by Robin Kaye
He cleared his throat. “So, what? You couldn’t have said that then?”
Fine, he was being belligerent. What a typical male response. She made a mental note to add number two to her list of cons. “Okay, I can see we’re not going to be able to deal with this until after you’ve stopped sulking. So go right ahead. After you’re finished with your I-am-man-hear-me-grunt theatrics, and you’re ready to come out of your cave, let me know.”
He flipped her over so fast, she hardly knew what happened, other than the fact that she was now staring up at the ceiling and had two hundred pounds of angry man pressing her down into their bed. Damn, he was good.
He held her hands beside her head and pressed them farther down into the mattress to make a point. “Real men don’t sulk, and we’re not into theatrics.”
“Oh, pardon me. I didn’t mean to offend your tender ego.”
He rested his chest against hers; their mouths close enough to kiss. “Really? Because you’re sure doing a hell of a job of it. I asked you to marry me, and what did you say? Let me think. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“I’m saying something now, but you’re being too belligerent even to hear me.” She wiggled beneath him, but he wasn’t budging; it definitely wasn’t having the effect she wanted. Rich only pressed his body to hers. “Babe, believe me, you haven’t seen belligerent.” He smiled as she held back a groan.
She arched her back trying to get out from under him and gave up. It was useless. “Are you finished exhibiting your physical prowess?”
“Do you want me to be? I was under the impression you like it when I get physical.”
“This isn’t about sex. This is about—what you said.”
“You mean when I asked you to marry me? You can’t even say it, can you?”
“As I said before, it would be nice if you would give me some time to catch up. I’m not where you are. I’ve never thought about marriage. There, are you happy now? I said it. I never thought about marrying anyone. Ever. It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Ah, that’s the kiss of death, isn’t it? You’re going to start with the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me breakup talk.”
“No. It’s just that I’ve never seen a happy marriage.” She could see he was about to argue, so she cut him off before he even opened his mouth. “Don’t use Mike and Annabelle as an example. They’ve only been married for a few months. That doesn’t count.”
“Plenty of people are happily married.”
“Name three, and not your sisters. Who else do you know who are truly happily married for more than five years?”
“Dean Stewart and Emily.”
“You don’t know that. I know for a fact your parents are miserable. My parents were miserable, before the divorce, that is.”
“Vinny and Mona are happy and have been as long as I can remember.”
“That’s one couple. Anyone else?”
Rich shook his head. “No, I don’t know anyone else, but we could be if we wanted to.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged and rolled off her.
Becca rolled over to her side, missing the weight of him and the warmth he always infused. She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arm around his chest, and tossed her leg over him. It took him a moment, but his arms came around her. She took a breath of relief.
“Okay, I can understand why you wigged out. I’m not like you. I don’t think things to death. I go with my feelings, and I want you Becca. I don’t want to wake up some morning wondering where you are. I want you with me all the time, even when you’re wearing those god-awful baggy rags you call clothes and making your lists. I want you even when you’re pissed at me, and I don’t want to live my life without you, even when you’re being difficult.”
“The way you’re talking makes me wonder why you bother.”
“I bother because I love you, babe. I bother because being without you would suck so bad, it hurts to think about it.”
Becca slid on top of him and kissed him. He felt so good, tasted so familiar, so caring yet wild, and when his tongue fought hers for control of the kiss, which quickly went from tentative to frenzied, she pulled away and kissed his neck. “Rich? Do you think we could put the marriage discussion on hold, eat, and then skip right to the make-up sex part?”
His hands slid to her hips and pulled her tight against his erection. “Only if you really can’t wait to eat.”
Chapter 15
BECCA SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON THE BED AND ATE HER container of goat cheese and eggplant ravioli and almost all of the grilled vegetables in the other to-go container like a starving woman. She wasn’t sure if the sex or the marriage proposal was to blame for her appetite, or the thought that she couldn’t possibly say something terrible if her mouth was full.
Rich leaned back against the footboard of the bed facing the same meal, watching her, and eating quietly, which was very unlike him. The man did nothing quietly. He talked during sex, and if she wasn’t imagining things last night, he even talked in his sleep. He must have been dreaming of work because he got this very professional quality to his voice.
Becca wasn’t about to ask what was going through his mind, because even though the sex was, in a word, amazing, Rich probably wouldn’t be thinking of sex, or love, or anything any normal person would think about when someone just dropped the L bomb. No, Rich was anything but normal. He couldn’t be happy that she filleted herself to tell him that she loved him. No, that wasn’t good enough. Rich had to top it and drop the M bomb. She still reeled from his proposal and had no idea what to do about it or how to put the two of them back on a level playing field.
Sure, they tabled the marriage discussion for the moment. They made love, and finally ate, but the problem lurked in the background like termites eating away at the foundation of their relationship. Becca had to deal with it soon, before much more damage was done. But what could she say? She didn’t know if she wanted to marry Rich. She loved him. She was happy with him so far, but marriage? Why couldn’t they just stay the way they were?
Rich tossed his to-go container on the bedside table with its contents only half eaten and nudged her with his foot. “How’s the construction coming along on the studio and the apartment?”
She swallowed a piece of grilled zucchini before answering. “Good. The plumbing and electrical are almost complete. The inspector is coming in a few days, and then they’ll start on the drywall.”
Rich took on a Mr. Darcy-esque aura, all dark and brooding. “How much longer until you get an occupancy permit?”
“I don’t know. A couple months maybe. It’s hard to tell. There’s a lot of finishing that needs to be done.” She tilted her head trying to read his thoughts. Maybe he wanted an “I Do” or nothing. “Are you looking forward to getting rid of me?”
“If I were, would I have asked you to marry me?”
Becca looked down at her container and found it empty. The veggies were all gone too. She piled the container onto the table and scooted closer to him. “You can always move into the new place with me. There’s plenty of room.”
Rich shook his head. “I just want to know how long I have to work on you.” He finally smiled. “I’m good at wearing you down.”
Becca wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask. It seemed a good time to change the subject. “Are you going to call your Aunt Rose and ask if she’ll make the lasagna?”
“I guess I could, but maybe you should. She likes you.”
Becca fluffed her pillow and thought about getting up to brush her teeth, but that would involve moving, and she was bone tired. She yawned as she lay down. “Your aunt did tell me she’d teach me how to make it when I wanted to learn.”
Rich lay beside her and pulled her close to him. “See, I knew you could handle it.”
“Of course I can. That doesn’t mean I should. If I have to put up with a cooking lesson from your crazy Aunt Rose, you should too.”
&nbs
p; “Are you afraid of a little old Italian lady?”
Becca thought about the last time she had seen Aunt Rose and what she’d said. “Damn straight, I am. You’re not making me deal with her on my own.”
“Fine. You know my schedule. Just let me know when you set it up, and I’ll be here to protect you.”
“Oh good.” She rested her head on his shoulder and curled her fist under her chin. “I feel so much better now.”
Tuesday morning Becca awoke alone. When she rolled over, she found the dishes from last night had been removed, and in their place, a thermal cup of coffee waited for her. She took a tentative sip; it was still hot and surprisingly good. Either Rich mastered the art of making good coffee, or he was paying someone to sneak in every morning to make it. Tripod butted his head against the cup and yowled. “Did Rich forget to give you the dregs of his coffee this morning, big boy?” She scratched his neck and around his ears.
Tripod answered her in the affirmative as she unearthed her robe and slid it on. “Come on then, you caffeine-deprived kitty.”
Tripod followed her to the kitchen and waited as patiently as he could for her to pour a little coffee with cream into a saucer. She wasn’t sure if he liked sugar, but then thought about what she was doing and almost smacked her own head. She definitely needed psychological help. Who in their right mind wonders how a cat takes his coffee? Becca supposed it was a good thing that she lived with a psych professor, though she wondered if that’s why she needed the help in the first place.
When Becca had awoken in the middle of the night wondering what to do about Rich, her first thought was to call Annabelle. This was something she needed to talk to her best friend about, but the fact that her best friend was also Rich’s sister put the kibosh on that. She sipped her coffee and considered all of her other friends. Unfortunately, the only other friends she had were the ones who had asked her what it was like to go slumming with Rich. Not good candidates either.
Peering into the refrigerator, Becca looked for something to make for breakfast. She found nothing enticing to eat and was about to give up when she heard Henry and Wayne above her. She could talk to Henry and Wayne. They were perfect. They knew everyone involved but weren’t related to anyone, and they would make wonderful sounding boards. Relieved, she grabbed the phone and called upstairs.
Wayne answered on the second ring. “Well, it’s about time you called your lowly neighbors. How are you, Becca?”
“How did you know it wasn’t Rich calling?”
“We saw him leave earlier.
“Do you and Henry want to come down for coffee?”
“Sure, we’d love to. I just made cinnamon rolls. Have you had breakfast?”
“No, not yet. Do you want to bring them down, or should I come up?”
“We’ll be down in a couple minutes. I’ve been meaning to stop by. I have a toy for Tripod.”
Becca smiled. “I hope it’s not catnip because he’s already jacked up on coffee.”
“This I gotta see. We’ll just be a minute.”
“Great. See you soon.”
Becca looked around the apartment. Artwork covered every available flat surface. If she and Rich were having the dean and Emily over on Saturday night, they’d have to figure out where to put everything. Not to mention that she’d have to make the dreaded call to Aunt Rose and beg for help. She grabbed her notebook and started a new list. She’d just gotten down to number three when the guys knocked. She nudged Tripod off her lap, much to his loud displeasure, and let the guys in.
Wayne held a tray covered with iced cinnamon rolls.
“Hi, come on in. I made some room at the table.”
The guys came in while Becca corralled the cat to keep him from running out. Wayne sat the tray on the table and gave Becca a hug before going into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. “Henry likes tea. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all. Help yourself.”
Henry examined her closely. “Don’t you look all rosy? Things with Rich must be going well.”
“That’s why I called. I was hoping I could talk to you guys about something. I need to bounce some ideas off you.”
Wayne smiled to Henry. “I told you so. Didn’t I?”
Henry took plates out of the cabinet. “Maybe we should wait until Becca actually tells us what she wants to talk about before you start saying I told you so.”
Becca knew when she wasn’t needed. She sat at the bar and watched as Wayne and Henry moved around the kitchen. They danced around each other as if they’d choreographed it. They both knew where everything was kept and even had a stash of Henry’s favorite tea in the cupboard. She wondered how long it took two people to be as comfortable around each other as they were. Then she thought back to the way she and Rich were, and she had to admit they were getting there.
Wayne stopped at the entrance of the kitchen. “Where’s Tripod?”
He held something in his hand and wound it up. Tripod trotted into the dining room when he heard his name and let out one of his catcalls.
“There you are. Look what Uncle Wayne has for you.” Wayne put the toy down on the tile kitchen floor. It looked like a mechanized ferret with a big, bushy tail. It began spinning around the kitchen, and Tripod went wild chasing it. “There, that should keep him busy.” He grabbed the plates and butter before coming back to the table and sat as Henry poured the hot water into a teapot. Wayne pulled out a chair for her to sit beside him and passed her a plate. “You have our full attention. I’m dying to hear the news, sweetie. So spill.”
“Wow, there’s nothing like being put on the spot, is there?”
Henry sat beside Becca and calmly poured his tea. “Sometimes these things are best delved into judiciously. Take your time, honey.” He took a sip and seemed satisfied. “Why don’t you begin by telling us why you’ve turned this place into a virtual art gallery? Oh, and let me know if the pieces are for sale. I especially love that metal piece. It’s really gorgeous. Actually, I think all your stuff is beautiful, but that piece speaks to me.”
“Thanks.” Becca laughed when she saw the impatient look Wayne shot to Henry, who just sipped his tea and ignored Wayne. She ran her hands through her hair and jumped right in. Not even Henry was going to be able to keep Wayne down for long. “The day I moved in here, Gina broke up with Rich.” She threw up her hands. “It had nothing to do with me. As far as I know, she didn’t even know I’d moved in. But Rich came home and began trying to get her back—”
Wayne waved that statement away. “Those two are sooo not right for each other.”
Becca couldn’t agree more. However, the fact that she was thrilled they saw it too didn’t bode well for her ability to think rationally about the situation. “Rich’s dean has been pressuring him to grow up, settle down, and become a good little professor.”
Henry set his cup down and reached for a cinnamon roll. “After the way Rich left Dartmouth, it’s not surprising. Not that Rich did anything too terrible. Still, dating the Dean’s adult daughter and dumping her is never a good idea.”
Wayne took a bite and nodded his assent.
Becca took that as a hint to continue. “Rich had an invitation to attend a benefit as a guest of his dean and the dean’s wife and was expected to bring his girlfriend. When Gina refused to take Rich back, he asked me to pretend to be his girlfriend…”
Wayne laughed, “Girl, don’t believe a word out of that boy’s mouth. He’s had his eye on you from the first moment he saw you at Annabelle’s engagement party. Anyone with eyes in his head could see that.”
Becca wasn’t sure she believed either Wayne or Rich, since he’d said the same thing. Still, part of her wanted to sigh. Another bad sign. “I was trying to be nice, so I agreed to go with him, but when we were there—”
Henry set his cup down. “Don’t tell me. The lines between fiction and reality blurred.”
“Exactly.”
Wayne scrubbed his hands together. “So you and Rich a
re together?”
“Yeah, and I was okay with that.”
Wayne smacked her hand. “Okay? Come on, girl. This is me you’re talking to. Rich is yummy.” He smiled at Henry. “Of course, he’s not my type.”
Henry laughed. “Which is a good thing since you are definitely not his type.”
Wayne shook his head. “Of course not, but you have to admit he is one perfect specimen of he-manhood.”
Becca relaxed a bit. “He does have certain attributes. And I seriously have a thing for him. He’s sweet, and loving, and he tries so hard.”
Wayne nodded, took a sip of his coffee, and held his coffee cup out to make a point. “Just don’t let him anywhere near your fine washables.”
Becca tried not to laugh. “The thing is, well, last night he proposed.”
Wayne spit out the roll he was biting into, stood, pulled Becca out of her chair, and hugged her as he jumped up and down, forcing her to jump along with him. “Oh my God! That’s so romantic. How’d he do it? Tell me all the details.”
Henry stood and extracted Wayne from Becca. Becca wanted to kiss Henry—talk about a soothing presence. Henry held Becca’s chair and motioned her to sit. “Wayne, some things are obviously private.”
Wayne smiled as he took his seat and leaned closer. “Don’t tell me he popped you and the question at the same time? He did, didn’t he?” Wayne was exasperated. “What is it with men? I swear it has to be something in testosterone that causes the male brain to shut down while doing the deed. Will they never learn? What did you say?”
“That was the problem. I only just figured out that I love him. It’s so new. I just told him, and then he dropped the M bomb. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.”
Henry leaned forward, too. “Oh, that couldn’t be good.”
Becca shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. He took off, and well, we had a fight.”
