“Whoa there.” Shelby’s eyes widen and she leans forward. “Save some oxygen for the rest of us.”
Shocked at her candor, I bark out a laugh and notice I’m hyperventilating all the air from the room. “Sorry. Ugh, this is exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not a relaxed person. Ever. I have a thousand thoughts in my head all day, every day and they all lead to—”
“Stress. I don’t know who made that speech a second ago, but she is headed for a stroke. Hold on to the way you feel here. Hold on to the relationship you had here. All of that good stuff doesn’t disappear because you change locations. I promise.”
I take a breath, relaxing. “You’re right. I need to keep that in mind.”
She puckers her lips. “I’m not normally so bossy.”
“Must be the New York seeping from your pores.”
She laughs. “Maybe. I’m glad you had a good time here. It sounds like you needed a vacation.”
“I did. The day from hell sparked this whole thing for me.” I feel stressed just thinking about it, and before Shelby can respond, I add, “Don’t ask.”
“Fair enough.”
“I do have one question for you that’s been weighing on me since I got here.”
“What’s that?”
I set my empty glass on the table. “What is your cat’s name? I’ve been calling him Buddy the whole time, and he’s gone along with it…but…” The look on Shelby’s face dries up my words. “What? Oh God, what? I fed him, mostly tuna—I hope that was OK. I looked for dry food and couldn’t find any.”
She bursts out laughing.
“What?” I ask. “Is Buddy really a girl cat, and I’ve been confusing her the whole time?”
“Melanie.”
“Your cat’s name is Melanie?” That’s a coincidence.
“No.” Her eyes sparkle with mirth. “I don’t have a cat.”
“What?”
“I have no pets. At all. I’m allergic to everything with fur—not that I knew you had a cat in here with how thoroughly you cleaned the place!”
My face heats with mortification. “Have I been feeding your neighbor’s cat?”
She shakes her head. “We’re a pet-free building. There are a lot of strays in the area, though. Maybe one of them took a shine to you and kept coming around.”
Buddy wasn’t Shelby’s cat. Come to think of it, he only came when I was alone, and I never thought to ask her friends about him. “But he was so friendly.”
“I bet he was, if you were petting him and feeding him tuna.”
“My tuna brings all the strays to the yard?”
Shelby throws her arms up and shimmies. “You’re darn right it does! Come on—the boys are waiting.”
Chapter 26
Blake
“Summer’s almost over, and my back is a mess. Now that I’m an adult, I feel like I should have the power to make every summer an adventure, but it always slips away from me somehow.” Denise shifts under the sheet while I work on her lower back. “I think it’s because when I was a kid, I always had high expectations about how epic summer would be, and it rarely measured up.”
“It’s not too late, Denise. We’re still only in July. There’s plenty of time to turn things around if you really want to.”
“I guess.”
I laugh. “Look, what’s something you really want to do?”
She takes a few deep breaths. “It sounds stupid, but I’ve always wanted to go horseback riding. I never do it, though I probably would be able to now that you’ve fixed me up.”
Denise was in a car accident seven years ago that left her almost as mangled as the car in which she was a passenger. She came to me eight months ago, after five surgeries and six years of physio. She still has some issues with the traumatic brain injury, but at least now when she walks, you can’t tell that a world of scar tissue lies beneath her clothes.
“You’re not limited by this.” I run my hands over the scar running up her spine. “Not anymore. Fear is worse than any physical limitation. Our bodies automatically heal a lot of damage. Fear takes work to get rid of.”
“I hear that. I just don’t know how to do it.”
I think through my roster of clients and smile. “I’m going to give you someone’s phone number. She’s been breeding horses for a decade, and her daughter’s a show jumper. They run camps for people healing from traumas.”
“What, like therapy horses?”
I move up to her shoulders. “Sort of. I can hook you up with them. Their horses are used to nervous people, and you’ll be in the best hands.”
“Second best,” she quips.
“Second best.” She tenses as I work through a particularly vicious knot in her bicep. “You’ve been slacking on your stretches.”
“It would be annoying that you can tell, but it also means you know your shit. I can’t even hate you for busting me.”
I shake my head and grin, pleased at her assessment. It’s true. Bodies speak more than clients most of the time. There’s no point in telling me you’re doing the work when you’re not. All that does is show me who I’m wasting time on.
Maybe not wasting time on, but I’m not going to go out of my way to help someone heal if they’re not willing to put in the effort as well. I make detailed notes, and I look up the best stretches and activities for clients to do when they’re at home. But I look up that information in my free time. If my clients aren’t doing their exercises, it’s a waste of my breath.
Some people just want a massage and a place to lie still and not have to think for an hour, and that’s fine. I’ll save my extra time for the clients who are doing their best and meet me halfway.
“I think you’re going to like Rachel and Emily,” I say.
“Either way, I need to not be scared anymore. Or be scared, but not let that fear cheat me out of cool experiences.”
I wipe my hands off on a towel, agreeing with her completely. “Denise, that’s exactly it. I’ll see you outside in a minute.”
I take her file with me and sneak a look at my cell. I check my voice mail, but there’s nothing from Mel. I’m disappointed but not surprised. She’d texted to say she was staying for a couple days to hang out with Shelby, then coming back tonight, so I probably won’t hear from her until tomorrow.
I’m glad she’s made a new friend and done something spontaneous, but man, I miss her. My body’s going through withdrawal from the soft, silky feel of her flesh curled up next to mine. I miss her smile, her frown, and that glint in her eyes when she teases me. I’m going to have to work hard not to pounce on her the second I see her again.
And bite her lower lip. Suck her tongue into my mouth while I cup her ass and pull her close. Hear her moan the way she does when I slide inside her—
The pencil in my hand snaps, and I open my eyes, glad no one was around to catch that little display.
Real smooth. I definitely need to get myself under control before I see her again. I want her to know I’ve missed her, but I don’t want to hump her fucking leg. I don’t just miss her body; I miss her. All of her. My bed suddenly feels massive and cold now that she’s not lying beside me at night anymore.
Denise exits the room, smoothing her hair.
“Hey, so I’d like you to do those stretches we talked about.” I show her the stretches I mean, using the doorjamb so she gets a visual and enjoying the way my shoulder gets a nice stretch in the process. I hand her a slip of paper with Rachel’s number. “Here’s the number to those women with the horses. You can do it. You’re ready.”
She smiles. Her eyes get a little misty, but she blinks the emotion away. “Thank you.”
“And I’d like to see you again in three weeks or so, if possible.”
“I’ll book an appointment now.” She heads to reception.
Her shoulde
r tension reminds me of Mel’s on our first day in Florida together. What’s she doing right now? Does she miss me like I miss her?
For our first date in New York, I think I want to take her dancing again. She was so sexy in that little dress… Hell, she’s sexy all the damn time, but the way her smiles lit up her eyes when we were dancing…
I shake my head free of the images bombarding my mind and focus on my one voice mail.
Not Mel, but my now second-favorite member of her family. Shawn has left me a message, inviting me to our favorite pub in an hour. I scrub the oil from my forearms and write up my notes before hurrying to the subway. What the hell am I going to say to him? Mel and I never discussed telling her family, and I’m not comfortable outing us as a couple before talking to her—though I’d cartwheel down Broadway with her name painted on my chest if I could.
It’s probably best to say nothing for the time being—at least until Mel and I discuss things. My friends with the horses remind me that family is whatever we make for ourselves. The people we choose to have around us are more important than the ones we share genetics with. Mel and her family are already family, but that feels like skipping a step because of our history. I want her so damn badly, but I don’t want her to feel any pressure because I already know her parents. Just because we won’t have that awkward meet-the-family introduction in our future doesn’t mean I assume we’re further along than we are. This is still new territory for us, no matter how comfortable it feels.
And she already knows my painful, lonely history. I won’t have to ease her into a conversation about my past because she already knows. It’s liberating even while it solidifies our ties in my mind and heart. Our histories connect us.
I make it there only five minutes late, but Shawn is already at our regular spot by the corner. I wave to him and grab a draft from the bar before heading to our table. It’s a pub, but people are overdressed as they usually are, wearing clothes to impress.
That’s one thing I’ll miss about Florida. It’s not as trendy and doesn’t take its fashionable appearance as seriously. Not that I’d roll out in cargo shorts all the time, but I’d forgotten how much black clothing people wear. It seems a little dingier, despite all the expensive lines and impossibly high heels making women’s legs look good. Heels are bad anyway.
Mel’s bare foot covered in sand was infinitely sexier. Mel in a life jacket playing with a dolphin was even better.
“Hey, man, how are you?” I ask, sliding into the booth.
“Not bad!” Shawn takes a deep pull from his beer and wipes the foam from his stubbled upper lip. “You’ve got a spring in your step. Did you get some down there?”
I roll my eyes. “Wow, jump right into the important things.”
He shrugs. “It was a vacation. I pictured you on a beach with a bunch of babes in bikinis. Miami’s hot, right? Rappers sing songs about it. So?”
Christ, this is awkward. I rub the back of my neck, unsure of what to say. We’ve always shared everything, and hiding this from him—even with good reason—feels bad.
He slaps the table. “Oh, you did! Was she hot? Where’d you meet her? I bet she wasn’t as hot as Shelby.”
If I give him some of the facts without going into details about Mel and me, maybe I can ease him into this. “I saw her on the beach.” If he realizes I don’t just see Mel as a quick fuck and chuck, there’s a smaller chance he’ll freak the fuck out. “She’s just my type. We did a bunch of stuff while I was there.”
“Kinky stuff?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I shrug. “Dates. We went dancing, did water sports, saw some dolphins.” God, Mel was cute that day. The day I realized I love her.
“Geez. You’re acting like you fell for this chick after, what, a couple weeks? You know you don’t have to wax poetic about the pussy to get your dick wet.”
No, I can’t tell him about Mel and me yet. “Real charming, Shawn. Anyway, weren’t you playing tour guide for Shelby?”
The smug expression leaves his face like wind being sucked from a boat’s sails. “I wasn’t her guide, man. We had a fantastic time, but I wasn’t her puppet or anything like that.”
Interesting how defensive he is. Shawn is normally as laid-back as it gets. “I believe you, but thousands wouldn’t.”
“Shut up. I’ve got to admit, Shelby’s pretty amazing. I haven’t met anyone like her for ages. Maybe not ever. I told you about our trip, right?”
“You did.” Private jets, multiple casinos, something about an ex-NFL player and a stuffed duck.
Shawn runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. There’s something about her, man. She’s hot, but it’s more than that. She’s fun too. Smart. Down to earth. I’ll be thinking about her for a while.”
“That’s how I feel about M…my Florida chick.” Nice one, asshole. “She was different, but it feels like I’ve known her forever.”
Shawn nods. “Isn’t it funny how someone can just walk into your life and take over your thoughts like they’ve always been there?”
This is too weird. I can’t talk about Mel without talking about Mel, so I focus on him and what he’s just said. “Seriously, though, do you think you’ll pursue anything with Shelby?”
He takes another sip of beer, eyes growing solemn. “I’d like to. I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t know if it’s her or the timing, or some combination of both, but I don’t want her to ride off into the sunset with some other asshole.”
I clink my glass against his. “I hear that. So what are we going to do about it?”
“Drink?” He laughs.
“And then?”
He taps his coaster against the table. “Shelby did invite me to go down to Florida with her.”
“So why are you still here? If you can’t get her out of your head and she invited you to spend more time with her, why are you here?”
He crosses his arms, rocking the same stubborn look Mel gets. “Why are you here? It’s cool and all to give me shit, but I don’t see your girl here on your arm. You didn’t extend your stay in Florida to be with her.” He picks up his drink and takes a sip like he just dropped the mic on me.
“Shawn, you’re absolutely right.” I grin. “And I’m going to do something about that.”
Chapter 27
Melanie
After getting along so well with Shelby, I decided to extend my stay for a couple days. Not just to spend more time with her, but to make certain arrangements—including driving back to JFK Airport instead of flying, which took almost nineteen hours broken up over two days.
I splurged on a cab from the airport car-rental place, nearly dozing off twice on the way home.
Now, I walk up the steps to my building, my butt sore from all the sitting I’ve done over the last two days. I drape a sweater over my new carrier bag and try not to jostle it too much when I grab my keys and stride in, choosing to take the rickety elevator instead of the stairs. If anyone sees what’s in my bag, I’ll get into so much trouble.
The tiles in the lobby seem smaller, dingier. Everything’s dark compared to Shelby’s place. She said she didn’t see my building as less than hers or foreboding, but it feels that way. Even so, the smell of spicy Thai food that wafts through the lobby makes my mouth water in a good way.
The residual bad feelings could be the long trip talking, and I relax once the elevator doors close and carry me to my floor. The hall’s abandoned at 11:37, my floor occupied by mostly older residents. That’s good—means my neighbors don’t cause a disturbance, other than when they crank Wheel of Fortune to insane decibels.
A thin sheen of sweat covers my face, and I blot my top lip before sliding my key into the lock and letting myself into my apartment.
No one saw what I smuggled from Florida in my bag. Am I doing the right thing?
I lock the door behind me and flick on the light, w
incing at how cluttered my apartment feels. Sure, it’s organized to the nth degree, but there are so many things crammed into the tiny square footage. It’s like an episode of Hoarders compared to Shelby’s minimalistic space.
Of course, she has about four times the space I do, so that probably has something to do with it.
This place has been my home for years, and it’s suited me just fine—but now that I’m back, it feels off. It’s been three weeks, not three years, and yet the place feels cold and impersonal. There aren’t any touches that reflect me. Nothing screams Melanie; nothing marks this place as uniquely mine.
I felt more comfortable in Shelby’s place than I do here.
The day after tomorrow I’ll go back to work, back to the job I’m great at. I’ll slip back into my work clothes, feeling like they’re a costume, and be the person I’ve always been. But I don’t know what I’d rather do, who I’d rather be. Where I’d rather be.
I think of calling Blake just to hear his rich, warm voice, but being with him swallows the world. I miss him, but I’m floundering a bit and wouldn’t be much fun as a date. Right now, I need to find my place.
Tomorrow. I’ll call him tomorrow.
I head to the dark-red velvet couch and ease my bag to the cushion, finally unzipping it.
A fuzzy orange head pokes out as Buddy emerges from the carrying case.
Smuggling him in here has made me a criminal, since no pets are allowed in my building. A small criminal, but still.
He took the drive surprisingly well, but his fur is raised a little on his neck, so I don’t try to pet him in case he takes a disgruntled swipe at me.
“This is your new home, Buddy. I’m sorry it’s tiny, and technically you’re not supposed to be here, but it’s our place now.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind, knowing he had no home to go back to. What if a hurricane hit? He’d be forced to crouch beneath some cardboard box or hole up somewhere cold and dark to stay safe. Beneath a Dumpster with rats or whatever they have in Florida. Alligators.
Summer Indiscretions Page 17
