The Nerd Who Loved Me

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  This one didn't. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

  Noises came from inside the house. First he heard women laughing and the clink of ice in glasses, which reminded him he could sure use a drink. Then .. . bingo. He identified the high-pitched voice of a little kid. Could easily be Dexter, although after six months, Joey wasn't confident he could recognize Dexter's voice. Little kids all sounded the same, anyway.

  He had to believe Dexter was in there. He cleared his throat and reapplied his smile. "Look, Rona, you've probably been told that I'm a terrible guy. I have to admit that I was out of line last night."

  Her eyes were cold and unwelcoming, not a good sign. "I'm afraid you have the wrong house," she said.

  "Rona, I love that little guy. I've been going crazy wondering where Lainie had taken him. I finally found out and now I want to see my son. Surely you under­stand that, a father's love for his only son."

  "There's no child here." she said, cool as a cucumber, even as childish giggles coining from the back of the house made a liar out of her.

  "I know he's here, Rona." Joey's smile became harder to maintain. "I want to see my son. A son needs a father's influence."

  Rona's gaze flicked over Joey's shoulder, and at last she smiled. "Hey, there. I wondered when you two might decide to pay me a visit."

  Joey turned to find out who she was talking to and nearly bumped into a couple of guys wearing casual clothes and mirrored shades. They had the build of men who worked out... a lot. Fear knotted in his gut. He had another week, damn it. They couldn't come and get him when he had another week.

  He glanced around, hoping to spot a workman's truck of some sort, which would mean Rona was having some work done today. Instead a black sedan was parked be­hind his rental car.

  This didn't look good.

  "Hey, Rona," the blond guy on the left said. "We just waited to see if maybe you were getting a flower deliv­ery from Leo."

  "Yeah," said the guy on the right, whose look included a shaved head and an earring. "But on closer inspection we can see this isn't the type of flower arrangement Leo orders. He favors the pricier stuff."

  "Exactly," Rona said. 'This gentleman has the impres­sion that I'm babysitting for a little boy. I've informed him that I'm not."

  Under different circumstances Joey would have flat-out accused her of lying, but the way these two goons were scowling at him, he might not want to do that. He just prayed they weren't connected with the Atlantic City crowd. "Maybe I was mistaken about the kid," he said.

  "Obviously," said the guy with the shaved head. "And we have rules against soliciting in this neighborhood, so we'd like to ask you to move along."

  Some neighborhood association this is. But he couldn't exactly rush into the house and drag Dexter out, not with these two incredible hulks blocking access to his car. The more they talked, though, the more he became con­vinced they weren't with the Atlantic City crowd, which was a relief. "Okay, I'll leave," he said. Damn it to hell, now what?

  The two guys left a space between them so he could squeeze past, but just barely.

  "I'd advise you not to frequent the area," said the blonde.

  "Right, right. I get the message." Joey was becoming royally pissed. Dexter was in there. He'd bet the keys to his Vette on it. And for some reason, the place was guarded like the Pentagon.

  Normal people didn't have bouncers lurking around, so what was up with Rona Ambrewster that she did? Just his luck, too. Any ordinary middle-aged broad would have taken his flowers and invited him in.

  He got into his car and threw the flowers on the pas­senger seat. As he started the motor, he glanced out the window to see if the musclemen were still watching. They were, both of them standing there with their arms folded and their legs spread like they were in a James Bond movie. Rona's door was closed.

  Grinding his teeth, Joey drove away, resisting the urge to gun the motor. With his cheap bouquet and cheap rental car he probably looked like a loser to those guys. But they didn't know who they were dealing with.

  He'd work this out, and he'd have the last laugh or know the reason why. There had to be a way to get to the kid. Too much depended on the outcome. He couldn't give up.

  So that's what it was like to have sex with a dancer. As Harry's brain gradually began to function again with the return of normal blood flow, that was his first thought. He'd imagined sex with Lainie would be spectacular, but he hadn't figured on dance moves as part of the ex­perience. He should have, but he hadn't.

  Now as they lay sprawled on a surface that wasn't de­signed for comfort, he wondered how amazing Lainie would be in an actual bed. All this time he'd thought sex with her would be great, but something he could forgo, considering the big picture. He'd been operating from limited information and had come to an entirely faulty conclusion. Sex with Lainie had suddenly become the big picture, the little picture, the only picture. Giving it up would take all the will power he had.

  She stroked his back and sighed. "Thank you, Harry. A million thanks. I'd forgotten how wonderful that felt."

  His cheek rested against her shoulder, and he knew he needed to get up from this definitely uncomfortable posi­tion, but for a minute longer he'd ignore the ache in his knees. "You're welcome," he said. "You were ... terrific."

  He couldn't say he'd forgotten how wonderful sex felt. He'd forgotten nothing, but he had a whole new point of reference. There was sex, and there was sex with Lainie. Totally different categories.

  "I meant what I said, about not wanting anything more than this," she said.

  "You mean we're done, now?" Suddenly that sounded like the worst news he'd ever heard.

  "Well, I got the impression you thought it was a mis­take to get involved with me, so if we don't do this any­more, we won't be involved. Not really."

  "Lainie, I don't think I can stay with you in this time-share and not do this some more."

  "Oh. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be sorry. I'm not." Maybe later on, when his brain wasn't saturated with hormones, he'd remember to be sorry. But not now.

  "So you think we could have more sex, with the un­derstanding that what happens here stays here?"

  "I think we can do that. I can't imagine you want a re­lationship right now."

  "Of course not," she said quickly. "I'm just thrilled to take a break from celibacy, even for a couple of days."

  "Then it's settled."

  "Right. All settled. And thank you, Harry."

  "No problem." Man, was he ever a generous guy, sac­rificing himself for the cause.

  "Exactly, because I promise I won't be a problem, at least not any more than I've already been."

  He lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. "You're not a problem. You just gave me the most memorable sex of my life." He hadn't meant to say that, but he couldn't have her thinking she was a burden to him. Far from it.

  "Yeah?" She smiled. "That's good to hear."

  That smile burrowed right past his defenses and grabbed hold of his heart. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, knowing how good the sex was, now he also was starting to like her. Really, really like her. And the trip was only a few hours old.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Having sex in the bathroom had certainly broken the ice, Lainie discovered. With luck it hadn't also broken her tailbone. But as Harry helped her to her feet, all her parts seemed to be intact, and one particular part was to­tally rejuvenated thanks to Harry.

  Harry. He looked so mussed and adorable, with his hair standing out in all directions and a pleased little grin on his face every time he glanced her way. Even more darling, he'd reached for the glasses that he'd left on the bathroom counter. Once he put them on he looked like a naked mad scientist. Too cute.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm starving," he said.

  "Me, too. Now I remember that I'm always famished after sex. Food seems to taste twice as good."

  "We should probably find out if this place has room servic
e." He headed out of the bathroom and into the living room.

  Uh-oh. In most cases, room service equaled big bucks, and she didn't have a lot of money to burn. "Umm, that's probably too elaborate. Too much food."

  He turned back to her. I thought you were famished?"

  "Maybe not so much. Look, you could leave me here and find a fast-food place. A hamburger would suit me fine, so—"

  "Is this about the money?"

  She gazed at him, unable to lie. "Yes, it's about the money."

  "That's all I needed to know." He started back into the living room. "If there's a menu around here someplace, we'll order something. I'm not leaving you alone to go off and buy food."

  "Then we can both go. I'll put on my wig."

  He shook his head. "Leo told us to lie low for a while, which I interpret as staying right here. You have to stop worrying about the money, Lainie. The room's free, and I can afford room service. The only question is whether they even have it."

  "I know you can afford it, but I hate sponging off any­one."

  He glanced over at her and grinned. "Now there's an interesting choice of words. Reminds me of certain ac­tivities in the shower."

  A flush warmed her skin. "That's exactly the point. You've generously agreed to have sex with me while we're here, so for me to cost you money, besides, is ... what's so funny?"

  "You." He crossed back to her and drew her into his arms. " Generously agreed to have sex,' indeed. As if this were a sacrifice on my part."

  She began to feel better. As if she could feel bad, cuddling skin-to-skin with Harry. If she could just get past her pride, lying low and ordering room service also meant they wouldn't ever be far from a bed.

  Harry might be thinking that same thing. She could feel his penis stirring, and it was nice to know that a sim­ple cuddle could have that effect.

  "Seriously, Lainie. Any guy would give his eyeteeth to be in my shoes right now."

  She smiled up at him. "You're not wearing shoes."

  "So I noticed." He cupped her bottom in both hands and squeezed gently. "And neither are you, Lady Godiva. We'll have to put on some clothes, which is the downside of this room service plan. I love having you naked, plus that air conditioner is definitely not working right."

  "Without clothes, it's not so bad."

  "Without clothes, I could forget all about the air-conditioner problem."

  "But we need food." She had to think about Harry's welfare. He was a big guy. They'd finished off the sand­wiches and coffee on the way to Sedona, and since then he'd had nothing but coffee and a bagel. She wouldn't want him to get weak. Reluctantly, she stepped out of his arms. "I'll go put on my clothes and my wig. They're in the bedroom."

  "And I'll stay right out here, instead of following you into the bedroom."

  "Okay." As she backed away from him, she couldn't help laughing from pure happiness. How cool to be wal­lowing in mutual lust.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," he said. "I brought your suit­case in, if you want anything out of it."

  She glanced toward the door and saw the suitcase Rona had packed sitting there. "Oh, right. The one that contains the red nightgown." She walked over to the rolling bag and grabbed the handle.

  "Don't put on that nightgown."

  She winked at him as she pulled the suitcase toward the bedroom. "Later."

  "Overkill."

  Flashing him another smile, she rolled the suitcase through the bedroom doorway. What a marvelous inven­tion sex was. She felt like a million bucks.

  Ten minutes later she came out of the bedroom wear­ing a pair of shorts and halter top and met Harry walking out of the bathroom where he'd obviously been combing his hair.

  He'd put on dark slacks and a black T-shirt. He gave her a quick once-over. "Marginally better."

  "Same goes for you. You should wear black T-shirts more often. It makes you look really hot."

  "I am really hot. It's got to be ninety-five in here."

  "No, I meant hot as in 'studly.'"

  He blushed. "I'm not the kind of guy who's designed to look that kind of hot."

  "Who says?"

  "I do. Black T-shirts belong on mysterious types like Leo, or tortured musicians or buff guys who lift weights three times a week. I'm an accountant."

  "And I say you look great in a black T-shirt. Why can't an accountant be a hottie?"

  "Maybe some accountants can, but I'm just an ordinary—"

  "Not even." She walked over and gave him a quick kiss. "Let's order lunch, and we'll ask them about the air conditioner. Did you find a menu?"

  "Yeah. It's on the desk, and we might be better off with fast food. The trouble is, I don't think we should leave right now."

  "Oh, how bad can it be?" She walked over and picked up a laminated sheet of paper with a couple of cigarette burns on it. Then she started to laugh. "I think they go out and buy fast food to fill these orders. The menu sounds like what Dexter and I see every time we go get a burger."

  Harry sighed. "You're probably right. And I guess we're stuck with it."

  "Fine by me. Maybe we can even order a toy for Dex­ter. He'd love that. Right now he's collecting— Hey, our message light's blinking." Her initial stab of alarm dis­appeared almost immediately. "But it can't be too im­portant. Anyone we know would have called your cell phone."

  "Which means it's Dudley."

  "Probably. I didn't hear it ring, though." She thought about what they'd been doing that had made it impossi­ble to hear the phone.

  "Me, either. But I'll bet it's Dudley. While you were asleep he came by."

  "Now there's a surprise. What did you say?"

  "I wasn't very nice, but that doesn't mean I got rid of him for good." Harry crossed to the phone and punched the message-retrieval number. Then he listened to the message and grimaced. "It's Dudley." He paused. "Dud­ley wants to know if the magic of the place has worked for us, yet."

  She felt the space between them vibrate and wondered if they'd take time for lunch, after all. "It's worked for me," she said.

  "Me, too." He continued to stare at her.

  "Food, Harry. We need to concentrate on food. We don't want to end up getting sick because we didn't eat." Four years of being a mother had made her more sensi­ble in some ways.

  "You're right. Pick something for both of us. I don't care." Glancing back at the phone, he punched the but­ton to erase the message. "Got a selection?"

  "Two cheeseburgers with fries sound okay?"

  "Why not? What do you want to drink?"

  "There's a coffeepot and coffee in the kitchen. We can brew that. It might taste better than what we order from this so-called room service."

  "Good thinking." He punched another number and gave their order. "And this may sound strange," he added, "but does a kid's toy come with that? It does? Then we'd like one to take back to ... our son."

  Lainie thought he was the sweetest man, to remember to ask about the toy. In the process he'd confirmed they were getting fast-food burgers, which was what she was used to, anyway.

  "Oh, and the air-conditioning unit doesn't seem to be working," Harry said. "I wonder if you could send some­body to check on it." He paused. "Who? Oh, that's okay. Actually, it's starting to get cool. Never mind. We're fine. Just the food is all we need. Thanks. Bye."

  Lainie looked at him in confusion. "You think it's getting cooler in here?"

  "No, but the person who took our order sounded a lot like Thalia, who checked us in, and she was about to send Dudley to repair the air-conditioning."

  "Good grief!" She stared at Harry. "You don't sup­pose that there are only two people running this opera­tion, Thalia and Dudley?"

  "I sure as hell hope not, because that means there's a fifty-fifty chance that Dudley will be bringing our burg­ers."

  Lainie started to laugh. "I don't think you'll be rec­ommending this time-share to your mother."

  "No kidding. Can't you see Leo here? He's used to five-star treatment."

&
nbsp; "There's some consolation. At least we saved them a trip. Guess I'll go brew us some coffee."

  "Okay. While you're doing that, I'll—answer my cell phone," he said as it rang, interrupting him.

  Lainie went to make coffee, because the sound of the cell phone sent a wave of anxiety rolling through her and she didn't want Harry to know how worried she was. What if Joey had found a way around Leo's security and snatched her son? She'd make Harry break all the speed limits getting back to Vegas.

  Moments later, Harry came to join her in the minus­cule kitchen area. "Dexter's fine," he said.

  She pushed the switch to start the coffee brewing and turned to him. "I'm sure he is."

  "No you're not. You were standing at the counter with your shoulders hunched like you expected bad news. So that's why I told you about Dexter first. He's fine, still with my mom, still being corrupted by the TITS. Last Leo heard they were teaching him dance routines."

  "Oh." She pictured that and smiled. "Just like they did with you."

  "I could have predicted it. Anyway, he's fine."

  "And they're welcome to teach him all the dance rou­tines they want." Her heart felt a hundred pounds lighter. "Thank you, Harry. You're right. Every time the phone rings, I think terrible thoughts." She had the urge to go over and kiss him, but that could lead to things they'd de­cided to postpone, so she managed to contain herself.

  "Apparently Joey's hired a PI, though, because Joey showed up at Mom's house early this afternoon, and he would have needed a detective to figure out where—

  "Omigod." She clutched her stomach. "He went there? We have to move Dexter. We need to tell Leo that—"

  "Joey got nowhere." Harry crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay. Leo's guys were watching the whole time, and when they thought it was necessary, they moved in and warned Joey to leave and not come back."

  "But he will come back, won't he?" Panic clawed at her. "He'll try something else, maybe break in during the night. We need to call Leo. We need to go back to Vegas, if Joey's found out where Dexter is. I have to keep Joey from getting to him."