My chest tightens in frustration. “Let’s just say it was not my finest performance.”
He laughs, his humor at my expense filling the room. “Dude, you messed up? Oh, that’s
rich. You can charm the panties off ladies of all ages the moment your fingers tickle
the ivories.” He gestures to the baby grand sitting in what would be my apartment’s
dining area. “And yet in an office environment you tank?” He snorts. “That’s fucking
pathetic.”
I ignore him and take a swig from my beer. My silence is the male equivalent of stating
I refuse to rise to his bait.
“So,” Rocko says, “what do you plan to do? Gonna give up like a wuss?”
“No,” I bite out, surprised by the vehemence in my tone. “I just need a plan. Something
that will get her thinking about me…”
“Remember that Tina chick I dated a couple of years ago?”
A vague memory of him mentioning a Tina stirs in the depths of my brain. “I think
so. What about her?”
“She came across as rough on the outside, but was a hellcat in bed.” A satisfied smirk
tugs the corner of his mouth. “Man, she brought out the wild in me. Really liked it
when I came on strong.”
“Yeah, so?”
“She turned off every guy with her smart ass comments and sneer.” He picks at the
label on his beer. “But under that do-not-touch exterior was one hot tamale.”
“What happened to this hot woman? Why did you let her go?”
“Not me, man. She moved for work.” He takes a long drink from his beer. “If a gig
ever takes me to Baltimore, I’ll be looking her up.”
We lapse into quiet and I wonder if Carla could be like Tina. Maybe she’d like me
to come on strong. I watch more of the game, lost in thought.
The mental pull from the shiny piano nags at the back of my brain. I’d like nothing
better than to lose myself in the feel of the keys beneath my fingers and the sound
of the notes filling the air. But this complex woman keeps drifting into my head,
demanding my attention.
She’s a complicated bird, Carla. Haven’t quite figured her out yet. Likes to flirt
with everyone—which could just be a natural part of her personality and that’s made
her a good salesperson. If I’m honest, perhaps it’s more that she’s very approachable
and friendly instead of an outright flirt.
I take another long drink, the cool amber liquid easing the tightness in my chest.
On the other hand, I have witnessed her leave with a guy from the bar, so her behavior
does go beyond flirting when she wants. One other thing I’ve noticed—I never hear
her mention her latest hook-up at work. That usually means the man isn’t in the picture
anymore. Watching her for the past few months has shown me more into her psyche than
she might like.
Tension radiated off her last night after mentioning her mother. And yet in the brief
exchanges we had tonight in texts she didn’t say anything about the woman. That’s because she was too busy trying to blow you off, jackass.
No, I don’t think that’s it. In the short personal conversations we’ve shared since
we met, she’s casually mentioned a sister, her best friend Heather, and where she
grew up. Nothing about her folks. I wonder why.
A fist clenches in my chest when I think of my own parents. After Dad died a few years
ago, Mom has gone downhill. The hospice nurse said she may pass any day now. I’m going
to go see her again tomorrow, even though my sister has been there every day.
Acceptance settles through me at the realization our mother’s fight will finally come
to an end. This two-year battle has been draining—for her, my sister, and me. We both
said our goodbyes when our mom was still cognizant of her surroundings. Since then
all we can do is keep her comfortable. The frustration I felt over her imminent death
released its hold a while ago—and not a moment too soon. I wouldn’t want anything
to taint a peaceful passing for her.
Rocko and I watch the next few innings in silence, one of us venturing to the kitchen
for a fresh beer every so often. An alarm goes off on my watch.
“I’m going to call my mom. Do you mind?”
Rocko grabs the remote and mutes the sound, familiar with my nightly ritual. “Nah,
go ahead man.”
I finish my beer and shove the guilt of missing my call last night to the back of
my mind. My mother would’ve never wanted me to feel bad or obligated, and I’ve got
to keep that forefront in my mind so I can enjoy this last bit of time with her.
I move toward my first love and sit on the cushioned bench, setting my fingers to
the keys like I’ve done for over twenty years. I work through scales, warming up,
and launch into one of my mother’s favorite Elton songs, Candle in the Wind. The music fills the apartment, bouncing back to fill my soul with warmth. The words
spill out, freeing all the heart and passion I lock up at work every damn day to earn
a steady paycheck to pay medical bills.
Rocko raises his beer in tribute, but remains silent, focused on the game.
When I’m done, I call the nurse on duty. “Hi, Iris. How’s she doing?”
“Same as yesterday. No change.”
“Thanks. Do you mind holding the phone for her?”
“Not at all, child. I love to hear your voice.”
I set the cell phone on the piano lid and begin to play.
Chapter Five
Carla
Sundays always whip past too soon. The only good thing about yesterday was getting
chores done, like laundry, and not having to field more texts from Andrew. At least
he took the hint Saturday night.
A tiny twinge of disappointment swells inside me and I squash it. I want to be alone.
I don’t need a man in my life to make me happy.
Yeah, and you’re such a joy to be around the rest of the time.
I feel a growl bubbling in my throat and stifle it. Damn, if I could just find a decent
guy to sleep with, I wouldn’t be so freakin’ on edge all the time. Used to be I’d
spend an evening with one of my many battery powered nightstand buddies and I’d be
right as rain. But, the past six months haven’t been the same. Add in the fact every
freakin’ guy I’ve tried has been a disappointment in the sack. No wonder I’m a little
tense.
Tense? Is that another word for bitchy and hard up?
No! It’s just tense. Don’t read in more than it is.
Uh-huh. Sure.
I finish the last touches on my makeup, sweep a fine powder over it to set, and then
gather the rest of my things for work. Andrew’s help on the Stringer account means
I’m starting my day by meeting the owner before heading into the office.
The meeting goes well. Jennifer is a bubbling cauldron of ideas and energy. She’s
the most ambitious and hard-working woman I’ve ever met. I present some new suggestions
for exposure and we hammer out the details together. When I leave her office, the
high of success buoys me the entire trip to Smith and White. I love my job. It’s always
a challenge and never boring.
I arrive in the office at ten; the rest of the staff is well into their morning. I
keep my eyes down as I head to my cubicle, eager to avoid Andrew’s penetrating gaze
as long as possible. Heat fills my cheeks over Friday
night’s antics. God, what was
I thinking inviting a guy from work to my place?
Biggest mistake ever.
I settle my belongings and fire up my laptop. Within minutes I’m logged into the company
server and skimming emails. One from Andrew catches my eye.
Do I open it? I doubt he’d act like an idiot at work, so I might as well see what
he has to say.
How did the meeting go with Jennifer Stringer?
Relief pours through at his professional inquiry. Maybe we can pretend Friday night
didn’t happen. That would make my life sOoOoOooo much easier.
I send him back a short note. Good, thanks. I’ll be working with the design team closely this week to finalize the
pitch on the next campaign.
Want to share lunch to chat about details?
Dammit. I knew he’d leap to something personal.
No. Thank you.
I fire off the last email, then collect the files I need to copy for the designers.
Maybe in a few days he’ll stop trying so hard and we can return to the way things
were between us. Professional and slightly distant. Just the way I like it.
Yeah, because that’s worked so well for you before.
The hum of the copier distracts me from my thoughts of Andrew Once one section of
the Stringer file is done, I place it back into the tabs and start with the next.
“Hey, Carla,” Andrew calls from behind me.
I glance to see him leaning against the doorframe, and he tosses me a hopeful smile.
God, it was hell waking up with him in my bed. After a slip up during my first internship
nine years ago, I vowed to never do anything so stupid again.
“Hi,” I turn to my task.
“We still haven’t talked about our night together. How long do you intend to put me
off?”
Forever? Damn, I was afraid this would happen. Holding in the heavy sigh longing to
escape, I face my pushy co-worker. “No offense, but I’m not interested in dating an
accountant.”
“Excuse me?” His tone comes out sharper than I’ve ever heard from him. “Do you think
I’m not worthy of you because of my job?”
“Umm… no. Sorry.” That’s exactly it, but saying so is bitchier than I’d like. I switch
to the next file and give him my back. “Listen, it was a fun night and all, but I
want more excitement. Something spicy.”
His footsteps behind me are barely audible over the hum of the copier. Hands rest
on my hips and I tense. “You have no idea what you want. You could have excitement
right in front of you and you wouldn’t know what to do about it.”
Annoyed, I whip around to face him, dislodging his hands. “Really? And you think I
don’t remember the tolerable three minutes we shared?”
His deep blue eyes darken in anger and he leans closer, crowding my space. “I think
you recall someone named Johnny and seem to be attributing some of our time together
to a dream about him.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks, I do remember having dreamed about an old college flame,
but how the hell does he know that? “Umm… I…”
“You called out his name,” his warm breath tickles my lips, “while I pleasured you.”
Startled by the revelation, I dart to the side and make for the door. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
His voice whispers when the copier cycles down, “You’re sexy when you let down your
guard.”
I turn to face him. He takes two quick strides and captures my mouth. His lips press
against mine and a coil of heat unravels in my middle. A warm hand caresses the back
of my head, gently drawing me closer.
I open my mouth to protest and his tongue slips inside to spar with my own. The rush
of blood pounding through my veins brings a tingly feeling that halts my words before
they form. His wide open eyes stare into my own, challenging me with the heat I see
simmering in their depths.
His mouth tastes like fresh coffee heavily laced with cream. My knees weaken at the
intensity and warmth pouring off him. He nibbles on my bottom lip and a spike of pleasure
jolts down my spine, jarring me from the spell he’s weaving.
I place two hands on his chest and push him away. Our lips break and a shudder runs
through me. “What the hell was that?” My tone sounds indignant, but my body betrays
me with arousal.
Andy smiles, a slow, indulgent curve of his lips. His tongue slips out to run along
his full mouth. “I think you know exactly what that was.” He boldly reaches out a
hand and runs a finger over my right nipple, peaked hard and pressing against the
inside of my bra.
I swat his hand away.
“It’s passion, Carla. Don’t fight it.”
I take a step back, putting distance between us and regain my composure. “You do that
again and I’ll report you.”
Andy steps closer, crowding my space. “No, you won’t.”
A sneer forms on my face. “Oh, really? And why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I know what you need, darling. And I aim to give it to you.”
His confidence and arrogance rocks me. This is a side of Andy I never knew existed.
“Go pound salt, bastard.” I storm out of the copier room, wrapping my indignation
around me like a cape. Andy’s amused chuckle follows me down the hall.
Son of a bitch. I’ll be damned if I’m corralled into a torrid affair at work. No matter
what my body tells me.
Crap! I left the files in there. I’m not going back to get them until he leaves. Call
me a chicken, but I’m not ready to face him again.
It’s Wednesday, and I’ve done my best to avoid Andrew the past two days. When office
emails went around about a drink after hours, I almost didn’t agree to go. I wasn’t
sure if Andrew was going or how to handle him. The memory of his stolen kiss has haunted
me.
The lingering heat stirred from his bold advance left me tossing and turning in bed
each night. Twice I tried to seek relief on my own, and twice I was left frustrated
and horny. Damn him! I will not date a guy from work. It’s career suicide.
I run a finger through the condensation on my wine glass and contemplate what to do.
The energy in the crowded bar wraps around me in a familiar feeling—the hotspot is
always packed. This time, I’m careful not to get drunk and don’t sit near Andrew.
God, he’s like a puppy sniffing after me. I have no intention of winding up with him.
I want an exciting man.
And how do you know that man isn’t Andy?
Because I won’t let it be, dammit! I know what I want and he’s not it. Temporary,
hot sex is easier—and he seems to be gunning for more than I’m willing to offer.
I grab my drink in anger, but wisely take only a sip. I have no desire to muddle my
senses with Andrew staring at me across the bar. Why the hell does he like me anyway?
I’ve stated I’m not interested. I’ve brought out my most bitchy self, and he still
keeps coming.
He needs to see me pick up another guy. That should wipe away that smug look I see
every time I glance over at him. Thinks he’s got my number, does he? I’ll show him.
Tall, broad shouldered, and beautiful walks into my field of vision. The big man looks
Avoiding Mr. Right Page 4
