by Cecy Robson
“Then what would you call them?” he asks, pulling a large bottle of organic carrot juice from another bag.
“Perfectly prepared and healthy meals you simply have to reheat or enjoy.” I try to jump onto the counter, don’t quite make it, and end up smacking my ass against the hard edge. I stretch out my hands, sliding them across the slick quartz and attempting to bite back the pain.
Ow.
Seamus wanders over, lifts me with as much effort as he did the container, and plops me on the counter. The motion is quick, but not the way his hands withdraw from my hips. I can’t breathe, his fingers dragging along my thighs.
“I’ve got barstools. Lots of them if it’s easier for you,” he murmurs.
“No. I’m good,” I whisper, melting into his warm stare. I am good, but only in his arms.
He looks away, his hands releasing me and returning to the food. The way he casually dismisses me is akin to the way my family treats me. I hate it. Mostly, I hate that he’ll never see me as more than a convenient date.
“Why did you bring all this food?” he asks.
I didn’t know my chin had lowered until I glance up. “Pardon?” I heard him, I just don’t understand the question.
“You told me you were on deadline and that you don’t eat when you have projects due,” I reply before he can ask again. “I know how committed you are to your work and that you always promise your clients to deliver on time when they hire you.” I fold my hands on my lap when it occurs to me I’m rambling. “That shouldn’t mean you should suffer.”
“Suffer?” he asks. “I wouldn’t exactly call it suffering.” He takes a good look at me and smiles. “Let me get this straight. You’ve never skipped a meal to make sure your clients have everything they need? Never worked through lunch? Maybe dinner? You’ve always eaten and been okay?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I reply, my own grin fixed in place. “But I can tell you, I wish I had someone to bring me food. Sometimes I’ve been so hungry, I could have used a snack, so maybe I could have worked longer and completed my task a bit sooner.” I wonder briefly if I’m treating him like a child. But his smile and the gratitude I sense beyond it tells me perhaps this is something he needed.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say is, it would’ve been nice if someone remembered me. Or at least remembered enough to bring me a meal.”
“You were trying to take care of me,” he says, his lips widening into a bigger smile. “You were trying to make sure I would be okay.”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Good,” he says. “Nice to have an Allie around to watch my back.”
I nibble on my bottom lip. It’s not something I’m in the habit of doing, but Seamus brings out my shyness better than anyone.
“You know what?” he asks, watching me closely. “The takeout you brought, in addition to all these meals, they’re too much for just me. Sit with me. Make sure I eat them.” He winks. “Make sure I stay okay.”
I’m not hungry and I have contracts to review piled on my desk. But I think for once my work can wait. For once, I want to be that woman in the company of a gorgeous man, sharing a meal and the happiness his presence brings.
I expect Seamus to turn on his mammoth television. Instead we sit at his elevated counter, twisting to face each other as we eat and speak about everything from the stained glass doors he’s installing later tonight, to the house I listed earlier that morning. We talk about sports and memories we share from church functions, and he tells me plenty of stories about his family, making me laugh.
When the soup he poured and the half sandwich on my plate is finished, I carefully wipe my mouth. I don’t really realize how much I’ve missed his company, or how much I laugh in his presence until this moment. But maybe I did and perhaps it’s why I was so compelled to see him.
I gather my plate. “I should go,” I say.
Seamus follows me, lifting his plate and some of the leftover garbage. “Yeah, I need to finish this headboard before I head out to install the doors.”
I rinse our plates while he finishes tidying up the kitchen, using care as I place them into the dishwasher.
I can’t stop smiling. Seamus did most of the talking and I did the majority of the laughing. The conversation is brief yet gives me a better understanding of who this man is. I’m glad to know Seamus, and perhaps a little proud, as well.
Although he seems rushed, he takes his time, placing a hand on my lower back as I start to walk down. “You don’t trust me to maneuver the steps on my own?” I tease.
“Not even a little bit,” he says, laughing.
“Oh, shit,” he says, glancing at the iron clock on the wall.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot Mandy’s coming over.”
My steps slow and I tuck my hair behind my ear, although it’s not in the way. “Oh. Who’s Mandy?”
“She runs the yoga studio next-door and says she needs help redesigning it. The place is brand new. I’m not sure what she needs.”
My shoulders sag. I’ll bet I know what she needs. One hot carpenter.
The doorbell rings as we reach the ground floor. “Hey. That must be her. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
He takes my hand. He’s not rushing me, not with how carefully he leads me forward, and it’s not until we reach the door and he swings it open that he releases me.
I’m so happy we spent such a lovely afternoon. I’m not so happy when I see who’s waiting rather enthusiastically for him at his doorstep.
A woman, close to Seamus’s height, stands with one leg firmly fixed on the floor, the other wrapped around her neck.
“Oh, hi,” she says. She slowly lowers her foot from where the heel rests against her breast, giving a glimpse of how flexible and graceful she is.
She giggles. “I was just getting a good stretch in while I waited for you, cutie.”
More like she was giving Seamus a good view of her body parts and all the limber things she can do with them.
Seamus isn’t my boyfriend. We haven’t slept together. We haven’t kissed. We’ve barely touched each other. But, my goodness, I’m standing right here!
“Hey, Mandy,” Seamus says. He angles his body so I can slip through and I presume leave. “This is Allie.”
Mandy giggles again, bringing her long French braided hair to the front of her voluptuous breasts to play with. It’s the same way I used to wear my hair. But my hair never looked like hers and I certainly don’t look like Mandy. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t notice you.”
“I’ll bet,” I say, smiling and doing my best to keep the bite from my tone. “Perhaps your foot was in the way?”
I don’t mean to sound so harsh. But Mandy won’t be someone who ignores me as easily as my family does. Not while I’m standing beside Seamus.
“Could be,” Mandy chimes, her eyes narrowed as she smiles. “I am rather flexible and sometimes I can’t help but show it off.”
Oh, yes, she knows I’m onto her. Fine, just so she understands, I’m making my own shameless claim. I glance up at Seamus adoringly, something that comes easy, my hand skimming up his arm. “Thank you for lunch,” I say.
He smirks, watching my hand. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” he asks.
I shrug with one shoulder, lowering my lashes. Flirting isn’t a superpower I possess, nor do I usually find it necessary. Except today. “It was my pleasure.”
Perhaps I’m being unreasonable. But she started it. I should be ordering myself to my room without supper, seeing I’m suddenly twelve again.
“You know what?” Seamus asks, his light irises glinting with excitement. “Mandy has some kind of special going on for new members. A week of free classes. Maybe you should try Mandy out?”
No, I shouldn’t try Mandy out. Based on her growing scowl, I should kick her down the stairs like she very much deserves.
Now would be a good time to
remind myself that I’m a grown woman and a professional, and that although I was raised in a rough neighborhood, I’m not the type of woman to rough someone up. Yet, the more I stare at Mandy and her tight little spandex-clad body, the more I respect those women who would throw down.
“I don’t think that’s something I’d enjoy,” I respond. I’m no longer smiling, and neither is Mandy.
“That’s all right, sweetie,” Mandy says. “I’m not sure you could keep up.”
I laugh. “You’re right, Sandy. I’m too busy running a real estate company. I don’t have the time for that kind of commitment.” I sigh and glance leisurely at Seamus. “I suppose I’ll have to find a different way to get my workout in.”
Seamus is oblivious that Mandy and I are all but clawing each other’s eyes out, but thankfully plays along. “Killian’s offering kickboxing classes for two weeks if you’re interested,” he says. “And he’s open much later than Mandy. If you want, I’ll hook you up.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, ignoring the images of me unconscious and bleeding all over Killian’s gym floor. “Perhaps we can talk to him about it Sunday at brunch when we see your family.”
The comment is directed at Mandy although I’m speaking to Seamus. He throws his arm around me as if remembering brunch will be our first appearance as a couple to his family. “Sounds good,” he says.
He walks me out to my car and opens the door for me. “Thanks for the food and everything. How about I give you a few bills for it?”
“No,” I reply softly. “You paid for my trip to the salon when you didn’t have to. Bringing you a meal was the least I could do.”
He grins, tugging on the end of one of my long curls. “It looks nice he says.”
He bends and kisses me on the cheek. I’m not certain if the display of affection is meant for my sake or Mandy’s. But I take it. Wishing that kiss could be so much more.
CHAPTER 11
Seamus
“Are you nervous?” Allie asks me.
“No. Why?” I ask.
“You keep cracking your knuckles,” she points out. “I’ve noticed it’s something you do when you’re nervous or about to punch someone.”
“That asshole got too close,” I say reminding her, because he damn well had.
I took Allie out to grab a bite the other day. Except the place we hit was filled with too many suits that had their fill of happy hour drink prices. One guy reached for Allie’s ass as she walked by. He would have grabbed it if I hadn’t hauled her out of the way. He thought better of it when I, yeah, cracked my knuckles and loomed over him. The hell? I’d taken her to a nicer place to thank her for bringing me all that food. Not to be groped by some dick who had too much to drink.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
Before she showed up at my place the other day, I’d been blowing her off by not calling or texting, so she wouldn’t blow me off, if that makes sense. All right. I’ll admit it doesn’t. But me and Alz are people who just don’t belong. She’s books. I’m a jackhammer. She’s brains and I’m damn good-looking. She’s sweet and I’m sexy.
She’s also fucking beautiful, but I can’t really go there.
We’re supposed to be dating for show. I need to make sure we can get through these next few months. I don’t want to date for real and screw-up our relationship.
“Our relationship?” Christ, wasn’t this supposed to be just a few dates?
Allie laughs. “You also do it when you’re lying.”
“Do what?” I ask, paying more attention to how good she looks than our conversation.
“Crack your knuckles,” she reminds me.
“You saying I lie to you?”
Her smirk is the only thing hiding a glimpse of her pearly whites. “I think it’s fair to say you enjoy exaggerating the truth.”
“Maybe a little,” I agree. I frown when she rubs her hands together. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes.”
There is no hesitation in that yes. Can’t blame her. When Curran and Tess asked me to bring my new girlfriend to brunch, I couldn’t say no, not like I had the last few times my family asked to meet her. Like me, Allie’s not sure we can pull this off. My family knows me like I know them, in a way that shouldn’t be natural.
“Are you done with your run?” Curran will ask, just as I’m finishing my run.
“You’re not taking Susie Dwyer back to your place?” Finnie texted, that time I was unlocking the door to my apartment and encouraging Susie inside.
See? They’re all a bunch of freaks who can read me like a book.
Unlike me, Allie isn’t much of a liar. I don’t think she has it in her. I take a long glance at her. At least we have her new look down.
In the killer coral dress she’s wearing, she’s sexy enough to be a believable girlfriend, but not so slutty that they’ll question the morals she waves like a flag. Her hair? What can I say? She’s followed Shaqwana’s advice to shower and let the spray and her bed do the rest.
Allie looks hot. My entire hand will catch fire if I touch her. Don’t get me wrong, that hotness was always there, just buried beneath a lot of hair and clothing. Hair and clothing that hid the beautiful and elegant professional and made her look more like a sister wife of some messed up cult—
Her phone buzzes, again, again, and again, screwing with my train of thought.
She turns it off after a quick look at the screen.
“Is that your Mom?”
Allie sighs. “And my aunts, and . . . Valentina.”
“Why?”
“I’m supposed to be at a fitting for the bridesmaid’s dress. I . . . I didn’t want to be a part of it.”
I huff. “No shit.”
“I told them I’d find a different time to be fitted and that I had plans.” She wrings her hands. “But they didn’t believe me.”
“That you had plans?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, although she doesn’t seem to want to admit it.
“Why?”
She seems sad, but she still finds her smile. “Because if you hadn’t invited me to join you, they would be right.” She fiddles with her dress, trying to tug it down. “I think this is too short.”
Allie is trying to change the subject. I let her, knowing she’s embarrassed. “What do you mean? It’s almost down to your knees.”
“No, it’s at the very top of my knees,” she argues.
I laugh and accelerate up an incline. Curran and Tess bought a nice plot of land in the burbs. A lot of the houses are still in the process of being built, the extra sections of underdeveloped land sprawling with oaks at least a hundred years old.
“Would you prefer it at the top of your ankles?” I ask when she gives the hem another tug.
When she doesn’t answer, I think I’m right. “Allie, you’re a real estate goddess, not some pilgrim. Surrender your butter churn already, whip off the bonnet, and have a little fun.”
“You’re not making me feel better. I told you, I’m nervous.”
“Ah, don’t be. It’ll be fine.” I crack my knuckles at an intersection. She eyes me like she’s onto me, so I make it all about her. “My family is a good warm-up before we have dinner with Valentina and dickless. No offense, but we weren’t exactly what you’d call believable that first time they saw us.”
I crack my knuckles again when we reach the next intersection. For all the bucks buyers are laying out for these houses, you’d think they’d install a damn traffic light.
“For someone who claims he isn’t nervous, you’re certainly not playing the part.”
I shrug, trying to shake off her reasoning. “There’s only one part we have to play and that’s you and me being crazy about each other. So be crazy about me. If I screw up, you can spank me with your butter churn later.”
She swivels abruptly away, as if bothered by the idea of seeing me naked. See, that’s what I mean. We’re different.
Allie fiddles with the strap of her seatbelt. “Tell me, how exactly do I appear crazy about you without being over-the-top?”
“You don’t have to be over the top,” I explain. “But the occasional fondling of the package might help.” She looks at me. “What’s the problem? Can’t the pilgrim take a joke?”
“Seamus, you’re not hearing me. I’m scared. Your family has the reputation of—”
“They’re not so bad,” I insist. “That fire was a total accident. Besides, the building needed to come down anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
Oops. “Nothing. What were you talking about?”
She blinks at me, like she’s about to leap from my truck and flag down the nearest cop. Nah. That can’t be right.
“I was saying your family has a reputation for being passionate, but good-hearted, people,” she says slowly.
“Oh, yeah. You’re right about that one.”
I hang a right down Curran and Tess’s long driveway, parking between the neat rows of F-150s. It’s their turn to host Sunday brunch and my turn to eat everything I can to keep from talking more than I have to.
As nervous as Allie seems, I’m ready to turn around and claim food-poisoning. Except my absence and lame excuse will only convince my family I’m lying in bed hungover, while the chick I spent the night with is sneaking out with my credit cards shoved into the cups of her double-Ds.
Allie is the best fake girlfriend option I have, but even if she wasn’t, I probably would’ve asked her anyway. Her affinity for dressing to seduce the nearest Quaker aside, she’s nice. She laughs at all my jokes without thinking I’m a complete dumbass and brings me food to make sure I’ll be all right. Shit, if those two things alone don’t say a lot about her, I don’t know what does.
I slide out and walk to passenger side, hauling the door open and offering her my hand. She gives her skirt another tug and allows me to help her down. “Thank you,” she says. “That was very gallant of you.”
I nod, agreeing. “Boyfriends are supposed to do that.”
“Are they?” she asks. “What else do you plan to do as my boyfriend?”
