“I'm miserable,” Kimmy declared when she walked into Xandra's office early Monday morning.
“No date?”
“I had a date, all right. A fourth date with Theodore.”
“That explains it then. You're in sex withdrawal.”
“Oh, it's not withdrawal. We've had sex already. Great sex. Awesome sex. Sex without Mabel.” She sighed. “I think I may be falling in love.”
“Just because you had great sex doesn't mean you're falling in love. Your hormones are buzzing, which creates a feeling of well-being and happiness.” That's what she'd told herself since Beau had left her place early Sunday morning, after the most intense night of her life. For the past twenty-four hours, she'd avoided him. Easy considering he hadn't so much as called to say “Thanks” or “It was great” or “Can we do it again?”
As if he regretted saying those three little words that kept echoing in her head.
“I take it back,” Kimmy told her after several long, silent moments. “I don't think I'm falling in love.”
“That's my girl. Don't get caught up in the entire sexual zing.”
“I'm already in love. He's goofy and dorky and he isn't even that great in bed, but when he looks at me I feel this electricity anyway.”
“It's called chemistry.”
“And when he touches me, I feel like I'm going up in flames.”
“It's called lust.”
“And when he told me that he couldn't date a girl who was so materialistic, I gathered up my Prada purses and my Anne Klein pumps and I donated them to the Star of Hope mission.”
“It's called delirium.” Xandra eyed her assistant. “You're kidding, right?”
“Thanks to me there's now a homeless woman pushing a grocery cart down Montrose with a hot pink Fendi bag hanging on her shoulder.”
“I hate Fendi,” Albert said as he walked in with a box of Orgasma samples packaged in various colors with the new logo across the front. “Too pretentious.”
“If you were female, you would understand,” Kimmy said. “Pretentious is the point.”
“Speaking of pretentious,” Albert handed Xandra the box. “I think the whole packaging concept for Orgasma needs to be more classy. Tasteful. Pretentious. We're selling the Lexus of sexual enhancement products. Not a souped-up Mustang with a killer sound system. We're emphasizing quality orgasm, so the packaging should say quality product.”
“I agree.” She peered at the neon wrapping. “This looks too cute. Get with Stacey and go over some cost-effective alternatives. Maybe miniature satin bags that look like sachets or some such.”
“I'll get with her right away.”
“I bet you will,” Kimmy said, a knowing smile on her face.
Albert frowned. “I hate office gossip.”
“Gossip is stuff that gets repeated. I didn't hear gossip. I saw Stacey memo you less than a half hour ago saying that she was headed home to a shower and that she expected you to join her since you promised to scrub her back.”
“You read my memo.”
“I accidentally read your memo. I was in your office dropping off the new department supply sheets and there it was on top of your desk. In plain sight. Once I accidentally pushed a few papers aside.”
“A back scrub, huh?” Xandra eyed Albert.
He shrugged. “Okay, so we're having sex now, but only because we're two needy people who just happen to get along physically.”
“It's just sex, as in the loosest, most twisted definition of the word, right?” Xandra eyed him.
“We don't even like each other. It's just sex.”
“And bowling,” Kimmy piped in.
“It's just sex and bowling. End of story,” Albert said before snatching up the box and marching out.
“Enjoy your shower,” Xandra called after him before turning back to Kimmy. Her smile died as she eyed her assistant. “Are you okay?”
“I don't know. I mean, I feel great. A little shell-shocked that after all this time and so many men, I could have found The One.” She laughed—a warm, delighted sound that mirrored the rush of joy Xandra had felt on Friday night when Beau had made his declaration. “Can you believe I've actually fallen for Theodore, of all people. Even more, I'm happy about it. Ecstatic. Can you believe that?”
Xandra smiled as she thought about Beau, and the fact that she missed him and wanted to see him even more than she wanted to start in on the new vibrator design for next season. “Stranger things have happened.”
Namely, Xandra Farrel falling hard and fast for the one man in her past she'd vowed never to fall for ever again. She was hopelessly, desperately in “like” with Beau Hollister.
And love?
She forced the question aside. She didn't know, she only knew that she liked him. She truly liked him, and he liked her. He loved her, or so he'd said.
So why hadn't he called?
He's waiting for you to make the next move.
Maybe. And maybe he'd changed his mind. Or maybe he'd simply said the words in the heat of the moment and he hadn't really meant anything by them.
If he really loved her, he would call.
He didn't love her.
Xandra made the decision on Friday afternoon as she finished her work and packed up her briefcase. She'd never been one to sit around and wait for something to happen, and now she knew why.
She'd waited all week for his phone call. And worried. And agonized. She was this close to going off the deep end and calling him herself, regardless of the outcome. Better to hear him tell her in no uncertain terms that it was over and to get lost. At least then she would know for sure and she could stop hoping and fantasizing that he was going to show up and whisk her up into his arms in a scene straight out of An Officer and a Gentleman.
At the same time, the thought terrified her.
Then again…
Her thoughts were about to start another push-pull when Albert walked in.
“Here's the new package sample.”
She took the small white satin bag that was tied with a matching ribbon. The word “Orgasma” had been imprinted on the satin in pink calligraphy. She smiled. “This looks great. You did a great job.”
“It wasn't me. I mean, it was me. I had the initial idea, but it was Stacey who brought the concept to life.” As if his words had conjured her, the door opened and she peeked in.
“I hate to hurry you up, but we're already fifteen mintues late. We promised your parents we would be at their place for dinner no later than six.”
“Give me a few seconds.”
She smiled and waved to Xandra before closing the door.
“You two are having dinner with your parents,” Xandra said as Albert turned back to her. “But I'm sure it doesn't mean anything, right?”
Albert didn't frown this time. Instead, he shrugged. “Actually, it does. Stacey could be it. The One.”
“But you guys don't have anything in common. You said so yourself.”
“I know. That's the thing. We don't like the same things and we argue about everything, from who bowls a better strike to how long she should be on top during sex, but that's what makes it fun. She keeps me stirred up. Excited. Alive.” He smiled and shook his head. “I thought I was too old to feel this way, but here I am feeling like a teenager with his first girlfriend. Crazy, huh?”
“Yes, and I think the condition's contagious.” Xandra felt the same way when she was with Beau. Even worse, she felt the same way when she just thought about him.
Albert's gaze met hers. “You mean you and Beau Hollister?”
She nodded. “I can't stop thinking about him, but he hasn't called and I want to call him, but I don't know if I should and if I do, I'm not really sure what to say because I'm not really sure what I feel, if it's the same as what he feels or if it's just—” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. You don't need to hear any of this right now. You've got someone waiting for you.”
He glanced at the door, then back to her. “I can
't leave you like this.”
“You can and you will.” She squared her shoulders. “I'll be fine.”
“You need a friend.”
“I don't need a friend. I need Beau.” The words were out before she could stop them. “Ohmigod, did I just say that?” She shook her head. “I did. I just said I needed him, and it didn't feel creepy or weird. It felt good.” Her gaze met Albert's. “It felt right. I need him. I love him.”
She'd said it. What's more, she felt it deep in her bones.
“I really love him.”
“That's great, Xandra. There's just one problem.”
“What's that?”
“You're telling the wrong person. You should tell him.”
“I think I just might do that.” She smiled and reached for the phone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beau didn't answer his cell phone.
Not when Xandra called him from her office, or at the first red light en route home, or when she stopped at an intersection just shy of her neighborhood. She left him messages each time asking him to call her—she couldn't say the “L” word in a message, for heaven's sake. Gathering her briefcase and purse, she climbed out of her car.
She loved him.
The knowledge sang inside of her and made her smile, even when she saw Katy wave from her front porch before rushing down the steps, a casserole dish in her hand.
“It smells yummy,” Xandra said as she met the woman on the sidewalk in front of her house and reached for the white Pyrex bowl. “What is it?”
“Asparagus and Spinach Delight.” Katy held the dish out of reach. “And it isn't for you this time. It's for Chantal. Bill left her after sixteen years yesterday. She's devastated.”
“Chantal?”
“Chantal Williamson.” When Xandra didn't look any more enlightened, Katy added, “The big colonial three houses up with the green and white gingerbread trim.”
“Oh, Chantal.” She made a sympathetic face. “That's terrible.”
“You're telling me.” Her voice lowered a notch. “This one's a red alert. She's already gained fifteen pounds during the marriage, so we're bringing out the big guns. It's not just a veggie fest like we did for you. We're doing low-fat and low-carb. You're up for tomorrow night. That's what I wanted to tell you.”
“You mean I'm no longer the official neighborhood project?”
Katy smiled. “You're past the danger zone.” Her eyes twinkled. “Everyone's seen that you've been getting pretty friendly with that construction hunk, which means that you're not pining away for what's-his-name, which means that you're not going to go off the deep end and binge. At least not any more than the rest of us at this point. So remember: tomorrow night. Your dish should be there when she gets home from work, and make it something healthy.”
But Xandra didn't do healthy, she realized as she stood in her kitchen and stared at the contents of her refrigerator. Other than a bite or two left over in the various casserole dishes supplied by her neighbors, the contents of her refrigerator included a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke, a six-pack of chocolate puddings, a bag of half-eaten candy corn, and two slices of leftover pizza so old there were things she didn't recognize growing on them.
She hadn't bought groceries in forever—not counting the seductive feast she'd made for Beau. But those things had been ingredient-specific and she'd used them all for the recipes.
But even if her fridge had been fully stocked, it wouldn't have contained anything healthful because Xandra lived for fast food and Doritos and, heaven help her, everything in the chocolate family. Sure, she controlled her intake quantity, which helped keep her weight down, but she didn't give a fig about quality. The only reason she'd been eating the veggie casseroles was because Beau liked them.
The truth hit her as she stood in front of her open refrigerator. The cold air drafted out and sent a jolt of awareness up her spine.
She was pretending again, putting up a front, trying to be what she thought Beau wanted. Just as she pretended to be the sweet, angelic baby of the family for her mother. Just the way she'd pretended to be everything Mark had wanted her to be. She'd eaten tofu and quit smoking and given up her sense of self, and she was still doing it now.
She was still putting up a front, because she was afraid. She feared Beau wouldn't like the real woman. She feared losing his friendship, his acceptance, his love.
But she couldn't lose something she'd never had. Beau didn't love her. He loved the Xandra she was pretending to be.
She didn't want that. She wanted someone to love and accept her for who she was: a once-upon-a-time chubby girl who still battled with her weight and her insecurity. While she'd changed on the outside, deep down she was still the same.
She didn't just want love. She'd had that, but it had always come with conditions. She wanted unconditional love.
That's why she'd been so determined to have a baby. She'd wanted someone to love her regardless of the way she looked or what food she liked or what music she listened to. Someone who didn't care if she'd read the latest womanist book or watched the most recent episode of Get Sexed Up! She wanted the lasting, forever and ever kind of love celebrated in romance novels.
The kind that didn't fade at the first sign of gray hair or wrinkles. The kind that her sister Skye seemed to have found with Clint.
Xandra wanted something real. Something solid. And she wanted it with Beau. She loved Beau.
The trouble was, he loved an illusion.
And everyone knew an illusion couldn't last.
“You're alive,” Beau declared when she answered his knock late that night. Relief glimmered in his eyes as he swept a gaze over her. “I tried calling so many times that my finger has a blister from hitting the damned redial button.” Anger lit his eyes. “Why didn't you answer?”
“This will never work.” She stuffed the spoon she'd been holding into the quart of Baskin-Robbins ice cream she held in the other hand and wiped at her puffy eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Us. You. Me.” She shook her head and spooned another bite of ice cream into her mouth. “It won't work,” she said around the mouthful.
Where the cold comfort had gone down easy since she'd collapsed onto the sofa with the carton in hand—after a thorough trip to the grocery store where she'd bought every comfort food from ice cream to brownies to Doritos to chocolate milk—she had trouble swallowing now. Her head hurt and her chest hurt and her stomach hurt. Everything hurt—and not because she'd been bingeing all evening—but because she knew what she had to do. She had to come clean with Beau.
She swallowed the last of her bite and drew in a deep, shaky breath. “There are some things you need to know.”
His expression darkened. “You're involved with someone else, aren't you? That's why you didn't call all week.”
“Of course not, and I didn't call because I wasn't sure of my feelings. I mean, I was sure, but I was scared because I thought it couldn't work. But then I realized that it could. But now I know it can't.”
“You're confusing the hell out of me.”
“And you're missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“I'm eating ice cream.” She held up the quart of Chocolate Explosion.
“And?”
“And you don't like ice cream.”
“Ice cream's all right.”
“You don't like Chocolate Explosion. You're not into chocolate, but I am. I live for it. I could eat it every day, several times a day.” There. She'd said it.
He didn't so much as bat an eye. “And?”
“And I just might.”
“Baby, you're not making any sense.”
“This is me,” she said, stepping back so he could see her favorite gray sweats and her oversized white T-shirt with the small pizza stain all the bleach in the world hadn't managed to fade completely. “This is what I look like when I'm not at the office. I like to be comfortable. I do get dressed up on occasion, b
ut I hate it. I can't wait to peel off my panty hose and loosen my bra and undo the button on my skirt.”
“I can't wait either.”
“And that thong you saw in my bathroom, it's not mine. It's my sister's.” Bomb number two. She eyed him and waited for the fallout.
“Do you normally share underwear with your sister?”
“I didn't mean that. It is mine, but it's not a real thong. It's a favor from Skye's bachelorette party. It's half the size of a real thong, not that I would wear it if it were larger. I tried one once. It felt like I was flossing between my butt cheeks, and so I stick to briefs. I'm just not a thong person.”
“Neither am I.”
“And I'm not a vegetable person. I don't like jazz. I don't smoke anymore, but I think about it. I dream about it. And one day, I may backslide and start puffing away again.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“That this is me. The real me. This is what you get if you love me.” Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away, determined to follow this through to the very end without falling apart. “I don't have a perfect body and I never will because I get hives just thinking about the exercise machines at the gym. I do like sports, particularly racquetball, but that's because I get to gossip with Albert—he's my chief engineer and best friend at Wild Woman. I'll never be the perfect housekeeper because I hate to dust. I can cook, but only rich, fatty, melt-in-your-mouth stuff that isn't heart-smart or low-carb or low-fat. And I didn't make those popcorn balls yesterday.” Take that. “I tried, but I ended up with a gooey mess, so I went to Eula's candy shop over on Louisiana. She's got everything from caramel apples to popcorn balls.”
“I already knew that. I've tasted Eula's popcorn balls more times than you can count.”
“I was just trying to impress you.”
“You did.”
“How's that possible if you knew I didn't make them?”
“The thought impressed me. Very few women have ever gone to such trouble for me before. In bed, yes. But they get as good as they give. But for me personally”—he shook his head—“you're one of the first, sweetheart.”
Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice Page 26
