The first thing she did when she walked into the house was go into the kitchen for coffee and painkillers. There she found a note from her mom under a glass of homemade tomato juice:
Walking the dogs. Such a beautiful day.
She probably rushed home early that morning to be with the dogs, since she hated leaving them alone. Had her mother guessed about her and Zack? Probably. The woman had magical powers.
April sipped the juice—spiked heavily with Tabasco sauce, the family remedy for hangovers—and gazed out the window at the rain. It was just a drizzle, gray and wimpy, the kind of precipitation that was too pitiful to do much good for water supply or agriculture but lingered for hours or days, making you depressed.
She didn’t know if her mom thought it was a beautiful day because the rain was beautiful, or because it didn’t rain yesterday and spoil the wedding. Knowing her mother, it was probably both. All glasses are more than half full at all times, even when they’re empty.
April coughed down the last of the flaming tomato juice and was on her way upstairs to take a shower when Liam burst through the front door.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
There wasn’t enough Tabasco sauce in the world to put her in the mood to talk to Liam right then. She continued on her way up the stairs. “My personal life is none of your business.”
“Damn it.” Liam strode over and stood on the bottom stair. “He works for us.”
“For you. Not for me.”
He made a rude noise. “You’re family. And you work at Fite.”
She reached the top stair. “I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Couldn’t you leave just one guy alone?”
She stopped and turned. “Excuse me?”
“It just would’ve been a lot easier if you hadn’t seduced him.”
“How do you know I seduced him?”
“Oh, come on,” he said.
Anger washed over her. “Listen to yourself. What right do you have to talk to me that way?”
He clamped his lips together and glared at her, but doubt had crept into his eyes.
She pointed at him. “You owe me an apology.”
His gaze moved to the ceiling.
“You absolutely do,” she continued, moving down the stairs to look him in the eye. “Let’s hear it.”
He held an incredulous expression for a long moment before ducking his head with a sigh. “All right. I apologize. But—”
“Apology accepted. Now I’m going to go take a shower.” She turned, marched up the stairs to the bathroom, and slammed the door.
One guy. She couldn’t leave just one guy alone.
She swatted the towels hanging from the old chrome hook behind the door, knocking them to the floor.
Had she been the one to start it? She remembered him being nice with those two plates of chocolate cake, and him suggesting she get some ice after the bouquet smacked her in the face, and then she was inviting him to her room for sex.
Damn it. Liam was right. It was her fault.
But he’d helped.
Her shower was so long, it drained the hot water heater. She walked naked to her room, the nakedness designed to repel Liam in case he was waiting for her outside the door. Nothing made him run away faster than her parading around in the buff. Such a prude.
But, happily for both of them, he wasn’t there. She slammed her bedroom door, pulled on her baggiest sweatshirt and a clean pair of old, soft jeans, lay down on her childhood twin-size bed, and stared at her phone.
She knew Zack’s number. Of course she did. And his email and permanent address in New York. She skimmed personal information as effectively as an unelected government official.
She looked at his name on the screen. She hadn’t snapped a photo of him yet to go with the number—
And she shouldn’t, because it had gone far enough. She’d been lonely and vulnerable and he’d given her cake. Of course she’d slept with him. That didn’t mean she had to do it again. It would be safer for both of them to just cool it.
Then again, why should she do what Liam wanted her to do?
Rebellious impulses inside her launched a civil war. Her mind swam with options, desires, obligations.
Oh, hell. She should at least talk to the guy. She tapped his name.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
The sound of his voice made her go soft all over. “Hi,” she said, a little breathless.
“Are you calling to cancel?” he asked. “Because if you are, I can’t talk right now.”
She put her hand over her eyes, smiling. You can do this. “I just saw Liam. I don’t think I should come over.” No, that sounded wishy-washy. “Actually, I can’t. I can’t come over.”
“You’re a grown woman in the twenty-first century,” he said. “Why would you let a male relative tell you what to do?”
Her heart flipped upside-down. He didn’t regret it. He hadn’t changed his mind. He was willing to risk the career that meant so much to him, for her. She wanted to race over, throw her arms around him, kiss him silly.
He wasn’t playing fair.
“You can’t mean that,” she said. “What about your job?”
“The damage has been done.”
She winced. Damage.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he continued.
All of the implications of what they’d done crashed down on her. What if he really did lose his job because of her? He was leaving in a month or two—was it worth it? Hadn’t she vowed to stop sleeping around?
“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I like you.”
“April. You don’t have to dump me to get out of eating a slice of pizza.”
She sat up. “I’m not dumping. I’m explaining.”
“It sounded like dumping. You’d started the I-like-you speech.”
“Look, I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“You don’t need to say that. If you don’t want to see me, just say so,” he said.
“I am saying it! You… you…”
“We’ll eat early. I’ve already started the pizza dough. Lunch is never serious,” he said. “Come over anytime.” And then he hung up.
She cried in frustration at her phone and threw it on the bed. The sound of four dogs clattering over hardwood floors reached her from downstairs. The rain was coming down harder now, which meant they were probably wet, muddy, and stinky—especially if Stool had indulged in his favorite treat.
With a smile, she got off her bed and finger-combed her wet hair.
Stool. The perfect solution. He’d be the perfect chaperone. He’d chew on furniture, steal the pizza, and make it impossible to get into bed.
She was halfway down the stairs before she turned around and put on her sexiest black bra and panties under her old clothes.
It didn’t mean anything. Even normal people didn’t wear underwear with holes in it, just in case they were in a car accident and ended up at the hospital on a gurney with cute doctors looking at them.
It means nothing.
A little over an hour later, she pushed the buzzer to the condo in San Francisco, remembering fondly the year she’d had a key of her own. The view from the top floor of the modern high-rise near the Bay Bridge was even better than the one from her mom’s house: twinkling city lights, the arc of the bridge over the ever-changing water, the hills of the East Bay.
Zack’s voice crackled over the speaker. “April?”
She pressed the button. “I’ve brought company.”
Silence. Then, “Great,” and the door buzzed.
Stool pulled on his leash as if the finish line for the Iditarod were inside the elevator just ahead of them. She couldn’t imagine what power he’d had when he was young and four-legged; she was having trouble staying on her feet. They scrambled into the elevator and looked at each other—Stool so excited, his tongue was hanging halfway to the floor, and April afraid she looked the same.
>
Zack was waiting for them upstairs in the hall outside the unit’s door. When he saw Stool, his face lit up. “Tripod!”
“Please respect the name I’ve given him,” she said.
He bent over and scratched Stool behind the ears. The dog’s reaction was similar to hers the night before: lots of panting, closed eyes, generalized loss of muscle strength.
“I can’t call him that,” he said. “It seems disrespectful.”
“Wait until he chows down on a big turd and then sticks his tongue in your mouth,” she said. “You’ll appreciate I’ve given you a harmless way to get even.”
Stool jerked free and galloped into the condo. “Stool!” She started to run after him, but Zack hooked an arm around her waist and pinned her into the corner.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, breathing hard. He gazed deeply into her eyes but didn’t make any move to kiss her.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. He felt strong and solid. And the sight of him in a baby-blue gingham apron and old khakis rolled up at the ankles—and those glasses, those damn glasses—was more exciting than the tux or the birthday suit.
He smelled good, too. Man and pizza. Her two biggest vices, all in one. God help her.
“I better get Stool,” she said, breaking free and hurrying into the condo. “Before he destroys the furniture.”
Zack closed the door and went into the kitchen. “There isn’t much to destroy,” he said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Water. Nonalcoholic water.”
“I’m not trying to get you drunk,” he said. “I have juice, mineral water, milk…”
“Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk.” That would put her in a virginal mood. They called them milkmaids for a reason, right? And milk made her think of babies, which, ironically, never made her think of sex. Although thinking of babies and milk did make her think of Bev’s pale-gray expressed breast milk, which still made her a little queasy when she had to handle it. “Scratch that. Juice or mineral water. I don’t care.”
“I could mix them together.”
“You’re a problem solver,” she said.
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“Do they? Are the bucks big?”
Something she couldn’t read flickered across his face: a combination of a smile and a frown. “Sometimes.”
“I hope you’re not charging Bev and Liam too much,” she said. “They just got Fite out of the red. We weren’t sure they were going to make it.”
“I reduced my usual fee,” he said.
“Really? I was just kidding. Why?”
He looked at his hands. “Why don’t you look around? Make yourself comfortable. I have to stir the sauce.”
Sensing a topic he didn’t want to discuss, which made her suddenly eager to pursue it, she followed him into the kitchen. Liam used to cook for her when she lived in the condo. They’d talk about his unlikable girlfriends, her forgettable boyfriends, and then watch their favorite comedians on TV and laugh at the same jokes.
It wasn’t the same since he’d married Bev. They didn’t laugh like friends; they’d regressed to bickering siblings. She missed those days.
Zack went to the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice and a bottle of Calistoga. “Don’t you want to look around?”
“Don’t have to. I used to live here.” She watched him pour the drinks. “I had a temp job not far from here, so I slept on Liam’s couch.”
“When was that?”
“Around when he met Bev.” She took the glass he offered, brought it to her lips. “I had to move out when they… you know.”
“Three’s a crowd.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that when you moved back home?” he asked.
She sighed. “No, that was just a few months ago. Before that I was living with a guy who I don’t want to talk about.”
His gaze sharpened. “Boyfriend?”
“Unfortunately.” She scowled into her glass. “Stool was his dog. He took off one night and left him behind. The landlord told me to get rid of him or move out, so I moved out. It’s nearly impossible to find an apartment that takes pets, so I went home. My mom used to run a dog rescue, so that was an obvious move.”
“He ‘took off one night’? Did you know he was leaving?”
She glanced at him. “It wasn’t anything serious. We’d only been together a few months.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “What an asshole.”
“I know. His own dog.” Zack looked shocked, so she added, “Yeah, yeah, and me too. I’ve already psychoanalyzed myself. My expectations were much too low.”
“You could say that.”
“Anyway, when I saw how much help Bev and Liam needed with Merry, I started babysitting and decided to stay longer than I’d planned.”
“It’s nice you’re so flexible.”
She snorted while she was drinking, inhaling orange juice into her sinuses. After she finished coughing, she said, “That’s a polite way of saying I’m a total slacker.”
“Slackers don’t work two jobs,” he said.
“Merry isn’t a job.”
“You undervalue yourself,” he said.
He was probably just sweet-talking her to get her into bed, but it hit home. “You sound like my mother.”
“She’s right.”
An awkward silence grew between them. Why were they talking about her? She hated talking about herself. “So, why were you willing to reduce your fee for Fite?”
He turned away and got busy stirring the sauce over the stove. “It was only a slight reduction. I knew it would be a tough sell, given the company’s problems.”
“That’s not really what I mean. Why did you want to work at Fite at all?”
“A few reasons,” he said.
“Such as…”
“My parents are here.”
“Like, six hours away,” she said.
“Closer than New York.”
“Okay.” She picked up a bell pepper and rubbed the smooth skin with her thumb. “Why else?”
“I wanted to expand the geographical reach of my client base,” he said.
“You missed California,” she said.
“Basically.”
“Well, those are good reasons. I wonder what the real one is.”
He lowered the heat, turned to her, and crossed his arms over his chest. A droplet of tomato sauce clung to his apron, mere centimeters from the bright white shirt underneath. “You’ll mock me.”
“Maybe. Will you tell me anyway?”
“I want to get into high tech,” he said. “See where I’m going with this?”
“Like software and stuff?” she asked.
He nodded.
She stared at him. “You knew about Mark before. Before you even came out here.” She put the glass down on the counter and took a step back. “He’s your whole reason for coming to California at all.”
“No.” He followed her. “There were many reasons. He was just one of them.”
“The wedding must’ve been quite a coup,” she said.
“I told you I was interested in meeting him. I told you.”
“You did.” She ran a hand through her hair, nodding. “You did. I thought it was more spur of the moment, though.”
“I’m not usually very spontaneous. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
She didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t told her the whole story, but until last night, why would he have had any obligation to?
Even now, he didn’t have to tell her anything. She was just the crazy little sister, the freelancer, the one-night stand.
So far.
While she chewed on her lip, she realized Stool was too quiet. Where was he? Silence was much worse than barking, whining, or crunching.
“Stool?” She strode out of the kitchen, casting her gaze over the tables and sofas for three-legged tornadoes. She paused at the bedroom door, hearing gulps and afraid to look inside. W
hat could he be eating?
She peeked around the corner. “No!” She flung herself onto the bed, where Stool was ripping a tuxedo jacket into black ribbons. “Eating shit is better than this, you crazy dog!” She threw her body over the remaining fabric and caught his collar. Stool smiled at her with the lining of one sleeve dangling from his teeth.
“Well, that’s one way to get you into bed,” Zack said from the doorway. “Good dog.”
Chapter 22
ZACK’S FEELINGS ABOUT SEEING HIS best garment destroyed faded when he saw the agony on April’s face. As she played tug-of-war with Stool, her face turned red, and tears flashed in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, yanking on a scrap black fabric. “So sorry, so sorry. My dog has an eating disorder. I’ll pay you back. It’s my fault.”
“I’ll be right back.” He went to the kitchen and took a palmful of Italian sausage, already sautéed with fennel and ready to go on the pizza, out of the fridge. “Stool!” He added a whistle.
Immediately he heard the sound of three paws scrambling down the hallway, and then the dog was there, sliding around the corner of the cabinets, eyes wide, tongue flapping.
“Sit,” Zack said. Stool sat. Zack gave him the sausage.
April came into the kitchen, holding the shredded remains of his suit in her arms. “You fed him?”
“Best way to get him out of my room.” He took the suit from her—shoving aside the memory of the price tag that flashed in his brain, the special brush and storage bag he’d bought to care for it, the confidence he’d felt yesterday when he’d put it on, knowing she would see him in it—and gave her a smile. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.” He went to the bedroom, hung the ruined suit coat in the closet, and closed the door so Stool couldn’t return for seconds.
When he returned to the kitchen and saw April standing by the front door wearing her coat and holding Stool by his leash, his breath caught.
She leaned over and stroked Stool’s ears. “I don’t want him to ruin anything else.”
“Look around. What else could he ruin?” There was a cheap bistro table with two chairs, a used futon, and a cardboard shipping box he used as a coffee table. Liam had rented it to him unfurnished, and Zack hadn’t seen a reason to make much effort.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 20
