Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me

by Jennifer Crusie

  “Are you listening to me?” David said.

  “No,” Min said over the running water. “I’m injured. Go away. I don’t want to marry you.” She turned off the water, wrapped a paper towel around her finger, and went back to get rid of him.

  “Min,” David said, standing up. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

  “Lord, no,” Min said, opening her front door. “You’re a nice man, David. Well, not really. Go—”

  “No, Min, I’m staying,” he said, his voice deep and serious.

  Then he grabbed her and kissed her hard.

  Chapter Eleven

  David was holding Min’s head in his hands too tightly for her to pull away, so she drew back her hand to slap him, only to have him yank away and scream before she could complete the smack.

  At his feet, Elvis snarled, his front claws planted in David’s shin.

  Min wiped her mouth off as David kicked Elvis off his leg. “Well, that was gross. As I was saying, go find some woman who meets your criteria for a good mate and marry her. I have an attack cat, and I’m accessing my inner bitch all the time now, so you’ll never survive here.”

  “I’m sorry,” David said. “I just want you so much.”

  “Yeah,” Min said. “Do that again and I’ll Mace you. Now get out.”

  “Promise me you won’t see Cal Morrisey again,” David said, and Elvis lowered his head on the back of the couch and growled.

  “No, David, I will not promise you anything.” Min pointed to the door. “Out or I get a restraining order.”

  “At least think about it,” David said.

  “No,” Min said and pushed him out the door. When she had it shut behind him, she looked at Elvis, now stretched out on the back of the couch, his head close to the stereo he loved. He batted the stereo with his paw until he connected with the ON button, and “Heartbreak Hotel” boomed out of the speakers.

  “Turn that down,” Min said and then remembered she was talking to a cat. She went over and moved the volume lever down. “That was weird, Elvis.”

  Elvis patted the UP button over and over again until “Love Me Tender” came on.

  “Well, it could be worse,” Min said, looking at him sprawled on the back of her couch. “You could like music from Julia Roberts movies.”

  Elvis’s tail began to twitch to the music, and Min gave up and went to get a Band-Aid.

  Cal didn’t call Tuesday either, and Min was congratulating herself that night that she was finally free of him and feeling lousy about it when somebody knocked on her door. She stirred her chicken marsala one more time and went to answer it, picking up her Mace on the way. After forty-eight hours and no phone call, she was hoping it was a mugger so she could release some tension. But when she opened the door, Cal was leaning in the doorway, holding the usual sack from Emilio’s and another, smaller shopping bag, looking more tired than she’d ever seen him. His shirt collar was open, his tie ends hanging down, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he was rumpled and sloppy and the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, and her heart lurched sideways just because she was so damn glad he was there.

  He said, “Hi,” and saw the Mace. “You can just say no,” he said, and she opened the door wider, and he came in and kissed her on the forehead. She leaned into him because he looked so solid and because she was so glad to see him and then, on an impulse, she stretched up and kissed him gently, a hello-how-are-you kiss that felt like exactly the right thing to do.

  When she pulled back, Cal looked stunned.

  “What?” she said. “That was a friendly kiss.”

  He shook his head and closed the door behind him with his shoulder. “That was . . . nice. Here.” He handed her the small shopping bag. “I’m courting. You get gifts.”

  Min took the bag and felt deflated. “Bad kiss? Did I do it wrong?”

  “No.” He grinned tiredly at her. “You couldn’t possibly do it wrong.” Then his smile faded. “That’s just the first time.”

  “Oh, please,” Min said. “We’ve been kissing for days.”

  “I’ve been kissing you for days,” Cal said, tossing his jacket on the armchair as he went to put Emilio’s bag on the table. “That’s the first time you’ve kissed me. What smells so good?”

  “Chicken marsala,” Min said. “I think I got it. What do you mean, that’s the first time? I . . .” Her voice trailed off as she thought about it. He was right. He always kissed her.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cal said as he came back to her. “So—”

  Min dropped the shopping bag and went up on her toes and kissed him again, this time giving it everything she had. The rush made her dizzy, and she grabbed his shirt to steady herself, and he held her, kissing her back until she was hot and trembling.

  “That’s two,” Cal said, breathlessly. “Not that I’m counting.”

  “There should have been more,” Min said, trying to get her breath back. “I mean, we’re not doing this anymore, but I shouldn’t have made you do all the work.”

  “I didn’t mind,” Cal said, pulling her closer, and she knew she should pull back but she didn’t want to because he felt so damn good against her. “Although I’m liking this.”

  “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Min said, putting her forehead against his chest.

  “Which would be what?”

  She felt him kiss the top of her head again, and smiled. “That I wanted, you know, more.”

  “Right,” Cal said. “Just friends. You bet. Kiss me again.”

  Min grinned and lifted her head. “It doesn’t count if you tell me to.”

  “It always counts,” Cal said and kissed her, and she let herself fall into him until she lost track of time and everything but the way he felt wrapped around her. Then he came up for air and said, “I may be getting the wrong idea.”

  “No,” Min said, backing away. “Don’t do that. Forget any of that happened.” She held up the Mace can. “I have Mace.”

  “Right,” he said and let go of her to collapse onto the couch. “Elvis, old buddy, how are you doing?” He reached up to scratch Elvis behind the ears and Min almost said, “Don’t,” remembering what had happened to David. But Elvis flattened his head so Cal could get closer and purred his appreciation. “You know, this is a nice cat.”

  “I know.” Min tried to calm her pounding heart as Elvis rolled to his feet. “I don’t know how I ever lived without him.” She picked up the bag she’d dropped and went to sit next to Cal on the couch. “So. I’ve heard about this,” she said, pulling open the bag. “You’re going to give me something I didn’t even know I needed.”

  “What do you mean, you heard?” Cal said, but Min was pulling out a shoe box and ignored him.

  “I have very specific tastes in shoes,” she said, shaking her head. “The possibilities for disaster here are huge.”

  “I live on the edge,” Cal said.

  Min opened the box. Inside were mules with her favorite French heel, but they were covered in white fur. “What the hell?” she said but when she pulled them out, she saw the bunny faces on the furry insteps. “You got me bunny slippers?” she said, holding them up. The bunnies looked back at her, dopey and sweet. “Open-toed bunny slippers? These are incredible.”

  “I know,” Cal said, scratching Elvis’s stomach now. “There’s music in there, too.”

  “Let me guess,” Min said, reaching in the bag again. “Elvis Costello.” She pulled out the CD and read the title: “Elvis Presley, Fifty Greatest Love Songs.” She looked at Cal. “You got me Elvis Presley.”

  “It’s what you like,” Cal said, as the cat rolled away from him. “Why would I get you what I like?”

  “Boy, you are good at this,” Min said, looking back at the bunnies. “I love these shoes.”

  “Every woman needs bunny slippers,” Cal said, taking one of them. “Especially women with toes like yours.” He reached down and picked up her foot and stripped her sweat sock off, and Min wiggled her s
uddenly cool, pink-tipped toes at him. “Very hot toes, Minnie,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the bottom of her foot.

  “Ticklish,” Min said, trying to pull her foot back, but he slipped the shoe on before she could move, and she closed her eyes and sighed at how good the fur lining felt on her skin. “Oh, lovely,” she said and then looked down at her foot again, and wiggled her toes under the bunny’s mouth. “These are perfect.”

  “I know,” Cal said, and let go of her foot.

  Min stripped her other sock off and slid into the other bunny slipper. “You’re a genius at this. I’ll wait to play the CD when you’re gone so you don’t have to suffer.”

  “I like Elvis,” Cal began, but Elvis the cat had crept his way down the chair arm, and now he pushed something off the sewing machine table at the end of the couch.

  “Hey.” Cal leaned out to retrieve it. “Careful, cat, you’ll—” He stopped as he picked it up. “Why do you have a statue of the Eiffel Tower?”

  “Somebody brought me an Eiffel Tower snow globe last night,” Min said, watching her toes wiggle under the bunnies’ chins. “Elvis broke it.”

  “Good for Elvis.” Cal handed her the tower and she dropped it in the wastebasket and went back to looking at her bunnies. “So who was clueless enough to give you a snow globe without people in it? Greg?”

  “No,” Min said cheerfully as she saw trouble loom. “You know what? I think I made the chicken right.” She stood up. The slippers felt wonderful. “These fit perfectly.”

  “Minerva,” Cal said. “You’re keeping something from me.”

  “Many things,” Min said, and went out to the kitchen, concentrating on the way the slippers tapped on her hardwood floor. “I may never take these shoes off again.”

  Behind her, “Love Me Tender” began to play, and Cal said from the couch, “The cat knows how to turn on the stereo?”

  “He knows the power button,” she called back. “And replay, unfortunately. I heard ‘Love Me Tender’ four times last night before I took the CD out.” She stirred the chicken one more time, tasted it, and thought, I really think this is it. She smiled to herself and tasted it again to make sure before she called back, “I think you should taste this.”

  “I will,” Cal said from behind her. “First tell me who this belongs to.”

  She turned and saw him holding up David’s tie.

  “Where’d you get that?” she said.

  “Elvis was playing with it,” Cal said.

  She took it from him and dropped it in the kitchen trash. “It’s none of your business who that belongs to.”

  “I know,” Cal said.

  “You can’t be jealous,” Min said.

  “And yet, much to my own disgust, I am,” he said, folding his arms. “All right, I have no business asking.”

  “This is true,” Min said.

  “So who was it?”

  She leaned against the stove and realized she was glad he was jealous. You’re a mess, she told herself.

  “Minnie,” Cal said.

  “My ex-boyfriend. He dropped by and proposed.”

  “He did?” Cal said calmly, but his jaw tightened.

  “Yes, he did,” Min said, enjoying herself. “He brought the paperweight because we were going to honeymoon in Paris.”

  “Thoughtful of him,” Cal said, biting off the words.

  “Not really.” Min straightened. “I don’t want to honeymoon in Paris.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No,” Min said, her patience at an end. “I told him I didn’t want to get married, and then I kicked him out.”

  “Uh huh,” Cal said.

  “That’s it,” Min said. “He’s gone.”

  “No, he’s not,” Cal said.

  “I assure you—”

  “He left his tie, Min.”

  “So?”

  “So he left it so he could come back for it.”

  “That’s . . .” Min thought about it. “. . . entirely possible.”

  “Give me the tie,” Cal said.

  “Why?” Min said, exasperated.

  “So I can messenger it back to the son of a bitch tomorrow,” Cal said. “Who is he?”

  “Have you lost your only mind?”

  Cal closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  “There we go,” Min said. “The first step in solving your problem is admitting you have one.”

  “Don’t see him anymore,” Cal said, making it a request, not an order.

  “I won’t,” Min said. “I don’t even like him much.”

  “Can I return the tie, please?” Cal said, holding out his hand.

  Min fished it out of the trash. “Here. His name is David Fisk. He runs a soft—” She stopped at the look on Cal’s face. “What?”

  “Your ex is David Fisk?” Cal said, and Min remembered the bet.

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” Cal said. “He’s —” He stopped and she waited. “He’s a client.”

  “Oh,” Min said, and thought, The bet, he’s not going to tell me about the bet. Damn it.

  Cal crumpled up the tie. “I’ll send it back to him. How’s the chicken?”

  “I think it’s excellent,” Min said, feeling depressed as Elvis sang about true love.

  “It looks great.” Cal picked up a spoon from the dish drainer and scooped up some sauce. He tasted it and Min waited, caring way too much about what he thought. “Damn, that’s good,” he said, looking at her with surprise. “I think that’s better than Emilio’s. Did you do something different?”

  “Yes,” Min said. “But that’s my secret. You have secrets, I have secrets.”

  “I don’t have secrets,” Cal said.

  “Dinner,” Min said and went to set the table as “Love Me Tender” began again.

  They talked through dinner and the dishes, and Min tried not to enjoy it, tried to remember the bet, but it was so comfortable being with him that she kept forgetting. Somehow he’d slipped into her life and under her skin, and she was happy about that even though she knew that was his plan. I don’t have a plan, she thought, and that was so good that she gave up and smiled at him and when he left, she kissed him good night without reservation, and he leaned in the doorway and said, “Minnie, about this friends thing,” and she pushed him out gently and closed the door to keep from saying, “I hate that, forget that, make love to me.”

  Because that, she told herself as she went back to Elvis, would be bad.

  At seven Wednesday night, David was in his shirtsleeves, trying to find two shipments that had gone astray and thinking about how to get to Min, who’d once brought him a Caesar salad (no croutons), when his office door banged open and Cynthie stood there in another tailored suit, this one pink.

  “Oh good, it’s you,” he said flatly.

  “They’re still dating.” Cynthie came in and closed the door. “You were supposed to make your move.”

  “I did,” David said. “She said no. And I left the tie but Cal messengered it back to me, so that didn’t work. But she also said she wasn’t going to sleep with him, so I’m thinking if we wait—”

  “Well, wait for this. He took her home to meet his mother.”

  David sat up straighter as the cold hit his spine. “What?”

  “He took her home to meet his mother,” Cynthie said again. “It took me seven months to get Cal to take me home to his parents. She did it in three weeks. David, I’m losing him.”

  “His mother,” David said, and thought, The bastard. He’ll do anything to win that bet. “Fuck.” He looked up, startled that he’d said it out loud. “Sorry.”

  “No,” Cynthie said, stopping in front of him. “You are not sorry. You are mad.”

  “Yeah, I am.” David thought about Cal Morrisey and got madder. Somebody should stop guys like him. He stood up. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Fight for her,” Cynthie said. “She’s your girlfriend. Get her back.”
/>   “I tried,” David said, losing some steam. “She likes Cal.”

  “You are the most passive son of a bitch,” Cynthie said. “No wonder she never slept with you. You probably never asked her.”

  “Thank you,” David said. “That’s great coming from somebody who got turned down after putting out for nine months. Don’t see that being aggressive worked for you, sweetheart. Maybe you’re the one with the heat problem.”

  “Listen, you,” Cynthie said. “I have a perfect body and I am great in bed.”

  “You know, I doubt it,” David said, coming around his desk. “Don’t bother to open your jacket again. I already saw that commercial.”

  Cynthie gaped at him. “You bastard.”

  “Well, hell, Cynthie, what do you expect? You come in here screaming at me and calling me names because your ex took the woman I love home to meet his mother. If you want to stop it, go get him. Unbutton your jacket at him.” David stopped and closed his eyes. “Look, I’m tired, I’m miserable, and I haven’t had sex in three months. Take your perfect body back to the guy who was having perfect sex with you. I have work to do.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he opened his eyes. She was frowning at him.

  “They’re not sleeping together,” Cynthie said.

  “I know,” David said. “So nobody’s getting any. Great. Go away.”

  “You can tell by the way they act together,” she said, and he stopped. “I was just at The Long Shot. Min was there with Cal. I watched them. They haven’t done it. You can tell, people touch differently when they’ve had sex, they relax, they . . .” Cynthie took a step closer. “They haven’t done it. We can still get them back. And I know a great aphrodisiac.”

  “Right,” David said. “You unbutton your jacket.”

  “No,” Cynthie said, so close now she was almost touching him. “Pain. If joy doesn’t work, try pain. Like jealousy. It’s a physiological cue, a very powerful one. They’re going to Emilio’s now, I heard them say so. We’re going to go.”

  David stepped back and bumped into his desk. “Cynthie, I don’t—”

  “But first,” Cynthie said. “We’re going to have sex.”