“It’s an apple. For the teacher. Or a farmer. Or a grocer. It’s versatile,” Serena explained. The dollar sign for Natalie's banker was versatile, too, but if she wanted a banker, so be it.
“Or a cider distiller?” Rachel asked ominously.
Too late, Serena remembered that Sergei’s newest job was with a brewpub that made, among other things, its own cider. And he had green eyes.
“Never mind, there are plenty of other things the apple could mean,” Gillian assured her, keeping the peace for once. “William Tell, Johnny Appleseed, mayor of New York.”
Rachel harumphed, but kept rolling. Serena hoped Sergei hadn’t recently bought an SUV or a snake, either one.
Gillian's perfect man was a bald, hamster-owning, ball-playing, angel lover, which was an image that befuddled them all. And Serena scored the blue eyes and the pencil that could easily mean copywriter, while commenting, “Oops, a dog owner with a motorcycle? Not Dillon, then, alas.”
“Why do you look a little relieved?” Rachel asked, suspicious as always.
“I’m not relieved.”
“You are, a little.”
“She’s relieved about the pencil,” Gillian said.
“And the rocket ship,” Natalie smirked.
“Hey, hands off Dillon's rocket ship,” Serena said. “That baby’s all mine.”
“So why are you tossing dice with us instead of blasting off to the moon tonight, then?” Rachel asked. Serena shook her head. Her fortune teller hadn’t been the total distraction she’d hoped for after all.
“I told you, I wanted to burn Chris’s old t-shirts.”
“Sure, because an effigy is totally as much fun as blast off. Look, I have to go get Hannah from Mary Lynn’s in about thirteen minutes, so enough with the evasions, Serena, what’s the problem?”
Serena sighed. “You are relentless.”
“One of the many reasons you love me. Spill.”
“It’s not a big deal. And I really did want to see you all. But he spent the night last night, and this morning made one of those not-really-a-joke jokes about carpooling to work. So, I claimed I was going to be getting drunk with you tonight and not available for any more rocket ship fun times today.”
“Today?” Gillian jumped in. “Any more today?”
Serena really hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as her warm cheeks suggested. She bit her lip. “I was late for work, and you guys know how I hate being late for work. I figured this way I’d make it to work on time tomorrow. So I said about drinks, and then I had to fix the lie, because blah blah whatever you’re going to tell me about communication, Gillian, and don’t pretend you weren’t, so thanks all of you for getting sloshed on short notice.” She clinked her wine glass against the other three before draining it. “See, not a big deal.”
“Sure, for those of us having rocket ship fun times every morning,” Rachel agreed. “Oh, wait, that’s only you. And you did lie. And I am happy to be a party to it, because now I know about Gill’s bald ballplayer, but remember that whatever speech Gill is about to give you after I leave is right, you are starting something new here and starting out with the little lies doesn’t exactly spell happily ever after for you two.”
“Wait, who said anything about happily ever after?”
Natalie reached for her wrist and squeezed it. “You want happily ever after, remember? That’s why we call it a Forever Man game. That’s why we got you a house with room for a spouse and even a baby?”
“Even if I do—and that is not why I got my house, for the record—it doesn’t mean I want him moving in after the second weekend together.”
“So tell him that,” Gillian said. “Go on, Rachel, we’ve got this,” she added, accepting her kiss as Rachel made the good-bye rounds. “Dillon sounds like a reasonable guy. Tell him you don’t want him to move too fast, enjoy the whole spaceship thing, and when he gets a dog, make sure it’s trained to stay off your furniture, because if it sheds on your upholstery you’re going to be irritated.”
Serena knew they were right. She’d even tried to protect herself by talking to Dillon about going too fast when they were at the Italian place. And she didn’t need Gillian's lecture about open communication to know that she’d handled that morning badly. She helped herself to more crudités and sank into Natalie's plush sofa. “Fine. I’ll go with the dang flow and not get my back up about his pacing. Besides, have I mentioned that I could have rolled every number for that Sexytimes column and not been exaggerating?”
“Go, Rocket Man,” Natalie said. “You’re a lucky woman.”
“Your tiger is out there, Natalie. I know he is. I’ll help you find him,” Gillian said. “And if you end up with a client who needs space for his giant hamster habitat in his new home, give me a call, will you?”
Serena pulled them both close beside her on the sofa and dropped her head back, smiling to the core. “Whatever else you want to say about me, at least I have the best friends ever.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Did you see this?” Dillon stood in Serena’s office door, a printout thrust towards her. Her heart jumped a bit, which she attributed to surprise at seeing him so suddenly (so gorgeously; the bristle was back, the hair was mussed, the blue ocean eyes were just a little narrowed) in her office door. It was the first time she’d seen him in a couple of days, and they’d only been able to spend one night together the previous weekend, and damn but she’d been thinking about him a lot. She wondered if his mouth would taste of apples and coffee, then stopped herself and reached for the paper he held.
* * *
April 1, 9:07 AM
From: Emily Wright
To: Dillon Hamilton, Serena Colby
CC: Anica Sands
Re: Workplace Relationships
Hello, Dillon and Serena,
It has come to my attention that the two of you may have a personal relationship that goes beyond the parameters of mere friendship.
In accordance with the workplace harassment seminar you both attended on Monday, March 30, and due to Serena’s position of authority over Dillon, it is my duty to inform you that Dillon is required to provide a written statement about his subservience to Serena and affirming that he has entered into this relationship of his own accord and not because he was coerced in any way. In addition, Serena must provide a written statement guaranteeing that she will not use her working authority over others to promote or favor Dillon due to any personal, as opposed to professional, accomplishments he may have engaged in with her.
Please provide these statements to me by lunchtime today via return email.
Thank you,
Emily Wright
Head of Human Resources
Lanigan Printing and Advertising
* * *
Serena scanned, reread, turned to her own computer to see the same message there, then looked across at Dillon, who’d sat in her guest chair.
“I don’t remember anything along those lines from her seminar,” he said.
“No.” Serena thought it over, and also remembered the conversation with Janice over smoothies. “There’s definitely no rule against dating. Definitely. But is there some sort of disclosure rule we didn’t know about?”
Dillon shrugged. “I don’t remember anything like that.”
She looked back at her screen, double-clicking to open the full message in front of her. And then she saw it. “Come here,” she gestured, then when he was leaning over her (a whiff of soap, and one of coffee), right clicked on Emily’s name to open the address properties. “He changed his outgoing name, but not his reply-to address.”
It was Eddie. Dillon closed his eyes and muttered, “Idiot,” before moving back a little to perch on the edge of her desk. Serena felt deliciously trapped between his body and the wall, and swiveled so her shoulder met his leg. “It’s even April Fool’s Day, and I didn’t suspect him for a second.” He ran a hand through his hair then let it rest on the edge of the desk over hers.
She grinned. “So now we’d better reply.”
He grinned back.
In the end, she wrote that her outside relationship with Dillon showed that he worked very well in group situations and that he had an admirable attention to detail, but that she’d known about those qualities before they’d begun their “intensely personal” relationship and it would not therefore be the reason she was recommending he be the one to accompany her on an overnight trip to the Blue Capri B&B instead of Eddie from Sales, who, yes, got the account to start with, but who wouldn’t be nearly so good at pleasing the customer, if her experience was anything to go by.
Dillon's reply was, “I’ve been engaged in a long-standing affair with a superior’s wife for months now, and we are hoping to have a child together soon. Since this is likely to hurt my standing with management, I started a relationship with Serena to balance out my chances of advancement. She’s not coercing me, but I am willing to use whatever HR language you can provide to ensure that this all works out in my favor.”
He hit ‘send’ on his phone, and Serena did on her desktop, and they sat back and waited for Eddie’s explosion.
“So. Galveston?”
Serena nodded. “I do need to do a site visit. And it would make so very much sense if I was there for the breakfast part of their bed and breakfast.”
“Not to mention the bed part.”
“Well, I want to be thorough.”
“Sure. You’re very dedicated.”
“Gotta show Anica how capable I am of directing the entire course of the project.”
“Eddie would just get in the way of that. Whereas I could be inspired by the décor, the atmosphere, the location. My copy would be so evocative, so winning. Blue Capri would be impressed.”
“And here at Lanigan Printing and Advertising,” Serena said, taking a furtive moment to lay her cheek against his thigh and look up at him, “our mission is to impress our clients.”
Dillon inhaled deeply, but didn’t banter back, caught up in gazing into her grey eyes, noting the way her breath stirred the air against his trousers. The easiest thing in the universe would be to shift over a little, arrange it so he straddled her, that mouth of hers breathing on his inner thigh. Higher. Sweet glossy peach lips opening for him, tongue darting forward.
Serena licked her lips and he moaned softly. She closed her eyes briefly and reluctantly—it was reluctantly, wasn’t it?—lifted her head away from the hard tense muscle of his leg. She looked at his thigh, followed the line up to the bulge of his crotch, which jumped visibly as she gazed. She smiled. His moan was a little less soft.
“Well, I’m going to get a hell of a lot done today,” he muttered, standing up.
“Same here, Rocket Man,” she grumbled back.
Double-take. “You—who? Rocket Man?”
“Never mind. Irrelevant. Lunch?”
Dillon moved back to the safety of her office door. “Lunch. Definitely lunch.” With a fierce grin that probably told her too much of the wolfish desires he had for lunchtime, he headed back to his own desk. There was a stickie note from Eddie on his monitor. “Dumbass.” Dillon laughed, made a two-point shot with it, and tried to get through a few items on his to-do list without thinking about Serena and his cock.
The next days were smooth. Friendly. Fun. Funny. They caught a Rockets-Lakers game on Dillon's big screen TV, and by special request Serena wore her #34 jersey. Sometime in the final quarter she lost her bra. Dillon figured he could close his eyes at any moment for the rest of his life and picture the globes of her breasts glimpsed through the armholes, her nipples puckering beneath the thin polyester mesh as she sat beside him, his right arm hooked over her shoulder. Then moving, her barely-clad backside nestled against his crotch, his hands roaming her thighs, stomach, chest. His chin over her shoulder, drawing his gaze away from the fast breaks on the screen to memorize the peaks getting tighter and tighter as they were abraded by the fabric. The Lakers were playing rough, but by then they were, too. Maybe Serena caught a few moments as he held her hips, lifting her then pulling her gorgeous ass back as he thrust into her, her hands braced on his knees and her back arched and her toes pointed to the floor and she rode him and he stretched his legs apart to further open her up to his full hard length as maybe people cheered LA’s win from the sound system but all he could hear was his heart pounding in the rhythm of her name over and over and over.
There were other nights, at her place, at his. Out with friends. Yes, even carpooling, and the first time she suggested it Dillon felt a tiny moment of triumph he tried hard not to show. Of course she noticed, but she just laughed and admitted what he’d already guessed: that first morning, she’d invented plans with her friends because she was a little freaked by how fast they’d been moving. They were still moving fast. Well, not fast for him, but he suspected fast for her.
She was handling it, though. No more instructions about not racing ahead of her pace. An expectation that they’d have lunch together unless one of them was off-site or sweating with coworkers. A weekend of indoctrination during which she actually sat through hours of Ridley Scott movies with him, although she refused any Star Trek movies with the wrong-headed notion that she already knew through cultural osmosis everything she’d ever need to know about it, or Star Wars either.
“Come on, that can’t be true. These are vast worlds and complex franchises we’re talking about here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rich backstories. Narrative arcs that stretch over decades. A hierarchy of excellence. You can’t know everything. Which Star Fleet Captain is the best?”
“Jon-Luc Picard. Because Kirk is a sexist and Janeway—well, I can’t remember why not Janeway. But I know there is a Janeway, so there.”
“Picard likes Shakespeare.”
“Another good reason he’s the best. Make it so.”
Dillon whistled. “You’ve never watched any of it?”
She shrugged. “Never say never. I must have seen a bit in the dorms, or at least parodies on The Simpsons, but no, I never watched the shows. I would recognize either a Jedi or a Vulcan if I saw one on the street, and also whatever kind of creatures those little fuzzy Chewbaccas are, so I’m good.”
“Just when I thought you were too good to be true,” Dillon laughed. “I come to find out that you can’t tell a Wookie from an Ewok. This is seriously depressing.”
She stole a handful of his fries. “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Rocket Man. I’ll just fall off and skin my knee.”
“I’ll kiss it better. You’re never going to tell me why you call me that, are you?”
“Because you like science fiction, of course.”
“So, it’s an insult?”
Serena’s look was not entirely appropriate for their public setting. “Nope.”
He arched an eyebrow at her, but she just turned her attention to the window boxes outside the restaurant. “It looks like it’ll be a good year for bluebonnets.”
“Oh, that reminds me. It’s Tobias’s second-month birthday this week.”
“Bluebonnets remind you of your nephew?”
“Well, his eyes are awesomely blue, you’ll see when you meet him.”
“Chip off the old block,” she said, studying his own blue eyes for a happy moment. “But why the wildflowers?”
“On Saturday, if the weather’s still good, they’re wanting to drive out to Washington County to get a picture of the baby in the fields.” There were several grassy roadside areas and pastures along the freeway from Houston to the Texas Hill Country that were regularly seeded with the state flower. People flocked to them with their spring-dressed kids to pose in the picturesque expanses of blue and green, and since Justin had decided a passel of new camera equipment was vital to his role as Toby’s father, he wasn’t going to let anything so iconic pass him by. “I said I’d go with so I can take some family photos, and we’re going to stop at Big Daddy’s BBQ for lunch. Do you want to come?”
It was a b
rief pause. Hardly noticeable, if he hadn’t seen her fork freeze midair. Damn. He pretended not to see, and she pretended to take a little long to swallow her bite of salad, and he just waited for her answer.
“Saturday?”
“Yep,” he aimed for casual. “Toby’s been napping late mornings, so the idea is to set off around ten, ten-thirty, let him sleep in the car. Shannon’s trying to get the whole routine of getting out of the house down, but her timing is still imprecise.”
Serena nodded. “I can imagine. Rachel said the other day how amazing it was to take Hannah out to dinner with only the items she already had in her purse. Of course, her purse is a bottomless pit of crackers and toy cars and wipes, but it was still a triumph.”
“I’ll tell Justin and Shannon there’s still hope. Or you can. What do you say, are you up for a good sliced brisket sandwich and some baby blues?”
“It sounds like I’d be crowding them. All of us in the car together, and they’ve never met me. I can just go to the farmers market and meet you at your place afterwards. I’ll make you one of my famous salads.”
Don’t push, Dillon cautioned himself. “They offered. They want to meet you. But if you’d rather not, it’s no problem. You’d be missing some amazing barbecue, though, just so you know.”
After a moment, Serena squared her shoulders, and nodded. “Make it so.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Serena changed clothes more times than she had the night they’d gone out for their first dinner. Bloody bloody ridiculous—she was who she was, and if Dillon's family didn’t like her, no well-matched accessories were going to make it better. Besides, if they didn’t like her, they could go jump in a lake. Well, not the baby. He was allowed to dislike her all he wanted.
She paused, two white t-shirts in her hands. What if the baby disliked her? She put back the silk tee and pulled on the cotton one with the scalloped edge. If he spat up on her after a furious spate of crying because she exuded some sort of anti-Toby vibes, at least she could wash it.
Rocket Man Page 26
