ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “You’re such an Eeyore. My goodness.”

  “His mother called this morning. She practically threatened to disinherit him if we break up.”

  “Really?” Rose shook her head. “She’s one scary lady. I might still be with John if she’d been gunning for it. She’s relentless.”

  “You’d—what do you mean?”

  “Oh, Blair, I’m just kidding.”

  “Do you wish you were still with John?”

  “Of course not.” Rose hung the damp dish towel on the refrigerator handle, smiling because, for the first time, she knew it was absolutely true. Nothing like a long night of hot sex with somebody else to reset yourself.

  “His mother says you do. She thinks I should refuse to let you in the house.” Blair said this with a hint of a smile. “I told her to fuck off.”

  Rose laughed. “Really?”

  She nodded. “A few days ago.”

  “I wish I’d been here.”

  “John was. He made her leave. She calls, but hasn’t been back in person since.”

  “That’s great.”

  “John says the best thing about it is we can blame it on the drugs,” Blair said. “I was pretty loaded with painkillers.”

  Rose smiled. “I think maybe I’ve been too hard on him. He’s not a bad guy.” Then she saw the wrinkle form between Blair’s eyebrows, and she wished she hadn’t said anything. “Not that I want him for myself, because I don’t.”

  Blair nodded, but looked unconvinced.

  Because of the miscarriage, Rose hadn’t told her about her night with Mark. Not knowing where that fling was headed, she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it now, but she couldn’t stand the idea of Blair—and John—thinking she was pining over him.

  “I’ve moved on, actually,” Rose cleared her throat, smiling. “Get your shoes on and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Blair’s eyes lit up with the first real happiness she’d shown all week. “It’s Mark, isn’t it? Oh, I knew it!”

  Rose walked away, into the foyer, and slipped on her jacket, wrapped a jade-green angora scarf around her neck. For some reason Blair’s enthusiasm bothered her. Not just because she wasn’t sure if there was any future with Mark but because, perversely, she felt bad for him: the woman he really wanted was thrilled he’d found someone else.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have told Blair anything. “Please don’t read too much into it. It was just one night.”

  Blair followed her, smiling, and wriggled her feet into her Crocs. “When?”

  “Halloween.”

  Face falling, she nodded. “Oh. When I was—”

  “Yeah.” Rose sighed.

  “I’m so glad I didn’t call you. I almost did.”

  “No, you should have. You’re more important than… what I was doing.”

  “I bet Mark is going to be very important.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “It would make things easier with John’s mother.”

  “That’s not why I’m saying it. He’s sweet. You can help him out of his shell.” Blair looked around, grabbed a black trench coat she’d had since their freshman year at Cornell.

  “I’m taking you shopping,” Rose said, wrinkling her nose at the faded, wrinkled garment. “That coat needs to be retired.”

  Blair tightened the belt with a jerk. “When did you decide you were interested in him?”

  “I’m still not sure I am.”

  “Oh, poor guy. Don’t say that.” She opened the front door. “Let’s go to that café near the Chinese place. You can tell me all about it.”

  “As if I ever tell you the really good parts.”

  They stepped outside. Blair locked the door, took in a deep breath, still smiling. “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “And him. He seemed to relax around you.”

  “And get nervous around you.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s you he actually likes.”

  Just as they were walking to Rose’s car, John’s car pulled up on the side of the narrow road, his wheels crunching in the gravel shoulder.

  Knowing Blair would want to talk to him, Rose bit back a sigh and stood next to her, waiting for her to change her mind.

  “Still want to go out for coffee?” Rose asked.

  Obviously unsure, Blair’s gazed followed John as he strode over to them. He was still in his workout clothes. “But I want to hear about Mark,” she said finally.

  “What about Mark?” John asked, glancing at the house next door. He bent down to kiss Blair on the cheek.

  Rose groaned inwardly. She considered lying, but though she was skilled in the arts of prevarication, Blair was not.

  So she said, “I slept with him,” and pointed at the car. “Blair and I were just going out for coffee.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No, it’s a popular beverage,” Rose said.

  Blair gave her an apologetic look, took John’s arm. “How was your workout?”

  He turned to her, his face softening. “Fine. You didn’t answer my text.”

  “Sorry, I was talking to Rose.”

  “About Mark.” He looked at Rose. “Seriously. What happened to Mark?”

  “Seriously. I slept with him.”

  “Does he know this?” John asked, then laughed at his own joke.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry, sorry.” He held up a hand. “Stranger things have happened, I guess. Maybe I just needed a laugh.”

  “Why is that so funny?” Rose asked through her teeth.

  “Please, guys. I’m sorry I said anything,” Blair said.

  “Maybe John and I are the ones who need to go out for coffee,” Rose said. “Clear the air.”

  “I said I was sorry.” He put an arm around Blair. “It’s been a rough week.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Rose said in the calmest voice she could manage, “I just want you to explain why it’s funny to you that I would sleep with Mark.”

  “More funny that Mark would sleep with you,” he said, then quickly added, “with anyone, Rose. With anyone. God, obviously I can imagine why somebody would want to sleep with you.” He looked down at Blair. “Maybe you should go inside for a minute.”

  “I think Mark is sweet,” Blair said, not moving.

  “Of course he’s sweet.” Sighing, John gazed heavenward. “But girls don’t usually go for sweet.”

  “I happen to love sweet,” Rose said.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Since when?”

  “You don’t know me very well, John.”

  “I know—” he stopped, looked at Blair, softened his voice. “Please, I think it’s best if Rose and I hash this out on our own.”

  Blair lifted her chin. “I’ll wait in the car.” She took out her keys, headed for her Toyota. “My car. I’m not some delicate princess, guys. I can listen to conversations and drive and everything.”

  Rose waited until she had the car door open. “Thanks, Blair.”

  “Yeah, thanks, sweetie,” John added.

  She slammed it.

  Rose turned on John. “What do you know?”

  He moved closer. “I know what turns you on,” he said softly.

  “Which is you and nobody else, I take it?”

  “A guy like me, anyway. Mark’s a great guy, but he’s not your type.”

  “This is a fascinating analysis,” she said. “Why would a great guy not be my type?”

  He scoffed. “You had a problem with how I didn’t want to go out together. That guy doesn’t even like to go out by himself.”

  “We went out. To San Francisco, actually. For Halloween. And it was his idea.”

  “There you go.”

  She clenched her jaw. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Even a hermit has to let loose once in a while. Good day for it. Easy to disappear.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I know you. You need an alpha male. A top dog. A leader.” He exhaled,
looked back at his house. “Somebody who can go out into the world and take charge.”

  “I think you’ve got somebody else on your mind,” she said. “I’ve never needed anyone—or wanted to need anyone—that way.”

  He seemed to mull that over. Then he shrugged. “It’s just hard to believe that if I wasn’t strong enough for you, Mark would be.”

  “I don’t need superman, John. I just need a man who’s willing—no, proud—to be seen with me.”

  His only answer was to roll his eyes and go back into the house.

  Rose stood there, her own words reverberating in her head.

  That’s what she needed.

  She glanced over at Mark’s house. Funny how he never came out to see her when she was obviously standing right there in his front yard. Her car had been there for hours. She and John had even made a scene.

  Smoothing her hair back from her face, she slowly made her way over to the passenger side of Blair’s car and got in. Slowly, giving him a chance to come out and say hello.

  Not slowly enough, apparently.

  Blair backed out into the road and they drove away.

  Chapter 18

  MONDAY MORNING, MARK STARED OUT the window of his office, wondering how he was going to get into Rose’s bed again. He understood why she’d canceled their date Friday night and didn’t even try to call on Saturday when he saw her car next door.

  Sunday was a series of missed connections; he had promised the neighbor kid a couple hours of math tutoring in the morning, and his mother needed a ride out to a nursery in Lafayette where he lifted approximately four tons of perennials, bagged cocoa mulch, and a small thorny tree into her SUV. By the time he called Rose (in the late afternoon), she said she was doing her laundry.

  That didn’t sound good. He thought he was being considerate, giving her space to deal with Blair, but somehow…

  He’d screwed up.

  His mother was worried about him, thinking he was torn up about Blair. That day he fainted in the living room had given her the entirely wrong idea.

  His aversion to blood was well-known, but this was the first time he’d fainted merely at the thought of it. His mother, who had guessed earlier he’d been interested in Blair, now assumed he was having some kind of romantic, sexual, and ethical breakdown over her.

  “Give it time,” she told him. “Don’t feel guilty for hoping this is your opportunity to be with her. Or even for hoping it would happen.”

  The more he protested, the more she believed he was in love.

  He was certainly feeling preoccupied in that department, but it wasn’t that, and not for Blair.

  Friendly lust? Affectionate sexual obsession?

  The thought of Rose was bright, colorful, hot, distracting, made him useless for anything. Last night she’d let his calls go to voice mail. He couldn’t put anything in an email, not at work. And the cubicles were no place to have a private conversation, not with the legendary Mark Johnson.

  Maybe he was just too stupid to realize she wasn’t interested. He’d had his shot and blown it. Part of him thought, if only she’d let him use all his special skills and pleasure her properly, she’d be in his office right now, door locked, naked, sitting on his desk with her legs open.

  He pressed his forehead onto the glass. He’d like that. A lot.

  He couldn’t just let her get away, not that easily. No, he’d have to throw himself at her in person. Going to her house seemed stalkerish, but work was a fishbowl.

  All he wanted was to be with her, yet somehow he’d managed to convey the opposite impression.

  Maybe he should beg. Appeal to her conscience. She’d always been nice to him, even when he was mooning over her roommate—

  Blair. Rose had been with her a lot this week. She was probably exhausted from all that giving, loving, and understanding; she didn’t have the patience to deal with some dork who’d never been any good at casual dating.

  He’d have to trick her.

  Relieved to have a plan, he combed his hair back with his fingers and strode out into the hall, devising his scheme as he counted the cubicle openings—seven, eight, nine, turn right—scheme some more—one, two, three, four, there. On the left.

  She was at her computer, her back to him. He admired the way her bottom filled out the space between the backrest and the seat for a few seconds before invading.

  “I need to see you.” He made his tone serious. Brusque.

  She swiveled around, eyes wide. “Mark.”

  Frowning at her screen as though it contained the problem that was consuming him, he bent over her shoulder, inhaled the garden breeze she seemed to carry around with her, and braced his hands on either side of her keyboard. The one he’d bought for her. “No, yours isn’t going to work. I’ll have to show you on mine.”

  “Show me what?”

  “I’m changing around the UI. Come into my office. I’ll show you.”

  “But Rick is doing the interface for the women’s site. I just met with him this morning. It’s going fine.”

  He shook his head, lips in a flat line, trying to look too brilliant to explain. “This is for later. Long-term stuff, but it’s… important. I need the feedback from somebody on your team right away or I’ll lose a month’s work.”

  His serious tone finally caught her. She stood up. “Okay.”

  Yessss.

  Frowning hard so he didn’t smile and do a little dance, Mark led her through the beige carpet labyrinth to his office. He shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from touching her.

  He closed the door behind her. Finally. Now he had a chance to look manly, commanding. He’d show her the software he was working on, talk shop, get her to remember how well they got along, gracefully maneuver her into accepting a dinner date.

  She stood in the middle of his office, arms crossed, head down, cheeks pink.

  That last detail was hopeful. He moved over to her, dipped his head to look into her face. “How are you doing, Rose? You’ve kind of had a rough weekend, haven’t you?”

  When her blue eyes looked up into his, his lungs exhaled his last breath and refused to take another. Vivid memories of the taste, feel, and smell of her washed over him. The way she smiled. The soft moans she made when she came.

  He hadn’t intended to kiss her, he really hadn’t. But his hands came up to capture her face and his mouth was on hers, impatient, demanding, furious.

  How could she ignore him after the night they had together? How could she?

  At first she tensed. But then her lips parted for him and she sighed into his mouth, slid her hands around his neck.

  This. This is what he wanted.

  She was what he wanted. Not tonight or next week, not as a memory, now.

  Holding her chin, he kissed his way up her nose, across her cheekbones, over to the pulse on her neck that made her shiver in his arms.

  “I’m sorry about the weekend.” He dragged his mouth over to her lips again, nibbled her plump bottom lip. “I didn’t want to bother you. Make demands.”

  “This kind of bothering,” she said, arching into him, “is fine.”

  “Thank God.” He slid a hand down from her shoulder, stroked the underside of one delicious breast, kneaded the nipple hardening through her sweater.

  Her mouth, hot and fearless, kissed its way over his jaw to his ear. His hands roamed over her body, reclaiming the curves he’d explored Halloween night. But now, here in one of her work sweaters and a long, stretchy skirt, her hair in a ponytail, her feet in the silver sneakers she liked to wear, she was even hotter. Hotter because she was herself.

  It was his favorite sweater, too, the pink one with the belt that tied on the side like a present. His judo-trained fingers had the belt falling open in two seconds. There was another layer of something silky. He shoved it up, out of the way, found skin.

  “On my desk,” he said.

  “Mark…” She shook her head, laughing, like it was a joke.

 
He kissed her to show her there was nothing funny about her sexy body and what he was going to do with it. His tongue pushed between her teeth, swept into her mouth. She melted under him. He led her over to his desk, kept pushing, kissing her as she was forced to sit on the edge.

  It was her perfume. It reached inside him and flipped a switch. Nothing could stop him from what he was about to do.

  “Does the door lock?” she asked vaguely, eyes never leaving him, as though it didn’t really matter.

  At first he wasn’t going to answer. He pulled her skirt over her knees and slipped his hand between her thighs before some better part of himself made him reply. “No.”

  He trembled, heart pounding in his ears, waiting for her to give him permission to continue. Her leg was hot silk under his palm.

  Then she spread her knees wider. “Be quick.”

  Hands shaking, he pulled a condom out of his pocket. “Not a problem.”

  “I’ll do it.” She watched him unzip his fly, then took his cock out and stroked it, glanced up at him, held his gaze. “I could suck you off.”

  He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. “I’d like that, but not here.” He shuddered as she slipped the latex over the tip, rolled it down. “I want to be inside you.”

  Nibbling his lower lip, she reached down between her legs. “I’m wearing boyshorts. They’re loose. Just—yeah. Closer.”

  She was wearing boxers? No, they were stretchy, satiny, and, oh God, she was wet. He felt her nails dig into his lower back. He guided his cock past the fabric into her folds, his knees already starting to shake.

  He thrust inside of her, stifling a moan on her shoulder.

  “Oh,” she gasped. Then, more quietly, “Oh. God.”

  He’d never believed his real life could be this good. Her legs lifted, hooked around his hips. Her arms wound around his shoulders. She moaned and gasped and was soft, responsive, tight.

  He slid out, pushed in, went as fast as he wanted, not even remembering she’d asked him to be quick, just not able to do anything else. His body was in control, taking her, his famously powerful brains shut down long ago.

  “Harder,” she gasped.

  Her voice destroyed any thread of rational control he’d maintained until then. Bending her over the desk, he slanted his mouth over hers, drove into her again and again, already seconds from coming, ashamed he wouldn’t be able to slow down just a little. Again and again, harder, deeper, each little noise in her throat making him go faster.