“He’s probably going to ask you out.”
“Probably,” Liz agreed, although she didn’t think it was probable at all. She’d spoken her mind to the good doctor and hadn’t heard from him since, with the exception of the rose on her desk. He’d kept his distance and was, in fact, dating someone else.
“How are you going to answer him?” Donna asked.
Liz shrugged, trying to look cool and indifferent despite her spinning head and sweating palms.
Donna glanced over her shoulder. “See ya,” she said, and with a naughty grin, she strolled calmly away.
No sooner had Donna left than Sean appeared, looking better than any man had a right to. “Good—you’re still here,” he murmured. “I thought you might be.”
Liz glanced at the clock on her desk, surprised to see that it was after six-thirty. “I was just finishing up some paperwork,” she said.
“You sure you weren’t waiting for me?” Only his light, teasing tone kept his remark from sounding arrogant. She bit back the reply that sprang to her lips. Sean would believe what he wanted to believe—which was, apparently, that she spent her days longing to hear from him. Since it wasn’t far from the truth, she let it go. “Thank you for the rose,” she said instead.
“What rose?” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms.
“The one you left on my desk last week.” He knew damn well what she was talking about.
“Oh, the rose.” He grinned that sexy, charming grin of his, and her heart began to race.
“You have plans for tonight?” he asked.
She hesitated—but not for long. “Um, no.”
“How about a drink?”
“I thought you were dating…what’s her name? The physical therapist.”
He shrugged. “Not anymore. She’s too manipulative.”
It took her a moment to catch the pun, bad as it was. Then, despite herself, she smiled. A drink wouldn’t hurt.
“Where?” she asked.
“The Seaside,” he suggested.
“Sure.” Liz was a little apprehensive, especially since it felt as though she’d just done something irrevocable and maybe dangerous: by agreeing, she’d acknowledged her attraction to him. And yet she couldn’t have said no. For one thing, she was profoundly curious about why she found this man so attractive when he infuriated and annoyed her so much of the time.
Sean glanced at his watch. “Shall we meet there in fifteen minutes?”
“Fine.”
He flashed her another easy smile, then turned and walked away.
Twelve minutes later, Liz was fortunate enough to find a spot in the parking lot outside the popular restaurant. She used another minute to refresh her makeup and dig around the bottom of her purse until she unearthed a miniature spray bottle of her favorite cologne.
“Here goes nothing,” she said as she slid out of her car and locked it. At the very least, she’d have something to tell the breakfast group next Thursday.
They’d met that morning, and Clare had revealed that Michael was undergoing cancer treatment. Clare vacillated between pity and wanting to remain indifferent. With one breath she’d say it was Miranda’s problem; with the next, she’d worry frantically about his prognosis and the chemo’s side effects. Julia had finally told her children she was pregnant, with predictable results, and Karen was still upset about being disliked by the cocker spaniel, as if her entire career hung in the balance. Liz had listened to them all, but she’d left with the feeling that her own life lacked meaning, and nothing to report.
The Seaside’s bar was smoky and crowded. Valentine decorations—hearts and cupids—were still suspended from the ceiling, and the usual classic jazz had been replaced by schmaltzy love songs. Sean had yet to arrive, and she wished now that she’d waited for him outside. If he stood her up, she swore he’d never hear the end of it. A table became vacant when the hostess led its occupants into the dining room. Moving quickly, Liz claimed the space.
A couple of minutes later, a harried waitress approached; Liz ordered a glass of Merlot and instantly attacked the small bowl of peanuts, feeling she needed something in her stomach.
Sean arrived before her wine did. He paid for her drink and ordered an old-fashioned for himself. Neither seemed to have anything to say, and Liz started to feel a bit desperate.
“I wish…”
“Well, what do you…”
Naturally, when she went to speak, he did, too. Sean grinned and motioned for her to talk first. She nodded, figuring they could make polite conversation, get involved in hospital gossip or discuss books, politics, films, but what interested her most was Sean himself.
“Tell me about you.”
He chuckled and reached for a handful of peanuts. “My favorite subject. What would you like to know?”
She imagined that he often spoke of his career, his success, but she was already aware of all that. “What would you like me to know?”
“All right.” He took his time, munching on the peanuts, sipping his drink. “First, I don’t usually work this hard to get a woman to go out with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wrong path, take another.”
He grinned. “All right. I’ve been divorced for ten years.”
That was what he wanted her to know? It made her wonder if this was his way of saying there was no chance of a long-term relationship.
“Any children?” she asked while she sorted through her various unspoken questions.
“One. A daughter, Eileen. She lives in Seattle with her husband, who’s a scientist for Boeing. They’ve got a three-year-old daughter named Emily.”
“So you’re a grandfather.”
He looked away and nodded.
“Do you have pictures?”
He shook his head. “My daughter and I aren’t particularly close.”
“My daughter has two children,” she told him to cover the awkwardness of his confession. He clearly had regrets, but this wasn’t the time to ask him what had gone wrong, why he and Eileen were no longer in touch.
“How’d you get into hospital work?” he asked, obviously wanting to turn the subject away from himself.
Emboldened by the wine, Liz wagged her finger. “We were talking about you, remember?”
“All right.” He seemed deep in thought for a few moments, then shrugged almost comically. “Not much else to say.”
Liz didn’t mean to laugh, but she did. “I can’t believe that.”
He laughed, too. “Well, not much more about my personal life,” he said with uncharacteristic modesty. “And my professional qualifications you already know.”
Liz nodded. She recognized that through this small crack in his ego she’d caught a glimpse of the real Sean Jamison. She had a feeling she’d like him.
But before she could learn more, he sidetracked the conversation, and Liz found she was talking about herself. He was curious about her volunteering at the detention center, which led them into a heated debate about the prison system, capital punishment and youth crime. Predictably, they disagreed vehemently on each topic.
“You are so closed-minded,” she muttered.
“And you’re just another bleeding heart.”
“At least I have a heart,” she countered.
Grinning, he checked his watch. “Do you have a stomach to go along with that generous heart of yours?”
“Yes…”
“How about dinner?”
By that time they’d had two drinks each and nothing to eat other than a small bowlful of salty peanuts.
“You’re willing to continue this conversation?” she asked, certain he’d decided, as she had, that they shared little in common. Much as she respected his medical skills and was beginning to like him—his passion for debate, his intellect, even his humor—they were directly opposed on practically every subject.
“Sure. I’m always willing to argue. Aren’t you?”
“If you feed me, I’m game.” She needed to ea
t anyway, she told herself.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then stood. “I’ll see about getting us a table.”
The conversation over dinner didn’t lack for stimulation. They argued every point, joked, teased and laughed. When they’d finished, Liz saw that the restaurant was closing for the night.
Sean looked at his watch. “It’s 11:30—way past my bedtime. What about you?”
Liz groaned. “Mine, too. I need to be at the hospital early in the morning.”
The bill had already been paid, so they got up to leave. Sean helped her on with her jacket and walked her to her car. “Just to be on the safe side, I’ll follow you home.”
“There’s no need to do that.”
“Don’t argue with me, Elizabeth.”
“I’ve spent the entire evening arguing with you,” she reminded him sweetly, but actually she was touched by his protectiveness.
“You’ll learn soon enough that I win most arguments.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered sarcastically. “Although I’d say it was a draw.”
He grinned at that but didn’t respond.
Sean followed her home, as he’d promised, and when she pulled into the garage, he eased his vehicle behind hers, turning off the ignition.
Frowning, Liz climbed out of her car and met him. “Thanks again. I had…an enjoyable evening.”
“So did I.”
She was gratified to hear him say it.
He reached for her and after the briefest of hesitations, she leaned into him and accepted his kiss. His mouth was warm and moist and firm, and she felt sensations she hadn’t experienced in more than six years. She wound her arms around his neck and he held her tightly, his hands finding the small of her back and pressing their bodies close. He wanted her, and she was keenly aware of it.
“Invite me in,” he whispered. Before she could respond, he kissed her a second time, then again—short, eager kisses that weakened her resolve. To put distance between them, she dropped her arms and stepped back.
“I’ll turn an enjoyable evening into a pleasurable one for us both,” he promised, his voice husky with desire.
Liz would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit how tempted she was. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and waited for reason and sanity to return.
“Don’t think,” he pleaded. “Just feel.” His lips, nibbling at her neck and earlobe, made for a persuasive argument.
“Sean,” she said quickly before she had a change of heart. She lifted her head and placed her hands on either side of his jaw. “Your offer is tempting.”
His eyes, clouded with passion, cleared and sharpened. “But?”
“If I was in my twenties, I’d probably do it.”
“What has age got to do with anything?” he asked.
“Not so much age as common sense. I’m fifty-seven—” she made a point of reminding him that he was younger than she “—and I’ve acquired a bit more discretion. I find you stimulating and attractive and you’re saying you feel the same way about me.”
“Yes, God, yes.” He kissed her suddenly in a deep, probing way that made her knees wobble.
When he released her, Liz closed her eyes in a determined effort to clear her head. “Now listen, because what I have to say is important.”
He raised his head and their eyes met and held. “All right.”
“It would be the easiest thing in the world to fall into bed with you. I’m part of the generation that said if it feels right, do it, and I—”
“Is this a lecture?” he asked, sounding bored.
“No, an explanation,” she rushed to assure him. “I was married for thirty-one years, and in that time I learned that sex is more than pleasure. It’s commitment and communication, shared dreams and lives. It’s wonderful, but for me it has to mean something more than a…than a nightcap. I enjoyed myself tonight. I enjoyed being with you.”
“In other words, thanks but no thanks. Some other time?”
She hesitated; it was more complicated than that, but she doubted he understood. “Sort of.”
“I enjoyed your company, too, Liz, but I’m not interested in this touchy-feely philosophy you’re pushing here. You don’t want to go to bed with me? I can accept that. I don’t like it, but the decision is yours.”
She kissed his jaw to tell him she appreciated his listening.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” he said, heaving a ragged sigh. “I’ll wait until you’re ready and then you can give me a call.”
“What?” He’d confused her.
“I don’t ask a woman twice, Liz.”
She glared at him, furious he’d turn this into a battle of wills. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “You’ll have a very long wait, Sean.”
He chuckled, evidently amused. “I doubt that,” he said with maddening confidence. “You’ll come around soon enough and when you do, I’ll be ready, willing and able.”
“Expecting life to treat you well because you are a good person is like expecting an angry bull not to charge because you are a vegetarian.”
—Shari R. Barr
Chapter 17
KAREN CURTIS
February 23rd
Glen Trnavski, the high-school chemistry teacher I met in the parking lot a few weeks ago, called me after school yesterday. I guess he knew I needed some emotional support after eight-plus hours with fifth-graders. Despite what my mother thinks, I was never cut out to be a teacher. However, one bonus has been working with Peter Murchison, Julia’s husband. I really like him and he’s wonderful with the children.
Glen is actually kind of like Peter. Quiet, calm, a good sense of humor. He’s different from the guys I know through drama—like Jeff. But quiet as he is, he’s one of the most comfortable men I’ve ever met and when I analyzed why, I discovered it’s because he listens. Not only does he listen, he seems to appreciate what I have to say. One thing I particularly like about him is his laugh—it comes from deep in his chest. He’s NOT my type, though. Too even-tempered. Not bland, I don’t mean that, but predictable. There’s no fire in his belly, no all-consuming zeal…. Maybe I have enough for both of us?
I like his company and he understands that we’re only friends, although he seems to want more. With all the rejection I’ve had lately, I need a man who’s obviously falling in love with me—even if I can’t return his feelings. I crave the attention. I’m not proud to admit it, but unfortunately it’s true.
Speaking of rejection… I tried out for another commercial on Monday. This one was for hair spray and I should hear soon. I think I did well. I might not fit the role of meticulous housewife, but I can play an airhead to a tee. I’ve got real hopes this time. My agent said I should know what’s up by the end of next week at the latest.
I haven’t heard from my mother. That doesn’t bother me, and I consider it a gift that she’s decided to stay out of my life. Who needs the constant criticism? I’m always falling short of her expectations. Why can’t she just accept me for who I am? Isn’t that what every child needs? Love and acceptance. Mother wants me to do what she considers acceptable, so she can brag about me to her friends—and then she’ll love me. That’s completely backward! And it isn’t fair and… Obviously this is still a big issue with me, otherwise I wouldn’t continue to write about it. And I wouldn’t have chosen “acceptance” as my word for the year. (Well, also I’d like to be accepted for an acting job! Positive thinking or what?)
Getting back to Glen. We’re going to a movie tomorrow night. I probably shouldn’t have agreed. I hate to string him along, but he did ask and it isn’t like I’ve got hordes of men clamoring at my door. More’s the pity. I love movies, and I don’t mean to complain, but I find Glen…unexciting. Comfortable but unexciting.
I see as I review this journal entry that I’ve stayed away from the subject of my sister. She’s been creeping into my Thursday morning conversations lately. Liz noticed. Nothing escapes her. Julia said she did, too.
; When I asked them what they were talking about, Liz said I’ve spent my entire life competing with Victoria for my mother’s attention. Well, duh! I knew that. Although Liz did say something that made me think. It annoyed me, too. She suggested I dress outrageously, (according to whom?) in order to provoke my mother. To get negative attention, in other words. I disagree. I don’t do anything to get a reaction out of my mother. I dress the way I dress, which is stylish and unique (in my humble opinion, anyway). Because that’s who I am. I’m me and nobody else.
Now that was profound!
Anyway, I hate to tell my friends they’re wrong. My relationship with my mother has practically nothing to do with my older sister. Yes, I’m competitive with Victoria, but she’s the one responsible for that.
She didn’t have to be so perfect. She’s always done everything according to form. The classic good girl. It was like she set me up to fail because there was no way I was going to be prettier or smarter or more successful than she is. Enough said. The subject is closed and I’m going to bed.
By the time six o’clock arrived on Saturday night, Karen had serious doubts about her seven o’clock date with Glen Trnavski. She worried that she was using him to flatter her sagging ego, and worse, that he might read more into their date than he should. Friday night, she hadn’t felt too concerned about this prospect, but in the light of day, her behaviour didn’t seem fair. She’d stressed the “just friends” stipulation, but still…
She’d halfway decided to phone and beg off when she got a call. If luck was with her, it would be Glen and he’d be the one canceling. That way, the problem would be solved without any action on her part.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully.
No response.
“Hello,” she said again, more loudly this time. “Is that you, Jeff?” she snapped. She hadn’t heard from him since their spat and couldn’t help wondering—and hoping….
Thursdays At Eight Page 12
