by Karen Grey
BEEP. Monday, 6:32 p.m.
Hi, it’s me. I’m running a little late here at work, but I’ll be home by eight o’clock at the latest. Just let yourself in. Oh, and you know I only have like one pot and one pan, right? But I’m looking forward to dinner!
BEEP. Monday, 9:30 p.m.
Kate, this is Deb. We love you and all, but can you tell Will he needs to bring back the colander and pots he took from our kitchen? You guys should come over here sometime. We miss him. And his cooking.
BEEP. Tuesday, 7:14 p.m.
Hi, it’s Kate. Just got home. I’m changing, and I’ll be at your place in half an hour or so. I haven’t eaten, so maybe we can go out? Okay, I’ll see you soon.
WILL
Kate’s in my bedroom doorway, hands gripping the trim like it’s the only thing keeping the building from falling down. “Why can’t I take you out to dinner? I don’t get it.” Her head drops along with the volume of her voice. “What is the problem with me paying if I’m the one who wants to go out?”
“Kate, I’m trying to be responsible with my money. I think you of all people would understand that.”
Launching herself into my room, she throws her hands in the air and paces, her stride limited by the lack of space. “That’s great. You shouldn’t go over your budget because of me. But why can’t I pay?”
“Because I don’t like living beyond my means.”
She looks like she wants to kick something. “I’m not asking you to do that!”
“Yes, you are.” The words come out on more of a growl than I intended.
“You’re not listening to me.” Her face is a shade of red I’ve never seen before. “I think you’re being pretty sexist.”
“That’s not it.”
“So you wouldn’t be embarrassed if we go out and I pick up the check?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes. That is embarrassing.”
“Well, that’s just stupid.”
“How I feel is stupid?”
“Yes. Don’t you think it is?”
I shake my head. I’m not sure how we got here, but I know that it’s not just about me feeling emasculated by her paying.
She flops on the bed, an arm over her face. “I’m just so hungry right now, and I just want to go somewhere and have someone cook for us both and not have to clean up.” Peeking from under her elbow, she matches words to feeling so truthfully any voice teacher would be proud. “Can’t I choose to spend my money the way I want to?”
I grip the back of my skull with both hands. It’s not her fault I’m missing shifts at the bar because of Romeo and Juliet rehearsals. It’s not her fault she doesn’t fully understand why I’m so adamant about living the way I do. I haven’t told her everything about what happened with my dad.
Scooting closer, I press a thigh against hers. “Let me tell you a story.”
Elbows on knees and eyes on the floor, I force the words out. “When I was little, my dad was obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses. He had to have every new gadget, a flashy car, the biggest house in the neighborhood. He had a decent job, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that until it was too late. Anyway, I was just a kid. All I knew was that my dad would buy me anything I wanted, which I thought was great.”
Kate sits up. I grab her hand, but I can’t look her in the eye.
“Eventually, my mom found out that on top of the debt he’d built up, my dad had left his sales job to chase one get-rich-quick scheme after the other. He eventually fessed up, but he still called them ‘surefire investments’ and said that if she’d only believe in him, we’d be rolling in dough and she could quit her job.”
An ugly laugh huffs out of me. “Well, it’s lucky she didn’t. When the bank came calling to repossess the cars and then the house, she found out we didn’t really own anything. The only thing we could keep were piles of products that nobody was ever going to buy.”
She hasn’t even tried to say a word, but when I finally meet her eyes, they’re full of sympathy. “Thanks for sharing that with me,” she says softly.
“I want you to understand. This is about my dad and me, not you and me.”
Her stomach grumbles, and she squeezes my hand with both of hers. “Listen, there’s a new burrito place over on Mass Ave. I heard about. It’s not fancy, but it’s supposed to be really good.”
I can’t resist the hopeful and hungry expression on her face. “Sure, let’s check it out. You could borrow Pam’s bike or we could take the motorcycle.”
Kate bounces lightly on the bed. A genuine smile lights up her face as her stomach growls even louder. She jumps to her feet, pulling me up along with her. “Motorcycle, please! You drive, I’ll pay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BEEP. SATURDAY, 9:03 a.m.
Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry again about the change of plans for today, but if you want to stop by to hang out over our lunch break, it’ll be at one o’clock. Otherwise, I’ll check in later.
KATE
After Will left my place this morning—our plans to go on a hike today cancelled because Will had to add yet another fight practice—I went for a run and then spent a couple hours at the office catching up. Roland still isn’t back full time so every time I go out of town, the piles on my desk grow exponentially. By eleven, I’ve made a decent dent, so I called it a day, grab some sandwiches from a deli near my place and bike over to the fancy private school where they’re rehearsing today because Jessica has some connection with it and it’s close to the outdoor theater.
Now, heading toward what seems like the main entrance, I find Jessica on a mat on the ground doing some sort of complicated stretch. I step closer and bend over. “Hi, Jessica. Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Will? He told me to meet him at the dance studio.”
Jessica makes me nervous. Not only does she pretend to seduce my boyfriend in the play, she’s just so beautiful. Wide-set golden-brown eyes perfectly framed by arching brows, movie-star high cheekbones and effortless black curls. Unlike my unbendable locks. On top of that, she’s confident. And flexible, apparently. Her head is actually touching her toes. Not like when you bend forward. Her feet are touching the back of her head. Only her abdomen is on the ground. It’s like some kind of circus move.
“Sorry.” Her melodious voice seems to float out of her body. “I have to finish these stretches before I cool down.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t mean to interrupt. Can you just point me in the right direction?”
“Sure.” She releases her feet but continues to balance on her belly, arms and legs stretching away from each other just inches off the ground. While holding the pose, she gestures to the door behind her and tells me how to find the dance studio. “They’re probably still working.”
“Thanks. Um, see you later.”
“Bye.” The word sighs out of her as her body releases to the floor.
I duck inside, where the hallway is cool and empty. My footsteps echo on the tile floors as I search for the long row of interior windows Jessica described. Once I find them, I peek through the glass, not wanting to barge in if they’re still practicing.
When my eyes land on Will’s form, I almost drop the bag in my hand. Shirtless, he dives through the space, stabbing an invisible target, his naked back glistening with sweat. From a deep lunge, he rears back, sweeps his right arm behind him and slashes forward again. A masculine roar penetrates the thick glass as his left arm cuts through the air. Both hands hold scary, pointy weapons, and he appears to block something coming from the invisible target. I realize there are two guys sitting on the ground watching when one raises a hand and seems to ask a question. Will freezes, muscles taut.
I’m frozen too, and panting. Maybe drooling. His body is a work of art. Like something from an ancient painting. A warrior.
A picture pops into my head of his bare chest pressed up against mine, his arms ravishing my body, his hips pinning me to a wall. My nipples raise a hand. That wall right ov
er there would be good, they seem to say. This all feels wrong—or at least naughty—but it feels awfully good. In all the right places.
When my hero finds my face through the window, I really hope the fantasy isn’t written all over my face. His smile turns devilish so it looks like he’s seen through my mask yet again.
I wave, giving him a sheepish grin. He laughs and points to the door. His mouth moves and his lips seem to say, “Come on in,” but I can’t hear through the glass.
Hm. The room is soundproof. Interesting.
Blowing out a breath as I reach down to pick up the bag of food that I apparently dropped along with my backpack, I slip inside the room and sit on the floor, begging my heated cheeks and other parts to cool off.
The other two guys are now on their feet listening to Will’s instructions. When they begin to execute the fight, he watches them actively, shadowing their movements. He barks encouragement and direction while they leap and charge and twist and dodge, wielding way-too-realistic-looking swords. One of them stops to ask a question, and Will steps in to demonstrate. The other two actors are quite handsome, but my eyes keep tracking back to Will. When he glances over, I hide behind the takeout bag so he won’t see the all-bets-are-off message that’s likely flashing over my head like a neon sign.
“I’ll be done in a few. We just need to finish this sequence.”
“Okay,” I say faintly. I clear my throat. “I’m good.”
Ten minutes later, they’ve finished up, and Will introduces me to the other actors. Randall is tall with gleaming dark skin, not an ounce of fat on him, and has a deep, resonant voice. Ben has spiky light brown hair streaked with blond and startling green eyes. He looks familiar for some reason.
Finally they leave to get lunch, and Will closes the door behind them.
My eyebrows rise along with my heart rate. “Lock it?”
His brows answer mine. He flips the lock on the door, lowers the blinds and turns off the lights. Daylight filters through clerestory windows, angling across his glistening chest. He stalks toward me, his head tilted in a silent question.
My knees actually buckle as he nears. I didn’t think that was a real thing. “That. Was. So. Hot.”
“I’m really sweat—” he starts.
I plaster myself to him, already breathless. “I don’t care.” I want—no, need—to feel his masculine body with every inch of my feminine one. “It feels really weird to be doing this in a school and I feel kind of slutty saying this, but you need to take me. Now.”
He tips my face up, brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones. “‘This is very midsummer madness,’” he says huskily.
“Stop talking.” I wiggle out of his grasp, whip off my shirt and shuck my shorts. “And get busy with that sweaty body of yours.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He jogs over to dig around in a gym bag. “I even have a condom.”
“Shut up,” I growl. “You sound too much like a Boy Scout.”
After dropping the condom and then his shorts on the floor, he strips me of my underwear and bra. After taking me in for a breath, he pulls me in so that my back’s pressed against his front. I catch his gaze in the mirror, happy to find his eyes dilated with desire.
Gasping, I grab the ballet barre in front of me. He covers my back with his slick, muscled chest, and I can’t help but moan when his mouth brushes the skin of my neck, his teeth grabbing hold, possessing me.
Lost in sensation, my hips grind into him greedily as his fingers and mouth play over every sensitive spot I knew about and some with which I haven’t previously made the acquaintance. Before I know it, pleasure’s rocketing from my core all the way up my spine. Strange sounds emanate from my mouth, but I don’t care. No one can hear.
He pounds into me, and my mind floats up, up and away, my body taking charge until it, too, is blown to pieces.
Very, very happy little bits of me must be littered all over this place.
The warm body next to me shifts, reaches over me.
I’m in one piece after all, sprawled on a gym mat, buck naked, covered in sweat. I’ve been plundered. And it feels better than the NASDAQ going through the roof on a Friday afternoon.
“Hey, princess. The madding crowd shall return any minute now. We need to get decent.”
“Madding… huh?” I don’t want to come back down from this hormone high. But then his words line up. My head, suddenly clear, pops up from its chest pillow. “People are coming back?”
“Yeah, we have dance rehearsal at two.”
“Oh my god,” I squawk, scrambling up and scrabbling for my clothes, which I don’t remember tossing every which way. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Laughing at me, Will grabs his shorts and sweeps me into his arms and over his shoulder, smacking me on the butt as he jogs across the studio.
I’ve never felt so alive.
Or so naked.
The following morning, the phone ringing drags me up to the surface of the waking world. “Who is calling me at”—I slit my eyes open to peek at the clock—“before eight a.m. on a Sunday morning?”
Will groans and covers his head with a pillow. Frankie, now awake too, jumps onto my chest to headbutt me. The ringing finally stops, but I can hear the voice on the answering machine all the way from the kitchen.
BEEP.
Kate, this is your mother calling. Sweetheart, I need to know your plans for Rachel’s wedding. We’re trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements. And have you booked a flight? Call me when you get up. Why aren’t you up? Maybe you’re exercising. All right. Bye now.
I flop onto my stomach, ignoring Frankie’s yowling. “Ugh. I am so in denial about this wedding.”
“Who is Rachel?” Will asks from under his pillow.
Rolling to face him, I pull my own pillow over my head. I feel like we’re in one of the forts I used to make when I was a kid. “She’s my cousin. Not the gyno cousin. She’s the pageant-winning-but-went-to-law-school cousin. She’s getting married in a couple weeks.”
Will wiggles his head partway out. “Do you have to wear a horrible bridesmaid dress or something?”
“No, I just hate weddings.” I sound like a whiny little brat but I can’t help it. “People always ask when I’m going to get married and try to introduce me to supposedly ‘eligible’ men I’ve known I’m not interested in since kindergarten. My mom criticizes my wardrobe, my makeup, my hair, my whatever. The list goes on.”
He yawns and stretches before stuffing the pillow behind his head. “I like weddings.” Seems he’s unimpressed by the clear sunk costs. “Free food and drink and cake, and you get to dance with all the pretty girls.”
I hide under my pillow. “Well, you can go and tell me all about it.” I hit him with the pillow. Maybe a little too hard. “But no, you can’t because you’re in a show. Lucky you.” I sit up. “Hey. Can I have a walk-on role so I can skip the wedding? Is that a thing in plays?”
“When is it?”
I scan my mental calendar. “The Saturday of Fourth of July weekend.”
Will squints as if studying his own agenda. “I don’t have a show then. All’s Well closes next Sunday, and then the two weekends after that, the kids’ camp has a show. I’m not working on that because of the film. And the movie wraps on the thirtieth.”
“Oh.” My hands twist in the bedsheet. Should I ask Will to go with me? But what if he thinks that means that we’re serious?
Are we?
He gently knocks on my skull. “What’s going on?”
“Ugh. It’s just—my family. They’re… a lot. A lot of people. A lot of concerns.” I wave a hand in the air. “I love them and all, but they don’t really get me. I just hate all the questions that I don’t have answers for.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Will asks, as if it’s no big deal.
“You don’t want to do that.” I pull the sheet over my head.
“Why not? It’ll be fun.”
“They’ll think we’re da
ting.” My mouth makes a damp spot on the thin fabric.
“Well, aren’t we?”
I drop the sheet. “Well, yeah, but…”
Will looks so comfy lying in my bed petting Frankie, who purrs contentedly on his chest. I’m happy with what we have right now, and I don’t want to risk losing it. “But it’s a wedding.”
He eases my hand open from its stranglehold on the sheets and squeezes it. “Kate. It’s not that big of a deal.” Frankie bumps his wrist, and Will goes back to patting him. “It’ll be fun.”
“It’s in Virginia.” My heart pounds away in my ears. Suddenly, I’m all in.
His hand stills. “Can we drive?”
“It takes a whole day. I’d rather fly.”
“Oh. Well.” He looks like he just tasted something off. “I don’t know about that. I can’t really afford a plane ticket right now.”
“My parents would pay for the tickets.”
The muscles at the sides of his mouth tighten. “Yeah, I’m not comfortable with that. Sorry.”
I tamp down my impatience with his habitual risk aversion. “Will, seriously.” I squeeze his bicep and try to channel my argument through his skin. “They have plenty of money, and they want me there. If you would go with me and fend off my relatives, it is so worth the price of a plane ticket that I’d pay for it myself. Cheaper than therapy, right? Which I’m going to need if I have to suffer through another family wedding solo.”
I’ve kept my voice light, but I’m not kidding.
He talks to the ceiling. “I don’t know, Kate. It feels weird.” Tension has crept into his voice. “If we drove, it’d be one thing. I can’t afford a hotel either.”
