by Elle Aycart
“You look nice,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”
“Any occasion is a good occasion. Besides, I cooked and Arnie is here. We’re celebrating.”
“You wearing your Brazilian ass?”
She burst into laughter. “You bet I am. This dress doesn’t look the same without it. Besides, the floor was hard.”
“This might be outrageously bad manners, but you already told me about your Brazilian ass, so I’m just going to say it. Your boobs have gotten bigger.”
“They seem bigger,” she corrected. “It’s called boob contour. You play with light and shadow to create depth, and voilá, an average B becomes a nice C.”
There was nothing average about her, but Logan kept that to himself. “So you used boob makeup on your neckline?”
“I’m afraid I did. A woman never reveals her secrets, but as you say—after telling you about the Brazilian ass, it’s no use playing coy. I used boob contour for the pasta party too, but you didn’t seem to notice then so I didn’t mention it.”
He’d noticed. Boy, had he noticed. “Why go to all the trouble? It’s just you and me. No party to go to.”
“It’s for me. One must look one’s best. It’s an obligation.”
That obligation had him and his junk sweating bullets.
“Something smells good in here,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen, trying to distract himself from the enticing views and the way his pants were strangling his erection. “What’s for dinner?”
“Burritos. That’s the only Mexican food I know how to make. Next time I’ll do phô for Danh, gong bao chicken for Huan, and then ceviche for Esteban. I checked Peruvian cuisine, and cuy is popular, which is roasted guinea pig. Sorry, but no way. I haven’t been able to find a typical Turkmen dish, but I will.”
“What’s wrong with American corn bread, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes? Or junk food? That’s very American too.”
“We’ve been talking about their favorite dishes. Food makes people feel at home. I’m not a great cook, but half the job is trying. I already fed your crew.”
“They ate here?” That was something they hadn’t done before now.
She nodded. “They started to, but Arnie made them change their minds. They decided to take the rest of the food to go. They wanted to turn in early for tomorrow’s trip.”
The guys were going to Minneapolis to do a bit of sight-seeing for the weekend. Logan hadn’t been able to get them to talk to him or to each other. Sky not only managed that in a couple of days, she got them to bond enough to go on a trip together. Of course she’d convince them to have dinner at the house too.
“I guess I should freshen up,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’m afraid my tuxedo is at the cleaners, though. Don’t expect miracles.”
Logan took a fast shower. He pondered for a second whether to pull out his suit, but discarded the notion and went for jeans and another T-shirt. He’d had enough dressing up for a lifetime, thank you very much. And he’d been honor bound to please his wife. With Sky, he didn’t have any obligations.
When he made it downstairs, Sky was getting the table ready, setting out glassware. Arnie was trailing her.
“Your dog has attachment issues. He shadows you everywhere.”
“He does.” Sky petted the beast. “He likes being with me. He’s such a sweetie.”
“What were you referring to earlier when you said Arnie doesn’t fit anywhere?”
“Arnie is perceived as a dangerous dog, and yet he doesn’t fit with dangerous animals. He’s too gentle a soul. But because of his appearance, people give him a wide berth, and he’s always kept apart from the smaller dogs. That’s hard. I know a thing or two about not fitting anywhere.”
“Meaning?”
“To Latinos, I’m a whitey because I don’t speak Spanish and don’t know much of the culture. I’ve lost my roots; therefore, I’m no longer part of their community. Among whites, whether I speak Spanish or not is irrelevant—I’m a Latino woman.”
“A rather crude generalization, don’t you think?”
She lifted a brow belligerently. “You going to tell me how it feels to be part of a minority?”
No, but he too knew a thing or two about belonging. “I’m one of the few non-preppers in this town. An outsider and a West Coast transplant, on top of everything else. I know how it feels to be part of a minority, although not a racial one.”
“I might be generalizing a tiny bit,” she conceded. “There are exceptions, of course. Not everyone has such prejudices, but open-minded people are few and far between. And you don’t have to reject the outsider for the outsider to feel that he doesn’t fit, that he is different. It’s a feeling.”
Logan shrugged. “Can’t argue with feelings, but it’s my experience that you don’t fit until one day you do.”
“Hasn’t happened to me yet. I lived with my mother and father in New Jersey. I was ten when my mom got sick and my dad split. We had to move to the Spanish Harlem, to live with my grandmother and my older sister. I had little contact with the Latino community before that.”
He followed her to the kitchen and helped her carry the food to the table. “It takes tenacity to grew up in Spanish Harlem and not learn Spanish.” Not to mention it was a hell of a statement.
“Tell me about it. Although my mother wasn’t born in the US, she was very much into assimilation and made a point of always speaking English. All my grandmother’s support system, on the other hand, were Spanish speakers. They called me La Gringa,” she said, a somehow bitter smile marring her face. “Truth be told, I didn’t want to belong with them, so the more they bitched about me not speaking Spanish, the more I blocked learning it. They kept going on about my heritage and the need to preserve it. I didn’t want to hear a word about it. I hopped on the train and spent as much time as possible in Jersey. My heritage made me different. I didn’t like being different. I wanted to be like the rest of my friends. My white friends. But I wasn’t, was I? Fashion is a great equalizer in that way. What’s in is in, regardless of where you come from.”
“Does it bother you? Not fitting anywhere?”
“No, because I fit with Arnie.” She sat down. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Yet she’d been totally ready to dump Arnie for a job in France.
“What?” she asked. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“What would have happened to him if you’d gotten the job at Galeries Lafayette?”
She stared at him defiantly. “I would have flown him to Europe, of course. The dog hotel was temporary. An American citizen can’t bring a dog like Arnie into France. Breed prejudice. So I needed a little time to scout things out, but I would have found a way around those regulations. I told you, a person doesn’t abandon the ones she loves.” If the determination in her eyes was anything to go by, Logan had no doubts Arnie would have been smuggled into France in no time.
“What about your sister? Do you fit with her?”
Her fierce expression softened at the mention of her sister. “I love Lola, but she’s an absolute mess. Her problem isn’t that she fits nowhere. It’s the other way around. She’s forty going on fourteen.”
“Forty?” He studied her for a long second. “How old are you?”
“Haven’t you ever heard about the perils of asking a woman her age? I’m twenty-seven. Why?”
“Quite an age gap.”
Sky nodded. “Lola is my stepsister. My mother had her when she was young. My grandma raised Lola. And now that we’re on the subject, how old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Figures,” she commiserated.
“What?”
“This weather is murder on the skin. I would have pegged you for thirty-nine, minimum. Stock up on moisturizer, Alchemist. You don’t want to end up looking like Tutankhamun.”
Smartass.
The beep of his cell interrupted them. Logan reached for the device. It showed a picture of Shayna. Her bright red li
ps had small white polka dots on them, and she was blowing a kiss. The message read, “Your makeup is a success.”
“This is for you,” Logan said, handing it to Sky. “What did you do to her?” Shayna had always been pretty, but she looked amazing now.
“We got a bit creative.”
“White polka dots?” He’d seen Shayna favoring polka dots on her shoes or on dresses, but on her lips? That was a new one.
“Leftover white liquid eyeliner and a bobby pin. You dip the tip and do the dots. It really makes the lips pop.”
No shit. They looked 3D. “Her eyes seem huge too.” They were not only glittery, but they had some fancy colors on the upper eyelid.
“We dipped color pencils in a glass of warm water. They make fantastic eyeliners. Not to be used every day, mind you, but perfect for emergencies. And glitter stays put anywhere if you use lip gloss underneath it. Glittery eye shadow is in fashion. The catwalks are full of it.”
“Spectacular result.”
“Bob didn’t think so. He went ballistic. Started yelling, ‘Infected, infected. Get the tranquilizer.’ Nuts.”
He’d told Shayna that having Carol raven-sit was going to backfire.
Logan studied Sky again. “You’re wearing Dior.”
“I am,” she conceded.
“How come a woman dressed in frigging expensive clothes knows all these cheap-ass tricks?”
She sighed. “The clothes are castoffs. My boss—ex-boss—gets invited to all the big fashion shows. She seldom wears the same outfit twice, and I was her go-to girl when it came time to get rid of the old shit. She tossed, I caught and repurposed.”
So that was why she wore outfits worth thousands of dollars even though she was strapped for cash—she dressed above her paycheck. All she had to do was sell half her wardrobe on eBay and she’d be set for a long while.
“I must say you wear her old shit very well.” More than that. She looked gorgeous. Elegantly put together. Expensive. High maintenance. Everything he hated and had left behind with Vivienne. Though Vivienne would never have let a dog put his paws on her outfit. No way, no how. Much less such a dog.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “How does a guy who makes a living collecting dirty diapers know this outfit is a Dior?”
“Vivienne, my ex-wife, was into fashion. And into buying anything with a lot of zeros on the price tag. She gave up on me when I couldn’t afford all the zeros on the price tags.” Although in Vivienne’s eyes, his sin had been much worse: he’d chosen to give up the salary that subsidized all those zeros.
“She wasn’t too big on recycling diapers?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Vivienne had freaked out, but he’d lived his life according to her wishes for many years. It was her turn to compromise. Not. “Shall we eat?”
Sky didn’t pursue it; she just smiled and nodded. Good, because last thing he wanted was to reminisce about his ex and how his marriage had gone down the drain.
He took a bite and almost choked on it. His nose opened and his eyes watered.
“You okay?”
He fought to speak through the wave of fire. “It’s a bit spicy.”
She put a spoonful into her mouth, not even blinking. “Mexican food is spicy.”
No shit. He looked at the pitcher of water on the table. He was going to need more than that to make it through this supper.
Sky dragged her ass downstairs in the wee hours, dying for a glass of ice water. She’d overdone it with the pepper. Cooking wasn’t her forte, although Logan hadn’t commented. Much. Aside from telling her he was on kitchen duty and she was on the dishwashing crew from now on. Arrogant bastard. Let him figure out how to prepare phò.
“Stay,” she ordered Arnie in a whisper, but it was useless. He followed her. Great, she’d have to carry him back up to the second floor. Again. On the plus side, this time around she wouldn’t have Logan smirking at the sight, offering to help with “the emotional support animal.”
She was at the sink when she heard rustling and strange sounds coming from outside. Arnie stood near her, ears up.
She peeked through the window and almost had a heart attack. There were people dressed in weird overalls, moving around. One was on the porch. Another was right by the window. More were on the lawn. They were whispering and carrying plastic and wood planks and hammers. Shit. Intruders, trying to break in.
Unlike hunting lodges she’d seen on TV, Logan didn’t have any rifles in sight, so she grabbed a snow shovel and ran up the stairs toward his room.
In the corridor, she crashed face-first into a naked chest. “Logan. Thank God,” she whispered. “It’s a home invasion.”
“What?” He was wearing only boxers that rode low on his hips. He ran his hands through his hair, his bare chest going even broader. Man, look at the abs. And the pecs. The whole guy, really. That she was salivating over him while on the verge of being attacked by intruders was a statement in itself. Who would have guessed frying diapers and bagging mushrooms could build such a body?
She shook her head, trying to clear it. “There are people outside. I think they’re planning to break a window.”
“You’re hallucinating,” he said, his voice soft from sleep. “It’s the spices. You’re dehydrated. I’m going for some water myself.”
“Forget the water, dammit,” she hissed, pulling at him. “They have utensils. Hammers.”
“You do know Minnesota is an open-carry state with more guns than cars, right? Thugs do not break in with hammers around here.”
She dragged him to the window of the living room and peeked out the side of the curtain. “Check for yourself.”
“What the hell?” Logan whispered, grabbing the snow shovel from her hands.
The intruders seemed to have veils or something on their hats, because she couldn’t see their faces. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t make out their body shapes too well either. They were carrying flashlights, pointing up and down without much logic.
Logan turned on the outside lights.
There were some ouches and curses as five people in hazmat suits covered their eyes, momentarily blinded.
“Carol?” Logan yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”
One of the wackos lifted her head and waved. Yep. Carol.
“Oh, hi, Logan. Did we wake you up? So sorry. We’re running a drill. Isolating your house.”
Sky blinked several times, then turned to Logan. He didn’t seem too surprised.
He unlocked the door, but he couldn’t open it. “Why the fuck can’t I open the door?”
“Sorry about that, hon,” Carol said. “We already took care of the entrances. We’re sealing off the windows next.”
Thank God Sky wasn’t claustrophobic.
“Why my house? Isolate yours.”
“You have only one hazmat suit and two people. It stands to reason that in case of emergency, your house would have to be isolated. And we need to practice. Just go back to sleep. This will only take a minute. And turn those lights off. We’re training for a blackout.”
Logan threw his hands in the air and obliged her. “Go for it, Carol.”
Sky followed him to the kitchen as the pandemic ladies resumed doing whatever the hell they were doing. “Are they serious?”
“Like a fucking heart attack.”
“You going to let them tape your house?”
“The alternative is getting us—all three, beast included—in hazmat suits and taking part in their drill. No, thank you. Let them tape the whole damn house if they want to. Yo, Carol!” he yelled, leaning toward the dark shape just beyond the kitchen window. “Does your crew need something hot to drink? I could turn the coffeepot on.”
“No, thanks, hon. We’re under strict no-drink, no-eat orders. Can’t risk getting contaminated.”
“Of course.” He poured a glass of water and offered it to Sky.
She shook her head, stuck on the word “contaminated.” Somehow, she wasn’t thirsty anym
ore. “They do know this is a drill, right?” she whispered.
Logan shrugged. “Hopefully.”
He drank the whole glass, poured himself more, and went to sit on the sofa.
She sat by his side. “What if they decide containment isn’t possible and they have to resort to a more drastic approach?”
“That’s why I’m staying here and not going back to sleep until they are done and gone.”
Good thinking.
“Why do you put up with them? With all of this?” Logan seemed like a great guy, but Sky had no doubt he could scare the women away with a single shout.
Logan took a long second to answer. “Megan, my sister. She was very sick and not telling me shit when she moved here. Carol contacted me. I owe her more than I can ever repay. If these drills make her happy, it’s the least I can do.”
Very Zen of him. Sky wasn’t sure she could take Carol’s shenanigans on a regular basis. “Why wasn’t your sister telling you shit?”
“I might have been a dick for a while.”
“Might have?”
“All right. I was definitely a dick. In a previous life, though. I’m a pussycat now.”
She laughed. A pussycat, he definitely was not. Even soft and rumpled from sleep. A panther, maybe. Staying still, looking relaxed yet alert. So much raw power. Her gaze drifted down to his boxers. Wow, this guy was nicely endowed.
She looked up. Grasped for a change of subject. “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” he said, exhaling loudly and resting his arms on the back of the couch.
“I downloaded more TV shows when I was at Shayna’s. Wanna watch with me?”
“No. Thank you.”
Okay. Next. “I’ve got proper scissors upstairs. I could trim your beard while we wait.” The pandemic squad would hardly mind if they turned a light on.
It was dark, but his grimace came through loud and clear. “I’ve changed my mind. Turn on one of your TV shows.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No way. You are not touching my beard.”
“What about the hair?” she said, reaching for it. “You’ve got split ends. I’ve never seen a mop more in need of moisturizing. I get it that putting gooey stuff on your hair is not going to fly, but I could give you a nice haircut. Shave the sides. How would you like the roguish-Viking look?”
