High Tea & Flip-Flops

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  “I was never keen on studying law. That wasn’t a choice I made for myself. On my eighteenth birthday, I got drunk and dared to tell my father that I wanted to write fiction.”

  He pauses. His breathing is uneven. I’m afraid I’ll do or say the wrong thing, so I just take little sips from my glass and wait. After a moment, he continues.

  “He backhanded me.” He pauses again. “And then he said, ‘I will not tolerate such ridiculous notions.’ I didn’t mention writing to him again for nine years.”

  I hand Jeremy my empty glass to set beside his. “But you kept writing?”

  “I did. And even had a little publishing success—a few short stories. Under a pseudonym, of course. I didn’t dare officially take any writing classes, but I audited a few.”

  I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. My heart aches when I think of him never being able to see his name as author.

  “Then I got my law degree and a position in the firm of my father’s choice. And after three and a half years, I wanted to murder someone. Anyone. My father. Myself.”

  “Jeremy, you didn’t try—”

  “Suicide? No. I didn’t really want to die. I just didn’t want to practice law.”

  “So what happened? Your father changed his mind?”

  His laugh is bitter, but he says nothing. I know the answer anyway. If his father had changed his mind, Jeremy wouldn’t be living here, hiding his identity behind Penny James. I won’t ask him any more questions tonight. This day was stressful enough.

  “I appreciate you sharing that with me,” I say. “I’m glad you’re not letting your father stop you from doing what you love. What you’re good at. You’re going to be very successful, Jeremy.”

  He hugs me. “Now I know why your mother calls you sweetie.”

  We sit in the darkened room, agreeably silent, for a few minutes. I don’t want to think about sad things anymore tonight. And when I slide my hand below the waistband of his jeans, it’s obvious Jeremy’s thinking the same thing.

  When I open my eyes, the room is flooded with sunlight, and Gabi is staring at me, her eyes huge. Then she blinks and rushes out of my bedroom. I rise on my elbows. Jeremy is lying beside me, totally naked. If he finds out about this, at least I can assure him he was face down.

  I ease out of bed, not wanting to wake him, and grab his shirt off the floor. Carefully, I close the door and slip on the shirt as I hurry down the hall.

  Gabi is sitting on the sofa. “Oh. My. God,” she says. “When did that start?”

  “It’s not what you think?”

  “Seriously?”

  “I mean, yes, we’re having sex, but we’re just friends.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because this is how I figured you’d react.”

  Gabi just stares at me.

  “Just a minute,” I say. “I have to pee.” When I step out of the bathroom, I see Jeremy in the hallway ahead of me, still nude and just about to step into the living room. “Jeremy …” My warning is too late.

  As he starts to turn toward me, Gabi says, “Good morning.”

  Jeremy yells, “Bloody hell!” covers his goodies with his hands, and rushes back toward me.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, “I tried not to wake you.”

  He pulls me into the bedroom and shuts the door.

  “Did she already know about—” he points to the two of us and then my bed.

  “No.”

  He pulls on his underwear. “So you opened the door wearing nothing but my shirt? How were you going to explain that?”

  While I delay my response, he puts on his jeans and then renews his question with an arched brow. He’s going to hate my answer. “I didn’t let her in.”

  He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “What?”

  “I didn’t let her in. She was here when I woke up.”

  His eyes widen. “Do you hand out keys to your flat as party favors?”

  “Of course I don’t. Only my mom and Gabi have them.”

  “So you stumbled upon Gabi sitting there as I did?”

  Now, here’s where I could save us both some stress by lying, but what would that say about our relationship?

  “Not exactly. She sort of woke me up.”

  His left eye twitches. “Do I need more than one guess how she woke you?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head.

  “My shirt,” he snaps, holding out his hand.

  “Geez, let me get my underwear on first.”

  He utters one sharp, semi-hysterical bark of a laugh. “A woman I barely know has seen me full-frontal twice this morning, and you’re playing Ms. Modest in front of me?”

  I grab clean panties, slip them on, and reach for a tee. “You were lying on your stomach the first time she saw you.”

  He throws up his hands. “Well then, no problem.”

  I pull off his shirt and fling it at him. “You do know that you overreact sometimes, don’t you?”

  For at least thirty seconds he stares at me, his expression totally incredulous, and then he opens the bedroom door, walks down the hall and straight out the front door.

  “Well, you do,” I yell after him, but, of course, he doesn’t hear me. I pull on my tee as I stomp to the living room.

  “He does what?” Gabi asks.

  “Overreact. I’m making coffee. Want some?”

  “Already started it.” She follows me into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you answer my texts and phone call yesterday? Or did you two just have an eighteen-hour marathon?”

  I fill two mugs with coffee and hand her one. We each add a ton of sugar and go back to the living room. I’m chilled, so I snuggle down against the sofa arm, facing her, and tuck my feet under the middle cushion.

  “I turned off my phone,” I say. “Jeremy and I fought. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “The romance group thing didn’t go well?”

  “Yeah, it did. But he got upset because I told them he was my fiancé.”

  “I can’t imagine why that would upset him.”

  “I’ve already heard enough sarcasm for one morning, Gabi.”

  “Well, obviously, he got over being mad about that.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t really—” I can’t tell her about Jeremy’s father. “He was just tense. It was hard for him, you know, me pretending to be the author of his book?”

  She nods. “So when did you two first hook up?”

  “About a week ago.”

  We sip our coffee for a few minutes, and then she laughs. “I thought Brits were casual about nudity and stuff. When I said good morning, Jeremy looked like he was going to have a stroke.”

  “I don’t know, maybe it’s because he was born in Massachusetts. He picked up some Puritan vibe or something.”

  “What? You mean his accent’s fake?”

  I shake my head. “His parents lived here only a few months after he was born. He grew up in England.”

  “Oh.” She’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “So, you two aren’t in a relationship?”

  “No.”

  Gabi gives me a skeptical smile. “You’re honestly telling me this is just a friends-with-benefits thing.”

  “Of course it is. No strings, just sex once in a while.”

  I suspect Gabi knows I’m lying, but she nods and says, “Well, from now on, unless I’m sure you’re here alone, I’ll knock.”

  “Good idea.”

  For a couple of minutes, we sip our coffee.

  “How’s the work going?” she asks. “And what’s your job title now?”

  “It’s going fine. I’m having a lot of fun. And who knows what my job title is. Lawyers. I’ve signed so many papers, I’ve probably signed over my first born to him.”

  “Your firstborn is likely to be his anyway with all this benefiting going on.”

  “Ha. Ha.” I sit up and set my cup on the coffee table. “I’m starved. Let’s go
out for breakfast.”

  “Have you looked at a clock?”

  “Lunch then?”

  “Go get ready.” She gets a glint in her eye. “Think I should text Jeremy an invitation to join us?”

  “You are so wicked, Gabi.”

  Two minutes after Gabi drops me off after lunch, I get a text from Jeremy.

  Received editor’s notes. Need to work alone the next few days. Ring you later.

  I read it twice, trying to convince myself this has nothing to do with what happened earlier. It makes sense that he needs no distractions while he’s revising, right? I mean, it’s not like he said he couldn’t see me for a few days.

  “So why do you feel like crying, Chelsea?”

  I don’t even see that I did anything wrong. Who doesn’t give their mother and their best friend keys? His embarrassment serves him right for walking around my apartment naked. I don’t need that. And I damn sure don’t need some guy telling me what I can and can’t do.

  “Screw you, Jeremy.”

  Anyway, I don’t need to be with him every day. I can do most of the job he’s hired me for right here in my apartment. He’s acting like a baby. Who needs that? Just let him stay up there in his bedroom and get hunchbacked from bending over that stupid keyboard all day.

  “Why the hell should I care?”

  Stopping to take a deep breath, I realize I’ve been stomping around picking up clutter. And that’s another thing, if he expects me to do his research for him and make appearances as Penny James, I think one of my expenses he’s supposed to pay should be Renata cleaning my apartment too.

  I put away the things I collected in the living room and then sit down with my laptop. But I’m in no mood to research romantic locations for his books. I close the computer and grab my Nalgene bottle and purse. Now that I have money to spend again, it’s time for a little shopping therapy.

  For once, no arguments or blaring music or skaters rumbling by disturb the silence outside, but I don’t hear Jeremy’s typing. Maybe the sidewalk’s too far from his window. Or maybe he lied. When I reach my car, I can’t resist checking. I’m wearing sunglasses, so I pretend I’m looking at something on the trunk, while actually I’m looking up at his bedroom window. He’s watching me.

  For a minute, I consider looking up and waving to him with a smile, like nothing’s wrong. But that’s a lie.

  Hot sales called my name all over the mall today. I can’t believe all the cool new clothes I found. I’ve dumped out the shopping bags on my bed, and I’m halfway through taking the tags off everything when I glance at my nightstand and see the abandoned champagne bottle and glasses. All the excitement of having new things drains away. I carry the bottle into the bathroom. As I pour what’s left into the sink, I look at myself in the mirror.

  “Stupid girl. You let yourself get carried away with make-believe. Just because a guy sleeps with you and tells you why he hates his father, that doesn’t mean he loves you. Sex is sex and love is love. How many times are you going to confuse them before you wise up?”

  The text alert sounds on my phone. It’s from Jeremy.

  Hard at work. Not stopping for dinner. Sorry.

  Yeah, dude, got the real message the first time. I text him back.

  No problem. Already had plans to go out.

  That was a lie, but I’ll make those plans now. I pull up my “Favorites” list and hit dial.

  “Hey, Mom. Want to go out to dinner with me?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I just got off the phone with Marianne. Have you met her? I can’t remember. Anyway. We’re meeting at Olive Garden in about forty minutes. Want to join us?”

  “Marianne doesn’t know about Jeremy’s book, does she?”

  “Not that I know of. You want me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll meet you there.”

  I pocket my phone and start cleaning up the shopping mess in my bedroom. I’m going to wear my sexiest new outfit, so if Jeremy’s watching again when I leave, he’ll be sorry he ditched me.

  *

  My mom pulls into the restaurant parking lot just as I’m getting out of my car. I wait so we can walk in together.

  “Look at this; you’re on time,” she says smiling. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starved,” I say, but I’m suspicious because she made no comment on what I’m wearing, which is a sleeveless, hot-pink minidress with a crocheted bodice that allows plenty of my black satin demi bra to show through. I expected to get a tight-lipped smile from her, at the very least, but that would have been worth it to show off this outfit to Jeremy.

  We’re just stepping inside when my mother says, “I forgot to tell you Marianne’s son is visiting. I hope you don’t mind that he’s joining us tonight. He’s very nice.”

  My appetite flees faster than the devil from Jesus. I can’t deal with another one of the weird guys my mom thinks is nice. I’m about to tell her I’m leaving when her friend spots us and calls her name. One look at the man beside Marianne, evidently her son, changes my mind. He looks normal. The outdoor type, judging by his deep tan and sun-bleached hair. On top of that, he looks familiar.

  My mom introduces me to Marianne who says, “Your daughter’s beautiful, Marie,” and then, “Chelsea, this is my son, Dustin Haines. He’s—”

  “You’re Dusty Haines, the surfer!” I blurt.

  He smiles, his teeth chalk white against his tan. “Guilty.”

  “Chelsea used to follow surfing because her last boyfriend, Kyle, was obsessed,” my mom says. “But he’s long gone, thank God.”

  I smile weakly. Does she hear herself? I should have made a run for it while I had the chance. Our mothers start chatting, leaving Dusty and me standing awkwardly beside each other.

  He leans closer and whispers. “I won’t listen to anything embarrassing your mother says about you if you’ll do the same for me.”

  “Deal.”

  There’s always a long wait here, but Dusty and his mom must have arrived a lot earlier than we did because the pager in his hand flashes, and the hostess leads us to a table. Our mothers discuss every item on the menu while Dusty and I quickly decide what we’ll order and then turn to each other.

  “Are you just a beach bunny or do you surf?” he asks.

  “I used to. Now I just boogie board, but not so much this summer.”

  “Are you busy tomorrow? We could spend some time on the beach. Just for kicks.”

  “Um, sure.” I can’t believe he asked me out. I can’t believe I said yes. Crap. I said yes. That’s not going to help my situation with Jeremy.

  We drink a little wine and eat and laugh with and at our mothers. Afterward, in the parking lot, I give him my phone number and address. While Dusty and his mother head to her car, my mom walks with me to mine.

  “You’re going out with him?” she asks.

  “Just to the beach. No big deal.”

  “You know he lives in Hawaii.”

  “No, I didn’t, but why does that matter?”

  “Well, if you thought this might lead to something …”

  “No, Mom, I didn’t. It’s just a day at the beach.”

  “What about Jeremy?”

  “We’re just friends. And that’s none of your business anyway.” Damn, that was harsh. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “I think we both know why you snapped at me, Chelsea.” She pats my arm and walks off toward her car.

  She’s right. Of course she is. I don’t really want to go out with Dusty. I want Jeremy. When I get home, I’ll make him talk to me. And when Dusty calls, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind.

  But when I get there, Jeremy’s car isn’t in the parking lot. I sit on my patio watching for him for an hour before I go inside and exchange my killer new outfit for shorts and a tee, but I listen for any sound coming from his apartment. Finally, I turn on the TV, but every fifteen minutes I get up and look for his car.

  By ten o’clock he’s still not home. I’m furious. Wasn’t he the one so busy w
ith revisions that he couldn’t do more than just text me?

  When Dusty calls a few minutes later, I agree to him picking me up at eight in the morning.

  CHAPTER 19

  Dusty arrives before I’m ready, so I leave him on the sofa and go pack my bag for the beach. When I walk back into the living room, he’s looking at a brochure I picked up when researching locales for Jeremy.

  “Planning a trip to Carmel?” He lays the brochure back on the coffee table and stands.

  “I’m no longer sure. It was a business trip. Let’s go.” Just as I open my door, Jeremy comes bounding down the stairs.

  “You ignored my text again,” he says.

  “I didn’t get your text. Again.”

  “Well, I need to discuss something with you. My editor—” From the way his mouth slackens and his eyes widen, it’s obvious he’s just spotted Dusty behind me.

  “As you can see, I’m just leaving,” I tell Jeremy, but he’s not paying attention. He’s downgraded the shocked look, but his eyes are still focused over my shoulder. Sigh. “Dusty this is Jeremy. Jeremy meet Dusty.” I move aside when they each automatically reach out to shake hands. “Like I was trying to say, I can’t work today. Dusty and I are on our way out. To the beach.”

  Slowly, Jeremy shifts his gaze to me. “I see. Can I expect your assistance tomorrow or are you going off on holiday—unannounced?”

  “I’ll have to let you know. When your boss says he doesn’t need you for a few days, you tend to make other plans.”

  “I see. Well, enjoy your day.” His tone indicates he means anything but. As I’m locking my door, he runs back up the stairs and slams his.

  I join Dusty, who had taken my bag and walked off, stopping at the sidewalk to wait for me. “Do you work for him?” he asks.

  “He’s a writer. I’m his research assistant.”

  “Are you sure it’s cool for you to take a day off? He seemed pissed.”

  “Welcome to my world.” When we drive away, I peek at my phone to be sure I didn’t get Jeremy’s text. I didn’t. I know it’s immature, but I’m happy he saw Dusty.

  It’s been a long time since I spent the day just playing in the water. Dusty and I spend a few hours zipped in our shorties because, despite being August, the water and the breeze are cool. He doesn’t show off to bring attention to himself. Even when we move down the beach to a spot less filled with beginners, kooks Dusty calls them, no one seems to recognize him, maybe because they don’t expect to see one of the world’s top competitive surfers goofing on a boogie board.