ON AIR

by Hadley Quinn

  Davey chuckled but followed my instructions, and then I had to sit down on the couch to catch my breath from all the new information. I must have been there for a few hours because I finished watching one baseball game and was on the fourth inning in another. I was still trying to sort through the last few weeks of my life.

  I did get a text from Sasha. She gloated that the Giants lost, but I had barely even watched the game. I checked on her Dodgers and reminded her they were in a losing season. All in fun. On a whim, I asked if she wanted to go to dinner sometime during the week. After a quick consult of schedules, we decided on Tuesday at seven.

  My doorbell rang at eight that night. Luckily I had the curtains closed because the second I peeked through the security eye and saw that it was Peter, I lifted two middle fingers to the solid wood door and returned to the couch. He rang it once more before he finally left.

  I was seriously ready to move.

  The next text message I received was from Natalie. She apologized for being a bitch and accusing me of ratting out her brother. Davey must have had a few words with her, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. She suggested we talk.

  I had two choices. I could tell her yes or tell her no. There was no “how about later” with Natalie. But I was sick and tired of walking on eggshells with her. Maybe I was too passive with her. Maybe the bedroom alpha needed to be more assertive with her in other situations.

  Tomorrow after work I replied.

  I assumed she meant right now, like she wanted to come over or wanted me to come over. But I was just too tired. I liked my alone time when my brain didn’t have to think. Sunday evenings were my down time before another week of work.

  She responded: Sure

  I waited for a second text to add on to it, but none came. I nodded my satisfaction and dropped my phone on the couch. “Yeahhhh, I’m a man and I make man decisions,” I praised myself.

  And then all I could think about was spiders when a thread from the throw blanket tickled my arm and I screamed like a little bitch.

  25

  I really didn’t want Natalie in my house so soon after all our ups and downs, so we met at Libby’s Bar. When I walked there from work, she was already in a booth.

  The same booth I’d sat in with Holly.

  I made my way over, motioning to the waitress at the same time. Jill knew me and knew what I liked to drink, so I sat across from Natalie who was already sipping on Jack and Coke.

  “Hey handsome,” she greeted me.

  “Hey there.” I paused and looked her over. Something was different. “You cut your hair?”

  She gave me a drab look. “A few weeks ago.”

  Yeah, stupid guy move. I think I commented on it then, too. But when she took a longer swig of her drink, I was able to put my finger on it. Normally when her eyelids closed, you’d see charcoal eyelids and long black lashes.

  She was void of that tonight.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked.

  “Why, because I’m not wearing makeup? Jesus, why do people automatically think I’m sick if I’m not wearing makeup?” She set her glass down a bit forcibly.

  I shut my mouth. Obviously I had the bitchy Nat tonight. When Jill brought my beer, I asked for a double shot of Crown because I knew I’d need it. I drank half my beer and watched whatever fucking game was on the big screen. Blue Jays and White Sox. Meh. Whatever.

  “So we’re going to just sit here together, drinking, while you watch a game?” she asked a minute later.

  “Mmhmm.” I deliberately stared at the TV and not her. I seriously wasn’t going to deal with her shit right now. “You wanted to talk, Natalie. Here I am.”

  “And you didn’t? You were perfectly fine with how everything ended?”

  “How you ended things? Yeah, I guess so. Because if you can’t stop yourself from flying off the handle for nothing, there’s nothing I can do about that. What do you expect me to say? I’m tired of the games. Can we just be done and move on? Friends or not friends, it doesn’t matter to me at this point.”

  She blinked at me with that ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look on her face. “It doesn’t matter?”

  I sighed. “Look. If you’re gonna drag me through nothing all the time, I really don’t see any point in putting each other through this. Okay? Yeah, Natalie, it doesn’t matter to me at this point. At least not until we can get through a damn week without a misunderstanding, an overreaction, a blowup, disappointment—”

  She slid out of the booth in one swift move. “Got it, Dane. When we float through life without having to talk about anything or make decisions, then I’m your girl. Loud and clear, buddy. Have a nice fucking life. When you find a girl who puts up with your constant indifference, let me know.” She turned on her heel to leave.

  “I have a date with her tomorrow night.” I couldn’t help it. Lately she’d brought out the worst in me.

  She slowed her retreat, but flipped me the bird over her shoulder and shoved through the exit.

  Fine. I could sit there by myself and drink for a bit. Madden joined me a bit later, and after the two shots and a second beer, I was a bit tipsy. I sat there and bitched about Natalie, though. He listened, but even drunk I knew he was just tolerating my soap opera complaints.

  I was seriously considering bachelorhood for the rest of my shit ass life.

  ***

  I’d already listened to Sinclair’s Monday segment on my way to work, but it got me thinking about my date with Sasha the next night. Sinclair had taken some dance classes over the weekend, and although she was a bit sore, she’d had a blast. I snidely attributed her soreness to possibly an out of shape body, but I knew even seasoned athletes discovered some new muscles from a dance session.

  But Sinclair remained a mystery. I still hadn’t messaged her back from the last email, either, and I knew I was putting it off. I was still interested in finding out who she was, but at the same time, my life with Davey and Emmet kept swirling around together and all of it made me uncomfortable.

  But back to Sasha. I wondered if she’d like to go dancing sometime. Nope, I was in no way a graceful man, but maybe I was a bit adventurous. And maybe I just like to be impressive. Yeah, that was pretty much it. Despite all of my indifference when it came to women—as Natalie pointed out—maybe I would go out of my way for the right one. It’s not like I was boring or even selfish, but I suppose the past few years had hardened me with disappointment. It was true that maybe I just didn’t care enough to show my more spectacular side.

  With Sasha, I kind of got the impression that she didn’t want to be impressed. Possibly that was sort of a way out for me, but the irony was a bit annoying. I had women constantly wanting my attention, and then when I find one I want to give a bit more of my effort to, she doesn’t really want it.

  Or maybe she just didn’t like to be disappointed either.

  Tuesday evening I made the decision to play it safe with Sasha. There were dozens of places I could choose for a date, but I told myself not to over think it. I didn’t want to go too casual with a sports bar, but I also wasn’t going to go for anything spectacular.

  I picked her up at her place at a quarter to seven. She lived in a nice townhouse in Portland Heights. I had a couple of friends who lived in that area, so I was somewhat familiar with it. She was ready to go when I knocked on the door, and since she’d texted me two hours prior to ask where we were going or what she should wear, she’d followed my suggestion to wear pants.

  I could see that fashion sense in her, though. Whether or not she followed in the footsteps of her mom, she still looked like a supermodel. She wasn’t overly dressed, which was perfect; black leggings with a pair of sandals and a sleeveless top. I wasn’t a guy who liked a lot of jewelry on a woman, so when I noticed she just had on a bracelet and pair of earrings, I mentally made another check mark in the “like” column.

  “You look beautiful,” I told her.

  Her smile was killer. “Thank you. You look grea
t yourself. And thank you for actually coming to the door.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  We walked to my truck and I held the passenger’s door open for her to climb in. “I guess I’m used to getting a text that says ‘I’m here.’”

  I scoffed as I shut the door for her and walked around the front to climb in myself. “That’s lame. You’re supposed to wait for the second date to do that.”

  She laughed and lightly swatted my arm. “Because it’s too hard to keep up appearances any longer?”

  “Exactly. Second date, you’re practically married. You can let yourself go.”

  She laughed again. I liked her laugh. It was cute, but not annoyingly cute. Like I can tell right away if a girl’s laugh is going to bug the shit out of me after a while. I didn’t feel that way about Sasha’s laugh.

  “I was curious about your parents,” she told me as I pulled away from her street. “I hope you don’t mind that I read up on the case. I could tell by how you mentioned it that there was something unusual with it.”

  “Yeah,” was all I answered.

  “Sounds like Hailey Holt didn’t get what she deserved.”

  I gave her a side-glance as I drove. It kind of unnerved me that she was so nosy about my parents’ accident, but at the same time, I could admit I would have done the same thing and looked into it. Also, it was sort of validation that she understood the case without me telling her my opinion. I’d always felt the facts were plain as day, but the court had decided otherwise.

  “I’m really sorry about the mess that came with it,” Sasha added. “It’s bad enough losing someone like that, but for there to be so much media and controversy with it… I’m sure that was hard.”

  I nodded my head. “Yeah, it was a nightmare.”

  To change the subject, I asked about her day as I headed down SW Vista Avenue. I’d made reservations at an amazing Moroccan restaurant in town. I had no idea if Sasha would like it or not. I had only asked if she had any diet restrictions.

  I was so glad she wasn’t a vegetarian.

  She was recapping what a normal day for her was. I’ll admit, I’ve never known a family lawyer. She vaguely spoke of the case she was preparing for and refrained from sharing confidential details. She admitted on average she spent about ten hours a day on her job.

  I tried not to let that bother me. I was a workaholic and was dating one as well? Okay, we weren’t exactly dating but…I’d been considering it during the drive. And when she exclaimed how excited she was about the restaurant I’d picked and that she was starving, it made me happy.

  But two workaholics married to their jobs…

  “So tell me about your job at Becker & Lewis,” Sasha said as we were seated on a pair of pillows with a small table between us. “I’ve always loved architecture.”

  I assumed she meant some of the amazing designs all over the world, so I answered, “Well…I’m a residential designer. I don’t do commercial or industrial. No fancy arches or bridges or any landmark designs, either. Just houses.”

  She studied me with a smile. “Well I think that’s awesome. And I’m sure it’s more than ‘just houses.’”

  Maybe I was being humble, but in my experience, it was better to start at the bottom and talk yourself up from there, not the other way around. And the fact that I was even thinking that had me wondering why it even mattered. When we’d gone out for sushi, we mostly talked about sports.

  “I do a bit of landscape design for those places, too,” I added. “It’s not something I ever planned on, but once you start designing more customized structures, people want their exterior surroundings to match as well.”

  “My aunt and uncle are extremely excited about their house. I mean I think it’s a bit pretentious, but I won’t hold that against you.”

  “I only gave them what they wanted.” I held my hands out matter-of-factly.

  She chuckled as our server brought drinks and we went through the routine of ordering. Sasha didn’t have anything in particular in mind, so I took the liberty of ordering their Royale. That way we got a bit of everything.

  “So do you work a lot of hours?”

  Her question caught me by surprise. She was sipping her mint tea as she waited for my answer.

  “Well…yeah, I do. A lot of it I can do at home, though.”

  “And how many hours a day do you put in?”

  I paused, just to wonder why she’d ask me that. But then again, she’d told me what her work schedule was like. Maybe she was also matching up our cons to deem us incompatible.

  “Sometimes I work about seventy-hour weeks,” I answered honestly.

  I took a drink of water. Not because I wanted it, but because it was less awkward that way while I watched her consider our unsuitability for each other.

  “Will it always be that way?” she asked. “Do you work a lot because it’s demanded of you or because you’re single and choose to?”

  Hmm. Good question. I don’t think I’d ever had a woman ask me that. And then the fact that she was older than me kind of crept into my head. Wiser. More experienced. Maybe I was the younger pawn she was planning to mold. Maybe I’d stepped into this situation not knowing her intentions with a younger guy. Maybe she was sizing up all the things she needed to change about me—

  “Dane?” she asked with a curious smile.

  I set down my glass of water and shrugged. “I work because I enjoy it. But yeah, a lot is asked of me—especially this past year. I guess I’ve established myself as a top designer at my firm.”

  She slightly nodded. “So a bit of both? Is that what you want? Or are there other things you’d like to pursue?”

  I finally got what she was leading into. She wanted to know if I’d always be tied down to my job instead of a family. I quickly weighed our earlier conversation about Sasha’s hours and how similar it had seemed to mine. “Well…right now I like how things are. I’m young and don’t have a family to spend time on, so yes, I’m a workaholic and probably will be for a while.”

  I watched her head bob up and down, slowly and deliberately, like she respected my answer but didn’t like it. I kind of took offense to that. What a hypocrite.

  “You work a lot of hours in a week,” I pointed out. “Because you enjoy it or because you’re single?”

  “Because I’m single,” she answered immediately. “A family is my top priority, and until I have that for myself, I’ll help others fix some of the messes they’ve made within their own.”

  Was that meant to be an insult? I wasn’t quick to react to it if it was. Our first round of food arrived and I studied that as a distraction. Sasha eagerly complimented how good it looked, and to be honest, I liked that she went straight for it. Maybe it’s a fetish of mine to watch a girl eat. Fetish is probably a strong word, but I didn’t know what else to call it. I honestly liked seeing a female enjoy eating food. To me, it was a lot like giving her an orgasm.

  The rest of our date flowed pretty effortlessly. And I think I figured out pretty quickly that Sasha didn’t like beating around the bush with people. Some might say that a person who speaks their mind is rude and abrupt, but I didn’t find her to be that way.

  Unless I was letting her looks cloud my judgment.

  By the end of dinner I asked, “Hey, you wanna head up with me to Seattle on Saturday for a Mariners game? Few of us are heading up, you can be my date.”

  She smiled, but instead of answering yes right away like I thought she would, she set her elbow on the table with her chin in her hand. “Hmm, is this a guy’s trip and I’m being added without their permission?”

  I kind of laughed at her candor. “Yeah, pretty much. But I don’t really care what they think. Nothing is set in stone and I’m the one who always takes care of getting the tickets. I’ll get one for my sister, too. She’ll be ecstatic.”

  “Well if it will make her day…” she joked. “I would love to but I can’t. I have a meeting that morning and can’t
miss it.”

  “It’s a seven p.m. game.”

  “Okay, then I’m in.”

  26

  “And you still haven’t slept with her?” Madden chuckled as he shook his head across from me. “Dude, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” I smiled before taking a swig of my beer. It was late on Friday night, and even though we could have gone out with guys from the firm, Madden and I headed for a pub in town. Chloe had been helping one of her friends with a charity fundraiser, and Paddy’s was a great bar that was always willing to donate proceeds.

  “So that’s what you’re shooting for?” Madden asked as he pointed to my sister and Chris. I knew what he meant. Chris was standing there at Chloe’s side, holding the roll of raffle tickets for her.

  I scoffed but laughed at the same time. “Come on, man. Those two have something special. If he’s a putz for loving my sister, then so be it.”

  Madden chuckled. “He’s not a putz but…”

  “Well you’re making fun of him for being her assistant. What, is that too inferior to you? Submissive?”

  “Well, submissive isn’t always that bad…”

  Shaking my head I said, “Shut your mouth. You talk a big game.”

  “I know. So get me Sinclair so I can man up.”

  “Yeah right. You’d probably make up some excuse as to why you can’t go out with her.”

  “I swear to God I wouldn’t. We can shake on it.” He held his hand out as proof.

  “You have absolutely no idea who this woman is, Madden. Do you realize the hundreds of possibilities? What are the chances that she is exactly how you have pictured in your head?”

  “Zero because no woman would match that.”

  I didn’t even want to ask, but maybe he wasn’t really being perverted. He kinda had a sad look to him.

  “What about that friend of Darius? What was her name… Amanda? Samantha? Tamara?”

  “Becky.” He practically rolled his eyes at me for being so far off.

  “Her name was Becky? …Anyway, she was pretty.”