by Nicki Elson
“You want to head back in?”
His lips sparked into a small smile. “No. A quiet conversation with a lovely lady is all the pleasure I require.”
Lyssa rolled her eyes.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Look away whenever I say anything the least bit flirtatious to you?”
“I guess it’s my natural response to rubbish.”
“It’s not rubbish. I mean everything I say.”
“Have you ever looked up the word flirt in the dictionary? I have, and the words superficial and not genuine are in the definition, i.e. flirting equals rubbish.”
“Does it also say fun and harmless in there? It should. Either way, you’re going to have to get comfortable with it because I’m a flirty guy and you’re a sexy girl.”
Her reaction was so automatic that her eyeballs made it halfway up her lids before she even noticed they’d moved.
“Seriously, Bates, enough.”
Her eyes froze for a moment and then slowly lowered to look at him.
His marvelously chiseled face was half in shadow and half-illuminated by the erratic pulse of flames. “All I’m asking is that you maintain eye contact.”
“Fine. Can we move on now?” She caught herself before she shifted her gaze self-consciously away.
Mischief tweaked at the corners of his mouth. “Sure, and since I’ve already got you so adorably blushy, let’s get back to something else I’m curious about.” He downed the rest of his beer and set the bottle on the ground before saying, “Andre Agassi.”
“Hayd—”
“Eyes on me, please.”
She kept them steady on him but tensed her lower eyelids in warning.
“Thank you,” he continued. “What I want to know is, do you really, truly, honestly believe an electronic device can completely replace having a man in your life?” He watched her with that same intensity she hadn’t been able to decipher when they’d been boiling corn at the farm, but this time she thought she might understand where it came from.
“Afraid you might be replaceable?” she asked.
“I would be if I thought it was in any way possible—which it’s not.”
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” She looked down at her bottle, swirling it. “Do you want the rest of this? I’m not really in a mood to drink tonight.”
Hayden shrugged and took the bottle, tilting it for a long pull before he set it next to the empty near his feet. When he sat up again, his eyebrows were pulled together, and his mouth lay in a perfect, straight line. He leaned back and turned his face toward her, his head resting on the half wall. “Can I ask you something else?”
His voice was tender and earnest, inspiring her to join him in reclining against the wall, mirroring him as she rested her head and tilted her face toward him. “When have I ever stopped you?”
“This little friend of yours … can it do this?” He lifted his arm and traced his fingertips down the side of her face before cupping her jaw. He kept his thumb at her cheekbone, lightly stroking.
If she hadn’t promised to maintain eye contact, she’d have shoved not only her eyes, but also everything else she had away from him. She knew it was the alcohol making him so affectionate, but she was still sober and couldn’t as easily explain away the electrified thrill that ran through her at his touch.
He dropped his thumb to her mouth and tickled back and forth over her lower lip, daring her to hold strong. “Can it do this?” His mouth moved to hers, pressing against her lips in the slightest of kisses and pulling back just long enough for her to reluctantly acknowledge that she wanted him back on her. As if divining her wish, he answered with another small peck, and another and another, each one growing bolder until she leaned into him. The heady taste of his recent beer was fresh on his tongue, and Lyssa went after it, as if trying to drink him, to get inebriated off him. His mouth was forceful, yet gentle, and the grip of his hand as it slid down her back to her rump was so … so …
Lyssa jerked back, giving Hayden an extra shove in the chest as she stood and unwound from the blanket, letting it drop to the ground as she backed away.
“Look out for the fire,” he huffed, sounding breathless.
She stopped moving and glared at him. A confused haze hung over his features as he watched the dancing flames. The short waves of his black hair were disheveled—had she done that to him?
“Eyes on me, Hayden,” she growled. His gaze lifted to her, but he didn’t appear completely focused. “That was not okay!”
“All right, all right, I’m sorry. Calm down.” He looked from side to side as he seemed to regain his bearings.
She lowered her voice. “What was that about? What the hell was that about? You tell me it’s harmless, and then … and then you do that?”
“I didn’t exactly do that all by myself.”
“You kissed me.”
He gripped the front of the bench, tensing his hands, and now it wasn’t just the firelight that heated his handsome features. “And you kissed me right back.”
“Because you tricked me.”
“Tricked or tempted?”
She held up her hand, pointing at him. “This is not going to happen. You are not going to put me in your stable of women.”
“I don’t want to put you in my stable!”
Her hand dropped. Of course he didn’t. Those stalls were only available to thoroughbreds like Sabine and Roni. Then why had he been making out with the yard mule? Was he teasing her? Making fun of her?
He must’ve noticed the hurt that pinched her features because his voice calmed and became apologetic. “Look, it just happened, all right? I was only trying to joke around, and it got a little out of control. End of story. Won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn straight it won’t. Good night, Hayden.” She turned abruptly and headed to a side door that would allow her to get to the elevator without having to reenter the party. Hayden didn’t try to stop her. She only wished she could mute the damn slapping of her flip-flops as she made her inelegant exit. Jamming the elevator button, she stared at its steady glow and let out a bitter laugh. Sticking exclusively to electronic “men” was definitely the way to go—no need to try to figure them out or second-guess their motives. No disappointments.
Back in the room, she tore the umbrellafied toothpick from her hair and kicked off her flimsy shoes, then paced between the bed and the bathroom. She didn’t have the patience to wait for the soaker tub to fill with water. She needed tension release now. After quickly washing her face and brushing her teeth, she stripped down to nothing and dove under the covers, summoning Jean-Luc.
She ran her fingers through his thick, black waves. No! He was bald. She took a breath and recalled the Star Trek captain’s image more vividly, then got back to it. She could still taste Hayden through the toothpaste. Grunting in frustration, she flipped onto her stomach. Clearly, the lowest speed wasn’t cutting it, so she kicked it up to the next level. The toy vibrated wildly for a few seconds and then sputtered, fading in and out of action. “Come on, come on … ” she coaxed, but there was nothing for her to do but listen to her little friend die a slow death. She groaned and beat her fists into the pillow, relieving an unsatisfactory amount of stress that way.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Lyssa tried really hard through the cab ride to DH headquarters, during the breakfast meeting with Shep and Gloria, and then on the limo ride to the airport, to pretend that nothing unusual had occurred between her and Hayden. He likewise never referenced the kiss, but something about his demeanor felt stiff. Or was she imagining it?
They passed through airport security with barely two words spoken between them, but as they entered the wide corridor that would lead to their gate, Hayden stepped in front of her and pivoted so that his keen eyes peered directly into hers. “Can we please stop this?” he asked.
“Stop what?”
“This,”
he gestured back and forth, sending the now familiar spice of his cologne wafting upward. “This coldness. I’m sorry about last night. I drank too much and overstepped my bounds. Please let it go. I truly am sorry. You’re an awesome partner, probably the best I’ve ever had, definitely the most fun, and I don’t want that to change because I made a mistake, okay?”
Lyssa exhaled. “It wasn’t a big deal, and yes, of course I can get past it.” She smiled, but it felt forced. She hoped that part didn’t show through. Hayden returned her smile—and his looked strained too.
But on the plane, as they talked over their DH plan of attack for the upcoming weeks, they slipped into their old rhythm. By the time they landed at O’Hare, it was almost as if the kiss had never even happened. Almost.
* * *
“In spring you’re all coming out to visit, right?” Amy said for at least the fifth time that evening.
“Yes!” Lyssa, Trish, and JoAnne simultaneously assured her once again.
They’d just been to see Mamma Mia, Amy’s favorite musical, and now they sat around a cozy table at the top level of the Italian Village restaurant. The buoyant atmosphere of a recreated Italian street, complete with strings of white lights draped from the ceiling, set the perfect scene for their official last night out together before the perky blond would leave Chicago to join her husband out west. With the sale of the honeymooners’ condo squared away and all of Amy’s job responsibilities transitioned off, there was nothing holding her back now.
“Good. By then I should know my way around the place and will be able to take you to the very best spots.”
“So when’s the last time you saw Chuck?” Trish asked from across the table. “I’m sure you’ve got to be anxious to reacquaint yourself with his very best spots.”
“No kidding!” Amy practically snapped her menu in half with her desperate grip. “He went out there a couple weeks after we got back from Cabo, so it’s been almost a month! I can’t even remember the last time I’ve gone this long without getting any.”
The girls laughed, and Trish said, “Yeah, you start to take it for granted when you’ve got a regular.”
“Not like I would know,” JoAnne said. “But a month? Even for me, that’s pretty brutal.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I think our friend Lyssa might have something different to say about the joys of staying celibate,” Trish said.
Amy scrunched her face, turning to Lyssa, who sat to her right. “Oh yeah, what did you do to poor Sean? He was so grouchy at the family luncheon the day after the wedding. When I asked him how the night went, all he said was that he had blue balls for breakfast.”
“Ha!” Lyssa exclaimed a little too loudly. When her friends looked at her like she was the Wicked Witch of Cock Tease, she added, “It’s not my fault the boy doesn’t know how to take care of himself. My balls weren’t blue at all.”
“No, but they might be a little purple … or whatever color that thing is,” Trish said.
“The proper term would be things,” Lyssa said.
“Oh, they’re plural now?” Trish asked.
“Different moods call for different models.” Lyssa scanned her menu even though she’d already decided what she was getting.
The waiter interrupted the conversation to take their orders, but that didn’t stop Trish from digging into Lyssa as soon as he walked away. “Seriously, Lyss, when’s the last time you let an actual man touch you?”
“Back off. I just recently made out with a guy.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Who?”
“None of your business.” She stuck her tongue out at Trish, the interrogator.
“You fess up to your collection of vibrating naughties with no problem, but you clam up when I ask about real guy?”
Lyssa shrugged. “There’s not much to say about it. It wasn’t really real.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t really real?”
“He wasn’t … it isn’t … ” She huffed. “I don’t feel like explaining right now.” She maneuvered to change the subject, though perhaps not quite as far away as she should have. “So Amy, you might not have to wait all the way until spring for me to pay you a visit. There are some interesting managers in the L.A. area I might want to look into for Delicious Hayden. Maybe I can make a long weekend of it and drop down to see you.”
“That’d be awesome! Who’s Hayden?” Amy asked.
It struck Lyssa as an odd question, coming out of nowhere, but she answered, “My partner on the account.”
“What’s so delicious about him?” Amy pursued.
“Huh?”
Trish smirked. “You said Delicious Hayden.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yeah, hun, ya did.” Trish’s lips curled like the Cheshire Cat’s.
“Is he the guy you kissed?” Amy bounced in her seat. “Oh! I want to meet him. Bring him with you!”
“Are you seriously dating your partner?” JoAnne asked, scrunching her face as if she’d eaten something foul.
“No! I’m not dating anyone. It was just a slip of the tongue.”
“Which gets us back to Amy’s question,” Trish said. “Is he the one who slipped you the tongue? You were away on business two weeks ago. I take it you’re seeing him in a less asshole-ish light these days, hm?”
Lyssa kept what she hoped was an excellent poker face as she answered without really answering. “Hayden and I have become friends. He’s a good guy who made a bad first impression on me. But I’m sorry to disappoint you—friendship is as far as it goes.” Trish raised a suspicious eyebrow, so she added, “If you saw what he looked like you wouldn’t doubt me. He’s so outta my league, we’re not even playing the same sport.”
“I doubt it,” Trish said.
“Exactly how far out of your league?” JoAnne asked.
“He’s professional soccer in Europe and I’m intramural badminton in the States.”
Trish rolled her eyes. “You’re not badminton. But even if you were, so what? Nothing wrong with aiming high.”
Lyssa shook her head. “No. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago. It was even backed up in the sociology class I took in college—the matching hypothesis or something like that. Relationships work better when you date within your own sport. It’s easier.”
“Well, I’m glad for your sake that nothing’s going on between you two,” JoAnne said. “No matter what he looks like, getting involved with a coworker is a B-A-D idea.”
“Bring him anyway, when you come to visit.” Amy smiled and raised her glass of pale Pinot Grigio. It was light and pretty, like the girl holding it. “Let’s toast to that—all of you coming to visit.”
They clinked their glasses of assorted reds and whites, and the conversation moved on, but Lyssa’s love life didn’t stay off the table for long. As her second bite of rich, garlicky eggplant Parmesan melted on her tongue, she noticed JoAnne’s eyes pop wide open. Milliseconds later, Trish exclaimed, “Ow!” and glared sideways at JoAnne, who gave her head one quick nod, keeping her eyes focused on something beyond Lyssa’s shoulder.
“What?” Lyssa asked, turning around to see what JoAnne was staring at. But she was distracted when Amy crawled over her lap to look past her.
“Oh my God!” Amy shouted, slamming back into her seat.
Lyssa whipped her head around to face her. “What?”
“You didn’t see him?” Amy asked.
“Who?”
JoAnne leaned diagonally across the table and hissed in a whisper that was somehow louder than her normal voice, “Keith! And he’s with another girl.”
“My Keith?” Lyssa asked.
“Not anymore,” JoAnne said.
“Yup, that’s him, all right,” Trish murmured. Her eyes narrowed as she peered over Lyssa’s shoulder. The girls’ table was nestled into a private alcove surrounded by faux walls with small window openings, but they may as well have been spinning on an elevated stage in the m
iddle of the restaurant after the spectacle they’d made.
“Did he see us?” Lyssa asked.
“No,” Trish said, still looking over her friend’s shoulder. “Oh wait … yeah.” She lifted her fingers and waggled them in a wave while she gave a polite smile.
“Shit,” Lyssa muttered. “Should I turn around and wave too?” she asked while trying to move her lips as little as possible, though she had no idea why she felt the need for the ventriloquist act.
“Um, yeah, probably.”
Lyssa turned, putting on a faux-surprised face, and gave a quick wave, careful to keep her eyes from examining her ex-boyfriend’s date.
She returned to her meal and tried to forget he was there—though that was made difficult by Trish making covert observations of Keith’s date: “Sort of pretty, nothing special.” After the girls finished eating and paid their bill, there was no way out except to walk directly past Keith’s table.
“Hey,” Lyssa said casually, intending to keep walking, but he stood and gave her a wooden half-hug.
“I’ve been meaning to get in touch,” he said. “Been busy.”
“Oh, well, yeah, I understand. Me too.” Her eyes wandered to his date, and she nodded a greeting. Lyssa saw that she was much as Trish had described her, which didn’t exactly soothe Lyssa. She realized she wasn’t curious because she was thinking of the other girl as competition but rather as a benchmark for how people must view her since the two women had dated the same man. Nothing special, Lyssa repeated in her head.
She looked back at Keith, who’d now resumed his seat. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and he flicked his irises in a half roll, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation only to Lyssa. She smiled inwardly at the private communication. Keith had always thought she was special. That was probably what she missed most about the relationship.
* * *
The day before Thanksgiving, Lyssa made the road trip down to her sister Jessica’s house in southern Illinois where she’d also meet up with her mom and dad. Her brother Doug was spending the holiday with his wife’s family in Ohio, much to Penny Bates’s irritation.
