There was a depressing thought.
“Nice meeting you,” Chelsea said, giving the invader a warm smile. As soon as he’d started back across his lawn, though, it disappeared. She glared at Adam and said in a low voice, “That was rude.”
“What? Wanting to have a serious conversation with my wife?” He nodded in Dennis’s direction. “When did he move in?”
“Just this weekend.”
“And he’s already putting the moves on you. Did you tell him you were married?”
“No.”
He didn’t like the way she said that or the look on her face. “Chels.”
She didn’t stay to listen to what he had to say. Instead, she turned her back on him and started walking to the house.
“Hey,” he protested, following her. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”
Ignoring him, she bent to turn off the hose. There was a sight that did a man’s heart good. It was all he could do not to reach out and pat that nicely rounded little butt. How long was it going to be before they had sex again? It already felt like a million years.
“Chelsea, we need to talk.”
She stood up and the look she gave him made him feel like a little kid about to get scolded by his mom. He hated when she looked at him that way. “First you act like a caveman, then you try to bribe me. Now, all of a sudden, you’re ready to talk? Adam, you don’t really want to fix what’s wrong between us. You just want this over so you can move back in.”
“Of course I want this over.” Who wouldn’t?
It had been the wrong thing to say. She scowled at him as if he’d told her she was fat. “I don’t want to talk to you until you’ve done some serious thinking,” she said sternly. Then she went into the house—his house!—and slammed the door.
He let out a growl and marched back across the lawn. What was it going to take to get through to her? And how much time did he have before Dennis the Menace moved in on her?
Which he would. The beady-eyed little weasel would have no qualms about fishing in another man’s pond.
Adam shot a look to the house next door. The garage door was open and Dennis was standing there, pretending to unpack boxes. He waved at Adam.
Adam gave him a curt salute in return. He used all four fingers, even though the creep only deserved one, the middle one.
He went by Safeway on the way home and picked up a six-pack of beer and some chicken from the deli. Then he drove to Jonathan’s to log in another night on the blow-up bed.
He walked into the house expecting Jonathan to be there and was perturbed to see it was just him and Chica, the one-dog welcoming committee. Not that he was in any mood to talk about this latest humiliation, but coming home to an empty house after what had happened made him feel even worse, like a man nobody wanted.
“Where’s your master?” he asked.
Chica barked and wagged her tail.
Well, somebody was glad to see him. “Why can’t my wife be more like you?”
He went to the kitchen, Chica prancing along beside him. He tossed her one of the dog treats Jonathan kept in the cupboard, then opened a beer and sat in the living room, trying to process what was happening to him.
Two beers and a chicken leg later, he gave up. Women. Who could understand them?
* * *
Jonathan had survived dinner at his sister’s, thanks to the fact that Neil had barbecued burgers. Now it was time for his first dance lesson.
“We’ll start with the nightclub two-step because that’s easy,” Juliet said.
Easy for her, maybe.
“The man always starts on his left foot. So, you’re going to step back on your left foot at an angle, then shift your weight to your right foot and bring your left foot back up. Like this,” she said, and demonstrated, counting as she moved. “One and two. Then you do the same thing with the other foot. One and two. See how simple that is?”
Well, it looked simple. He tried it. Okay, not so bad.
“Now, here’s how you hold her.”
Holding his sister, this was weird.
“And don’t let your hand drift down to her butt,” Juliet cautioned.
No danger of that right now.
“Okay, let’s try the step again.”
So far so good. Maybe he could learn to dance.
Then Juliet added one more step and he was lost. If only there was an algorithm for this.
“Jonathan, you’re losing your hold,” she scolded. “Here, I’m going to have Neil help us.”
“Oh, no,” he protested. But she was already calling her husband.
“I need you to show him how to lead,” she said once Neil had entered the room.
“Oh, come on, babe,” Neil protested. “I’m trying to watch the game.”
Jonathan had a flashback to grade school when the kids were picking teams for softball and he was always the last one chosen. “Oh, come on. Why do we have to take Jonathan?” He felt his cheeks sizzle and wished he’d just looked on the internet to see how to do this.
“Family comes before baseball,” Juliet insisted.
Neil frowned. “I hope you learn fast,” he said to Jonathan, upping his stress level further.
“No, I suck at this,” Jonathan grumbled.
“We all do when we start,” Neil said, making him feel somewhat less embarrassed. “So, the one thing you gotta remember is that you have to be a strong lead if you want a woman to follow. Otherwise, she won’t know where to go.” He elbowed Jonathan. “It’s about the only place left in the world where a man has any control.”
Juliet frowned at him. “So not funny.”
He ignored her. “Like this.” He grabbed Jonathan and demonstrated.
Great. Here he was, dancing with a guy.
“Okay, now try it with Jules.”
And...back to dancing with his sister. He was pathetic.
But maybe not hopeless. She gave him an approving smile when they’d finished. “That was much better. A few more lessons and you’ll be fabulous. Every woman at the reunion will want to dance with you.”
Neil looked surprised. “Is that what this is about? Wait a minute. Now I get it. That’s why you joined the gym.”
Jonathan’s cheeks burned once more. “I needed to get in shape, anyway.”
Neil shook his head. “Man, the things we do for women.”
Juliet patted his arm. “We appreciate it.”
“It’s too bad a woman can’t appreciate a guy for who he is,” Jonathan muttered.
“We do,” Juliet said.
“Yeah, right,” Jonathan sneered.
She grinned. “Okay, we’ve been known to drool over a nice set of pecs.”
“Seems kind of shallow,” Jonathan said.
“Yes, not like you men, who don’t care at all what a woman looks like.”
“Busted,” Neil cracked.
“Seriously,” Juliet said, “everyone’s attracted to a person who looks nice. That’s how you get someone’s interest at first, but good looks aren’t enough to hold any woman. In the end we don’t need a man who’s perfect. We just want one with a good heart, someone we can build a life with. That’s the most important thing.”
If that was the case, Lissa should have fallen for him years ago. “Then why am I learning to dance?” Jonathan demanded irritably.
“Because it’s romantic.”
Jonathan remembered the latest book he’d read. Obviously, it was.
“And it’s a sure way to get a woman to stop and take notice.”
He did need to get Lissa’s attention, needed her to see him in a new light.
“Trust me on this,” Juliet said. “Being a good dancer gives you an advantage.”
“She’s right,” Ne
il confirmed. “The man who can dance goes home with the girl.” He slung a casual arm over Juliet’s shoulders. “It worked for me.”
Maybe if Jonathan practiced enough, and then had a good stiff drink the night of the reunion, it could work for him, too. He could dream, anyway. “Okay, show me that turn again.”
* * *
Kyle came to work on Thursday wearing his new clothes, walking tall and feeling like he could pose for the cover of GQ. And there, straight ahead of him, sat Jillian at her desk. For once she was alone. No women standing around, yakking at her, no other man flirting with her. Kyle picked up his pace, all the while rehearsing what he’d say to her. Hey, Jillian, looking good this morning.
Maybe she’d notice that he was looking good, too. And taller. And maybe he’d ask what she was doing this weekend.
Just as he was almost at her desk the phone rang. He slowed down.
“No, he’s not in yet,” she said, not even glancing in Kyle’s direction. “May I take a message?”
Great. Now she was going to be writing down a message. Would she have time to talk with him? Out of the corner of his eye another obstacle appeared—one of the big bosses. This was not the time to wait for Jillian to get off the phone. Once again, Cupid was not playing for Kyle’s team. He went to his cubicle, wearing a frown to accent his new duds.
“Wow, look at you,” Mindy greeted him.
At least someone around here was observant.
She scooted her chair a little farther back from her desk to check him out. “You seem taller.”
It was the shoes; but he shrugged as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I always wanted to be tall,” she said.
Him, too. “Being short’s not so bad, as long as you’re a girl.”
“Oh, I don’t think being short is so bad when you’re a man, either, as long as you’re cute.”
Was she saying he was cute? He couldn’t help smiling.
“And, I have to admit, if I hadn’t been short I wouldn’t have been as good a gymnast.” She grinned. “I’m death on the uneven parallel bars.”
He could imagine her flying through the air, wearing a leotard. It wasn’t a bad picture. But it couldn’t compare to the mental image of Jillian in a bikini, which he kept on display in the corner of his mind labeled Perfect Woman.
A little more chitchat and they both settled down to work. Well, one of them settled down. Kyle could hear Mindy’s keyboard clicking away next to him and knew she was busy inputting data, her mind whirring on behalf of Safe Hands Insurance. He was inputting, too, but halfheartedly. Every few minutes, he kept peeking around his cubicle to see what was going on over at the receptionist’s desk.
The first time he looked he saw—big surprise—Ted Darrow, with his butt planted on Jillian’s desk, chatting her up. Darrow was such a predator. Why couldn’t she see that?
Next time he looked, she was accepting a flower delivery. Some woman was going to get a call to come to the reception desk and collect her prize. But instead of picking up the phone and summoning someone to her desk, Jillian took the envelope from the arrangement and opened it. And smiled. So she was the lucky woman.
He scowled as he watched her unwrap the big, gaudy vase of red and orange flowers. Whoever sent them had probably paid an arm and a leg. It wasn’t hard to guess who. Darrow, the desk-sitter.
Well, Kyle had brought her candy. Now might be a good time to mosey on over and mention that. He left his cubicle and walked casually past the other workers, just a man headed to the water cooler. He stopped and got a quick drink, stealthily looking toward the reception desk. No one there but Jillian. The way was clear. Finally.
He sauntered on over, said a smooth “Hi, Jillian” and planted a butt cheek on the desk in true Darrow fashion. Unfortunately, his landing wasn’t as smooth as he’d expected. Even as she squeaked, “Watch out!” he made contact with the flower vase.
He jumped up and turned to catch it, just as she reached for it, resulting in their both missing it. Down the thing went, spilling water and flowers everywhere. That could have been fixed easily enough but to compound his misery, the glass broke. Why didn’t they make those vases thicker?
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” he said, bending to pick up the flowers.
“It’s...okay.” That was what her lips said, but the rest of her face added, “Not.”
He gathered up the flowers and handed them to her, feeling like a little kid handing over a wilted roadside bouquet.
“Thanks,” she said. Again, right words, wrong facial expression.
From some corner of the office Kyle heard a snicker. If only he was a turtle. He could pull inside his shell and hide. There was no hiding here at the reception desk. He beat a hasty retreat to his cubicle, his cheeks burning.
When he got there, he found a chocolate cupcake sitting on his desk.
“I think you need this more than I do,” said a soft voice from the cubicle next door.
Mindy had seen. The whole office had seen. He was a loser and here was the booby prize. “Thanks,” he managed, and faced his computer screen, wishing he could rewind this morning.
The chocolate cupcake beckoned him. You’ll feel better if you eat me.
He picked it up and took a bite. Not bad. And he did feel better—as long as he kept his eyes on his screen and didn’t look in Jillian’s direction. So much for the new clothes.
By the end of the work day, he was ready to get back in the ring and fight again, in spite of the fact that his coworkers had enjoyed several good laughs at his expense.
“You got the flower power, boy,” Willie the accountant had teased as they left the office.
Whatever that meant. Kyle had heard the expression somewhere and he thought it had something to do with the sixties but he wasn’t sure. Willie would know; he was old enough. Kyle didn’t ask for an explanation, though. Instead, he pretended not to hear.
Still, Willie’s crack got him thinking. The best way to fix this mess was to send Jillian some flowers, along with an apology—and an invitation to dinner.
He got on the phone to Lupine Floral and placed his order. Heinrich, one of the owners, assured him that Jillian would get her flowers first thing the next morning.
He was smiling when he hung up. Flower power, yeah.
* * *
Jonathan finished with his last client by four and went straight to Bruisers to do his workout. For a guy who had rarely lifted anything heavier than a computer, it was a killer. But hey—no pain, no gain. And he was determined to gain muscle and Lissa’s attention.
The place smelled like the inside of a gym locker. He could hear the woosha-woosha of the treadmills where two women were speed-walking. One of them was about his mom’s age. The other was Cecily from Sweet Dreams. She caught sight of him and gave him a friendly wave, and he nodded and hurried to the weights. Did she wonder why he was bothering to come here? He didn’t exactly look like the king of buff.
But these things took time. Anyway, he didn’t need to be totally ripped. He’d settle for...heck, anything was better than what he had. He looked at the row of weights. Time to move up to something heavier. He chose a set of dumbbells and got to work.
When he was done with those, he made the round of the machines, instruments of torture for an out-of-shape guy. But, he thought as he worked his legs, these sessions were getting a little easier. He had to be making progress. He tried not to look as Garrett Armstrong, one of the local firemen, casually rowed his way to nowhere on the rowing machine. Someday he’d be that fit.
After the gym he went home and showered and had a protein shake. Then he stuck the meat loaf his mom had given him the other day in the oven to reheat while Chica sat nearby, watching hopefully. “Come on now, this is my favorite,” he told her. “You don’t really think I’m gonn
a share, do you?”
Of course she didn’t think it. She knew it. He was such a soft touch.
No sign of Adam. Maybe he’d finally made up with Chelsea. Jonathan sure hoped so. He didn’t mind helping a pal but he wasn’t up for having a permanent roommate. Unless it was Lissa.
The mere thought of Lissa reminded him how far he still had to go on the road to self-improvement before he saw her at the reunion. In the not-so-good old days he’d have relaxed before dinner by playing a game of chess online. There was no time for that now. Instead, he had to practice his dance steps.
He probably looked like a fool with his arms around nothing but space, but he’d rather look like a fool now than at the reunion. Anyway, there was no one to see but Chica. One and two, one and two. Chica barked encouragement.
And then he heard a new voice. “What the hell are you doing?”
He turned to see Adam walking in the door, bearing a pizza box from Italian Alps.
Okay, he definitely looked like a fool. Well, so what? “I’m learning how to dance,” he said and kept moving.
Adam shook his head. “For the reunion, huh? I don’t know why you’re even bothering. There’s no pleasing women. No matter what you do, it’s wrong.”
“No matter what you do, it’s wrong,” Jonathan corrected him. And he wasn’t Adam.
Boy, there was an understatement. Adam had money. And muscle. Jonathan was still a wimpy nerd in jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein on it. But under that shirt he was slowly building muscle. He’d bulk up and learn to be suave and Lissa wouldn’t be able to resist him. He hoped.
That night he had an important book to finish. This one was practically the story of his life. Like Lissa, the heroine had known the hero since childhood. He’d been the cowboy next door, someone she saw as a friend, not a lover. It wasn’t until the poor guy nearly got trampled by a bull that she realized how much he meant to her.
“Oh, Justice,” Corrine sobbed, taking his hand in hers. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Would it have mattered if you had?” His voice was weak. And bitter.
“Of course,” she said, stung.
Romance on Mountain View Road Page 12
