"No! I mean, what if I am? He cheated first."
Grandma Rossi was ready with practical advice. "Whatever you do, don't let him find out."
"Who's the lucky guy?" Amanda asked.
"There's no lucky guy," Raven insisted. "Not anymore. It's over. Not that it was ever really…" She dropped her head in her hands and groaned.
She hadn't seen Hunter in two and a half interminable weeks, since he'd treated her to his own brand of hands-on therapy, right there on the recliner reserved for her hypnosis clients.
"Well, if you still had this other guy," Sunny said, picking at her second helping of cheesecake, "and you really liked him, then maybe it would be okay to break up with Brent before the three months are up. I guess we never really thought about that."
"But she doesn't still have the other guy," Amanda said. "Come on, Raven, who is it?"
"It's not important. Just a guy I was … not even seeing, just…"
"Lusting for in your heart?" Amanda teased. Then she gasped. "It's the brother!"
The other three women gasped in unison.
Sunny said, "You're sleeping with Brent's brother?"
"I'm not sleeping with him!"
"Not anymore," Amanda said.
Grandma Rossi made that funny humming noise again, louder this time.
"I didn't sleep with him. Exactly."
Amanda drained her demitasse cup. "Exactly what kind of sex did you have with your boyfriend's little brother?"
Grandma Rossi asked, "Did you use a condom?"
"It wasn't like that! We just— It was— Anyway, under the circumstances, I can't keep seeing Brent."
Sunny, ever practical, asked, "Why? If this thing with Hunter is over."
"Because she doesn't want it to be over," Amanda said. "She wants the hunky little brother. She doesn't want to settle for the cheating cur."
"Even if it weren't over, it would be over," Raven said. "What I mean is, it was doomed from the start, me and Hunter. He has a very strong sense of family loyalty."
"Good boy," Grandma Rossi pronounced. "La famiglia is everything."
"He feels as awful as I do about what happened. Worse. Until this thing with me, he's always been very close to Brent. I feel like I've just ripped them apart."
"So even if you broke up with Brent," Charli said, "you still couldn't have Hunter because he'd feel like he's stealing you from his brother."
"And it's not just that." Raven slumped in her chair. "Hunter isn't the marrying type. He's still so young—twenty-six—and he's got these heavy responsibilities running his club. Marriage is something he won't even let himself think about. Even if it were possible for me to be with him … eventually I'd want to get married. I'd want children. The whole nine yards. It couldn't last."
Sunny sighed gustily. "Honey, I know you don't want to hear this, but you have to stick it out with Brent. Talk with him. Let him know how you feel. Maybe he just needs to know you take the relationship seriously."
"I think she's right," Charli said. "And anyway, if we start disregarding the rules this early in the pact, then the whole thing will fall apart and no one will get anything out of it."
"Stick it out for the last month," Amanda said. "If you can't make him repent, then make him suffer. I'll be happy to give you some tips."
Raven turned to Grandma Rossi for support, but all she did was shrug and jerk her head toward Amanda. "For once, I agree with this one."
"This must be why you stopped doing amateur night at Hunter's club," Sunny said.
When Raven nodded, Charli said, "I hated it that you quit. You were doing so great! Can't you go back? It's a busy place—you don't really have to deal with Hunter too much there, do you?"
"Well, not really, if I don't want to."
Raven left the rest unsaid. True, she was eager to get back onstage, but more than that, she was eager to see Hunter again—just to see him, literally. To look at him, to drink in his familiar features, to hear his rich, seductive voice. She could do that at the crowded club, without violating her resolution not to be alone with him.
Especially if…
"I'll make sure Brent is with me," she said. "If he's not there, I don't go."
Sunny shrugged. "Makes sense to me." The other women nodded their agreement.
"That's settled then. I'll find out if Brent is free on Wednesday."
Raven was already counting the hours.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
Raven paused in the open doorway of Hunter's tiny office, located behind the bar at Stitches. He was preoccupied, going over the paperwork for a liquor delivery with Matt, the assistant manager, and didn't notice her at first.
She hadn't been prepared for the raw, breathtaking pleasure of setting eyes on him for the first time in three weeks. His thick, dark hair curled over the collar of his black twill shirt, which was open at the neck and tucked into a pair of khaki pants. His sleeves were, as always, rolled up, and as he flipped through the pages tucked into a clipboard and gestured at items on a list, Raven observed his long fingers, his powerful wrists and forearms.
That triggered a memory of what they'd done on the recliner in her office—what he'd done, the way he'd touched her, the way those callused fingertips had fondled her sensitive nipples. He'd pressed his hand between her legs as she came, caressing her rhythmically, prolonging it, compelling her to surrender control and trust him.
And when she would have given him the same pleasure, he'd stopped her. Not because of a lack of desire, but to spare her further distress.
Hunter assumed her feelings for him were superficial, driven by nothing more profound than hormones. If she'd been tempted to agree before, the past three weeks had left no room for doubt. What she felt for her boyfriend's brother went far beyond any lowly chemical reaction.
And there was nothing she could do about it. Charli's summation on Sunday had been accurate. Even if Raven broke up with Brent, she still wouldn't be able to have Hunter. As much as he might desire her, family came first. That simple tenet was fundamental to his personal code of honor—and part of what made him the kind of man Raven could love.
He wouldn't jeopardize his relationship with his brother for her. It was as simple as that.
Hunter looked up and spotted her then, leaning on the doorjamb. She saw the flash of surprise before his features settled into an impenetrable mask.
Her voice was soft, almost timid. "Hi."
Matt glanced up from the papers. "Raven! I thought you'd abandoned us. Figured you were booked on Leno and Letterman and didn't need us anymore."
"What, leave my adoring fans?" she joked. "Um, is there room in the lineup for me tonight?"
"For you? We'll make room." Matt pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and consulted one of the papers on his clipboard. "How does number three sound?"
"It sounds scary. I've never been one of the first before."
"What can I tell you? You're moving up in the world."
Hunter spoke at last. "Matt, go check the sound system, okay? It cut out a couple of times last night."
"I did. It was a loose—"
"Well, double-check it."
Matt started to say something, then glanced at Raven. "Sure, no problem." He scooted past her and was gone.
Hunter perched on the edge of his cluttered steel desk, a dented relic that must have come with the place. He folded his arms. "I didn't think you were coming back here."
"Neither did I. Um, Brent's meeting me here."
She didn't have to say why. Hunter knew. She saw it in his eyes.
Raven knew she shouldn't be here, alone with Hunter in his office, even with the door standing wide open. She felt both apprehensive and titillated, like some high school kid violating curfew.
"Amanda and Charli and Sunny … they urged me to keep going onstage. They said it's good for me."
"It is," he said. "I never wanted you to stop."
He didn't smile, did
n't approach her. He might have been reciting actuarial tables for all the warmth in his voice. Raven had to remind herself that this was the man who'd brought her such shattering pleasure, who'd cradled her so tenderly afterward and called her "angel."
This is how it will be between us, she thought. From now on, all her interactions with Hunter would no doubt be just like this one—stilted, formal. Even after she broke up with Brent, which she would almost certainly do next month, this invisible wall would exist between her and his brother.
The phone on his desk rang. Raven mouthed a goodbye as he answered it. She hadn't taken three steps when he called her back.
"It's for you. Brent," he said, handing her the phone and letting himself out of his office. He closed the door behind him.
"Hunter didn't have to call you to the phone," Brent said. "I told him he could take a message."
Raven said, "I thought you'd be here by now." Brent had told her he was going to the gym after work, that he'd probably make it to the club before her and grab a table.
"The damnedest thing happened. I tore my Achilles tendon working out. Hurts like hell. I guess I didn't do enough stretching."
Raven's fingers tightened around the phone receiver. She hated the direction of her thoughts; she never used to be a suspicious person. "What were you doing that tore your Achilles tendon?" she asked.
"Leg presses. I'm icing it now. The thing is, I'm not going to make it there to watch you perform tonight. I'm sorry, hon."
"Shouldn't you go to the doctor?"
"I will tomorrow if it doesn't get better. So listen, good luck, not that you'll need—"
"Is it your right leg or your left?"
"Uh, my right."
"How did you get home from the gym?"
"I drove."
"That must've been rough with your right Achilles tendon torn."
He hesitated slightly, then said, "What can I tell you? I'm tough. Listen, I gotta go lie down."
With who? she thought. "Don't forget to limp next time you see me."
Raven let the weighty silence hang there. She couldn't do this anymore, couldn't keep her mouth shut while Brent slipped around and worked his angles and patted himself on the back for being so damn good at it.
Contrary to Hunter's knee-jerk assessment, she wasn't a doormat, and she could no longer stomach acting like one. Her futile, guilt-ridden longing for Hunter had kept her from confronting Brent before now. She'd been afraid of opening up a can of worms. But it was clear that Brent no longer considered his brother a threat, if he was willing to let her perform at Stitches without his watchful presence.
Either that or the bimbo du jour was just too damn irresistible.
He said, "'Don't forget to limp?' What's that supposed to mean? You don't think I'm injured?"
"No, I don't, but even if you are, it's not what's keeping you away tonight. Is it the woman you took to Catamount on that ski weekend?"
Brent's voice betrayed a simmering fury. "What did Hunter tell you?"
"Hunter didn't have to tell me anything. I figured it out on my own, Brent. It wasn't that hard. The girl with the long black hair—is she the one who left that dog-eared issue of Vegetarian Times in your magazine rack?" Brent was a confirmed meat eater. "Maybe she's the same one who left her diaphragm in your medicine chest."
It sounded like Brent was switching the phone to his other ear while he formulated a response. "Raven, hon, I never wanted to hurt you."
"Oh. That must be why you lied instead of being up front and telling me from the very beginning that you don't want an exclusive relationship. 'I want us to see other people.' That's all you had to say."
"But you didn't want to see other people!"
"Okay, so let me fill in the part you're not saying. I didn't want to see other guys, which was fine with you, but you wanted to see other women, so you let me think—"
"You make it sound like I was cheating on you!"
"Excuse me?" Raven gaped at the phone. "You were cheating on me, Brent. That's what cheating is!"
"You weren't ready for more. You wanted to wait. I had no problem with that."
"Oh, so let me get this straight. There's nothing wrong with you sleeping with other women while you're supposedly seeing only me, because you have these raging masculine needs that have to find an outlet or you'll, I don't know, have major organ failure or something—"
"Oh, please," he muttered.
"—so while you're waiting for me to decide I'm ready for intimacy, it's perfectly all right to lie and cheat and cover it up."
After a few moments, Brent said, "If you'd given me some indication that you were really and truly committed to me, I wouldn't have done it."
"Don't you dare try to put the blame for your actions on me! I told you two months ago I was seeing only you. On several occasions we discussed the seriousness of our relationship. For a while I thought it might lead to something permanent."
He sounded subdued. "And now?"
"It's over." At this point, not even the Wedding Ring pact could keep her plodding along in this blighted relationship.
"Don't do that, Raven. Let's talk about this."
"There's no point in dragging it out, Brent. My mind is made up."
"I made a mistake. Don't throw away what we have over one mistake. It's not how things will be in the future. I swear."
"Brent—"
"Look, I'm coming to the club. I'll be there in—"
"No. Don't come here."
"We have to talk."
"Not tonight. Not here. I don't want to see you right now, Brent."
Just then Raven heard, over the phone line, the sound of a door opening, followed by a feminine voice raised in question. She couldn't make out Brent's muffled response—obviously he'd clapped his hand over the mouthpiece—but she did hear the door close firmly. Then he was back, sounding rattled.
"Tomorrow night, Raven. I'll come to your place."
"I'm going to a movie with Amanda tomorrow. Brent, please, we have nothing to talk—"
"Friday, then."
It was clear he wasn't going to yield on this. Raven figured it wouldn't hurt to see him one last time. She'd hear him out, give him a chance to explain his actions, though she knew that nothing he could say at this point would sway her. After he'd had his say, she would officially break up with him.
That was the right way to do it. Cheating or no cheating, after a two-month relationship, he was entitled to hear it in person.
"All right," she said. "Friday evening."
"I'll come over at—"
"No. I'll come to your place," Raven said. It would give her more control—she could leave whenever she wanted.
"My place, then. Come around seven. I'll make dinner."
"No dinner."
"Raven—"
"This isn't a date, Brent. Let's just concentrate on clearing the air."
"All right. Friday at seven. We'll get past this, Raven," he promised. "We'll work it out. You'll see."
After she hung up, Raven was in no mood to get a table for one and order dinner. She sat in the bar nursing a nonalcoholic bloody Mary and chatting with the bartender, Yvonne, until the show started.
She was a little nervous, having been away from the stage for several weeks, but once she walked out under the lights, it didn't take her long to get up to speed. Her routine centered around a recent trip to Fort Lauderdale to visit her retired parents. She capitalized on generational differences that she knew most of her audience could identify with, and the crowd rewarded her with raucous applause.
After her act, Raven was invited by a couple of other regulars she was friendly with to join them at their table and take in the rest of the show. Now that her act was over, she allowed herself a real bloody Mary. The drink was strong, her stomach was empty and it didn't take long to feel a warm glow from the vodka.
Raven waited impatiently for each amateur routine to conclude, at which time Hunter would stride onstage and introduce
the next act. Onstage he was witty and relaxed and, more than anything, himself. A far cry from the chilly reserve he'd treated her to earlier.
I have to do something about this, Raven thought. It didn't have to be like that between them.
She brooded over her predicament until a zaftig, sixtyish woman named Dolores Beal claimed the stage. Dolores had a no-nonsense look about her that commanded respect, despite her blindingly multihued pantsuit and her retro hairdo, teased to the max. Her hair was a uniform dark chestnut except for a startling streak of white at the browline. The Bride of Frankenstein's wisecracking sister.
"I'm a victim," Dolores began, deadpan. She went on to explain that she was victimized by her addiction to Circus Peanuts, those soft, orange, peanut-shaped candies sold for Halloween. Her shameful habit had led her to filch the stuff from her grandkids' trick-or-treat bags, but it was never enough, and she inevitably went into withdrawal around Thanksgiving. She tried to ease her cravings with candy corn, but it just wasn't the same.
If Raven was adept at timing, Dolores was a master. Her act was interspersed with weighty pauses during which she stared straight-faced at her audience as they succumbed to ever-increasing hilarity.
Her satirical routine focused on the popular tendency to attribute people's bad behavior to forces beyond their control. She named a married public official renowned for his sexual hijinks. Not his fault. The poor man was addicted to sex; Hard Copy said so. That teenager in the news, the one who murdered his parents? Mommy and Daddy made him rake the leaves. Who wouldn't snap after that kind of abuse?
Raven found herself engrossed in the funny, insightful routine. Dolores spoke of a zillionaire rock star currently being lauded by the media for his "courageous" battle with his tragic cocaine addiction. She cracked up the whole room even as she drove home the importance of personal responsibility.
Eventually the show ended and Hunter sent the crowd on their way. The club emptied out except for the staff cleaning up and shutting the place down.
Raven found Hunter in his office, but he wasn't alone. He stood chatting with an attractive older couple and Dolores Beal, who'd planted herself in his desk chair.
"Oh, I'll, uh, catch you later," Raven mumbled, backing out of the room.
LOVE'S FUNNY THAT WAY Page 10
