Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  Speaking of firm. He texted Serena asking which skirt she was wearing, just to rile her up. Only fair to make her squirm, since the one thing not slow about their relationship was how fast he got hard with her. And how she liked it fast, and hard. And slow. Achingly slow. He would use the stubble on Serena, rasp his way up her thighs, soothe the burn with his mouth while he discovered what was under whichever skirt she wore.

  Before he left for work, he stuck a condom in his wallet.

  Just in case she was wearing one of his favorite skirts.

  Serena replied to Dillon's morning text while sitting in the parking lot, checking her appearance in the little visor mirror and mentally running over The Plan.

  After breakfast turned to brunch then to lunch over the course of a long lazy Sunday morning, she’d sent Dillon on his way so she could do all the weekend things. Laundry and groceries and mopping the floors. Tying back the little snow pea vines that were already sprouting up all over her trellis. Napping. And she’d banished the idiot grin quite a few times in the process, though each time she then caught herself singing along with her ‘Back in the Saddle’ extended playlist.

  Still, Serena had managed to come up with The Plan. Taking into account his determination to be up front about their status seemed only fair. Besides, it was increasingly difficult to hide it from Janice, or anyone really. So she’d floated the idea of drinks with Janice and Eddie and Jorge after work, which Dillon had quickly approved of. Too quickly? No, didn’t matter, he was in with The Plan. And as long as he knew drinks were on the horizon, he would surely be okay with the rest of The Plan. That part she hadn’t quite explicated to him, but it wasn’t so bad. It was just that they’d be friendly, like usual, and do their jobs, like usual, and maybe have lunch together, which wasn’t that usual. And not touch or hug or kiss or play footsie or make eyes at each other or any of those things that weren’t exactly usual between coworkers. Not at Lanigan. As far as the mutual touching was concerned, out to lunch was okay, traveling together to a job site was okay, after work was great, and at home was amazing.

  Serena took a fortifying breath and reminded herself that Dillon had been fine with going slow. She probably didn’t even need to tell him about The Plan. Or if she did, she probably—no, definitely—didn’t need to refer to it as The Plan.

  It was time to go to work.

  By the time they all hit Mudlark’s and settled in with a pitcher and a bowl of nuts, Serena wasn’t much thinking straight. Oh, not because of The Plan. All of that had gone great. Dillon had been quite gentlemanly, and if she hadn’t known better she’d have thought he’d somehow accessed the notes on her phone where she’d, maybe not so wisely, laid it all out. She’d have to delete that.

  The problem was Anica. Or herself. Or some sort of intersection between the two of them. She didn’t know where the wires had been crossed, because Anica had said quite clearly that Serena was to step up on hospitality and tourism jobs. And if Houston Green didn’t fit in that category, she didn’t know what did. And even leaving out any issues of power and authority and whether she should have been able to get the feedback directly from the client, Serena’s proposed logo was brilliant. It kicked ass, and she knew it. Anica had to know it, too. But if she’s stood up for it to the Houston Green people, Serena sure hadn’t heard it. Or even heard about it. Instead all Serena got was a barely sensible critique and nothing concrete regarding another direction.

  So screw that. Anica must be either testing her or throwing her to the wolves, which amounted to the same thing in practice but varied widely in intent. Trouble was, should she fight Anica to preserve her logo first, or lobby for a clearer definition of her role on this account? Both needed doing. But if this was a deliberate attempt on Anica’s part to test Serena’s power position, she should go after definition first. If it was instead one of those frustrating times when Anica let pandering to the client overrule her employee’s experience about the direction of the job, she should go after her logo’s integrity first.

  Noticing her distracted sigh, Dillon reached for Serena’s hand across the table. “Hey, something wrong?”

  Well, that was a warm feeling. Serena smiled gratefully. “I don’t know. Well, that’s not true—I know something’s wrong. Anica’s being a tool about my HouGreen logo, which is completely unwarranted. I just don’t know if she’s dumping on me to see me fight back or if she doesn’t know what they want so she’s throwing the confusion my way.”

  Dillon squeezed her hand. “Rough one. What does your gut say?”

  She shook her head. “My gut? Is divided. Which frankly is bad for my digestion.”

  Eddie laughed. Dillon blinked a little, like he’d forgotten their friends were sitting right next to them, and released her hand. She moved it back to her lap and added, “I’m pretty sure it’s more to do with her own lack of direction but if I go in guns blazing about the logo and instead she’s looking for me to be more assertive about overall issues, she’ll ding me on the promotion. I don’t think this is one of her little tests, but knowing Anica—well, I just can’t be sure.”

  “I don’t suppose you could just ask her which one?” Dillon suggested, but Janice and Eddie shook their heads as quickly as Serena did.

  “If she’s testing Serena,” Janice said, “the last thing Serena should do is mention it.”

  Eddie nodded in agreement.

  Dillon shrugged. “Okay, then, what I said before. Go with your gut. You know the logo is good, and unless she tells you exactly why it’s not good, or suitable, whatever, then act the same way you would if there was no promotion in the picture. Pretend it was me in this situation. I’d stand up for my work. Maybe standing up for it would help my future at Lanigan, maybe it wouldn’t, but if I knew the work was solid, standing up for it would only show me to good advantage in the end, right?”

  Serena closed her mouth double-time. It had temporarily escaped her brain that if—when—she got the full promotion, she would be on the same level as Eddie and Janice, leaving Dillon a ladder-rung below. Maybe she should cool it with the analysis of the best way to achieve her promotion, in case Dillon felt slighted? But, no, then she would be doing some throwback Quiet Little Woman bullshit. She’d gotten this opportunity through her damn good and hard work, and if Dillon, or Jorge for that matter, both of whom were younger, and had less seniority at Lanigan, were bothered by her success, screw them. Dillon should be happy to talk this kind of thing through with her. He said go with her gut, and her gut said not to censor herself. If that was a problem for him, he could just get over it.

  She met his clear, friendly gaze and softened a little. It didn’t seem, right at that moment, like he had any problems with her at all. Well, then. Good.

  “If it helps at all,” Eddie said, pulling her gaze away, “I can tell you that Kenzi and Goldman both sent emails this afternoon, and they clearly hadn’t collaborated on their responses. They may not have spoken to each other at all. Or read the same bid request to start with, for that matter.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Dillon's foot found hers, nudged closer. Their calves intertwined, and Serena smiled. Things were looking better already.

  “Thanks, Eddie. That helps a lot.” She smiled and refilled her glass, then offered the pitcher round. When Dillon took it from her, he squeezed her hand again.

  “Toots?”

  Serena looked over at Janice. “Yeah?”

  Janice just arched her skinny eyebrows and gazed at her.

  “What?”

  Dillon laughed. “I have a feeling Janice is alluding to us.”

  “Us?”

  Now his eyebrow raised, too, and something in his expression made Serena blush fiercely.

  “Toots! And other Toots! Well, well, well. This is a new scent on the wind.”

  Serena pulled her eyes off Dillon to take in Janice’s smirk. “So, Dillon and I wanted to tell you guys.” She faltered. Tell them what? They were dating? A co
uple? Together? You’d think that somewhere in The Plan would be some sort of definition she could pull out at times like this, but, nope. She’d failed to include that little detail.

  Dillon spoke up. “We’re seeing each other.”

  “A lot of each other?” Janice asked, all mock-innocence.

  “Hush, you,” Serena said, though her blush spoke for itself.

  She glanced over at the guys to see how they were taking the news, and tried not to let her heart sink any at Eddie’s fairly stunned expression. Jorge was smiling quietly, but Eddie looked gobsmacked. Was it really so unlikely? She was only a few years older than Dillon, and according to her Pros/Cons list, they had a good amount in common.

  But then Eddie turned to Dillon. “I didn’t think you’d ever go for it. Hang on, I have to send a text to Mags. Damn, I owe her a foot rub now, she was sure you’d get your ass in gear.”

  “You guys had a bet on us?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’ll bet Mags on anything. When I win, I get,” he glanced up at Serena and Janice, then leered at Dillon, “and when she wins, she gets a foot rub. And she likes my foot rubs. A lot. So she expresses her appreciation. I bet that woman about the sun rising in the east if she wants.”

  Dillon snorted, but just rolled his eyes.

  As Eddie put the phone back in his pocket he added, “But I thought I had this one in the bag. ‘It’s been weeks,’ I told her. ‘All he’s gonna do is moon over her. Ain’t never going to make a move.’ But Mags said no, said she had a sixth sense about it. She said that’s why you skipped out on burgers on Friday, both of you. And damned if she wasn’t right. Good for you, man.”

  Dillon’s head was down as he made himself busy picking the pecans from the nut bowl, barely looking at her, but the tips of his ears were red. Serena was torn between a slightly smug pleasure and a hint of alarm that Eddie and Magnolia had been speculating about them.

  Janice pressed for details, some of which Serena shared over the next round, until she was interrupted by Eddie’s sing-song, “Serena and Dillon/sitting in a tree/K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Luckily, Dillon shoved into his shoulder to stop him before it got any worse.

  “I just got a text from your wife.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah?” Serena chimed in.

  He flashed her a quick grin before reading aloud. “‘Does this mean I have to look elsewhere for my Baby Daddy? Be happy, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’”

  Jorge laughed.

  Eddie scowled and snatched the phone from Dillon, grumbling as he read, “You can find her in my bed, that’s where you can find her. Except you can’t find her there, cause I won’t let you look.”

  “I’m not looking, man.”

  Eddie’s fingers kept flying over the keyboard, heedless.

  “Hey, Eddie,” Dillon said. He reached for Serena’s hand, didn’t let go this time. “I’m done looking. I’ve found.”

  Dillon lifted a hand in farewell as Jorge, Eddie, and Janice headed off to their respective homes a bit later. That had been fun. Eddie was such a dumbass, really, but Magnolia and he fit together in an unexpected and rather sweet way. It made Eddie’s boorishness bearable. He drained his beer and suggested to Serena that they grab some dinner.

  She smiled easily at him. “There’s a decent Thai place a few blocks from me. I could call in an order and we could get it and eat at my house.”

  Dillon stood, offering a hand to Serena as she slid out of the booth and into his arms. “I love Thai. How about if I stop at my place, grab a nice bottle of white I have there?”

  “And?”

  “And, if you don’t mind, I could grab a change of clothes, too?” He watched her expression as he made the suggestion. She was a little more skittish than he’d anticipated. Still worried about moving too fast, whatever that really meant. Not like he was packing up his townhouse and putting her address on his driver’s license. It seemed normal to him that they’d spend nights together, getting to know this side of their relationship. And the sex was mind-bending. It was only sensible to have as much mind-bending sex as possible.

  Serena seemed to agree, anyway, leaning her torso into his, wrapping her arms over his shoulders in a way that did quite excellent things to the press of her breasts against his chest. “Dinner and a sleepover sounds great. You like peanut sauce?”

  “Love it.”

  “Satay? Lab gai? What kind of curry?”

  “Perfect. Green curry. And basil rice if they have it.”

  They walked out to the parking lot, Serena calling in their choices. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” she said, pausing by her car door. “But it takes less than fifteen to get there.”

  The woman was amazing. “Oh, we can’t have you getting bored. Come here. I’ll try to entertain you for at least seven minutes.”

  She laughed. He loved that low chuckle. He didn’t hear it in public very often, so that made it special for him. “Seven minutes in heaven. How very junior high.”

  “When I get that wine we can play spin the bottle.”

  “When we get to my bedroom we can play doctor.”

  He nuzzled the sweet spot below her ear. “I like the way you think.”

  “Make a good plan and stick with it, I always say.”

  So that’s what they did.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Serena woke up humming. It didn’t take her long to identify what had stimulated her, and she rolled over to pull herself up tight against Dillon's long frame. He groaned a little and peered at the clock.

  “What time do you call this?”

  “7:22. Also known as getting up time.”

  He pulled her head down onto his shoulder and covered his eyes with the other arm. “Getting up time is 8:30.”

  “Being at work time is nine.”

  “Yep. Ten minutes to shower and dress, ten to eat an apple and find my crap, ten minutes to drive. Therefore, 8:30.”

  Serena sat up and took in his rumpled, groggy face. It was clear that he wasn’t even joking much. It was pretty damn cute how disgruntled he was. “Okay, your way might work. For you. I don’t have any apples, though, so after I’m dressed I’m going to enjoy a cup of tea while I make an omelet with a few fresh herbs, which I will eat while catching the news and checking my email.”

  Dillon just made a throat noise that could have meant he was impressed with her energy but had no plans to join her, or could have meant he was going back to sleep for an hour and thought she was simply insane. Serena laughed.

  “You could try it my way, just this once. You might like it.”

  He hmmmmed again.

  “All right. I’ll tell you what. I’m getting up now.” She matched actions to words, setting his roving hand firmly aside, “And if you change your mind, I’ll be in the shower for the next little bit. Warm, naked, wet, and soapy. But it’s your call!”

  She was almost out of the shower before he joined her, but that was okay. They had time. Still, it didn’t escape her notice that Dillon was rather slumped and monosyllabic as he sat at her kitchen island turning an orange over and over in one hand while she put her electric kettle on and rinsed some fresh-snipped chives. So he wasn’t a morning person. Over the weekend it hadn’t been an issue—they’d slept in, enjoyed being in bed in the morning, had no schedules to meet. But work was work, work had a start time, and Serena liked to feel fully inhabited in herself before stepping through the doors at Lanigan.

  Well, The Plan didn’t particularly call for them spending work mornings together. It didn’t prohibit it either, but clearly this was something she should consider adding. The morning sex was nice, maybe a little lazy on his part, but was the tiptoeing afterwards worth it? The grimace he hadn’t hidden by the time she looked around from putting the morning news show on loud enough to hear over her stove vent made her feel she was violating his mental space.

  In case she was being too critical about the fact that he was, after all, disrupting her morning
routine as much as she was disrupting his, Serena found a fond smile to send Dillon's way and lifted two mugs off her cup hooks.

  “Tea?”

  “Eh?”

  “Do you want some tea? I have—well, you saw. A hundred flavors.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” Dillon headed back to the bedroom, socked feet sliding across the hardwoods.

  “Huh.” Serena set down his mug and made her own tea, then took a spatula from a paint can on her island. She’d etched two clean paint cans with a swirly abstract pattern that echoed the florals of her curtains. One held a variety of kitchen utensils—spoons, tongs, spatulas, masher—and the other a selection of pens and markers. She kept a couple sizes of sketchpads in one slot of the plate rack, and loved to perch on her cane stool in the afternoons, sipping at a warm mug of licorice tea and drawing. Maybe she should have made time for that over the weekend. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so antsy about Dillon's morning moodiness.

  He returned, half-lifting a familiar looking jar of coffee crystals at her. She wondered briefly if Joey had ever found his own stash of the stuff, but then dismissed thoughts of her ex and focused on what her present guy was saying. “I’m not normally an instant coffee person, but I read some reviews about this stuff and figured it would be worth a try. You don’t even have a coffeemaker, right?” He wrapped himself around her and rested his head on her shoulder as she shook her head, bemused.

  “I’ve heard that’s a good brand, actually. And it’s fair trade.”

  “Well, then, it should fit right in if I leave it here. If you don’t mind. I should have thought to get apples, too.”

  Apples? Plural apples?

  But he was kissing her neck, and apparently he hadn’t thought to pack his razor, either. His stubble scraped her nape and she shivered back into his hold, tension seeping away with each graze of his lips against her shoulders. Maybe she’d been getting a little tetchy herself. Too inflexible about her routine. The Plan could go un-amended, for now.