by L. S. Murphy
“Barbie?” He snorted. “Barbie’s name is Jillian, and she’s a…friend. Just a friend.” He tipped his chair back on two legs, closing the little distance between us. His breath caressed my cheek. It would’ve been too easy to close the distant and taste the rum and coke on his lips.
Somewhere near the bar, a champagne bottle was uncorked. The loud pop froze Riker. His entire body tensed. He clenched his jaw so tight, I thought his teeth might shatter. Just as fast as it had happened, he managed to regain his swagger. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
“You wish.” I spun back around in my chair. Besides being confused about what just happened with Riker, it pissed me off that I was slightly relieved the bimbo wasn’t his girlfriend.
The waitress picked up the cash mysteriously laid out on my table. She gave me a pitying look that told me Jack left. Great. Absolutely perfect timing.
“Guess he didn’t want to hear about the new neighbor.” Riker peered over my shoulder.
I shook my head and glanced up at him. “This is all your fault. You know that, right?”
“How is this my fault?” He dropped the chair back onto four legs and turned his body toward me. A playful glint flashed in his eye. “And, personally, I think I do qualify as ‘hip.’”
Frustration clogged my throat. In all my life, not once have I ever been so pissed that I couldn’t come up with any type of response. The fact that my mind went blank and the lone word that I could spit out was “whatever” made it even worse.
I stood from the table and left McGovern’s, more humiliated by Riker’s attitude than by Jack’s disappearance. That Marine had some serious nerve. The only thing I could hope for was to avoid him as much as possible.
It couldn’t be that hard.
The guilt hit me Monday as I drove to my office. Jeannette had gone to the trouble to arrange the date, even if it was a bad idea. For whatever reason, she was trying to help. I could’ve made more of an effort with Jack instead of walking into the situation expecting disaster.
The office was in a new strip mall not far from my apartment. I hated driving when I could easily walk, but I had to have my car for appointments. Okay, I had to have the Tomato because CeCe could call at any minute with a panic attack. This had happened twice already. Once, she thought the shade of the curtains had changed overnight. The second time, she swore the tile in the bathroom was two different colors. CeCe was worth it, though. If this job went right, the rest of the basketball wives might call. If it went wrong, nobody ever would.
Cecilia Hood was either going to make my career or break it.
I unlocked the door and got to work. CeCe wasn’t my only client, just my biggest. Maddie’s orthodontist demanded a paisley chair for her den and she had shot down every print I’d shown her so far. My lawyer hired me to decorate his new office on Friday. John Higgins had given me a vague idea of what he wanted. All I could see when he described his perfect workspace was a law library with soft leather and low lighting.
The door opened, slicing humid summer air through the air conditioned office.
“Good morning,” Jeannette announced without her usual chipper voice. She sat down at her desk and went right to work.
I peeked over the drafting table where I’d envisioned the perfect office. “What’s wrong with you?”
She shook her head, keeping her back toward me.
I didn’t have time for this. There was an appointment in three hours at a small marketing firm who wanted to make their space more “worker friendly.” I had no idea what they wanted, but I’d take any business I could get.
“Why’d you even agree to go out with Jack if you were just going to flirt with another guy?” Jeannette asked five minutes later.
I almost fell out of my chair. “What?”
She turned around to face me. “The guy at the table behind you? Jack said he got a business call and when he came back you were flirting with this other guy. That’s why he left.” She rolled her eyes and began her typical ramble. “I mean I can’t blame him. I would’ve left, too, if you were my date. What I don’t understand is, why bother going out with the guy in the first place? I mean, seriously Rena, you aren’t getting any younger—”
“Stop!” I threw my pencil down and leaned back in my chair. I never yelled at Jeannette, even if she goofed up an order, but this was ridiculous. “First, I didn’t want to go out with Jack. That was your idea and the only reason I agreed was to get you off my back. Second, I was not flirting with anyone. That guy was my jerk of a neighbor and he was insulting me in any way he could. If Jack had a problem with that, he should’ve taken it up with Riker. Third, I’m only twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to die an old maid, and I don’t need to run out and get married to the first guy that proposes.”
“If that was the case, you would’ve been married for six years already.” Jeannette smirked.
I wasn’t going to argue with her about that. She was right. Victor Lancing proposed to me during our senior year of college. We’d dated for two years, so it surprised no one when I said yes. As soon as that ring was on my finger, I knew it was a mistake. Victor started talking about having kids right away, and how I could stay home with them while he worked. He decided I could build my business later. He decided for me that my dreams, my goals, could wait. We were engaged for a total of three weeks.
“Jack was disappointed. He really liked you.” Jeannette spun her chair around. It was her way of ending the conversation.
“He knew me all of twenty minutes and all he thought about was getting me naked.” I picked up my pen and started noting the variations of leather that would work for Higgins’ office. “And I don’t want to date anybody right now. There’s too much going on.”
Jeannette scoffed but didn’t say anything else on the subject. We spent the next hour and a half working in silence that was only interrupted by an occasional phone call. It was one of the best things about working with Jeannette. She didn’t feel the need to constantly talk to fill the void.
Work took over my life for the next week. The first day of the basketball season was approaching fast, and CeCe was insane about every little detail. Since her husband had the big new contract, she was hosting a party to welcome all the players back and do her best to make nice with the other wives. It was also her way of saying she was here to stay. Other than a few backordered items, part of the house was ready. We were still looking for art and minor pieces to complement the living room, but there wasn’t anything pertinent to the overall scheme for her party. Other than the guest rooms and the pool house, most of the work was done. Alonzo, however, still needed to decorate his man cave and his gym. Those were going to be challenging, but I was so up for it.
Being busy should’ve made it easier to avoid Riker, but I kept seeing him everywhere. Outside the building, at the gas station, walking into McGovern’s… But after coming off as such an unmitigated arse to me, he did some of the nicest things for others. Mrs. Eddlestein, our downstairs neighbor, fell on the steps in front of the building. Riker sat with her until her son showed up to take her to the doctor. Some guy across the street tried to fix a shutter by himself, and Riker rushed over to help him, holding the ladder before the neighbor tumbled to his death or severe injury. Tiny things like this brought him into a new light. Maybe he was just an ass to me but nice to everyone else. For the first few days, we ignored one another. By the end of the week, we’d graduated to the casual head nod.
I woke up Saturday morning with a massive craving for salsa. It was still too early to head down to the market, so I opted to get the mail I’d been neglecting for the last few days. CeCe’s latest whim—a fake tiger rug for the guestroom—wore me out the day before, and I didn’t feel like looking at a stack of bills when I got home. Why not start a Saturday morning out with them instead? Probably not my most brilliant idea.
After digging through the bills, I came across a few things that weren’t mine. Some were bills for Josh, and one was a letter to
C.J. Riker from Washington University’s School of Medicine. Interesting. I knocked on their door and Josh answered. I handed over their stack.
“Thanks. I’ve got a few of yours.” Josh disappeared from the door for twenty seconds and came back with three design magazines I’d been missing.
“I’ve been looking for these. Stupid mailman. You’d think he could tell the difference between a C and a D.”
Josh smiled and started to close the door when I stopped him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, wondering if it really was any of my business. Curiosity killed the cat for a reason. “What’s the C.J. stand for?”
“Don’t tell him I told you, because he hates his name.” The seriousness in Josh’s face wasn’t fake or playful. “Charles Riker, Jr. He prefers Riker, but tolerates C.J. Just don’t ever call him Charles, Charlie, or, God forbid, Chuck.”
“Noted.” I wondered why he hated his name so much, but we all have our demons. I wouldn’t want him uncovering mine.
I headed out the door twenty minutes later toward Soulard Market to load up on tomatoes and peppers for my salsa fix when I saw Riker struggling to hold four paper bags in his arms. He sat them on the hood of his truck and tried to reposition them again.
“Want some help?” I asked as I strode up behind him. One of the bags started to slip and I reached out to save it from sending all the contents across the sidewalk.
“I’m good,” he said with a grunt as another bag tried to escape. “Don’t need help.”
I snorted, which resulted in a typical Riker glare. “Seriously? I have two perfectly good arms. Let me help.”
His eyes darkened and the vein on his neck started to bulge, throbbing in time to the chirp of a nearby robin.
What did I say? I took a step back, prepared for an onslaught of insults.
Riker closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His face relaxed and he tilted his head down toward the concrete. When he looked up, the anger was gone. “Okay. I would appreciate it.”
A balloon of triumph swelled in my chest as I took the two bags Riker handed over. He followed me up the steps and held the building door open. As I brushed by him, an electric wave surged off his body, trying to draw me closer. Holy crap, this dude had his own gravitational pull. I forced my feet to take one step after another.
Halfway up the stairs, I broke the silence. “What’s in the bag?”
“Whatever Josh put on the list. Steak, potatoes, chicken, tomatoes.”
“You should get your tomatoes from the market. They’re a hundred times better. I was just heading up there to get some for my famous salsa.”
“Salsa?”
I stopped outside his apartment door and laughed. “You sound surprised.”
He smiled as he set his bags on the floor. “A little. Salsa seems…too generic for someone like you.” He dug his key out of his pants and unlocked the door.
“Someone like me?” Each word came out of my mouth like a poisoned dart.
He stepped back from the now opened door and cocked his head to one side. His brow creased, without the vein popping, as he stared at me. “I just meant that you seem more like a caviar type of girl.”
“Oh.” Caviar type of girl? The words looped in my head as I walked past him toward the galley kitchen. I set the bags on the counter and hurried back toward the door. They need a coat rack here. Caviar type of girl? What does that mean? I turned to ask, but something told me not to.
Riker grasped the frame above his head. His shirt rose slightly to reveal tight abs with a light covering of hair. He leaned toward me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Not that I had figured out how to read this guy. I felt that pull again, like a magnet. Riker inhaled sharply and stepped away from the door. The distance allowed me to breathe again.
“Thanks. I appreciate the help.”
I nodded with a smile spreading across my face and a blush threatening my cheeks. I kind of liked this nice Riker. He was less of a one-night-stand guy and more of a… Whoa. Where did that come from? I needed to get that thought out of my head. Caviar type of girl, my ass.
An hour later, I rapped on Riker’s door. Josh answered, still in his camo pants and tan military issue t-shirt. He cleaned up nice for a slob.
“Hey, Rena, what’s up?” he asked as he bit into an apple. The juice spilled down his chin as he pointed at the jar in my hand. “What’s that?”
Riker glanced over Josh’s shoulder and answered for me. “Salsa.”
I smiled and held up a bowl of homemade tortilla chips. The guys stood back to let me in, but I thrust the jar toward Riker. He gripped the back of my hand before sliding his fingers across my skin. I dropped my head before he noticed my cheeks color coordinated with the salsa. I reached to my right and grabbed the polished chrome coat rack, pulling it into the apartment and setting it inside the door. Perfect.
When I turned around, both Josh and Riker had their eyebrows raised in question.
I shrugged, feeling more self-conscious than I should. It wasn’t a big deal. Jeannette had wanted one for weeks, and I bought it with the intention of giving it to her for her birthday. Naturally, Jeannette went out and bought one a few days before I could give her this one. It had been sitting in my apartment for four months. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.”
Riker smiled and, for once, seemed at ease. I wanted to reach up and test the stubble on his chin to see if it was as rough as it looked. My cheeks burned at the thought. Why am I suddenly lusting after this guy?
“Thanks,” Josh said as he took the chips from me.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, desperately wanting nothing more than to escape. “I… uh…gotta go. I’ll see you guys later.”
I grabbed the door and closed it before either of them could say anything else. This was ridiculous. Riker didn’t go all jerk for two seconds and I suddenly wanted to paw at him. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath and calm my thoughts.
One thing stood out from the jumble of incoherency: when C.J. Riker wasn’t being a jackass, he was a pretty decent guy. It made my head spin.
It was the Friday before CeCe’s party and I’d just picked up a painting by a local artist for John Higgins’ new office when I received the call.
“Oh, Rena, honey, I’ve got some bad news,” CeCe began in her nasally voice. I could see her flipping her over-processed hair behind her shoulder. “There’ve been some…changes and I won’t be needing your services anymore.”
I almost dropped the two grand artwork from under my arm as I stepped inside my apartment. “I’m sorry, CeCe. Did I hear you wrong?”
“I’m afraid not, honey. I’ll get your last check into the mail tomorrow.” On that note, she hung up. No explanation. No reason.
I didn’t even get the chance to beg. Leaving the art in my spare bedroom-slash-storage area, I bolted from the apartment before the tears had a chance to escape.
McGovern’s was packed when I walked in. I kept replaying CeCe’s phone call in my mind, wondering where I went wrong or what I could’ve done differently. Nothing. I didn’t do anything that warranted this. I’d given in to her whims. I’d guided her away from the leopard print bedding to something much more tasteful. I’d found the tiniest of details she demanded, even the hula dancer lamp for her husband’s nightstand. I did nothing wrong. But I was fired.
I’d failed.
I found the lone open stool at the bar and ordered whiskey. I don’t like whiskey, but I ordered it. It was the only thing I could think of at the moment and it seemed like the perfect thing to get me so drunk that I could forget.
The bartender sat the glass, two fingers full, on one of those tiny napkins that serve no purpose other than to keep ring stains off the bar. Usually, a good beer will sweat through them anyway.
Who cares about a stupid napkin?
I picked up the glass and drank it in one shot. The whiskey tore down my throat, burning into my stomach. I almost gagged. And I ordered ano
ther.
“Something tells me that you’re not a fan of whiskey,” said the last person I wanted to see at the moment. Things had improved to amicable between us over the last week, but I didn’t need him to see me at my lowest.
“I’ve had a really shitty day, Riker, so just don’t.” I sipped the second drink and glanced at the bartender. He smiled, knowing I’d probably tip big if I thought he was cute enough. The way I was drinking, he would be totally hot by the end of the night.
“We’ve all had shitty days.” Riker turned toward me and his prosthetic leg banged against the bar. I doubted it was on purpose, but the point was made anyway. “Tell me about it.”
I laughed, harsh and loud. “You want me to pour my heart out to you? We barely know one another. Why would I… Are you insane?”
It was his turn to laugh. “I had a colonel ask me that once.”
Curiosity got the best of me. “And?”
Riker bent closer, his eyebrows nestling near his hairline. “And I like living on the edge, Rena. Didn’t you know that?” He cocked his head and leaned away, taking a sip of his drink. “So, tell me, what’s got you drinking like a Navy Seal on leave?”
I closed my eyes, draining the last bits of whiskey. It wasn’t so bad once I got used to it. I stared at the three ice cubes as they swirled around. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.”
Riker took my empty glass and waved for another. This time, the bartender sat it in front of me and walked away without any flirtatious looks. Too bad, he was kind of cute in a blurry way.
“Come on. Josh has a table outside.” Riker slid off the stool, catching his foot on his way down. He fell forward into my chest. With the booze heating me from the inside, having Riker’s lips so close to my breasts was enough to send me into supernova. Although, I think he was more embarrassed than I was turned on. He straightened up and pulled me from the barstool. “Fresh air might do both of us some good.”
You got that right, buddy. I need to cool off. A waitress strolled by us, and I almost reached out to snag the tequila shot on her tray.
