by Nancy Warren
But there was Lauren.
And what was Lauren? They’d been honest that if either of them got serious about someone else, they’d end things. So why should he feel a stab of guilt when he agreed to meet Sylvia?
But he did agree and after work found himself on a patio in the sunshine while he enjoyed a beer and she sipped a glass of white wine. Sylvia was good company. Sharply dressed, easy to look at, smart and well-rounded.
After an hour or so of easy conversation, when their glasses were nearing empty, she leaned closer. “So, are you seeing anyone?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Was about to answer when she smiled and said, “Ah, a significant pause.”
He grinned stupidly. “I’m not seeing someone exactly, it falls more into the ‘it’s complicated’ zone.”
She nodded. She didn’t seem disappointed, more like a woman with little time to waste. He imagined a mental list with his name being crossed off and the next prospect moving to the top. “Well, if things ever become less complicated, give me a call.” She rose, motioned for the check.
“Hey,” he said, “I got it.” Because it was the least he could do.
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
He gave her time to get away before he left, then kicked himself for being a fool. Sylvia was amazing and he liked her a lot. He totally should have asked her out. He’d been honest with Lauren that he might and she’d been perfectly honest that she might start seeing Daniel. They were adults. No reason for anyone to feel jealous or get their feelings hurt so long as they were honest with each other.
He watched Sylvia as she opened the glass door and exited the restaurant, her hips swaying nicely.
He should run after her, tell her he was an idiot and ask her out to dinner. But he didn’t. He waited for the bill. Paid it.
He knew why he didn’t run after Sylvia. Because as terrific as she was, he didn’t feel a sizzle in his blood when she was near.
He let out a breath. It was a nice summer evening. Maybe a drive to Napa would be a good idea.
He pulled out his phone and texted Lauren. What’s up?
Her response came within minutes. Lunch with Amy and her mother.
Lunch? It was seven o’clock at night.
Her mother’s birthday. Which apparently explained a lunch lasting longer than some people’s workdays.
You in town?
Yup.
Excellent. Feel like getting naked?
With you?
He rolled his eyes. Seriously? Did she have to be like this even by text?
But he was already feeling aroused, knowing she was playing with him. He texted back, No. Sent it and then imagined her eyes widening as she read his response. He texted again. Me, and a bottle of massage oil.
Her reply was so fast he knew she’d been watching for his message. The masseur better be hot.
He is. And getting hotter by the second. View’s great from my place. Come anytime.
She arrived within the hour looking more polished than she had the past few times he’d seen her. Her hair was up and her clothes a little more formal. As though reading his mind, she said, “Amy’s mother took us to her country club.”
He opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting one.
He had the music on low, balcony doors open so they could enjoy the view of the bay.
She fiddled with his TV remote and put it back down again. She wasn’t normally a fidgety person so he figured she had something on her mind.
Had she somehow found out about him having a drink with Sylvia? But if she had, all she had to do was ask him and he’d tell her there was no interest there. Until she did, he preferred to keep his slightly confused feelings to himself.
But she wasn’t concerned about Sylvia, it seemed. She straightened a lampshade. Then said, “Have you told Seth about us? Well, not us, us, but this thing we’re doing?”
“No.” In truth, he might have, but Seth had never been known for discretion and he really didn’t want this getting out. “You tell Amy?” Which was pretty much the same as telling Seth, only worse, since he’d get hassled for holding out on his best friend as well as for sleeping with the woman he was always dissing.
She glanced up at him. “No.”
She couldn’t seem to settle. She flitted, picking things up and putting them down. He didn’t think she was taking an inventory of his crap, more that she was a tactile person who thought better when she touched things. “I thought about it,” she finally said, “but...” She turned to him and he saw distress on her face. “It’s different now. First, she’d tell Seth and then he’d probably tell the frat boys. And, I don’t know, she doesn’t seem like herself these days. She’s been kind of tight-lipped and Amy never used to be tight-lipped.”
“Maybe she thinks now that she’s married she shouldn’t be gossiping with her girlfriends.”
She stared at him. “Jackson, she’s still a woman.”
“Right. I don’t know, then.”
“At lunch today her mother made some dumb remark about wanting to be a grandmother before she gets too old. I swear I thought Amy was going to start crying.”
“You think whatever’s going on with them is about kids?”
“No. No, I really don’t. I know they talked all the time about how many kids they wanted and what their names would be. And they haven’t been married long enough to be having problems conceiving. I think she’s maybe having buyer’s remorse.”
He chuckled. “Buyer’s remorse. I like that.”
“Has Seth said anything?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Last time I saw him, we didn’t really talk about it, but it seemed like marriage wasn’t as bright and shiny as he thought it would be.” Plus he’d disappeared somewhere for a couple of hours.
She nodded slowly. “That’s exactly how Amy is. When she used to talk about him he was like a movie star and a business genius and the world’s greatest lover all rolled into one perfect package.”
“I’ve known him for decades. Really, he isn’t.”
“I know that. But maybe she’s only just figuring it out?”
“Yeah. Same with Seth, I guess. It must be tough when everything’s gone so perfectly all your life, to find that there really is no perfect woman. It’s like finding out there’s no Santa Claus.”
“I guess it’s really none of my business, but I care about Amy. I want her to be happy.”
He didn’t think they could solve Seth and Amy’s problems. That was up to the newlyweds themselves. Lauren was there in his apartment and he thought a couple of hot and sweaty rounds of sex would help calm her down, so he said, “Do you want me to be happy?”
His tone must have made it pretty clear where he was going, for her expression changed from worried to curious, to maybe a little turned on. “That depends on what makes you happy,” she said, sassy, like the woman he’d grown to enjoy surprising.
“It would make me happy to see you over here, bent over this table, right now.” He dragged his small dining table across the floor so it rested in front of the open doors of his balcony. He saw her breasts rise and fall as his words got through to her.
“Then it would make me happy to hike up that skirt and to spread those sexy legs.”
She made a tiny sound, a cross between a gasp and a sigh.
“And then it’s going to make me happy when I plunge inside you and take my sweet time until you cry out.”
“You think I’m going to cry out?” Her eyes were getting that heavy look that made him hard and he could see her chest rising and falling as her breath grew more rapid.
“I do. I think you’re going to yell out my name so loud they can hear you all over the Bay Area.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?”
“I do.”
She stuck her nose in the air. “I thought I was here for a massage.”
“Oh, you’ll get one.
Later.” He’d picked up a bottle of almond oil from the health food store on his way home. He had definite plans involving her naked body and massage oil. “Now, come on over here and bend over.”
He thought he had her. She walked slowly toward him, her hips swaying and a flush of excitement on her face. When she got to where he was standing, she said, “It’s a good thing I’m not wearing any underwear.”
And damn it, just like that, she took the upper hand.
* * *
LAUREN WAS SOLDERING two panes of leaded glass together when Amy called. She didn’t have time to talk on the phone. When Sylvia’s client had seen her sketches for the exterior windows, he’d been so thrilled he’d decided to add two extra interior doors in a complementary design to the commission. With the days counting down, she hardly had time to eat or sleep, let alone time to chitchat.
But it was Amy.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Did Sylvia tell you she and Jackson went on a date?”
A sharp, burning pain shot through her. “Ow,” she yelled.
“What happened?”
“Burned myself. Sorry. What did you say?” She put her sore finger to her lips and sucked on the burned spot.
“Sylvia and Jackson went on a date.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Sylvia told me. Well, she told me they were going. I never heard how it went, but they’d be such a cute couple, don’t you think?”
“Adorable,” she snarled.
“Look, you might hate his guts, but lots of women think he’s pretty special.”
“Then they can have him.”
“Okay, grumpy cat. What’s the matter?”
The problem was she felt a constant mild panic, sort of like incurable indigestion. “I’m screwed. That’s what. When she’s not out dating Jackson, Sylvia’s adding more windows to the job and the repair took a lot longer than I thought. I’ve already cut down my hours as much as I can at the winery. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Can you hire some help?”
“I think the time it would take me to train them would cancel out any benefit.”
“Anything I can do?”
She smiled. “No. But thanks for offering. I feel better knowing you’re there.”
“Are you eating?”
Who had time to eat? Never mind grocery shop. But she didn’t need Amy swooping down to check on her like a mother hen. “Yes.”
“Okay. You need anything, you call me.”
“Will do.” She tossed her phone aside and went back to work.
Her phone rang again seconds later. “I’ll call you if I need anything,” she said. Really, Amy was turning into her mother.
“But you haven’t called,” a British male voice said, sexy and teasing. “I sit here by the phone day after day and you never call.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Daniel. Hi. How are you settling in?”
“San Francisco is a beautiful city. The work’s interesting and I’ve found a nice apartment. I think I’m ready to start getting out a bit.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“I was hoping to take you to dinner next time you’re in town.”
She closed her eyes. Her finger was throbbing where she’d burned it and all around her were the sketches and designs, the partly finished windows, the tools of her trade. Of course, one night out wouldn’t kill her. In fact, it would probably be healthy for her, but the truth was she didn’t want to date Daniel. She was aware of a small, mean impulse to go out with him, knowing that Amy would tell Seth and Seth would obviously tell Jackson. But she didn’t have the time or mental energy for playing stupid games.
“I really appreciate the offer, but the truth is I’ve taken on a huge job. I barely have time to eat at all. I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry. Perhaps another time.”
“Yes. In a month or so. Thank you for calling.”
“My pleasure. Take care.” And he was gone.
So, Jackson had gone ahead and started dating Sylvia. That was fine. Great. Not as if she had time for him.
Her finger throbbed and her bad mood escalated. She had too much work on her plate, no help, and now she couldn’t even indulge in uncomplicated sex. To add to it, she’d turned down a date with an interesting, attractive man.
Not that she had time for sex, no matter the level of complication.
A feeling thrummed deep in her gut—it was a strange kind of ache, as though she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her, like the time Amy had convinced her that extra chorizo on her burrito was really a good idea and that, no, those weren’t the really hot peppers.
She didn’t have time for a stomach ache. She rubbed her belly absently, but somehow she knew the pain wasn’t from anything she’d eaten. Jackson and Sylvia. It was about Jackson and Sylvia.
Because Jackson and Sylvia meant no more Jackson and Lauren. Not that there’d ever officially been a Jackson and Lauren, but she’d started to think maybe there was more to Jackson than the frat-boy mentality and the I’m-God’s-gift-to-the-women-of-California ego.
Little glimpses of a different kind of man had made her wonder if she could have been wrong about him.
She shook her head at her own foolishness.
It would have been nice for him to have told her he was dating Sylvia himself, though, as they’d agreed. Hearing the news from Amy made her feel like the last person to know what was going on in her own life.
She shook her head, did a few yoga stretches, determined to get back to her zone, and then went back to work. She tried to be philosophical. Men came and went, but she always had her work.
A week went by. She knew she’d never be able to sustain this pace forever, but for a month, she thought she could manage. If no disaster struck, the glass behaved and the Leonatos remained understanding, she’d make her deadline.
Once she’d completed a few windows, she emailed Sylvia to say she’d drop them off at the house. She knew she was being childish. A grown-up would call the woman who’d hired her for the project, but she didn’t really want to talk to Sylvia. Besides, she couldn’t find her phone.
Sylvia emailed back that it was great news and she’d arrange for the installer to come by the next day.
So, she shrouded her windows in padded blankets and placed them in her hatchback. Then she drove carefully into town, glancing fearfully into her rearview mirror, praying no one would rear-end her car.
It was Sylvia who opened the door and ushered her inside, where wonders were taking place. The old staircase had been moved and rebuilt, and walls had been taken out to open up the space. New flooring and lighting fixtures offered a modern look while still keeping the tone of the original house. “The house is really coming along, isn’t it?” Sylvia said, as Lauren looked around her, and said, “Wow. It’s gorgeous.”
“I know.”
Sylvia wasn’t one for false modesty. She looked happy, glowing even, like a woman who was getting great sex.
“Place looks stunning,” Lauren agreed, because it did. Sylvia was obviously a talented architect.
“I’m excited to see the windows.”
Lauren brought them in one at a time, refusing Sylvia’s offer to get one of the workmen to carry them. The possibility of a workman handling them carelessly—or, worse, tripping and breaking them—was too terrifying to contemplate. Once she had them inside the house, then they were Sylvia’s responsibility. Until then, she preferred to handle them herself.
Sylvia studied each window with a critical and exacting eye. Lauren respected her business acumen and her high standards.
When she nodded and smiled, Lauren let out a breath. She had exacting standards, too, but it was still nice to know her work had been approved by someone else.
“I love what you’ve done. I could picture the windows from your sketches, but to see the actual colors really makes a difference.”
“And when you get them installed and the natur
al light travels through them, that’s when you’ll get the full impact.”
“I can’t wait. I’m as excited as a kid at Christmas.”
“You look great, by the way,” Lauren couldn’t help but remark. Sylvia had obviously had her hair recently styled and had that glow about her. In contrast, Lauren felt like a walking wreck. She needed more sleep and more exercise, and, looking at Sylvia, she felt as if she needed a few days’ worth of personal grooming.
“Thanks.” Then she grinned, woman to woman. “You know how it is when you start a new relationship? If I’m not at work or with him, I’m either at the salon or working out.” She sighed. “Why are we women so hard on ourselves?”
“Heck if I know.”
She wouldn’t feel jealous. It was a petty, unbecoming emotion. So what if Sylvia was getting her hair layered and her body toned and polished for Jackson. It had nothing to do with Lauren.
Nothing.
She had more windows to finish and she couldn’t lose sight of the deadline.
Sylvia might be headed to the gym, the spa and then a night of passion. Good for her. Lauren had to work.
14
JACKSON CHECKED HIS phone again. A frown dragged down his forehead as he contemplated the obvious. Lauren hadn’t texted him back.
This was not the first time she hadn’t responded. He’d been sending her Come on over, it’s your lucky night type texts for a week now.
To no avail.
He’d even tried calling her, something he’d never done before.
He’d gotten her voice mail.
Fine. She didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure that out. So he went back to work.
Five minutes later, his cell phone indicated he had a text. He grabbed his phone so fast he almost knocked over his coffee, splashing hot black liquid on his thumb as he righted the cup. “Ow,” he muttered, thinking of Lauren and the way she’d sucked her burned thumb at Amy and Seth’s wedding.
But as it turned out, he’d burned his thumb for nothing. It wasn’t Lauren. It was Seth, wanting to play squash after work.
Sure. Why not? Wasn’t as if he had anywhere better to be.
