by Tawna Fenske
“Just let me explain.”
“Go ahead,” I said, leaning back in my chair. Pete took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. I felt a brief pang of sympathy as I noticed the red welts around his eyes.
“Look, I don’t mind being a secretary,” he said. “In fact, I love the job. I love the work, I love the people – I love everything about it. But you know as well as I do, most of the guys who work there are sort of good old boys.”
“Collin’s not,” I said, feeling an odd pang of defensiveness as I said his name.
I saw Pete’s expression darken just a little. “Right. Collin’s not. But the vast majority of guys out there are hardworking blue-collar, conservative men who aren’t entirely comfortable with the notion of a male secretary.”
“Or a female heavy equipment operator?” I added.
Pete gave me a lopsided smile. “You’re beautiful and so obviously girly that no one questions it. It’s a turn-on for half the guys out there to see you wheeling around in a 150,000-pound machine.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed.
“Look,” he continued, “the point is that I knew I’d be up against a lot of guys who’d be questioning my sexual orientation from day one. Not that there’s anything at all wrong with that, but—”
“Wait, you’re an action hero stud. Colt McTrigger? The guys out there worship you.”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t have certain assumptions about Hollywood and male actors and—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, holding up my hands. “So you supposedly made up a girlfriend to convince everyone you’re straight. Got it. Whatever.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“I’m not sure what to believe.”
“So which is it exactly? You think I’m gay or you think I actually have a girlfriend?”
“Both! Neither! I don’t know.”
Pete looked at me, his expression a little perplexed.
“Look,” I said, “the guy I’m kinda sorta dating has spent the last few months telling me the county has a strict policy about co-workers dating. I just found out there’s no such policy, so pardon me if I’m not tripping over my feet to believe everything the next guy tells me.”
“Right. Okay, so you’re feeling a little mistrustful.”
I sighed. “A little,” I said finally. “Look, I’m not sure this adds up. This is Oregon, for crying out loud. Aren’t we like the most liberal state in the U.S.? No one’s going to think you’re gay if you’re a male secretary without a girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he insisted, staring at me with such intensity I had to look away. “I promise.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, meeting his gaze again.
Those green eyes stared straight into mine. I swallowed and forced myself not to look away this time.
“I just wanted to come clean with you,” he said finally. “I want to get to know you better.”
I stared at him, hating how vulnerable I felt, but wanting to get to the bottom of everything. “Why the hell should I believe you? How do I know your girlfriend isn’t sitting there in her stylish L.A. apartment right now watching Sex and the City reruns and sipping a cosmo?”
“I can promise you, that’s not the case.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I was still digesting the news.
“What if you talked to her?” Pete asked.
“Who?”
“My sister. Scarlet. The one in the photo?”
“Your sister’s name is Scarlet?”
“Focus, JJ. Let me call my sister. She’ll tell you she’s the one in the photo. That I don’t have a girlfriend. That I’m perpetually, hopelessly alone.”
“You make it sound so sexy.”
“I’m dialing right now,” he said, pulling his cell out of his pocket.
“You don’t have to call anyone,” I muttered, standing up and moving around the coffee table to sit beside him on the sofa. I stole a peek at the phone from the corner of my eye, trying to simultaneously convey indifference and catch a glimpse of his contacts list.
“Scarlet,” the screen read. Beside it was a small photo of the same brunette in the picture on his desk.
“It doesn’t say ‘sister’ or anything,” I pointed out, nodding at the phone.
“Let me see your cell.”
“Why?”
“I want to see if it says ‘sister’ next to Lori’s name.”
I sniffed and flopped back on the couch. “You don’t have to call anyone. It’s fine, Pete, really.”
He smiled and hit the “talk” button. “Butthead,” he said suddenly.
I scowled at him.
He held the phone away for a split second and whispered to me. “Not you, my sister. I’ve called her that since I was six.”
“Charming.”
He rolled his eyes and directed his attention back to the phone. “Hey, Butthead – I’m here with that girl I was telling you about, JJ?”
He listened for a second, then smiled at me. “Right, the fiery redhead with the nice butt. She wants to talk to you.”
My face had started to blaze from the butt comment, but I wasn’t offended. In fact, I was a little impressed that he thought highly enough of my butt to mention it to his sister.
Okay,that sounded weirder than it probably was.
“Give me the phone,” I muttered, grabbing it and turning away a little so he couldn’t see my face flaming. “Hello?”
“Is this JJ? This is Scarlet, Pete’s sister. I hear my brother really fucked things up.”
“Oh, well, he told me he had a girlfriend, and then—”
“Total bullshit. Are you kidding me? Who’d want him? And I say that with the utmost affection for him, and with the fervent hope that you might actually be willing to date him.”
“Date him?”
“He’s nuts about you – I can tell you that much.”
I looked at Pete, who was studying me with a smile. “What’s she saying?”
“She’s telling me about your incestuous relationship,” I informed him.
I heard Scarlet’s voice in my ear again. “Is he sitting there doing that thing where he tries to look all wide-eyed and innocent?”
“I don’t think he can open his eyes that wide right now. I nailed him with pepper spray about fifteen minutes ago.”
Scarlet laughed, a rich, warm sound that made me like her regardless of what I thought of her brother.
The jury was still out on that one.
“I’m sure he deserved it, whatever he did,” she said. “Look, my brother’s an idiot – that’s for sure. But he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Not even close. He told a dumb white lie and it obviously backfired on him when you showed up and he realized he wanted to get to know you.”
I felt my cheeks growing warm again. “I take it you’ve already spoken with him tonight?”
“Oh, I’ve heard about nothing but you for the past week. Trust me, the guy is single, stupid, and crazy about you.”
I studied Pete again. He was petting Blue Cat, watching me with interest.
“She giving you an earful?” he asked, leaning back against my couch cushions.
“Something like that.”
He held out his hand. “Let me talk to her.”
“Just a minute,” I said, waving him away. “Hey, Scarlet? Tell me something about him that only a sister would know.”
She was quiet for so long that I wasn’t certain she was still on the line. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer.
“On the back of his head, there’s a scar about an inch long. You’ll only see it if he shaves his head, which he probably hasn’t done since he was ten.”
“Okay,” I said, satisfied with that answer. Pretty sure I’d still check later.
But Scarlet wasn’t done.
“He got it when he stood up to the neighborhood
bully for calling me a skank. I was twelve, Pete was eight, and the other kid was twice his size and almost twice his age, but Pete didn’t even blink. He just stood there telling that kid he couldn’t talk to me that way. That it wasn’t okay to say mean things. The kid hit him with a rock, and Pete bled something awful. But he didn’t cry. He’s got this intense sense of right and wrong, and he’s not afraid to stand up for the little guy. You know what I mean?”
Pete’s bottle-green eyes were watchful, intense. I blinked, seeing him as that eight-year-old boy hell-bent on standing up to a bully to defend his sister’s honor. I swallowed hard.
“JJ?” Scarlet asked. “You still there?”
“Yeah. I am. Thanks for that, Scarlet. I mean it. Hold on a sec, Pete wants to say goodbye.”
I handed the phone to him and got up off the couch. My hands were oddly shaky as I made my way to the kitchen, looking for something to snack on. I hadn’t had dinner, I realized, and set to work cutting up a brick of Tillamook cheddar and my favorite turkey sausage. I found a box of crackers and spread some on the plate, adding a handful of Greek olives to a little dish. I grabbed a half-full bottle of Chianti and a couple glasses and headed back to the living room.
Pete was just hanging up the phone as I set the tray on the coffee table.
“So you believe me now?” he asked, smiling.
“I guess,” I said, dropping onto the sofa beside him and reaching for a cracker. I stacked layers of cheese and meat on it, shoving it in my mouth and chewing for a bit. “I’m not sure yet. Your reason sounds pretty stupid.”
“What other reason would I have for inventing a girlfriend?”
“You tell me.”
Pete reached out for the wine bottle and poured a little bit in each glass. “Are you always this suspicious?”
“No, it’s a new thing,” I said grimly. “Ever since I lost my job and found out my boyfriend wasn’t truthful about county policies and you weren’t truthful about your girlfriend. Oh, and since Collin accused me of being a spy, and my sister’s intern went missing, and someone threatened me because I’m trying to figure out who’s making fake handbags.”
“Busy week you’re having.”
“No kidding.”
We ate and sipped in silence, our fingers brushing each other by accident every couple minutes. I tried to ignore the shockwaves of warmth that tingled up my arm each time we touched. Tried to ignore the way my pulse galloped each time his shoulder moved against mine. It was no use. I was clearly still attracted to Pete even if he didn’t have a girlfriend.
Wait, that wasn’t right–
“Penny for your thoughts,” Pete said.
I snorted into my wine glass. “Sorry, I’m much more expensive than that.”
“I know. I’ve seen your taste in handbags.”
I smiled and began stacking meat and cheese on a cracker. He touched my arm, causing me to look up at him again.
“JJ, I really am sorry I lied to you. I didn’t mean for it to get out of control like that. And then Ernie had to go and ask you to help me buy a birthday gift for my girlfriend and—”
“It’s kind of funny if you think about it,” I said, draining my wine glass and reaching for the bottle. “Who gets the handbag?”
“Scarlet, of course. She has expensive taste, and her birthday’s next month. So we’re good?”
I shrugged and tipped more wine into my glass, then Pete’s. I looked at the bottle for a moment, then met Pete’s eyes.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything.”
I took a deep breath, not sure how to ask the question. “Do you think Daniel had a reason for not wanting to publicly claim me as his girlfriend?”
“Yes,” Pete said, not hesitating.
“Oh.”
“He’s a pig. Next question?”
I managed half a smile and looked down at my wine. Probably not worth saying anything else. I didn’t want him to think I was one of those insecure, needy women.
Pete put a finger under my chin and forced me to look at him. “You’re not really going to do this, are you?”
“Do what?”
“Play this mind game with yourself where you try to figure out if your boyfriend would have made your relationship public if you were younger or prettier or some bullshit like that.”
I stared down at a cracker for a minute, thinking. “Look, it’s not like I get to spend every day bending over recycling bins in a short skirt, okay?”
“God bless Green Barbie,” Pete said. Seeing my frown, he put a hand on my knee. “You want to bend over recycling bins in a short skirt?”
“No, I like my job a lot better, but it’s not exactly sexy. I don’t go home every day feeling soft and feminine and beautiful and—”
Pete laughed. “Trust me, you don’t have to bend over in a miniskirt to be sexy. You could turn up at work wearing a pair of grimy coveralls and a hard hat and an orange safety vest and men would still find you irresistible.”
“Okay, funny guy – then why did Daniel lie to me?”
Pete shrugged. “He’s a man. We lie.”
“That’s comforting. Thank you.”
“There’s always the possibility he wasn’t lying. Didn’t you say he told you he didn’t know the policy changed?”
“I guess. But why wouldn’t he check to be sure before insisting on this whole covert relationship for the past three months?”
“I have no idea. Men aren’t always the sharpest meatballs in the pot. Especially when women are involved.”
I went back to piling cheese and meat on a cracker, concentrating on getting the proportions just right.
I thought about my sister, about the string of attractive men she’d dated over the years. Never once had she wallowed in self-doubt after one had moved on. Even after Adam left her heartbroken as a silly teenager, she never second-guessed her choice. Never wondered what flaw in her had driven him away. In fact, the only thing I’d really seen her question was whether she’d rather castrate a man with a spoon or an emery board.
I sighed and took a sip of wine. Maybe I should take a page from my sister’s book.
I looked at Pete.
Something in my expression must have startled him. He dropped the piece of turkey sausage he was holding, sending Blue Cat flying off the sofa in a fervent quest for cured meat. Pete’s eyes didn’t leave mine. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I hope the cat won’t get sick if he eats—”
“It’s fine,” I said, leaning toward him.
Suddenly, I was grabbing the front of his shirt, jerking him toward me with enough ferocity to cause whiplash in a lesser man.
Instead, Pete came willingly. His arms enveloped me as my mouth found his and kissed him hard enough to do damage. Pete kissed me back, clearly not a man accustomed to being dominated, but willing to play along.
A part of me I didn’t recognize – a part driven by betrayal and lust and anger and frustration and desire – gave a small, startled groan as Pete pulled me onto his lap.
My hands were suddenly everywhere, clawing at the buttons on his shirt, twining in his hair, touching his face—
“Ouch,” he muttered as my fingers met the pepper-sprayed flesh beside his eye.
“Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
I dug my nails into his shoulders, kissing him harder, pressing my breasts against his chest so fiercely it hurt.
In a good way.
Pete responded by cupping my butt with both hands, drawing me against him to leave no question of whether he liked things a little rough.
Until that moment, I’d never known that I did.
I gave a fleeting thought to Daniel and where this fit into our “slow things down” plan. Was he sucking face with other people? Did I care?
“Do you need to get that?” Pete asked, pulling back.
“What?” I panted, reaching for him again.
I felt the haze thin in my lust-addled brain as the phone rang again.
Dammit.
I thought about not getting it, just letting it go to voicemail and tearing Pete’s clothes off.
But it was 10:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night. Calls like that were reserved for things like family emergencies and Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes wins. Not something I should ignore.
I gave a groan of frustration and slid off Pete’s lap, fumbling for my phone.
I glanced down and saw Lori’s number on the caller ID. She’d better be trapped under a train, I thought, and then felt bad about it.
“Lori?” I asked, pushing my hair behind my ear as I tried to keep the lust from my voice. “Why on earth are you calling at—”
“Shut up, JJ – I slept with him.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pete’s hand was still resting lightly on my thigh, but I barely noticed it as my sister’s words echoed in my ears.
“You slept with who, Lori?”
Pete’s eyes widened.
“Who do you think? Adam, of course.”
“Adam?” I glanced at my watch. “You’ve been home an hour. How did your ex-boyfriend get there, convince you not to hate him, and talk you out of your clothes in sixty minutes?”
“He’s honed his skills since high school.”
“No kidding.”
She sighed. “You know the very first men’s bag I ever made in high school – that black leather messenger with the custom hardware and the padded laptop compartment and all the pouches for pens and things?”
“Sure, you made it for Adam to take to college,” I said, not sure what this had to do with my sister’s wanton behavior. “That was when you first started doing your special signature lining with the stars.”
“He still has it,” she said. “He uses it every day, puts leather conditioner on it and everything. A little hole wore through the pocket I made for his calculator, and he stopped by to ask if I thought it was fixable.”
“And that prompted you to take off your panties?” I asked, trying not to sound judgmental. After all, had she not called me, I probably would have found myself rivaling her land speed record for jumping into bed with an unexpected visitor on a quiet Tuesday night.
