HOT AND BOTHERED

by Jo Leigh

  "So, what changed?" she asked.

  "Everything. Him, me. All I know for sure is that this is it. I've never felt anything like it. Sort of calm, you know? Like I've gone back home."

  "You don't seem calm to me."

  "That's just because I got it today. About two hours ago, to be precise. I'd been having this great time, and I wanted to be with him every minute. We talk and talk, and he's this normal guy, except he's not ordinary at all. He loves his computers, but not to the geek extreme. Just passionate." Peter put his bands on the back of her couch and leaned forward, looking as if he were going to do a quick dozen pushups. "But it's how I feel when I'm with him that's really the miracle."

  "Tell me."

  He hesitated for a few seconds, as if searching for the right words. "He gets me. Not just the cute, charming parts, but the ugly, obnoxious parts, too. And he loves them all. Seriously. He doesn't care that I'm completely obsessed about acting, or that I'm an idiot when it comes to my checkbook." He pushed himself off the couch, and circled it again, resuming his seat across from her. "I feel whole," he said. "Go on, shoot me for being clichéd, but dammit, Lee, it's the truth."

  She understood. More than she could tell him. More than she cared to admit to herself. "I'm so glad for you," she said, feeling the first heat of tears warming her eyes. "You deserve this."

  He grabbed her hands, squeezing them between his. "You know what? I agree. Although sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure this is real."

  "Oh, Peter. I'm so glad you told me. This is incredible."

  "Yeah. Man, I never thought I'd find what Ben and Katy have. But I was wrong."

  "I'm getting chills," she said, and it was true. She was beyond thrilled for Peter, who'd gone through more than his share of bad relationships. Of all her friends, he was the sweetest, the most trusting. Which of course made him an easy target.

  "We're moving in together," he said. "This weekend. He's giving up his place. We're going to try it at my apartment for a while, then see if we can find something a little bigger."

  "Oh, that's wonderful. We'll have to have a big dinner to celebrate."

  Peter nodded. Then his animation ebbed, and his smile faded. "So, what's going on with you and Trev?"

  She made sure not to change her expression. "Nothing. He's away for a week in California."

  "Are you still doing the boinking experiment?"

  She nodded. "At least we were. I'm not so sure it's going to continue."

  "Why not?"

  "It may not be theater, but it's complicated."

  He sighed, squeezed her hands again. "Does he know you're in love with him?"

  She tried to pull back, but Peter held her steady. "What do you mean?"

  "It's obvious, honey. We've all known, but wanted you to tell us first. I saw you at the wedding, and at the Sunday brunches. You've got it bad. I just hope Trevor can get his head out of his butt long enough to see what he's got. You two need each other."

  "You're mistaken," she said, finally pulling her hands free, shifting her gaze from his probing stare. "We're just friends, remember? Friends with sex."

  "I may be an actor, but I'm not stupid. And I'm not blind. It might have started out as friends, but it's become something else. So don't blow it. This love thing, it's all it's cracked up to be. Trust me."

  She smiled, but it wasn't with joy. "It takes two to have a love thing, Peter. Two people who want the same thing."

  "He does, you know. But you have to remember he's a guy, and sometimes they're not too bright. Give him some more time. He'll get it eventually."

  "I love you, Peter, but you're wrong. He'll never make a permanent commitment to any woman. That's the last thing he wants in our relationship."

  "Are you sure?"

  She found his gaze again, because this time she could look at him with complete authority. "I'm sure. It's about the only thing in the world I am sure about."

  Peter sighed. "Then I'm sorry. Really. For both of you."

  "Yeah," she said. "Me, too."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^

  Trevor turned on his computer, and as he waited for it to boot up, he checked his Day Runner. Yep, today was Lee's birthday. Not that he'd had to look. He remembered her birthday all right. She wouldn't let him forget.

  Every Christmas she gave him two new calendars, one for his Day Runner and one of those little stand-up jobs with all the Far Side cartoons. But before she wrapped them, she went to her birthday and colored the page, filling it with little hearts and exclamation points, then in big bold letters that covered most everything she wrote, "The Celebration Of Lee's Birth!"

  But then, that was Lee, subtle as a freight train. It made him smile, as so many of her nutty stunts did. He thought about the present he'd gotten her in California. She wasn't easy to buy for, and he hoped she liked what he'd picked out.

  He got up and went to his suitcase, still packed even though he'd gotten home four hours ago, and got out the small box. After a lengthy conversation with a very nice woman at the jewelry store, he'd finally settled on a cat pin. It reminded him of George and Ira, except this cat had diamond eyes. Lee would get a kick out of it, and he was pretty sure she'd wear it. If not, he had the receipt in his briefcase.

  He took the wrapped present back to his desk, then slipped the floppy disk into his machine. He'd written his article, and then some, on his trip. Not out of any great surge of ambition, but because he'd needed a distraction.

  It hadn't worked, of course. He'd thought about her constantly. The worst was at night, in the cold, sterile bed of the hotel room. He hadn't just missed making love to her, he'd missed talking to her, hearing about her day. He'd missed being able to look up and see her in one of her silly sleep shirts, with her hair all wild, and her clean beautiful face.

  The week had been difficult. He'd waffled so many times, he needed syrup. There was a lot to be said for going back to the way things had been, before that dinner when Lee had told him her scheme. He'd been comfortable, and he'd felt safe knowing she'd always be there for him. Uncomplicated. Familiar. Easy. All the things he'd come to take for granted after eight years.

  His decision final, he went to the phone. Lee always got to pick the restaurant on her birthday.

  * * *

  She couldn't sit still. Trevor was due any second, and her nerves were about shot. She'd have loved a drink, but that was out of the question. Tonight was the night. She was going to tell him about the baby. It seemed appropriate somehow that it was her birthday. A suitably dramatic ambience for news that was going to rock his world.

  She went to the kitchen to feed the cats, but saw their bowls were not only full, but both George and Ira were chowing down.

  Where was he?

  According to her Felix the Cat clock, whose tail wagged and eyes moved each second, Trevor was going to be late if he didn't get here in the next five minutes.

  The kitchen was no good. She walked back to the living room. God, it was clean. She'd been on a Martha Stewart kick for the past week, and not only was the apartment sparkling, but she'd brought in fresh flowers, candles, bought matching pillows for the couch, put out bowls of homemade potpourri and lined her drawers. In other words, she'd nested, tucking in a feather here and a twig there. It was so predictable, it made her nauseous.

  If she turned into one of those mothers, she'd shoot herself. The kind who teach their children French while they're still in the womb. Who send video résumés to preschool admissions officers. Who live their lives through their child so single-mindedly, that when the kid finally leaves, there's nothing left but an empty Mommy suit.

  She wouldn't do that. Not to little Gwyneth or Dallas. No, scratch Dallas. Maybe Max. That was a good, solid name. He'd grow up strong and steady, a guy to be counted on. Yeah, Max.

  She headed for the bathroom, flipped on the light, and picked up her hairbrush. She didn't need to brush her hair, but at least it gave her something to
do with her hands. But she didn't. Instead, she laughed at her own reflection. At the care she'd taken with her makeup. The long burgundy dress she'd bought that afternoon. The perfect droopy earrings she'd found at the thrift shop on Seventh.

  For a woman who was about to tell the father of her unborn child that she was perfectly content with raising said child alone, she was awfully dressed up. She'd taken just as much care with her underwear, which didn't make a whole lot of sense since she wasn't planning on sleeping with him. Ever again. Ever.

  She sighed, put down her brush, and headed back to the living room. Halfway there, he knocked.

  Her heart went into fourth gear, skipping second and third altogether. Suddenly, her throat went dry. Her hands got clammy. She couldn't move.

  He knocked again, and she forced herself forward, pasting a pleasant, nonpanic-filled smile on her face. Then she opened the door.

  Oh, dammit. Trevor wore the exact same pasted-on grin. He was going to tell her something awful. She just knew it. Like he'd met someone in California and would she like to come to the wedding. It had to be that. Wasn't it always that?

  "Can I come in?" he asked.

  She stepped back, nodding. He paused, then kissed her very lightly on the cheek.

  Double dammit. She'd been an idiot. A complete fool! How could she have believed, even for a minute, that she could give him up without falling apart? That she'd be stoic and brave and mature, when all she felt was a need for him so strong it could knock Manhattan into the sea? And here he'd given her a friend kiss. Not even a friend-with-sex kiss. Certainly not a darling - marry - me - right - now kiss.

  "Happy birthday!"

  She swung the door shut, so hard it made them both jump. "Thanks."

  "I've missed you," he said, moving toward the couch. He didn't seem to notice the clean carpet or the new pillows. Or that she was dying a tiny little death. That in the past few seconds, all her good ideas and rational thoughts had vanished like smoke.

  "How was your trip?" she asked, not ready yet to look at him. As he settled down on the couch, she headed for the kitchen, almost shaking with her realization. What was she supposed to do now?

  "It was good. I got a lot done. Finished the piece and gathered enough material for several more."

  "Great," she said. "What can I get you?"

  "What? No champagne?"

  She'd forgotten. It was always champagne on her birthday. "I figured you were probably sick of wine after your trip. How about soda?"

  "Sure," he said, after a confused pause. "Soda's good."

  While she got out the glasses, filled them with ice, and poured the Sprite, she scrambled to find something to hold on to, some way of facing the evening without going completely crazy.

  Of course, she still had to tell him the news, but she'd do that later, after she'd calmed down. It wasn't supposed to happen this way!

  "Peter came by the other day," she said, deciding right then that they needed hors d'oeuvres. She finished pouring the drinks, then went back to the fridge, hoping that somehow she'd stashed a nice platter of shrimp cocktail next to the jar of mayonnaise. Unfortunately, it was still her fridge, and the best she could come up with was some celery and cream cheese. It would do. At least it would keep her busy.

  "So, how is he?"

  She had to think a second to remember she'd brought up Peter's name. "He's great. He's in love."

  "No kidding?"

  "He says this is the one."

  "I assume he means Andy?"

  "Yep. They're moving in together."

  "Well, I'll be," Trevor said, and his voice sounded kind of funny. But she had no time to worry about that, not while she was busy spreading the Philly on the celery sticks, and searching desperately for her equilibrium. The best thing to do was relax. Breathe deeply. Think calming thoughts.

  "I hope it works out for him," Trevor said. "It sure is tricky."

  "What, living together?"

  "No, love."

  She spread her thumb with a nice dollop of cheese. "Right, right. Very true."

  "It can get confusing."

  "Uh-huh."

  She wiped her hands on a towel, then put all their refreshments on a tray. She didn't shake too much when she headed for the living room.

  Trevor sat with his arms on the back of the couch, and his legs crossed comfortably. But that wasn't what made her almost drop the tray. The ring box on his knee did that.

  A ring box. It had to be. Earrings or a necklace would be in a different shape. What else looked like a ring box but a ring box?

  "Happy birthday, Lee."

  She smiled again, then put everything down on the coffee table. He was hard to read. She couldn't gauge his mood at all, which never happened. She knew this man better than anyone in the world, but right now, she didn't have a single clue as to what he was thinking.

  The enigmatic grin was still in place. He didn't appear nervous, and yet he didn't look her in the eyes, either.

  "Don't you want to open it?"

  "Of course," she said, her voice too loud and cheery. She sat next to him, but then her nerve left her. He had to hand her the box.

  She opened it carefully, not ripping the wrapping to shreds with her usual fervor. Her hands shook, and she hoped he didn't notice.

  It was a ring box. A black ring box. With a thudding heart and a silent prayer, she opened it.

  At the exact second Trevor saw disappointment change her face, he understood what he'd done. She'd thought it was a ring. The box… Of course, she'd thought the cat pin that had reminded him of Ira and George was a ring. Oh, God.

  "It's lovely," she said, very softly. But he heard the choked emotion, saw her blink several times, then she shifted on the couch, putting her dignity back on like a coat.

  What had he done? Why had he not seen it? He'd hurt the one person he loved most in the world. He cursed himself for his own stupidity, and then another thought occurred. What if he'd wanted her to think it was a ring? What if he'd wanted this exact reaction as proof that if he asked her to be his wife, she'd accept?

  The thought blinded him for a moment, making it hard to think. Good God, the way she looked when she'd opened the box, trembling with anticipation. She wanted it to be a ring. She wanted them to be together forever, and it hit him like a ton of bricks that he was in love with her, and that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. Lee was the key. She'd opened the door to the candy store and invited him in. It was as simple as that.

  "Lee," he said, leaning forward, trying to slow his fevered thoughts. To make absolutely sure she understood.

  She rose abruptly, still holding the box in her hand. "Excuse me," she said, "I have to—"

  She didn't finish the sentence, just rushed away from him in a blur of burgundy.

  "Wait." He bounded from the couch, but she was too quick for him. She made it to the bathroom, and shut the door in his face.

  "Lee, come out."

  "I'll be out in a minute," she said.

  "No, you don't understand."

  "Yes, I do. I understand completely."

  He opened the bathroom door. She stood by the sink, holding the end of a long string of toilet paper up to her eyes. Stepping back, she almost stumbled over the commode.

  "No, you don't understand," he said. "I gave you the wrong box."

  "What?"

  "The pin. I got it all wrong. I need it back."

  "What are you talking about?"

  He moved forward, grabbed her shoulders and steered her backward so she could sit on the edge of the tub. Once she was settled, he lowered the lid on the toilet, and sat down, too. She still held the paper, only now she was twisting it in her fingers.

  "Here's the thing," he said. "I didn't get it until now, see. I thought I had a handle on this, but I was wrong."

  She sniffed, but didn't stop him.

  "This, this experiment, it didn't go the way I thought it would. I had no idea … I didn't know I'd ever feel this way."


  "What way is that?" she whispered.

  "Like I want … more."

  "More?"

  He nodded, wishing like hell he knew how to tell her, what to say. "I love you," he said.

  "And I love you."

  "No, you don't understand. I love you."

  "You love me?"

  He nodded again. "Like Ben and Katy."

  Her eyes grew huge and dark. Where was her happiness? Her blinding smile?

  "It's a really big risk," he forged on. "I know the odds aren't in our favor. It's just that—" He took her hand in his and squeezed, the feel of her so right he regained his confidence. "…for the first time in my life, I feel lucky, not doomed. Other people aren't us. Other women aren't you. My God, I've been so blind, focusing on what could happen instead of what did happen. Lee, adding sex to our friendship made the earth move, but we stood strong, didn't we? We didn't break apart. In all the years I swore I'd never get married, never have kids, I left out a big part of the equation…"

  Lee opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a strange little, "Oh?"

  "Trust," he said. "I left out trust. The kind that best friends share. The kind you and I have had since that night we had pizza. And when we're old and tired and rocking on the porch, watching our grandchildren playing in the yard, our trust will still be strong. Almost as strong as our love."

  The tears began to fall, inching their way down her perfect face. He made a soothing sound, reached for a piece of tissue, but then he used his thumb instead. Once he touched her, he couldn't stop. He smoothed her hair, massaged her nape, cupped her cheek. She pressed against his palm like a cat seeking a chin scratch.

  "I want us to get married," he said. "And, don't faint or anything, but I want us to have kids."

  She sat bolt upright. And finally, there was the happiness in her eyes. The blinding smile that warmed his heart as nothing else in the world could. "Are you sure?" she asked, as if afraid he might say no.

  In answer, he leaned over the last few inches, and kissed her. Softly, at first, but the taste of her salty tears moved him to stand, pulling her up with him. He held her tight in his arms, kissing her as if it would save his life.