had been pressing on my chest lifted as the words flowed freely. Of course, it was entirely possible that was because of the wine but I didn’t want to waste time analyzing either.
“Yale, huh? Roman is going to love that.” He chuckled, swallowing what was left in his glass before pouring some more.
“Why?” I asked, holding my glass out for another refill. “Berkeley is a great school.”
While I knew his second oldest brother had attended Yale, all of the others had stayed on the West Coast for school. Alex had chosen Berkeley, and had stayed there for law school as well.
He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “You almost sound convincing, but I know you Ivy Leaguers all stick together.”
“I don’t follow.” I was the last person on the face of the earth who was going to pull some elitist bullshit. If I had sounded condescending, it had not been in any way intended.
“Roman went to Yale,” he deadpanned. “Didn’t hear the end of it when I decided to stay out here for law school. Not that I gave a shit,” he chuckled. “But I have a feeling the knowledge that you went to his alma mater is going to give him some new material. In case you’re wondering, he’s still a conceited dick.”
“Roman was never a dick.” I scoffed, remembering him to be assertive—and probably the cockiest of the bun
ch—but not someone I’d class as a dick.
“Wow, you didn’t mention the head trauma.” His eyes widened, as did his wicked smile. “When did that happen? And other than memory, what else has been affected?”
My hand reached out and playfully shoved his arm. It was a fine arm too, corded muscles that hadn’t been there before. “Stop it, I remember him fine, and he wasn’t that bad.” I pulled my hand away, not giving it a chance to explore.
He smirked, pointing his finger in accusation. “Didn’t I tell you all you alumni stick together? Case in point. You’re defending him right now.”
“Something tells me Roman doesn’t need anyone defending him.” I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Alex nodded. “Don’t tell him I said so but he is one of the best lawyers I’ve ever seen. Watching him in a courtroom is pure fucking electric. He is so controlled, no mistakes, it’s almost poetic.”
“That why you went into law? Because of him?” I leaned in closer, hoping to learn more about his past.
While he had shared details of the years we’d spent apart, the conversation had been more slanted in my favor. And truth be known, I was more interested in talking about him than I was about me.
“Honestly, yeah. Seeing what he did, it got me excited. And there was no way I would ever consider being an actor—preferring slow torture rather than having to appear in front of a camera.” He relaxed into his seat, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest as he leaned his arm against the back of the sofa.
I fought the urge to lean back into it. Not because I wanted him to wrap his sexy body around me, no. It was about wanting to regain some of the familiarity we’d once shared. Sure, let’s go with that.
“I thought you wanted to be a fireman.” I moved closer, not enough to be touching him, but minimizing the inches between us. Hey, I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity.
“I’m still putting out fires, Maya, just a different kind.”
Yeah, no shit.
He seemed pretty good at starting a few too. I swallowed, bringing my glass to my lips and then realizing it was empty.
Without asking he leaned forward, reaching for the bottle on the table and refilled my glass. It was my second refill, and between us, we’d drained the bottle. “Sounds like something they’d put on a corporate flier.” I smiled, savoring the last of the wine.
