WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR: a nostalgic romantic comedy (Boston Classics Book 1)

by Karen Grey

  Well. Good for me.

  “Who needs the real thing anyway, when I’ve got you?” I ask my battery-operated friend before setting it on the nightstand.

  Pulling the sheets up again, I punch my pillow and curl onto my side. My body’s a bit more relaxed, but I bet a certain tall, blue-eyed bartender/actor will still visit my dreams.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BEEP. MONDAY, 10:14 a.m.

  Will, Pam and I had to go into the studio but we’re still planning to pick you up from the grocery store at eleven. See you then.

  WILL

  When Pam pulls her VW bug up to the curb at the Stop & Shop, Deb hops out. Not to help with the bags, but to grill me. “So, what’s the story with this girl?”

  Before I can tell her to mind her own business, Pam yells, “No sharing of details until he’s in the car. And move it along. People are waiting.”

  A blaring horn confirms that we’re blocking traffic. After closing the trunk, I squeeze into the backseat. The moment Deb’s inside Pam puts the car in gear and we’re off.

  “How many dates have you been on with this girl?”

  “And in how many days?”

  “Is she an actress?”

  “We still need to hear this juggler story.”

  “Yeah, what’s that all about?”

  What is this thing all about? Lust, for sure. The memory of her lips on mine has been my constant companion since our final kiss Saturday. The problem is, we’ve already argued about money twice. That’d only get worse if we spent more time together. It sure did with my on-again-off-again girlfriend Callie—now decidedly off since she moved to L.A. Arguing with her was a total downer. Kate does seem different, though. The spark in her eyes when she defended her position was hot.

  Deb interrupts my internal monologue. “Oooh, I think he really likes her.” She twists around in her seat. “He does! He’s blushing and he has a goofy smile on his face.”

  “He does? I wanna see!” The car swerves as Pam tries to find my face in the rearview mirror.

  Deb reaches for the steering wheel. “Pam! Jeez! Drive the car!”

  Pam bats her hand away. “I am. Take a chill pill. What’s he doing now?” she whispers to Deb as if I can’t hear before she accelerates to squeeze in a left turn between two oncoming cars.

  Biting back a yelp, I brace my arms across the tiny backseat. Pam’s an insane driver. Brooklyn-born, Boston-raised. The worst combination for accents and drivers. “Guys! I’m just making the girl dinner. It’s no big deal.”

  Deb’s index finger snakes back to poke me. “So, tell us about her.”

  “I hardly know her. I just⁠—”

  “You can’t live with us forever, you know.” Pam manages to safely catch my eye in the rearview mirror. “We might have kids of our own one day, and we’ll have to kick you out.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  They’re always threatening to throw me out, but I know they’d miss having me live in their little maid’s room. Miss having someone to boss around. I do the grunt work and anything else they hate to do, like kill bugs and change light bulbs. Just because they’re in a happy committed relationship doesn’t mean everybody has to be. Plus, they’re theater designers. Even though they freelance too, they work more regularly and have more control over their schedules.

  Kate probably makes good money and has expectations that her partner should, too.

  Deb’s fingers snap in front of my face. “Hellooo, Wiiilll? I said, is she an actress?”

  I capture her hand. She’s worse than my brothers in the can’t-let-it-go department. “No. Definitely not. She’s a—I forget what it’s called. Something in finance.” I stare her down until she rolls her eyes, pulls away and faces front again.

  “He’s broken. We need to fix him.”

  I drop back in the seat and stare at the dots on the VW’s ceiling. “I am not broken. It’s just dinner.”

  Hey, I’m an actor. Even if I’m lying, I can be convincing.

  “Where did you meet her?” Pam asks as she takes a hard right. I wince, picturing the chicken and vegetables rolling across the trunk up front.

  “She came to the bar one night.”

  “And then you asked her out?” Deb asks.

  “No, but I told her about the volunteer day at the Boys and Girls Club and she came. Then I asked her for coffee, then we went on the bike ride Saturday.”

  “Well, it’s obvious that the universe has brought you two together for a reason,” Deb declares, flopping back into her seat. “I’m glad you’re finally dating someone again.”

  I shove her seat back. “We are not dating. Dating is a distraction. As experience has proven.”

  “You’re afraid,” Pam says before laying into the horn. “Move it, asshole!”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Yeah, I am afraid. I’m afraid of screwing up the career I’ve worked so hard for. Of feeling like I have to be there for somebody else or make enough money to support somebody else or even find the time to see somebody on a regular basis. It didn’t work out so well with Callie, remember?”

  “Just because it didn’t work out with Callie—who had her own issues, by the way—doesn’t mean you can’t date anybody.” Deb turns around to stare me down. “Besides, you’ll never be a great actor if you don’t risk your heart.”

  Her you-know-I’m-right tone is annoying as hell, but I know she means well. And is probably right. “Yeah, yeah. Can we just drop it?”

  “Fine. We’ll drop it.” She narrows her eyes at me. “For now.”

  I slump down in the seat. “Thank you.”

  Pam grunts. “She’s not gonna give up you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sometimes I pay a steep price for my cheap little room.

  That evening, a deep sigh from Deb interrupts my dinner prep. Standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, she casts a disapproving eye at the piles of books, backpacks, mail and dirty pots and pans that litter every surface. “Aren’t you going to set the dining room table? You’re not going to feed her in here, are you?”

  “Deb. She’s just coming over for dinner. It’s not your gourmet club.”

  “But you’re going to clean”—she gestures at the mess—“this. And set the dining room table. With linens. This is a date. You have to make nice.”

  “If it’s so important to you, then you do it,” I growl. “And by the way, you are not invited.”

  Taking a deep cleansing breath, I take stock. Chicken’s in the oven. I’ll check its temperature in another few minutes. Potatoes are roasting. Broccoli’s ready to steam.

  “Should I do lemon butter or garlic butter on the broccoli?” I call to Deb.

  “Lemon butter, duh!” she yells from the dining room. “You don’t want garlic breath when you’re making out later!”

  “Thank you for announcing that to the entire neighborhood.”

  What the heck was I thinking inviting Kate over here? Deb and Pam are sure to muck things up one way or another. Speak of the devil, Pam slumps in from the back hall and throws her bag onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Has the date started yet?”

  “And it’s Laverne,” I mutter.

  “Huh?” Pam blinks at me.

  Deb stomps into the kitchen, arms full. “How come she gets to be Laverne? I don’t want to be Shirley.”

  Pam opens the fridge and stares at its contents. “Oh my god, I am so ready for a beer. Teaching this Intro to Design class is killing me. I’m so glad the semester’s almost over.”

  She uncaps a beer, takes a big swig and collapses into the only free kitchen chair. “Ahhh, that’s better.” She looks around. “Where’s the girl? What’s for dinner?”

  Deb grabs the bottle. “We’re helping Will clean up. No beer till that’s done.” She tucks it back into the fridge and whirls back around to pull Pam out of the chair. “I mean it! Get your butt moving and help me move stuff out of the dining room.” She shoves Pam’s bag into her arms, punctu
ating the move with a kiss. “Sweetie.”

  Pam makes a major boo-boo face. “Why do I have to help? I just worked all afternoon.”

  Likely knowing that any resistance is futile, she schleps after Deb, dragging her bag and the mail along with her. They bicker as they move the mess to the extra bedroom they use as an office. Something about needing to do a spring cleaning. Listening to them while whisking together my favorite salad dressing, I have to admit that I envy their relationship. I just can’t see fitting one into my life right now.

  So, why had I asked Kate over, again?

  She’s adorable. Sexy. Wicked smart.

  The timer dings, startling me back to the present moment, and I set down the mixing bowl before I splash dressing all over the counter. I blow out a breath and release it before calmly pulling the chicken out of the oven. It’s done, so I turn the oven up to finish off the potatoes. Unfortunately, these simple tasks aren’t enough to keep my mind fully occupied.

  “They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.”

  Merchant of Venice, a source of many a good quote about living within one’s means.

  Kate might think she can date a guy who earns a tiny fraction of what she does, but it won’t last. She’ll be nagging me to get a real job in no time. She won’t get that going to work at the same place at the same time every day would kill me. I’m a good actor. I make enough to live on. By my standards. Support someone else, though? Not anytime soon. If ever.

  On the other hand, as soon as I kissed her, I wanted to again. It’s a good thing I had to get to work Saturday because that was the only thing that had me walking—or rather riding—away from her. Kissing her, touching her soft skin, hearing that breathy little moan escape from her lips were all things I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

  “Will! I think she’s here!” Deb’s whisper-yell from the doorway almost has me slicing off a finger instead of a chunk of cucumber.

  “Okay!” The doorbell rings. Rufus barks and runs in circles. “Rufus, enough.”

  “Don’t yell at him,” Deb admonishes, scooping up the little mutt. “He’s protecting us.”

  “I didn’t yell. I was⁠—” I gently move Deb and Rufus out of my way. “Forget it.” Before I open the front door, I give them both a stern look. “Behave.”

  “What is he talking about, Rufie?” Deb coos. “We always behave.”

  “Yeah, right.” My pulse quickens as I reach for the doorknob. I’m actually nervous.

  Take a chill pill, Will. She’s just a girl. It’s just dinner.

  I open the door to a wind-blown, pink-cheeked Kate holding a big bunch of flowers. “Hi.”

  Neanderthal me is ready to sweep her up in my arms and drag her back to my cave. Tapping into the me that knows all the steps to a Renaissance Pavane, I open the door wide, gesturing her inside. “‘Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.’”

  “Whatever you say.” She grins as she steps into the foyer. “Sorry I’m late. That report from the surgeon general today saying that nicotine is as addictive as heroin had us all scrambling to deal with the fallout. Tobacco stocks lost big time. Of course, it’s good news for my exercise wear companies, it’s just⁠—” She stops suddenly and waves a hand in the air. “Sorry.” She holds up the flowers. “Anyway, these are for you.”

  “Well, thanks. I think this is a first for me.”

  “Well, no guy has ever made me dinner, so it’s a first for me too.” She takes in a deep breath and looks around. “It smells so good. Cool house.”

  After hanging her coat in the closet, I accept the flowers. “Most of this stuff is my roommates’. The house belongs to Deb. I just rent a room.” Gesturing toward the dining room, I take her elbow. “Come in to the kitchen. I need to pull the potatoes out.”

  Deb and Pam greet us as we enter the dining room, ridiculous grins on their faces, Rufus wiggling in Deb’s arms.

  After introducing everyone, I give my roommates a pointed look. “They were just finishing setting the table.”

  “Oh, are you guys having dinner with us?” Kate asks.

  Pam pipes up, “Well, sure, if you wan⁠—”

  Deb interrupts her, shaking her head dramatically. “Nooo. We have that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  Deb elbows her.

  “Oh, the thing. Yeah,” Pam nods. “Maybe next time. Assuming there is a next time. But we don’t need to talk about that now, of course⁠—”

  “Pam!” Deb shoves Rufus at her. “Take Rufus out to go potty while I finish up the table.” She rolls her eyes. “You can’t take her anywhere.”

  I lean over and stage whisper in Kate’s ear. “Welcome to my life.” I hold up the flowers. “Do we have a vase somewhere, Deb?”

  “Of course!” She whips around to a glass-fronted cabinet full of the china she inherited from her grandmother along with this big old Victorian. Seconds later, she pops back up with a cut-glass vase. “The flowers are lovely.” She smiles indulgently at Kate. “So thoughtful of you, Kate.”

  “Thank you, Deb.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Guess you guys better get going to that thing, now.”

  Deb bounces on the balls of her feet. “Yep. Nice to meet you, Kate. Have fun, kids, and don’t do anything I would do.” She practically skips down the back hall. “Pam! Get your butt in here! Time to go!”

  Kate leans closer to me. “I’m a little scared of her.”

  I laugh. “Good instincts.”

  KATE

  A couple hours later, I take a tour of Will’s bedroom while he brings pie to Deb and Pam. When the couple returned from their so-called “thing,” they hovered in the kitchen giving me the third degree until Will chased them off, promising dessert if they left me alone. It’s kind of sweet how protective they are of him.

  It doesn’t take long to see everything in here. It actually reminds me of Thoreau’s cabin. Single bed on one side of the room, desk and chair on the other.

  I wonder if he copied it consciously. In any case, he is living his values. Instead of the small table under the window in the Walden place, Will has a bookcase packed to the gills with plays. Guess that’s where he spends money. Framed photographs fill the top shelf. Will in costume wielding a big sword, Will in a baseball uniform with two other teenage boys that look a lot like him. Probably brothers. Will in cap and gown with his arm around a woman that shares his eyes. Definitely his mom. No pictures of a dad as far as I can tell.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says from the doorway. I catch him drying his hands on his shorts. I bet he snuck in more kitchen cleaning. He wouldn’t let me do anything to help.

  I wipe my own hands—sweaty all of a sudden—on the back of my jeans. “No problem. I was just snooping.” I pick up a photo in a fancy frame. “I like this one of you in a dress.”

  “I wasn’t kidding about the heels and stockings.” Grinning shamelessly, he takes the picture from me and trades it for another. “But what about that sword, huh?”

  “Very impressive. You wield it well.” I grip his biceps and pretend to swoon. “So strong.”

  “Hey, that thing is heavy!”

  “I bet it is.” I’m teasing, but I have no doubts about his strength. And talents. Real men might not eat quiche, but having a guy make me dinner is pretty darn attractive. Like he’s a provider. If we were lost in the wilderness, he’d hunt down the food and cook it, too.

  He brushes a finger along my hairline. “What’s going on in that huge brain of yours?”

  Oops. I may have been staring at him. Hopefully without drooling. I shake my head and deploy the trusty Virginia accent. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

  “Oooh, I like the southern thing.” The dimple I’m quite fond of makes an appearance. “Do that again.”

  Going for it, I bat my eyelashes, doing my best southern belle routine. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. But I do know that you sure know how to feed
a girl. Mmm-mm.”

  He growls and pulls me close, throwing me off balance. I have to grab those impressive biceps to stay upright. Not a hardship.

  “That accent turns me on.” He nuzzles my ear. “Even more than you usually do.”

  Feather kisses along my jaw have my body shifting from digestion to seduction. When he finally gets to my mouth, I answer hungrily. Breathless, we tug at tucked-in shirts. When I touch his bare abdomen, skin shivers over taut muscles.

  Like a cat in heat, I want to rub my body up against him and yowl with pleasure. Stumbling, we fall awkwardly onto his bed. Before I know it, he’s suspended over me in a perfect replica of his position in my fantasy two days prior.

  With my vibrator.

  Chest heaving, I stare into his smiling eyes. It’s like he can read my mind, see my raw need.

  But needy equals weak.

  My vision blurs. Will’s grin is replaced by Jonathan’s belittling sneer the night he gave me the ultimatum that made me choose between him and my career.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Suddenly I’m choking. Literally.

  When I roll to the side, a hand pounds my back.

  “Kate.” Will’s voice commands my attention. “Wave your hand if you can’t breathe.”

  I shake my head and force a cough, which is followed by several others, harsh on my throat. Finally, I suck in a breath.

  “Can you feel my hand?”

  I nod. It’s on my stomach, just like it was after the juggler incident.

  “See if you can relax these muscles and let your body breathe.”

  I can do this. I’m in charge of my mind. And my body.

  Banishing Jonathan, I put all my focus on Will’s warm palm.

  Finally, my belly relaxes. My ribcage expands. My throat opens.

  For the next few minutes, all I do is breathe, cocooned by Will.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” My voice sounds scratchy. I pat his hand.