Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3)

by Gretchen Galway

  April’s stomach turned inside out. Logo? She swallowed and called Teegan back. “Which running pant logo are you talking about?” She heard the dread in her own voice.

  Teegan paused for a full five seconds, long enough for the coffee in April’s stomach to curdle. “What do you mean, which running pant logo? How many do you think there are?”

  April knew that was a trick question. There were countless running pant logos, but Teegan was implying that the one she needed was obvious. Sadly, April didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. Had the memory been obliterated in the afterglow of her hedonistic weekend?

  No time to figure it out now. April scrolled through the computer for all the recent work she’d done. “Do you have a file name?”

  “You haven’t done it?” Teegan asked flatly.

  “No. But if you—”

  The sound of the receiver hitting the cradle struck April’s eardrum. She jumped back, not expecting such a violent end to their conversation. Teegan was bitchy and critical, but never overtly enraged.

  Heart beating fast, April held the phone for a second before putting it down. Then she stared at it, waiting for it to ring. The meeting was in twenty minutes. There was time for her do it if it was important. She’d proven she could be fast.

  When the phone didn’t ring, April opened up the design she’d started for the baby tee—a chain of daisies, nothing fancy—and exported a copy into Teegan’s folder, where she’d asked her to put it earlier.

  The usual procedure was for her to email when she was finished, but the meeting was in ten minutes now, and she might not see it in time.

  She rubbed the intensifying muscle spasm in her shoulder for a few seconds before dialing Teegan’s number again. For good or ill, it went to voicemail. She left a message letting her know the daisies were done, and hung up.

  Nobody called or emailed for the remainder of the morning. She sat at her desk, working through other projects, cleaning up old ones, checking Teegan’s folder for any sign she opened it and made revisions, seeing no change.

  At noon she packed up and walked to the lobby, eyes locked on the elevator for sign of Teegan or her team leaving for lunch.

  Virginia handed over the headset to a woman from purchasing who covered reception during lunch, and followed her out onto the street.

  “You look terrible,” Virginia said, looking her up and down. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “I couldn’t.” April looked up at the sky: no rain, no sun, just gray. The cold wind felt good on her face. “I was home, just couldn’t fall asleep.”

  Virginia looked behind them at the Fite building entrance. “Nobody can hear us. Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?”

  Virginia stuck her rubber band in her mouth while she pulled her hair into another ponytail. “Mm-hm.”

  “You were right. I couldn’t resist him. Spent Saturday night with him and then went to his place yesterday. We’re seeing each other again tomorrow night.” April unbuttoned her jacket and sucked in fresh air. “God, what a shitty day.”

  “Yeah, your life sounds rough. Sex with a hot guy all day and night. Poor you.”

  April smiled weakly. “Teegan’s gunning for me. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “She scares me.”

  “I just don’t understand why she hates me so much. I do good work for her. Great, actually. If she gets me fired, she won’t have anyone.” April was certain Teegan did want her fired, and would use today as evidence against her. “I just don’t understand why.”

  “Kate Huck—she’s a merchandising assistant in Women’s—says Teegan wants Rita’s job. It’s her only shot at management.”

  “But Rita’s coming back. She’s just on family leave.”

  “Everyone expects Rita to get promoted,” Virginia said. “Bev likes her. She’s turned people she likes into vice presidents.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I’m just telling you the rumor.”

  “Teegan can’t even draw,” April said. “Can she?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she figures she’d hire freelancers to do what she couldn’t.”

  “Leaving her to do what, text her friends and take selfies all day?”

  “Hey,” Virginia said. “Don’t knock the life until you try it.”

  “I did try it,” April said, snorting. “It loses its appeal after a few years.”

  Virginia turned the conversation back to Zack, wanting to know everything, and April shared as many details as she was comfortable sharing, which was not as many as usual. Something about Zack, knowing he wouldn’t like to have his sexual prowess described on Mission Street, no matter how complimentary she was, kept her vague and euphemistic in her descriptions.

  When they got to the hot dog stand at the Ferry Building, the only meal they could afford at the trendy spot, she turned toward the buildings at the base of Bay Bridge and wondered if Zack had anyone to talk to about her. If she was important enough for him to want to.

  Six weeks. She didn’t need to make big plans, or expect the sort of perfect ending her brothers had—she just needed to convince him to stick around a little while longer, maybe another six months.

  Surely that wasn’t too much to ask of the universe. Not a lifetime; just a small piece of one. Then he could escape to his high-powered life in New York, and she’d… get back to her own art at home, and save up the money from making polka dot screen prints for Teegan and other fashion minions to get her own place. Or not. But she didn’t need to figure that out now.

  While she ate her hot dog, she tried to think of charms, sexual and otherwise, that would make leaving her unthinkable come the first of June.

  If only she could think of some she hadn’t used already.

  * * *

  For the rest of the month of April, they enjoyed themselves.

  Never at work—although April had tried to lure him into a closet on the second floor filled with fabric remnants one morning, which he escaped (barely) at the last minute—but their evenings and weekends were a pleasure-seeking, goofy wonderland.

  May arrived, hot and dry, and they still hadn’t talked about the future.

  A few times April had woken up in the middle of the night in a panic, pinned under his sleeping arm, tempted to prod him awake to discuss the looming issue.

  They talked about the native plants of California as the wildflowers in the hills faded under the dry heat of impending summer, and she set aside her pastel drawings of sky-blue, cup-shaped nemophila to paint the increasingly golden hills.

  They talked about her wardrobe, which had reverted back to her original unmatched, punky goodness, and how terrible she looked in khakis and twin-sets.

  “So awful I lose my hard-on to even think of you wearing those clothes again,” he breathed into her ear one night as his hand played her like a virtuoso’s.

  She laughed, not offended in the least. For one, she was about to come, and two, it was obviously untrue. He was always ready for her. He was like her first boyfriend in high school, except with self-control. Amazing self-control.

  They talked about that, too—how great they were in bed together. That meant a lot to both of them. April had been with a lot of partners, which she knew could make some guys feel like they were auditioning for the role of Best Ever against a vast, faceless pool of masculine talent. And he’d lost Meg, the woman he’d chosen as his lifetime partner but who had died so young, and he was still mourning.

  Which was another thing they didn’t talk about.

  Maybe the perfection of their sex life was why they never talked about the future. Within seconds of experiencing the slightest uneasiness, they tore off each other’s clothes and spent another heavenly hour or three in bed, and the issue, whatever it was, forever unstated, was dropped.

  Although she only spent the night at his condo a few times, and never had him overnight at the house, her mother guessed what she was doing and with whom.<
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  “I haven’t seen you this happy since you were ten years old,” her mother said one afternoon as they gave Zeus, the male Chihuahua mix, a suppository.

  With her pinkie finger gently probing the little rectum, April bit back a laugh. “You pick this moment to tell me?”

  “Careful.” Her mother readjusted her hold on the dog’s little body. “He’s got a funny look on his face.”

  “I bet he does.” April withdrew her finger. “There. I think it’ll stay up there this time.”

  “Terrific,” her mother said. “You have a magic touch.”

  April released Zeus onto the tile floor, where he danced around for a moment before scurrying out of the bathroom. “That’s a gift I could do without.” She snapped off the latex glove and went to the sink.

  Her mother patted her on the arm. “And not only with animals, I think.”

  April groaned. Her mother was just the type to ask her if she had ever done something similar with… “I need to get going. Zack and I are going hiking today. Got to see if I can find my boots.”

  “I hope you know he’s welcome here anytime,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Thanks. But…”

  “You like your privacy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can wear earplugs,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t hear the all the sex noises even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” She held up her fingers in a Scout oath.

  April put her hands over her ears. “I wish I were wearing them right now. Don’t talk about listening to me have sex. Just. Don’t.”

  “I swear, your generation sees and does all kinds of kinky things—which sounds like a value judgment, but it isn’t, I just don’t know what else to call some of the things I see on that computer—yet you’re still too prudish to have a little conversation. Like fifteen-year-old boys.”

  April had heard this sort of comment before. “Less talk, more do,” she said. “I’d better get going. Zack will be here any minute.”

  Her mother looked into the mirror over the sink, fluffing her short hair with her fingers. “I’m tempted to tell him myself that he’s welcome to stay here overnight. All that driving back and forth across the Bay Bridge in the dark isn’t easy on either one of you.”

  Not wanting to subject Zack to that, April found her boots and hurried outside with Stool and her backpack, meeting Zack in the street just as he was signaling to turn into the driveway.

  “Why the big backpack?” he asked, jumping out to help get Stool into the backseat of the ride-share Chevy Volt. “Will we be camping?” He gave her a wolfish grin. They were headed for one of Oakland’s vast, wooded regional parks not far from the house.

  She clipped Stool’s leash to the seatbelt and settled her backpack next to him. She’d filled it with a few of her portfolios and sketchbooks and hadn’t yet decided if she was going to show them to him. “Just a few things. Water, energy bars, you know.”

  Zack gave Stool a scratch behind the ears and her a long, lingering kiss before starting the car back up. “Cool.”

  It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later when they were starting their hike from the trailhead’s parking lot that she told him. “I brought some of my drawings, if you’re interested. But they’re kind of heavy. We should probably leave them in the car.”

  He reached into the backseat and lifted the backpack. “They’re not heavy, they’re your art.” He kissed her on the nose. “No way I’m missing the show.”

  “We could do it when we get back from the hike.”

  “Nice try, but no.” He wriggled his arms into the pack, loosening the straps to fit his broad shoulders, and then gave her a longer kiss against the side of the car. “You smell like heaven. How do you do it?”

  “Must be my shampoo,” she said, leaning into him. “I’m not wearing anything else.”

  His hand found her breast and stroked her over the thin cotton of her T-shirt. “I wish.”

  Eventually they broke apart and began their hike up a steep narrow trail into a cathedral of redwoods, and then up higher to a rocky, sunny ridge, where they collapsed onto fallen logs to catch their breath and have a drink.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said, reaching past the water bottle in her pack to a charcoal-stained spiral notebook.

  She shot out a hand to stop him. “Hold on, not that one.” She pulled out a larger vellum pad. “This.”

  “Why’d you bring that one if you’re not going to show me?”

  “A mistake.”

  With a raised eyebrow, he accepted the vellum pad and opened it to see a series of pen-and-ink botanical studies—mostly California wildflowers. “You’ve showed me a few of these already.”

  “No, these are older ones.”

  Nodding, he looked at each page, offering his praise and asking a few questions about the plant names, until she turned her head to drink from her water bottle, at which time he lunged forward and pulled out the charcoal pad before she could stop him.

  “No!” she cried, but it was too late. He was already staring at the page in his lap. The dry trail had coated his knees with caramel-colored dust, but his fingers were clean.

  “Wow,” he said.

  She leaned back and gazed at the sky. The fog had burned off in the east but lingered like white smoke in the west. “I was afraid you might be offended.”

  “How could I be offended? You enlarged my penis to twice its actual size. You should write a note at the bottom warning people, like on a mirror.”

  “Warning what people? Your other girlfriends?”

  “Exactly. I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. Not every man was happy to have his girlfriend draw nude pictures of him, certainly not without his consent. “I should’ve asked you if it was all right,” she said. “Truth is, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Huge relief, let me tell you,” she said.

  “Seriously, why didn’t you ask? Did you really think I’d mind?”

  This was even more awkward. She glanced back at the sky. “Well, you see, I was relying on my imagination.”

  “Well, sure, since I think I’d remember if you’d ever whipped out your notebook when we were in bed together.”

  “Nooooooo,” she said, drawing it out as long as she could to buy time. She twisted the cap on her water bottle. “Not my memory. My imagination.”

  He looked up at her, eyes wide. “You drew these before… before?”

  “Mmm,” she said.

  His playful expression faded. He looked at the drawing, falling silent.

  Big mistake. She’d made a big mistake. “I’m really sorry. I think I’m sort of confessing here so I can rid myself of the guilt I’ve been carrying around. I never thought we’d actually get together. I… took what I could get.” Oh God, she was just making it worse. “Look, we can destroy them. I’ll burn them all in one of the barbecue pits near the car.” She reached forward to take the notebook back.

  “Like hell you will,” he said, springing to his feet with the drawing pad under one arm. Wiping the sweat off his upper lip, he squinted in the distance. “We can get back to the car faster if we take the other trail.”

  “You’re so angry you want to go home,” she said. “I understand.” With a sigh, she lifted the backpack.

  “I’m so angry I want to go to the craft store,” he said. “And get this sucker framed ASAP.”

  “No, you’re just humoring me. You’re horrified and disgusted with me.”

  He pulled her against him, knocking the backpack to the ground, and spoke into her ear. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted you. And that’s saying something.”

  “But—”

  “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted you all winter? No. You couldn’t. I’ve burned for you, April. I’ve—I’ve abused myself, wanting you, you know what I’m saying?”

  She grinned. “Really?”
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  “And to find out you thought I was, well, worth your talents… I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

  “I’ve been using my talents on you for weeks,” she said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

  He glanced around them before moving his hand over her ribs, down her belly, and between her legs, where he lifted the hem of her lightweight running shorts and slipped his finger under the elastic of her panties. Trailing kisses down her neck, he nibbled the tender skin, sending sparks down to her toes.

  She rotated in his arms and jumped him, arms slung around his neck, legs clamped around his hips, her mouth open on his.

  He grabbed her bottom and kissed her deeply, the strokes of his tongue synchronized with the motion of his hands.

  She broke the kiss and said, her voice ragged, “I’d do you right there if it weren’t for the poison oak.” Then she glanced over his shoulder and saw two women with a dog approaching on the trail, which made her think of Stool. Her eyes found him rooting around in the undergrowth a few yards away without a leash. Reluctantly, she unclamped her legs from Zack’s hips.

  He dropped his hands, letting her slide to the ground. His chest was heaving. “If only I’d rented a place on this side of the bay.”

  She gazed to the west, where San Francisco twinkled in the distant sun. The two women, close enough now she could see the amusement on their faces, turned and disappeared down a different trail.

  “It’s only—” She cut herself off. It’s only for a few more weeks, she was going to say. After that, then what? It wasn’t as if he was moving into the other house next door. A short drive across the bay was nothing compared to a cross-country flight.

  “An hour is an eternity,” he said, kissing her loudly on the cheek. “Let’s head back. I’ll put a leash on the troublesome triped.”

  While he chased after Stool, April slung the backpack over her shoulders, watching his handsome backside scramble around the wilderness, fearing that she was the one who couldn’t stay out of trouble.

  Chapter 24

  ON A THURSDAY MORNING IN early May, Zack held his weekly status meeting with Liam. Bev usually joined them, either on the phone or in person, but at the moment was too busy with the creative directors in preparation for her return to full-time work to join them.