Reconsidering Riley

by Lisa Plumley

  A second knock made her panic.

  Her breakup-ees! They couldn’t discover her here! If they did, they’d realize Jayne was a fraud. If they found her cavorting with her forbidden ex, they’d realize her techniques were phony…and her “gift” was nonexistent. Which must be true, she thought dispiritedly. Just look at her.

  Picking up where she’d left off with Riley after her breakup-ee trip was one thing. Canoodling with him during the trip was something else again. The distinction between the two was something she’d forgotten in the heat of the post-bath moment.

  Mobilized into action by a third knock, she groped for the frothy pink nightie she’d been modeling last night for Riley (before he’d deliciously divested her of it). Their luggage had been delivered to the canyon lodge by Gwen and Bud, and now Jayne had her full travel wardrobe—for all the good it did her. Once her breakup-ees knew she was a useless broken-heart curer, they were unlikely to be impressed by coordinating shoes and a cute miniskirt.

  “Riley! Wake up!” she whispered. “Someone’s at the door.”

  That someone knocked again. Jayne struggled into her nightie, reasoning it was the best cover she’d manage on short notice. Shoving her feet into marabou-trimmed pink bedroom slippers, she tottered to the other side of the bed. She kicked all their discarded clothes beneath, then shook Riley’s shoulder.

  He barely budged. Apparently, hot steamy lovemaking could work to a girl’s disadvantage…if it left her hot steamy fella too exhausted to be manhandled out of his incriminating position on the morning after. Arms fluttering, Jayne bent over so her face was right beside his ear.

  “Riley, wake up! I need—”

  “I’ve got what you need, baby,” he teased in a sexy, drowsy voice. His arm dangled from the mattress and found her leg. Her slid his palm up her thigh, then cracked open one eye. “Just let me get a bowl of Wheaties and a spoonful of coffee grounds first, and I’ll make you soooo happy—”

  “No! That’s not what I mean.”

  He opened both eyes. Then widened them, as he centered his gaze on her cleavage—revealed to advantage in her nightie. “Hey, good morning! You wake up real nice.”

  Riley smiled broadly. Jayne preened. “You wake up nicely, too,” she said, distracted from the emergency at hand by the sheer novelty of having a thousand-proof hunk at her disposal. “Really nicely. Maybe we’ve still got time for—”

  Another knock—a louder one—jolted her to attention. She grabbed his biceps and tugged. She had to get him out of sight.

  At the same moment, he quirked his eyebrows. “Is someone at the door? I’d better go see who it is.”

  He disengaged himself from the tangled sheets, then stood in glorious nudity. Sunlight glowed over his muscles, casting them in golden perfection. Oh, but to be a ray of sunshine, free to roam over that face, those shoulders, that butt—hang on, here. She was getting distracted again.

  Thump, thump, thump came from the lodge hallway. The door rattled.

  Riley started toward it. He stopped, dragged some of the sheet around his waist, and began walking again.

  “Stop!” Jayne tackled him partway there. “I’ll get it.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He wobbled, stumbling on the trailing bedding. “It’s my room.”

  “That’s the whole point.” If he answered the door, he might blow her cover.

  Shoving, pulling, and coaxing, she urged him away from the bedroom door and toward the room where they’d shared their bath. She kept up a constant stream of murmured encouragement, desperate to get Riley out of the way.

  Once they were near enough, she opened the louvered closet door. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  Using her best fifty-percent-off-sale move, she shouldered him inside the closet. Another final-clearance heave-ho landed him all the way inside.

  “Hey!” Off-balanced, he clawed at the hanging clothes.

  “I’m sorry! Just please, stay in here,” Jayne begged, then she shut the closet and went to answer the door.

  Frowning in the closet, Riley pushed aside a musty blanket that had fallen on his shoulder. In retaliation, something pungent-smelling and hard whacked him on the side of the head.

  A cedar moth-proofing block, he realized as he squinted groggily at it in the bars of light struggling through the louvered door. A minute and a half ago, he’d been getting reacquainted with Jayne’s silky thigh, preparing to strip off her filmy nightie with his teeth. Now, he was getting clobbered by Martha Stewart-ish housekeeping paraphernalia.

  What the hell was going on?

  Irritated, he tried the doorknob. It didn’t turn, and he boggled at it. Had Jayne actually locked him in?

  When a second try yielded the same results, Riley knew she had. This perplexed him even more than the linebacker-style maneuvers she’d used to shove him in here in the first place. Why would Jayne want to lock him in the damned closet?

  For a bleary instant, he tried to comfort himself. Maybe he’d pleasured her so well she couldn’t bear to let him get away. Riley brightened, standing taller as he clutched the sheet to his naked middle. Maybe Jayne had enjoyed their mushy-gushy reunion conversations so thoroughly she wanted to make sure they shared more of them. He knew he did. In fact, he’d begun reconsidering his plans for the future. All at once, settling down didn’t sound so bad. Especially with Jayne.

  Then another, less cheerful thought struck him. Maybe someone…in particular was at the door. Someone Jayne didn’t want to know about their rekindled affair.

  But who?

  Mack? Bruce? Bozo Boy, who’d inspired her book and sent her to Heartbreak Camp? Riley would send him to Broken Nose camp if he dared to try hurting Jayne again, he vowed. If he could just get out of this closet…he was next to useless amid the moth-eaten sweaters and forgotten hats.

  “Alexis!” came Jayne’s voice from across the room—from the non-imprisoned side of the room. She sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jayne? But isn’t this…Uncle Riley’s room?”

  A pause. “We…switched. Riley let me use his room last night, and he…was more than welcome to use mine.”

  Jayne couldn’t even lie properly, he noticed. She was probably too softhearted to tell a fib to Alexis.

  “Hmmm. Well, anyway,” his niece said, “I guess you could probably give a message to him, if you see him?”

  There was another pause. Riley imagined Alexis in her purple braces and thirteen-year-old-diva’s clothes, then pictured Jayne in her nightie and ridiculous feathered shoes. He’d be damned if he’d stay in here like a cast-off gigolo, waiting for his lover’s beck-and-call. He felt unwanted. Discarded. Used. He rattled the closet doorknob.

  Jayne coughed to cover the sound. “Sure, I’ll give him a message.”

  “Okay.” A pop of bubblegum. “Just tell him his driver radioed ahead, and his Suburban will be here in like, half an hour. So he’ll have plenty of time to make it to Sedona for his flight to Antigua.”

  Riley froze. Damn! Antigua. He’d meant to explain all that to Jayne this morning, when they woke up. But they hadn’t actually slept much last night. And afterward, probably because of all the hiking they’d done over the past few days…well, afterward he guessed he’d just crashed. Nothing short of Full Pink Nightie had had the power to awaken him.

  “Antigua?” Jayne asked. “Riley’s going to Antigua?”

  He yearned to open the stupid closet door, to stop this disaster before it went any further. But when he rattled the bars of his impromptu cage, Jayne only buried the sound in another, fiercer cough. And when he started to call out, her voice overrode his.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said slowly. “I thought he’d changed his mind.”

  “Nope.” He could well imagine Alexis’s shrug. “He’s got some National Explorer assignment there. Photographing emus, or something.”

  “Emus.”

  “Yeah. So, you’ll tell Uncle Riley? ‘Cause I don’t want to have to trac
k him down to give him the message. Lance is waiting for me.”

  “Right. Okay.” Jayne sounded dazed. “I’ll absolutely give Riley the message. As it turns out, I’ve got a few things I want to say to him, too.”

  Uh-oh. Mad. She was definitely mad. At the realization, Riley felt trapped. There was nothing that made him feel more helpless, more useless, than when Jayne was mad at him. She’d want to talk, and talk, and talk, and he’d be tongue-tied, with only his prepared statement for defense.

  I’ve planned this trip to Antigua for months now. It’s a good opportunity. I’ll see you when I get back.

  Okay, his statement sucked. He needed more time. Turning, Riley pushed past the clothes hanging on the closet rod. If he could only find a trapdoor in here. A secret passageway. An escape hatch, from the—

  Outside the closet, the women said their goodbyes. The bedroom door closed with a decisive clunk. Feminine footsteps trod across the bedroom floor.

  Jayne was coming. Think, he commanded himself. Explain this so she understands.

  The closet door swooshed open. A warm block of sunlight fell into the space, illuminating the dire lack of emergency exits. Feeling the heat on his back, Riley turned, the cedar block he’d been using to shove clothes out of his way still in hand.

  Jayne stood there, arms crossed and high-heeled slippered foot tapping. She raised a brow. “Antigua?”

  He should have expected it, but he hadn’t. The minute he saw Jayne, every syllable of Riley’s prepared ‘statement’ flew right out of his head.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alexis strode down the lodge’s hallway toward the dining room, where Lance was waiting. Already this morning she’d fixed her hair twice, shaved her legs once, and totally gone wild with the makeup Jayne had lent her yesterday. She wondered if Lance would notice the way her eye shadow coordinated with the jeans from her restored luggage, and if he’d like the CK One she’d spritzed on.

  Jayne had. She’d complimented Alexis on her eye shadow and her perfume…before she’d gone all schizo about the Antigua thing, that is. The shock on her face when she’d learned about Uncle Riley’s trip had been obvious. Alexis wondered if Jayne and Uncle Riley had hooked up last night, and decided they probably had. After all, they were totally in love.

  Just like her and Lance. Alexis spotted him near the breakfast-piled sideboard in the dining room. She performed a last-minute breath check, then happily headed toward him.

  He glanced up with a Powerbar in one hand and a shelf-stable chocolate soymilk in the other. A wide smile spread over his face—a smile that was for her alone. The sight of it made Alexis feel kind of giddy—sort of like when she watched ‘N Sync on “Total Request Live.” He handed her the food, then choose some for himself.

  “You, uh, look great today,” Lance said. “That makeup makes you look sort of like Mandy Moore.”

  Mandy Moore was totally cute! Psyched by his compliment, Alexis chirped out a “thank you” and followed him to the dining table. All around them, various adventure travelers and guides sipped coffee, ate toast and oatmeal, and talked. The hum of the different conversations was comforting. It made Alexis feel less conspicuous—although she did notice Doris and Donna nod approvingly when Lance pulled out a chair for her. He even waited until she sat down to take a seat across from her.

  Lance was a gentleman. Unlike Brendan. He was sweet, too. She hadn’t done a thing to make him like her, Alexis thought as he unwrapped her breakfast and handed it across the table, and still he did like her. In fact, she considered further as she chewed, she’d pretty much been as obnoxious as possible to Lance, and it hadn’t made a bit of difference. He’d liked her, all the same.

  With Brendan, she’d had to change her whole schedule around to be with him—occasionally even ditching her Spanish Club meetings to spend time with him. With Brendan, she’d had to watch what she said so he wouldn’t think she was a geek. With Brendan, it hadn’t mattered what Alexis had done—in the end, he still hadn’t liked her. Not enough, anyway.

  Puzzled by the difference, she peered at Lance. He smiled at her and shyly inched his hand closer along the tabletop. His fingers closed tentatively around hers, and a jolt of excitement whooshed through her. Lance didn’t even care who was watching when he held her hand! He didn’t complain that handholding was for wusses, or pretend to hold her hand then ask her to pull his finger. (Gross.) Instead, Lance just…touched her, in the nicest way. Like he wanted to be nearer to her.

  Halfway through her soymilk (she and Lance were considering becoming vegetarians together), Alexis had a revelation. Maybe it didn’t matter what she did—people would like her (or not) for all kinds of reasons. Because of who they were. Not because of who she was (or wasn’t). Some people were loving, like Uncle Riley and Nana and Gramps. Some were sweet, like Jayne and Lance. Some were immature, Cinnabon-wielding buttheads with gold chains, an Xbox fixation, and no neck…like you-know-who.

  Wow. All this time, she’d thought she needed to change herself. She’d thought she needed the “Fifty Ways To Look Smokin’ Hot” article in Cosmo, and maybe a personality transplant, too. Now, Alexis realized she didn’t. She was fine! If someone didn’t realize exactly how fine she was…well, that was their problem, not hers.

  It all made perfect sense. Feeling immensely better, Alexis finished her Powerbar. She started to rise to get another one, but Lance beat her to it.

  “Still hungry?” he asked. “I saw one of the chocolate peanut butter ones over there. I’ll go get you one.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Propping her chin in her hand, Alexis watched Lance lumber over to the sideboard. He took his time choosing another Powerbar for her, his big hands hovering over the selection. He obviously wanted hers to be the ideal Powerbar.

  She wished her Mom would put that much thought into what Alexis wanted. Sadly, she considered what it would be like to have a mother who cared about the details, who asked about homework and enforced a curfew and noticed things about her daughter. Instead, her mom was too busy running off to Mexico with the boyfriend du jour.

  Feeling discouraged again, Alexis moped as Lance made his selection. He waved it in the air with a smile, which she returned half-heartedly. Her mom was the worst.

  And then it hit her. Her mom was…just who she was. A globetrotting, divorced, forty-something Britney wanna-be who liked lots of boyfriends. The fact that she rarely spent more than ten minutes on the phone with her only daughter didn’t mean there was something wrong with that daughter. Maybe her mom didn’t dislike her, the way Alexis had secretly feared. Maybe she simply wasn’t good on the phone.

  To be fair, Alexis thought a little squirmily, she hadn’t exactly been Miss 4-1-1, either. She’d been mad about being left out of the Mexico trip, and she’d wanted to make her mom pay. Maybe if she hadn’t limited her end of the phone calls to “uh-huh,” “no,” and “whatever,” things would have been different.

  Well, they would be different. When spring break was over, Alexis vowed, she’d make a better effort. Heck, she might even offer to give her mom a makeover. Britney’s look was getting so Seventies. Her mom deserved a better role model.

  Like Mandy Moore.

  Alexis was smiling when Lance stopped beside her chair. He handed over the Powerbar. After she took it, he squeezed her shoulder manfully—then paused.

  “Hey, you smell great. Is that new perfume?”

  Yup, things were looking better and better, all the time, Alexis decided smugly. Before she knew it, she’d be driving herself to the mall. She was just that mature these days. Look out world! Alexis Davis was on her way!

  Still stunned, Jayne stared at Riley, waiting for his answer. Waiting for him to say this was a mistake, he’d cancelled his plans, he wanted to stay. But he didn’t. A few minutes ago, she thought crazily, he’d looked sort of cute amid the coats and sweaters. Now he only looked like the man who’d betrayed her trust.

  Again.

  She was so stupi
d to have gotten herself in this mess.

  “Antigua?” she asked. “But I thought—after what we—well, since we’ve…Antigua?”

  “I’m not talking about this in here.” Frowning, Riley pushed past the things in his way. He stepped out, trailing the sheet around his waist.

  Jayne followed. “You’re not talking about this, period! I can’t believe you’ve ambushed me with this. I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought things were different now.”

  “They are different.”

  “How? Because it’s only taken you six days to decide to leave, instead of six months? I have to tell you, Riley, that’s not—”

  “That’s not it.” He gritted his teeth. “Look, I’ve planned this trip to Antigua for months now.”

  That was it? She was disrupting his plans? Hot with fury, Jayne stalked toward him. “Not good enough.”

  Looking trapped, Riley ran a hand over his bristly jaw. “It’s a good opportunity.”

  “So am I, damn it.”

  His smoky gaze swerved to her face. In his eyes, Jayne glimpsed both stubbornness and…anguish? What the hell did he have to feel anguished about? She was the one who’d been misled, here. She’d trusted him. Loved him. Believed she was important to him. And how had he repaid her? By treating her like a fling.

  She’d thrown away her “gift.” Risked ruining her research and disillusioning her breakup-ees. Jeopardized her book contract. For this. Would she never learn?

  “Well?” she prodded. She desperately wanted to give Riley the benefit of the doubt. But how could he not be explaining himself? In his shoes, she’d have been talking her head off. “Well?”

  “I’ll see you when I get back,” he said confidently.

  “Ha!”

  “Jayne—”

  Too infuriated and hurt to speak, she tottered to the edge of the bed in search of her discarded clothes. She had to sweep her arm furiously under the frame—then get on her hands and knees—to retrieve those items that had the audacity to elude her.

  “You’d better not be ogling my butt!” she yelled, her voice muffled by the bed ruffle.