That could take a while.
Please. It might make me have faith in the possibility of real romantic feelings again.
You have no idea what you’re opening yourself up for.
Tell me one thing.
Three little dots appeared and disappeared by his name, and I stared, impatient until the message posted.
I ought to start with her personality and kind spirit, but the thing that kills me are her eyes. I think she sees herself as a bit tough, maybe even jaded, and if you didn’t know her, you might fall for it. But her eyes give her away. To describe them by mere color wouldn’t do them justice. They’re soft with humor and wide with curiosity. If I were an artist, I’d try to draw them for you. I want to hope only a select few are privy to the seductive gaze she casts unwittingly.
I was gutted. That was truly gorgeous, SF. I wish you good luck and hope she finally realizes what a catch you are.
When he didn’t respond right away, I started to put my phone away, but then it buzzed one last time.
I hope you find the man who can prove himself in word and deed to be worthy of you.
God, why couldn’t I find someone like him?
Does she know how you feel?
I’m sure she has an inkling.
What was wrong with her? I’m sorry. You’re such a great guy.
Well, you don’t know that. I’m the dick who publicly accused you of having no love life.
Snort.
But he’d become more. You’ve also given me a great idea for fixing my sequel. (The sexy times scene. Blush.) I was supposed to be writing it tonight, but it’s not working.
Need inspiration?
I perked up. Yes!
When a man kisses you, do you like him to take his time, or do you like it to be sudden and overpowering?
A shiver rolled down my spine. Why Silver Fox, I do believe the answer is yes and yes.
So you like kissing?
Definitely. God, I miss it.
Then start with that. Get your characters to kiss and see whether it opens any other doors. Imagine yourself there.
I’d done that to no avail, but he didn’t need to know that. That’s great advice. You need to do the same . . . (in real life.) I need to get to sleep.
Same. Thanks for chatting.
You, too.
I lay in bed a while longer, conjuring up fictional images of Silver Fox. What did he look like? What did his voice sound like? Was he a great kisser? I pictured him being the kind of guy who would whisper something perfect as he brushed his lips across mine. He was right about the visual. I sat up and typed the start of a new scene fueled mostly by a stranger somewhere far away who was hopelessly in love with someone who wasn’t me.
Chapter 18
Layla woke me up cranking some song only she knew. I dragged my carcass into the kitchen, where she stood at the stove over a pan of scrambled eggs.
“Morning,” she said. “Eggs?”
“No, thanks.” I stretched. “Why in the hell are you awake?” I craned my neck to look into her bedroom just in case she was harboring a secret rendezvous. Who would she have hooked up with? So far as I could tell, Internet people didn’t have a corporeal state.
She fixed her plate and sat at the table. I went over to turn down the music, poured coffee, and sat across from her. “Talk.”
“I’ve got good news!” She grinned over her mug. “Guess what!”
I hated guessing, so I lobbed, “Um. You have a meeting with the pope?”
She guffawed. “Nope. Nope to the pope.”
I tapped my fingers together. “Let’s see. You’ve decided to become a vegan?”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop.”
“You told me to guess. I’m guessing.”
“Guess something realistic. I’ll give you a clue. It’s something you’ve been telling me to do for a while now.”
I pondered our history. I didn’t think she’d be so excited if she’d cleaned the bathroom. I had been on her about one thing, and I remembered her résumé and mysterious interest in my wardrobe.
“You found a job?”
She beamed. “I did!”
Now my grin matched hers. “What? Where?” She’d vowed she’d only get a job if she could work in New York City, but she’d never been able to get even an interview for any positions there. I was nervous she’d finally succeeded and would abandon me.
“It’s a cosmetics company just outside Indy. I start today!”
She was going to abandon me. I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up still. “Where will you live?”
“Relax. I can commute there from here for now. See how it goes. Guess what else?”
I groaned at her for making me work at this. “It’s a night shift?”
“Shut up. No. It’s in social media, so I can totally up my game. Maybe this will be a stepping stone to getting a job in Manhattan after a year or so.”
“That sounds perfect.” I scooted over and pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’m excited for you!”
She jumped up. “Do you mind if I pilfer from your never-ending stash of respectable clothes until I can build up my own non-pajama-based wardrobe?”
It was like we were reversing polarities, her rushing headlong toward the life I’d fled. As we picked out a week’s worth of outfits that would present an image of success, I wondered if I’d moved too far in the opposite direction. Max always dressed like he was going to a real job while I treated the bookstore the same way I had as a kid, like a place to curl up in my comfiest clothes. I held up a pink pin-striped shirt I’d always loved and paired it with a dark gray skirt, considering.
My eyes drifted to the prettier dresses, and for the first time in months, I had the urge to put one on, imagining Dylan’s reaction without meaning to. I toyed with the hem of a flirty purple skirt and blurted out a confession.
“I’m thinking of hooking up with Dylan.” I braced for her reaction.
She merely cocked her eyebrow. “Yeah. Okay. I guess.”
“What?”
“TeamMadDylan doesn’t work. It sounds too much like your name. Mad Dylan. Madeleine. It’s no good.” She appraised a white silk Banana Republic blouse, shook her head, then let the hanger swing, dismissed.
“You know there’s more to a relationship than a couple nickname.”
“Just saying. TeamMadMax. That’s a keeper.”
“You’re relentless, but Max and I would kill each other.”
She considered a light blue Ralph Lauren oxford. “You’re too much alike. You push each other’s buttons.”
“It’s not just that.” I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about the myriad ways he drove me crazy. “Did you know he tried to talk me out of marrying Peter?”
“Well . . .”
“Well, what?”
“Uh.” Her face contorted in several different expressions, from wide-eyed surprise to a guilty grimace. She squinted like she was prepared to be hit by a flying object.
“Spit it out, Miss Beckett.”
She relaxed and sat next to me. “That wasn’t totally Max.” She threaded her fingers together on her knees in front of her, like she was at an interrogation. “People in this town are so protective of you. They were concerned about your happiness.”
“What are you saying? Max was put up to it?”
She shrugged.
“By who?”
“Specifically? I’m not sure, but I told Max it was your decision to make, that you were a smart girl and you’d never forgive him if he interfered.”
“Thank you.” Was that such a hard concept? Still. “Did you have the same concerns?”
“I always have concerns. But who can know what the future holds? Were there red flags? Yeah. But I didn’t wanna lose your friendship over some guy.”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“Max kind of did.”
I blew a raspberry. “Not the same. I just can’t believe everyone had these objections and, besides Max, onl
y one person told me upfront.”
“Dylan?”
“No. Charlie, actually. He said Peter was an alphahole and in a few years I might fake my own death and swim to freedom.”
She looked confused, so I clarified. “Sleeping with the Enemy. Julia Roberts creates an elaborate boating accident to escape an emotionally abusive relationship.”
“I know that, but alphahole?”
“Alpha male asshole. Controlling, domineering.” I paused to consider whether that was a fair assessment of Peter. “I figured Charlie would object to any wedding on principle. You didn’t think Peter was abusive, did you?”
She shook her head. “Manipulative maybe. Mainly cold and never quite present.”
“He was serious and reliable.”
She wrinkled her nose. “So are most vibrators.”
I snorted. “Well the busybodies were right. Now I’m alone, struggling to keep the bookstore afloat. They stripped away my plot and left me here, a forgotten footnote.”
“Maddie, is that the worst ending to a story? Do you honestly think you’d be living happily-ever-after in a castle with your Prince Charming if Peter hadn’t run off at the stroke of midnight when he discovered all your nicely dressed friends were just jumped-up mice?”
I giggled and flipped her orange hair. “And a pumpkin.”
“But do you get my point? The big fat map of your life has a giant You Are Here arrow and it’s pointing to right now. Nowhere else. The question is whether you’re going to live here or if you’re going to keep trying to overlay reality with a fantasy.”
“I get it. I’m trying. I am, but that arrow doesn’t point me in any direction. And the map has to be redrawn because the landmarks are all gone.”
She reached out and took my hand. “Nobody gets to rely on the landmarks, Maddie. They’re rarely permanent.”
* * *
Inspired by Layla’s newfound professionalism, I picked out a blue-and-white striped pencil skirt and a pale yellow silk blouse. Leaving it strategically unbuttoned gave it a more casual feel. I even fixed my hair in a style other than my habitual braid, rolling it into a tight chignon. I disregarded the dress shoes for more comfortable sandals and headed toward my job with a new mind-set.
Despite my upgraded attitude, the morning felt ominous. There was a pressure in the air and not a soul on the street. Not even Charlie showed, which was worrisome. I’d been throwing him mixed signals, convinced he’d missed every single one of them. But maybe I’d only managed to create fissures in our friendship. Whenever he showed up, I should sit down and clear the air.
The morning continued its foreboding aspect. I peered outside, nervous a storm might be brewing that would keep everyone in their homes for the remainder of the day. The arrival of Max’s van reassured me that the rapture hadn’t taken the town and left me behind, but when he jumped onto the sidewalk and rushed inside without fetching any boxes, flipped the Closed sign around, and locked my door, I wondered if maybe we’d skipped straight to Armageddon.
“What are you doing, Max?”
“Didn’t you get an alert?” He strode across the open space, looking around the shop. “There’s a tornado warning for our area. Is there anyone else here besides you?”
The windows rattled, and a random stick or debris hit the door. I dropped the books I’d been carrying on the counter. “No. Shit.”
Without warning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me after him toward the storeroom, like a scalawag throwing me on his black steed and riding straight to his lair. Or my lair to be accurate. He flung open the door to the infrequently used cellar, a room too small to be called a basement and too damp to be used for anything other than a hole in the ground. A hole in the ground was our safest location.
My heart raced.
If you live in Indiana, a few things become second nature. One of those is hunkering down in a basement during tornado season. Which is pretty much all year round. We don’t take our chances. We’ve all seen the devastation they can leave behind. A single house among dozens might get knocked down. Or an entire town could get leveled. I’d never mess around with a tornado even if it meant being entombed with Max.
Max hit the switch to flip on the lights. Nothing happened.
The room wasn’t perfectly dark, but so dim, I had to feel along the wall to avoid tripping over the small cot I’d inherited. “I have a flashlight here somewhere.” Soon my hip hit an old workman’s table along the back wall, and I groped in the top drawer until my hand hit solid metal. I turned on the flashlight and pointed it at the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
Max stretched his arm up, but the metal chain only hung down a few inches, and even on his toes, he couldn’t grasp it. He squatted and patted his knee. “Here. Stand on my thigh and see if you can reach it.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and stepped onto his leg. He held me by the waist as I caught the chain and pulled. No change. “Shit. The bulb’s probably dead.”
The flashlight lay on the table, bouncing our shadows against the wall.
I stepped down, and Max straightened, but rather than drop his hands, he pulled me closer to him. “This reminds me of that time we took those ballroom dance classes.”
My skirt must’ve jogged that image loose.
“Max.” I tried to sound stern, but I chortled at the memory. I assumed the awkward position, laying my left hand on his shoulder and holding my right hand up, waiting for him to take it. Instead, he pressed his lips against my forehead.
Shocked, I let my extended hand drop onto his upper arm and then froze. His bicep was solid muscle. My fingers toyed with the edges of his sleeves, wanting to explore under the fabric. What must his shoulders feel like?
I should have pushed him away, but my grip tightened, and as if invited, his lips moved to my temple.
Imperatives exploded in my mind. Stop! This is Max! My mouth formed the words, but when he laid a gentle kiss on my cheek, I said nothing.
Then his lips brushed mine, and my brain short-circuited completely. The only word in my head sounded like mmm. Every ounce of my attention focused on the delicious luxury of his mouth, parting slightly. We fit together like a puzzle. I sucked on his lower lip, and his tongue darted out against mine. Bolts of lightning shot straight through my stomach, and the rest of my body came online, bit by bit, as if powered by the electricity of his kiss.
My fingers dug into the muscles I’d only just noticed, and he groaned softly. His awakened desire should have cautioned me, but it only made me want more.
He shuffled forward a step, and like an obedient dance partner, I followed his lead, letting him waltz me slowly until my back hit the wall, and he pressed against me, hard, so very hard. My mind caught up to my body with an urgent message: The cock grinding into me belonged to Max. But I didn’t want him to stop.
I hooked an ankle around his knee and forced my hips into him. My skirt rose.
What had been a quiet, low energy cranked up to full power, and the tornado found us. His fingers twined through my hair, loosening the clasp, and he grasped hold to tilt my head so he could drag his lips and teeth down my neck. My hands found the hem of his shirt and plunged under to touch his skin, to claw those tempting muscles along his back.
He broke his kiss to press his cheek against mine and whisper, “Maddie.”
I stilled his lips with mine, savoring the taste of him. His hands roamed across my shirt, territory he’d never explored. Not once. Rather than douse the heat, the violation of our taboo relationship perversely turned it up, turned me on.
He slowed, waiting for a refusal I didn’t give, before tentatively slipping a hand under my blouse. The calm in the storm broke, and he made up for lost time, skimming my stomach, my ribs, the lace of my bra. Before either of us could stop the momentum, I steered him toward the decrepit cot, and he fell more than sat on the rickety death trap.
As I climbed on his lap, where I solemnly swore I was up to no good, a violent crash upstairs b
rought us both out of our delirium.
I jerked my hands back and jumped up. “What was that?”
Max panted and drove his fingers through his hair. “Probably nothing.”
It had sounded like major destruction. I straightened my shirt and moved toward the stairs.
Max sighed. “Wait.” He brought out his phone and thumbed at it until he’d found what he wanted. With a resigned frown, he stood. “Okay, I think it’s safe to go up.”
He adjusted his pants and exhaled a nervous laugh. My hands shook with frustrated desire as we climbed upstairs.
I was worried we might find a wall or ceiling caved in from tornado damage, but the lights were all on, and outside the storm seemed to have blown past. In the café, we discovered the cause of the disruption. A tree branch lay on the floor surrounded by glass and pieces of green-painted wood that had clearly come from the front window that now had a massive hole in it.
That was going to be expensive to fix. With a sigh, I fetched the broom.
When I leaned down to pick up a large piece of glass, Max bent to grab the branch, and our eyes met. Max swallowed, then he stood and went out front to examine the window from outside.
While I swept up glass and wood, Max called through the opening, “It’s weird. There’s no damage out here.”
“What do you mean?” My heartbeat throbbed in my fingertips, and I wanted to believe it was from the shock of the catastrophe, nothing more. I pushed an image of Max on the cot, in the dark, out of my mind and focused on the task at hand, dumping the contents of my tray into a trash bag.
“I mean, there are leaves down, but no other limbs. Not even a stick.” He had to be as flustered as me, but he was matching my tone.
“What do the trees look like?”
All along the sidewalk, the city had planted trees during a beautification project when I was barely old enough to remember. They weren’t enormous, but a strong storm would often leave the streets strewn with leaves and small sticks. It struck me as odd that an entire branch would come off, especially with no other debris.
He asked, “What kinds of trees are these again?”
“Linden.”
He came back in and kicked the branch. “What is this, then?”
Dating by the Book Page 16
