“Gage isn’t my type, remember?” Sabrina glowered at him.
“That’s precisely what I was trying to tell you,” he replied smoothly. “Your ‘type’ hasn’t exactly served you well in the past. Think about it. It’s just Theo’s ball. It’s not like you’re asking him to move in with you.”
Sabrina bit her tongue.
She had come to terms with the fact that a man occupied her spare bedroom. Gage had made it clear that he had no interest in taking things to the next level. Maybe Molly’s right, Sabrina told herself. Maybe he was an honorable man. Maybe she and Gage could be friends, although “friends” suggested a tight, permanent bond. Acquaintances, perhaps?
No, housemates. That’s what they were. And she could live with that.
Sabrina had to admit that things between them were going more smoothly than she thought they would. Well, except for their first encounter on his moving-in day and the awkward conversation during their recent shopping expedition. She had bumped into him in the kitchen the night before, and he was grabbing a Coke from the fridge before he—
How did he spend his evenings, anyway? And where did he spend them?
Sabrina had tried to imagine what he did with his long stretch of downtime during the wee hours of the night. Bars, live-music venues, all-night diners, women’s bedrooms, or a combination of some or all of them had initially come to mind.
But later that night when she was eating her takeout curry at the small kitchen table, Gage had come out of his room dressed in his usual flannel shirt worn over a T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed Dr. Marten boots. He’d mumbled a brief, distracted salutation before heading straight to the back door with a determined look on his face, as though he were preparing himself for serious business.
Personal business.
When Sabrina had gone to the kitchen to put her leftover curry away, she noticed that the door leading to the backyard was ajar. She could hear Gage talking to someone on his cell phone outside. His tone of voice was neutral without being ambivalent; he could have been speaking to almost anyone — an old girlfriend, an estranged family member or a work colleague. Through the blinds, she could see him pacing the small flagstone porch, face blank and body taut.
Sabrina had retreated to her bedroom and closed the door. The entire house was flooded with the clean scent of the castile soap Gage used in the shower. The warmth of the steam seemed to filter through the walls and into her room like a friendly incubus. It was an innocent smell, a smell that never intended to be sexy but was sexy nevertheless. It was a scent that seemed to seep into her pores, into her hair and the soft fabric of her fleece robe. She wanted to rub it off. She wanted to dive right into it.
It’s getting way too stuffy in here.
She’d pushed the window open a fraction. Outside, gentle bursts of wind whipped the fallen elm leaves into motion. They made a tiny crackling sound, almost like fire flickering in a hearth. She found the sound oddly comforting. She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and began to reply to her personal emails. In between the rustling going on outside of her window, she could hear Gage’s voice coming from the patio.
“No … no, I never discussed it with her … yes … yes, I plan to be there.”
Sabrina stopped typing.
“It’s hard … I’m the only person she has.”
So there was a woman in his life. Who was it? His mother? Grandmother? A favorite elementary school teacher? Not that it mattered. Nor should it matter, she reminded herself sternly. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, and she craned her neck in the direction of the window while she waited for him to respond to the person on the other end of the line. But he’d walked along the side of the house, and now all she could hear was the wind and the leaves.
Snoop, she’d chastised herself as got up to close the window. She was not this person. The type of person who eavesdropped on other people’s private cell phone conversations. She was doing exactly what she had expressly forbidden Gage to do. She was making their co-dwelling more complicated. Whoever he was talking to and whatever that person had said to make the timbre of his voice turn dead serious weren’t her business.
Not unless he decided it was.
From: nola@ellasedibles…
To: sabrina@lacasadimarch…
Subject: Gobbles
Sabrina,
Rex surprised me with a pre-paid vacation to New Orleans over Thanksgiving. I had no choice but to accept. Please don’t be upset, dear. Rex doesn’t have adult children, and men like that forget how us old girls got most of our stretch marks. (Ha-ha.) I’ll make it up to you with a home-cooked T-Day dinner when I get back.
On a motherly and therefore more intrusive note, I called Les at work today and gave him an earful. He actually expected you to entertain the idea of selling the house to the boy? Really? The more I thought about it, the madder I got, and before I knew it, I was reaching for the phone. So if he mentions something about me coming completely unglued, you’ll know what that’s all about.
Give Molly and Sebastian my love when you see them on Thanksgiving.
Hugs,
Mom
P.S. A man accidentally picked up your cell phone last night when I called. Who’s Gage?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sabrina winced when she saw the pile of legal notebooks on her desk. They contained numerous outlines of the women’s and children’s health services legislation she had planned to send to drafting by the end of the week before Theo hijacked her with his tax cuts bill. There was no way she could have it pieced together by the end of the day. The bill was going to have to wait until Thanksgiving weekend was over. With Nola out on an impromptu holiday, Sabrina had made plans of her own. Those plans entailed just taking it easy. Maybe she’d pack a sack lunch and take a long hike around Mt. Bonnell if the weather was nice.
Watching sappy Lifetime Television movies didn’t sound too bad, either …
The front door to the office swung open.
“Sabrina! I need you in here ASAP!” Theo’s voice was frantic.
“What is it?” She took a step back at the noxious odor that emanated from the green gooey substance splattered across his lapel. “Is that—?”
“Last night’s lentils.” Theo held his arms out so she could peel the jacket off carefully. “Jill had an obstetrician’s appointment, so I had to take the kids to school. One of them got carsick.”
“Don’t tell me you drove the Porsche,” Sabrina groaned. The one time she had ridden in the car with the Hon. Rep. behind the wheel, her fingernails had almost punctured the upholstery.
“I can’t think about the Porsche right now.” He looked as though he were in great pain. “I seem to have meetings scheduled every half-hour this morning, much thanks to a certain Chief of Staff. I’m short on time and jackets.”
“Cool your jets and let me think, Theo.” Sabrina tried not to breathe through her nose as she carefully deposited the soiled jacket on top of one of the recycling bins. Violetta would have known just how to get vomit out of fine Italian wool, but Violetta was gone. Sabrina resented Theo for designating her his new office wife on top of all of her other duties.
Carlton sat behind Violetta’s old desk, trying not to look disgruntled at getting stuck with morning phone duty. She eyed the shoulder width and arm length of his cherished charcoal Prada mohair and quickly compared it to the color of the soiled jacket. His eyes caught hers, sending her a frantic signal: Please, no! I beg of you!
“C’mon, Carlton,” Sabrina cajoled. “The two of you can live without each other for two hours.” Carlton reluctantly shrugged off the Prada and passed it to Theo, looking away with his mouth set in a mutinous line as the Hon. Rep. slid his arm into the sleeve. The jacket fit as though it had been custom-tailored.
“Carlton, I owe you sushi tonight,” Theo said, relieved. “That’s your favorite, right?”
“We’re having a dinner meeting? It’s the day before Thanksgiving,” Carlton pointed out. All of t
he other legislative staffers had a half-day off starting at noon.
“Exactly. The day before,” Theo pointed out as he picked up his briefcase. “It ain’t turkey time yet. None of us will cry if we miss the Cooking Channel specials, so I want to see everyone in the War Room at five-thirty. Oh—” He ducked his head back through the doorway. “—what ‘people policy’ am I peddling this session, Chief?”
“Better benefits for retired public schoolteachers, an increased minimum wage, state grants for minority-owned businesses, and the omnibus bill to improve health and public services for women and children.” Sabrina rattled them off automatically.
Theo pondered for a moment. “What are the chances of those bills getting voted out of committee?” he asked.
“Do you want that in percentages or odds? Both involve nothing but zeroes,” she said dryly. Theo would make a half-hearted effort to push her initiatives through, knowing that he would be met with a wall of resistance. When questioned by newspaper reporters and journalists like Eva Hayes, he would use this as leverage to show he cared about important social issues. It was what kept voters coming back for more.
Theo finally nodded gave her the thumbs-up. “Remember to throw another bone to the Tide Brothers and our other friends at the State Builders’ Association — something more ‘eco-friendly’-ish that gives tax breaks to developers.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Theo,” Sabrina said, feeling drained. It was easy for him to get excited about legislative session when she did all of the real work.
“Great!” His mouth spread into a pleased grin. “Sounds like you’ve got a busy weekend ahead of you, Chief.”
Carlton waited for the door to the Hon. Rep.’s inner sanctum to close before he said smugly, “Guess you can nix the long tryptophan nap, Sabrina.”
Theo’s War Room pow-wow ran until eight. This left her only an hour to get to the gym. Other than the college-aged woman at the check-in desk, she was the only person there. Drops of sweat landed on the treadmill console as she punched up the speed control, increasing her pace and stride until the pain in her calves faded to a low burn.
Sabrina lowered the speed on the treadmill to begin her cool-down. Her skin tingled. Post-workout endorphins coursed through her blood, changing her entire perspective. Legislative session was revving up. She could feel the energy in the air all over the city. She woke up too early in the morning and dragged home too late. She was mentally exhausted. Stressed out.
To hell with Theo, she thought, shivering in her sweaty workout clothes. She was the one in control.
Total control.
The inside of her car smelled of chicken katsu, leftovers she’d saved from the office meeting. She turned the car into the driveway. Someone had left the garage door on her side open. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Her sweaty hair had dried in clumps and her eye makeup had run, making her look all strung-out and emo. She craved a hot shower and sleep. Suddenly, the nose of the Audi met resistance. She flinched at the clattery crash that seemed to come from all around her, like the sound of a hundred bowling pins being knocked over.
The garage light came on, and a shirtless Gage flew out of the doorway that led from the small laundry room. With an exasperated look, he frantically motioned for her to back up. Sabrina slammed the Audi in reverse.
“What the hell?” she shouted, getting out of the car. She stopped short in front of a pile of long wooden posts that were strewn all over the garage like giant Pick Up Sticks.
“You know,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin, “I’m not going to make some clichéd comment about women drivers. However, I will say that it takes amazing lack of hand-eye-foot coordination to drive into a pile of wood clearly visible under low beams.”
“What is all this?”
“Cherry, pine and oak.” He hoisted two of the posts and moved them to the other side of the garage.
“I can see that. Why is it in my garage?”
“The garage,” he corrected her. “It’s what I do in my spare time. It’s what I make.”
“What? Venetian gondola poles?”
“No, beds. Gives me something to do at night. Turning a hundred bucks of raw material into twenty times the profit for a finished product isn’t a bad side gig. I used to have a workshop at my old place. Don’t worry; I’ll keep things on my side after tonight.”
So that explained the massive four-poster in his bedroom, Sabrina thought. And why his hands and hair had smelled like wood the night he kissed her. Why the muscles in his back, chest and arms were so defined.
Movies at the Alamo Drafthouse were out. But conversing wasn’t off-limits. After all, they did live together …
“The bed in your room is truly lovely,” Sabrina told him. When he leaned over to pick up the posts, she was momentarily transfixed by the muscles that rippled on either side of his spine. “How did you learn to work with wood?”
“My grandfather taught me everything he knew,” Gage replied. “He was a furniture maker and a wood carver.” He looked back at her over his shoulder as he hauled the posts out of the way. “There wasn’t much to do in Iowa in the winter, so I had plenty of time to get it right.”
“Isn’t it time-consuming?”
“That’s the point,” Gage said. “Don’t you have any hobbies or interests outside of work?”
“Sort of.” Sabrina thought of her gym membership. She didn’t think that waging war against subcutaneous fat counted as a hobby. More like a preemptive strike.
“If you don’t, you should,” he said. “All work and no play makes Sabrina a dull girl. And probably a little rusty under the belt.” There it was again: that sly, sideways smile, a distinctly Gage mannerism that had already hardwired her to anticipate further verbal roughhousing.
“My career is very demanding, and it’s definitely not dull by any stretch of the imagination.” She tried to suppress the ring of defensiveness in her voice. It seemed like the appropriate time for her to add, “I have a gym membership that I actually use. I jog around the neighborhood.”
“So that’s where all your free time goes,” Gage ribbed her lightly.
His skin had taken on a sheen of sweat, emphasizing his prizefighter’s physique. A tattoo of a gryphon covered his entire back from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck. The span of the creature’s wings covered his shoulder blades. And the body art she’d seen peeping out of his shirt at Molly’s house was some sort of tribal Celtic knot. Tattoos that would have seemed either commonplace or ludicrously menacing on other men somehow suited him, emphasizing his sheer size and preternaturally pale skin.
Black ink rippled as he transferred the posts from one side of the garage to another and stacked them neatly. Sabrina stared at her training shoes and banished wanton thoughts.
This was Gage “Fitz” Fitzgerald, for crying out loud.
“There.” He dusted off his hands on the front of his jeans when he was done.
Sabrina felt her mouth moving without her express permission. “So. Do you, ah, have…”
“Do I have—?” He looked at her and waited.
“Do you have any more—? You know.” She patted her forearms and chest with her hands.
“Sorry, my ASL’s rusty.” Then one side of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Oh. D’you mean tattoos?”
“Yeah, those.”
“I see the word ‘tattoo’ is a pejorative in the world as you know it. You can use the words ‘ink’ or ‘body art’ if that makes you comfortable.”
“Tattoo. Tattoos. There. I said it twice, in both singular and plural,” Sabrina said a bit crossly. “Well, do you?”
“Why do you want to know? So you can identify my mangled corpse after my life is cut tragically short, say, by a Cap Metro bus?”
“No.” Sabrina ignored the reference to their conversation at the market. “I’m just curious.”
“Well, then.” Gage sauntered forward, gazing at her contemplatively. Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the b
road expanse of pectoral muscles, which flared out from the dip in his solar plexus. For one absurd and delirious moment she imagined what it would be like to feel his slick skin sliding against hers.
To be crushed under all that delicious weight.
“Because there’s no need to know, I won’t be sating your curiosity,” he went on. “There is, ah, something you should probably know whenever you ask a man about the T-word and its specific placement on his person.”
He was just close enough so that she could pick up his unique smell. Every man had one, but why did his have to be so divine? He even smelled good when he sweat. Like nori and musk.
“What’s that?”
His smile grew wicked. “It’s code for ‘Did you bring condoms’?”
Sabrina’s ears went hot. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
“No? That’s what you Texans call a cryin’ shame.” Gage’s voice was soft and rumbly, almost a whisper. Wait. Was he trying to seduce her after all? She tilted her head up to look into his eyes. He was gazing at her mouth just like he had the first time he kissed her. Enough seconds passed for her imagination to dart off on a brief, wicked jaunt. She even dared consider the dimensions of what was under those faded jeans.
Then the merriment in his eyes surfaced.
One side of his mouth twitched before he broke down in hearty laughter. Sabrina opened her mouth to protest, but everything she wanted to say was lodged in that restrained place under her diaphragm reserved for epithets yet unhurled at obtuse committee members and lackadaisical pages.
“Damn, honey,” he said. “You’re wasted on the mediocre masses. I wish I could capture this moment for posterity. This is classic ‘Fitz and Giggles’ material.”
Then he did the unthinkable: he reached out with one big hand and ruffled her hair as though she were a child whose antics amused him.
Something About You (Just Me & You) Page 16
