Now, however, as he examined the woman curled up sleeping next to his door, he wondered if he’d been wrong.
She was wearing Regular Lucy clothes. But that was pretty much where Regular Lucy began and ended. He stood there for a long moment, blatantly using the edge she’d unknowingly given him to look at her. Really look at her. He’d watched her across the room at the reunion, circling the floor . . . dancing with fucking Prescott. But that had been like watching a stranger. Looking down at her now made him feel that oh-so-familiar pang inside his chest. The way her hair fell across her face in a scatter of long, messy strands, casting shadows beneath the lashes brushing her cheek. The way her mouth turned down in one corner and up in the other while she slept, like even in sleep she was the one in on the best joke.
How many concerts had they gone to over the years where she’d slept on the way home, and he’d parked in her driveway and watched her for as long as he could stand it? He’d always wondered what she was dreaming about, if it was as amusing as her slumbering expression insinuated. He remembered thinking how he wanted to be part of her dreams. She’d long since become a staple in his.
He shook that memory loose and stared at her hands, lying limp in her lap, hands he’d held many times in friendship, a connection he’d cherished, even if it always left him wanting more. The endlessly long tangle of legs. Dorky, spastic legs that she’d never seemed to get total control over, in youth or adulthood. “Grace” wasn’t her middle name, or any of her names, for that matter. She’d come striding into that ballroom like a Valkyrie, but then he’d watched her stick to the sidelines, taking careful steps, weaving the path of least resistance . . . the one least apt to gain notice. Proving she was still, underneath it all, the awkward, somewhat insecure Lucy he knew and loved.
And he was left wondering if he was the one who’d become the stranger. She’d only wanted to feel better about herself, to fit in. And he’d just wanted—desperately—for her to be happy fitting in with him.
Jana had been right. Again. They were both searching for fulfillment, but only Lucy had gone out and done something about it. While he’d been a completely selfish ass because he was too afraid to make the same leap of faith and reach for what he wanted.
Now she was dating fucking Jason Prescott. And he was avoiding her calls like they were both fifteen years old and having some stupid, immature argument.
It had been three weeks—God, four—since the reunion, and though he really had been buried in work, he could have returned at least one of the increasingly graphic and pointed messages Lucy had been routinely leaving on his machine. He knew he’d hurt her by abandoning her like he had. But dammit, she’d hurt him, too. The only difference was, she’d hurt him unknowingly. Yet he had sighed in admitted selfish relief that Jana had apparently elected to keep silent and leave the decision on how to handle things between them with him.
Of course, that hadn’t kept him from hearing inside his head the advice he knew she’d give him. Be a man, grow a pair, and go after her, jerkface! Well, she might have been nicer about it. But then again, maybe not. He’d apologized to her for the added drama that she definitely didn’t need. But even knowing that, knowing it wasn’t fair to Jana right now to pile this on her, too . . . he’d found himself listening to Lucy’s messages, hand hovering over the phone, knowing the right thing to do was to suck it up and call, only to hit the DELETE button. Again.
Looking down at Lucy now, he didn’t know where he thought it was all going to end. Or what he wanted from her. And so he’d let work consume him, conveniently avoiding coming to any kind of actual decision. Like maybe it would just take care of itself. In the back of his mind he supposed he knew Thanksgiving was coming and they’d all be together. He’d figure something out by then. Probably.
“Why’d you have to go and upset the routine, Luce?” he murmured. Because she wanted a life filled with more than having two best friends and a good job, asswipe. Which forced the hard question: Didn’t he want more, too?
Not if it meant losing Lucy.
And there was the crux of the whole thing. Be happy with what he had? Or push for more and possibly lose it all?
Maybe it was already too late for that. Maybe fucking Prescott had already snagged her heart. And God-knows-what else.
He nudged Lucy’s leg with his toe. Perhaps with more force than absolutely necessary. “Oh, my God,” he said flatly, in what Lucy called his James Spader voice, “there’s a homeless person in my hall. Vagrancy being a crime and all, I guess I better call the cops.”
Lucy came awake the way she always did, almost instantly alert. Considering the hour, and the fact that it took him at least two cups of coffee to be coherent at any time of the day or night, the feat was, as usual, impressive.
“Hey,” she said, looking up at him, blinking against the hall lighting. “About time.”
“Did we have an appointment I was unaware of?”
She ignored his sarcasm. He didn’t bother asking her what she was doing, sleeping by his door. They both already knew the answer to that question.
“Should you be out this late on a school night?”
“What time is it?” she said, pushing her hair from her face, then covering her mouth with her fist as she yawned wide.
“Late. Or really early, depending on your view.”
She looked up at him, those sooty lashes looking even darker than usual. Could be the crappy lighting in the hall. Or the dark circles under her eyes. “You probably don’t want to hear what I think of my view at the moment.”
“Something tells me I’m going to hear it anyway.”
“You would be right. Which is one mark in that column, one lonely mark. Up against the whole pile of marks you’ve accumulated these past few months in the ‘I couldn’t be more wrong if I tried’ column.” She yawned again. “And Friday night is only technically a school night.”
“Is it Friday already?”
She narrowed her gaze. “It was. I believe it is now very early on a Saturday morning. And while I can believe you’ve lost track of the day of the week, that’s not going to save your pathetic, chickenshit ass. Unless you were really going to attempt to pull off the lie that you’ve been so caught up at work that you’ve misplaced an entire month.”
“Gee, and to think I’ve missed you all this time.”
She’d opened her mouth to make some retort, only his words stopped her. He saw a flash of . . . what? Yearning? Sorrow? Hope? Or was that all just wishful thinking on his part?
He reached out a hand, bracing himself for the contact.
She refused the help, scrambling to a stand herself.
Admittedly the snub stung, even though he knew he deserved it.
She squinted at her watch. “I can never tell which of Mickey’s hands are which. But I’m guessing it’s not ten past midnight.” She looked at him. “Which means you’ve either been putting in the heavy-duty hours Jana says you are, or I’m really lucky you came out of that elevator alone.”
He didn’t owe her an explanation, but he was too busy wondering if it would have bothered her to wake up to find some random woman pawing all over him while he fumbled to get his key in the lock to keep his mouth shut. “The former. But unlike me, you knew what day it was, so you willingly ran the risk by camping out here in the first place.” He turned away from her before he blurted out anything else. Like, there really was no risk because he never brought women home. Other women, anyway. If he wanted sex, the woman in question usually had a bed. Or a couch. Whatever. And if he didn’t want sex . . . well, then he worked. When he wanted companionship, he hung out with Lucy. And wished they were having sex, too. Couldn’t she see how perfect they’d be together?
He really needed to not be thinking about sex at all right now.
“I’m guessing you want to come in.”
She leaned against the doorframe, far too close to him for his peace of mind. Basically, anywhere in his range of vision fit that description. �
��Your genius never ceases to amaze.”
He didn’t want to be amused, and yet his lips twitched anyway. He’d missed her sharp-ass mouth. Dammit. He flipped on the lamp by the door and tossed his keys on the end table. His place was a mess of overworked bachelor neglect, but she’d seen it in worse shape. Another plus in her favor. No early-dating game-playing behavior would ever be necessary. On either part. “There’s beer and Coke in the fridge. Coffee in the filter. But if you make coffee, you better put in a new filter when you’re done.”
“Yeah, I know. There will be no place good enough to hide if you awaken to anything but the sound of your beloved Krups percolating. Maybe I should have snuck in here a month ago and stolen your coffeemaker. Then you’d have come after me and we could have settled this whole stupid thing.”
He felt a sudden surge of completely uncalled-for anger. He wanted to turn and shout at her that he had come after her, dammit! But she’d been dancing in the arms of another man. The very man who’d first shattered her tender teenage heart. Whereas Grady had done nothing but cosset and protect it. And where the fuck had that gotten him? He managed to rein it in but turned his back on her as he slid off his coat and tossed it over the living-room chair. Just in case his murderous expression might tip her off.
He had a sudden attack of the yawns, probably a self-protection reaction as much as pure fatigue. Go to bed, tomorrow is another day. And this problem standing in his living room would be but a memory. He had to get up in about five hours and head right back to work. He didn’t want to do this now. Or ever. Really.
He rubbed his stomach, which had been grumbling on the way home, but which he’d refused to heed. He’d learned the hard way that eating this late, when he was this tired, would make what little sleep he could get almost impossible. But he was suddenly as ravenous as he was tired. He didn’t want to examine that one too closely.
Hollow-eyed, he looked toward the kitchen, wondering if he should just fire up the coffeepot and shove some cold pizza in the toaster oven. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pulled an all-nighter. But this time there was a lot more on the line than the usual. Discovering a new way to improve national security seemed simple in comparison to what he was about to face.
If only he’d invented the time machine he’d dreamed about as a kid. He could transport himself to anywhere else but right here. Right now.
Fortunately, she spoke first, relieving him of finding some way to start what was bound to be a really difficult conversation. Especially given the fact that he still had no idea how he was going to resolve the issues between them without coming out and telling her he was only acting like an ass because he was insanely jealous and hopelessly in love with her.
And he’d held off blurting out that particular fact for over a decade now. Surely he could last one more night.
“You know, for a genius rocket-scientist type who can make cameras small enough to thread through a needle—”
“Fiber optics. And I didn’t invent them. Just new ways to use them.”
She gave him the stink eye. “For an arrogant genius with nothing better to do than play with fibers, you’ve been acting monumentally stupid lately.”
“That’s it,” he said lightly, wagging a finger, “no coffee for you.” But he was having some. A few gallons at least, just to start. He walked to the kitchen, glad she was already sitting on the couch. Then he didn’t have to come within hitting distance. Sure, she had lousy aim, but why chance it?
“I don’t want coffee, Grady. I want—”
You. He paused by the door, his heart wanting that answer so badly, he’d been stopped in his tracks by the need to hear it. “If you’re going to keep me from the much-needed nirvana that is my bed, then I do want coffee,” he said, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say. Safer that way. Once he was sufficiently caffeinated, he’d risk the more dangerous conversational territories.
“I didn’t plan on talking to you this late,” she told him. “I thought you’d be home earlier.”
He didn’t ask her how long she’d waited out there for him. His guilt column was quite full already, thanks.
“I just couldn’t stand this any longer,” she said. “If for no other reason than it’s stressing Jana out and she doesn’t need that right now.”
He punched the button on the coffeemaker. Hard. “So, you’re here because you’re worried about Jana?” First he didn’t want her here confronting him about his bad behavior, then he got angry when it wasn’t all about him. Christ, but he wanted to go to bed.
“I’m here because I’m worried about all three of us. I don’t understand why things can’t go back to the way they were.”
She had no idea how badly he’d prayed for the same miracle. More sober than he’d like to be, he briefly considered skipping the coffee and going for the beer, but decided against that course of action. As tired and screwed up in the head as he was, no telling what he might say if he was chemically impaired.
The first fumes of perking coffee fueled his stamina instead, and he turned to find her lounging in his kitchen doorway. She’d shed her winter jacket. So he was now treated to the view of her small and apparently non-Wonderbra-enhanced breasts pressing lightly against one of her dad’s worn-out Georgetown sweatshirts. His body responded anyway. Because apparently he was so pathetic and starved for her that she could wear burlap and he’d still get hard. He turned back to the coffee. And tried really hard to think about anything that didn’t have to do with Lucy or his bed. Together or apart.
“Things aren’t the same, Luce,” he told her, digging the half-and-half out of the fridge, hoping the blast of cold air would provide some much-needed relief. “You know that better than anyone.” He shut the door. Okay, it might have qualified as an almost-slam. He didn’t look at her, so he didn’t know if she’d noticed or not.
“Goddammit, Grady, what the hell is so wrong with me fixing myself up a little?”
Because you fixed yourself up for the wrong man, when I would have gladly taken you the way you were! he wanted to shout. Instead, he made big business out of selecting just the right coffee mug and digging a spoon out of the dishwasher. “Nothing.”
She snorted. “Yeah, you always go out of your way to avoid me for weeks—weeks, Grady!—over nothing.” Then, just like that, her anger seemed to evaporate and she slumped back against the wall just inside the door. “I know I left you that night and I’m a thousand times sorry for that. It was a horrible mistake to make. But, my God, don’t you think you’ve punished me enough?”
No, he thought selfishly, because it doesn’t come close to how much I’ve punished myself all these years. Unfair? Sure. Did he care at the moment? Not really.
“You abandoned me, too, only in a much worse way. And you won’t even talk to me about it, or let me try and fix it. That hurts. A lot.”
Join the club, he thought. It wasn’t fair for her to get to be the martyr when he felt like the one who’d been abandoned. Somehow he didn’t think she’d see it that way, though.
“No comment? Are we that broken?” She pounded her fist against the wall, startling him into looking at her.
When he saw the raw pain on her face, it was all he could do not to throw his spoon down and pull her into his arms, hold her close, apologize for everything. Then beg her to never leave him again.
Be a man. Grow a pair. “I’m sorry. It’s not you—”
Her eyes flashed. “If you even think about trotting out the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ crap, then you deserve to lose both my friendship and Jana’s.”
Impatient, almost desperate now for his fix, he pulled the coffeepot out and shoved his mug beneath the filter. “I haven’t lost anything with Jana,” he said defensively.
“Don’t bet on it.”
He glanced up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means she hates this as much as I do. You don’t think that your treating me like a leper puts her in an awkward position? And if you�
�re such a good friend to her, you’d know that’s the very last thing she needs right now.”
“So you camped out in my hall to force a peace treaty for Jana’s sake.”
“For all our sakes. Have you been happy with the way things are between us lately? Or is it just me and Jana who are miserable?”
“Of course I’m not happy about all this.”
She threw up her hands. “Well, then, why in the hell haven’t you tried to do anything about it?”
“I did try!” he shouted, no longer able to keep his anger in check. “I came to the damn reunion to show you I was still in your corner. We all know how that turned out.”
She had the decency to look abashed. “Okay, I deserved that.” She glanced up then, through those short stubby lashes of hers, and his anger bled out. Like it always did. “I tried to apologize,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t take my calls. It’s been almost a month, Grady.”
A month during which she’d been out with Jason Prescott four times. That he knew about, anyway. A month that he’d spent working himself to the brink of exhaustion so that when he did finally crawl in bed at night, he didn’t have to lie there and imagine what they might be doing with each other. To each other.
His fingers curled into his palms and he’d never wanted so badly to hit something. Hard. Jason’s pretty face would have been handy.
Slowly he flexed his hand and turned back to his coffee mug, which was full almost to spilling over. He carefully swapped out the pot for the mug. “Sure you don’t want any?” he asked, working hard to keep his voice smooth and even.
“No. I don’t want any coffee.” She came to stand behind him and it took all his willpower to not leave the room. Or turn and grab her. “I just want you to talk to me. Tell me what’s really wrong.” She rested her hands on his shoulders and his hands tightened so hard on the mug he was surprised he didn’t shatter it. “You know, we all go through big changes in our lives. Jana is pregnant, for God’s sake, which terrifies me even more than it does her, which is saying something, believe me. And you’ve handled that okay.”
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