by Mallory Kane
Grief washed over her like a shower. She smiled crookedly. "Yeah, me too. I miss her."
"What happened to her house? She always said she'd leave it to you."
"The university bought it. Gram didn't have a choice. She lived in an apartment the last couple of years, then in a nursing home for about six months. That pretty much took care of the money."
"Was she unhappy?"
"No. No, she was fine, almost up until the end. You know Gram. She was a rock."
"So what are you doing?"
"I have a great job." Her chest swelled with pride in spite of her desolation. "I'm a full-fledged web designer." She flung her arms wide. "I will have to lose the fancy schmancy apartment, though. I can't afford it by myself."
"So where'd Mr. Big Shot go?"
"David Winfield. Back with his parents, just until he can find a place, of course. It doesn't hurt that his parents live in Belle Meade."
Michael whistled in appreciation.
"Oh, come on. Whistling at living in Belle Meade? You're practically on his front porch. Imagine, I could have been a rich bitch country club wife." Cat stretched out again on the couch. "A bunch of this furniture is his. We bought it together. He magnanimously informed me I could keep it."
"Are you going to?"
"Sure. I'm not stupid, just broken-hearted." Her voice gave out on that last word. She looked at him. "You never told me why you didn't call me."
He grimaced. "I know you don't like the answer, Cat, but it hasn't changed."
"You know I didn't mean I never ever wanted to see you again. I just never wanted to see you again right at that moment. After all, look what you'd said to me."
"I was only stating the truth."
"Oh sure. The truth according to Michael Grey." She took a deep breath and lowered the pitch of her voice. "You trample on hearts like you're making wine. Just don't be surprised when one turns around and tramples on you."
Michael's jaw clenched and his mouth set into a thin line. "Well?" he muttered.
"Well what?"
"There you go. Somebody finally beat you to the draw. Dumped you before you dumped them."
Cat felt tears prick her eyes. "Thanks, I feel much better now." She curled up into a fetal ball, and pressed her nose into the corner of the couch. "I'm tired. Hit the lights on your way out, will you? And thanks for coming by. Don't know what I'd have done without you."
She lay there, listening to the silence, broken only by Michael's steady breathing. Finally, he opened the front door, then the room was blanketed in darkness and the door closed quietly.
She took a long breath, and felt a sob welling up from deep in her chest. Michael was back, with his deep blue eyes and his disarming smile. And as always, he was a magic mirror, reflecting her true self back at her. She’d missed him like crazy, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to look into that mirror just yet.
The door opened again. Light flooded the room. "Wait a minute."
Cat turned over and squinted up at his tall, lean figure in the doorway. "Forget something?"
He walked over and stood directly in front of her with his hands stuck in his back pockets and his hip cocked. His face was grim, his eyes hooded. "I've never seen you eating condensed milk to drown your sorrows. Double chocolate fudge ice cream has always been your cure for depression, ever since that day your mom married Slick Jannsen and left you with your grandmother."
Cat's face flamed, but she lifted her chin and looked at her friend defiantly. "I was all out of ice cream." Her words were not convincing, even to herself. She held her breath, dreading what was coming, but knowing Michael knew her too well.
"You were going to break the engagement, weren't you?"
She winced. "No."
He held her gaze until she couldn't take it any more and collapsed back against the seat cushions. "Okay, well maybe I was having a few second thoughts. But he dumped me."
"Well, maybe you ought to think about what he said."
"Hey--." She folded her arms. "Whose side are you on anyhow?"
"I've always been on your side, Cat. Always." He switched the lights off again and left, closing the door.
She lay still for a few minutes, just in case he came back, then she rolled off the couch and put the chain on the door, not a particularly easy task with watery, blurred vision. She wiped her face, then flopped back down, hugging a throw pillow to her breast.
Tears, hot and unfamiliar, wet her face and clogged her throat. How dare Michael come waltzing back into her life after being gone for six years, acting as if he knew what was good for her?
As long as she remembered, he'd been throwing his weight around, trying to run her life, acting as if he knew her better than she knew herself.
Okay, maybe she had been planning to talk to David about their relationship. Maybe there was a tiny smidgen of relief, deep down below the hurt, that he'd done the breaking up. It was just that she had this stupid empty place inside her that she needed to fill. With what, she didn't know.
Giving up on sleep, Cat stuffed the pillow behind her head, wincing at her stiff neck.
Michael was back. It was so good to see him. She'd missed listening to his low, rumbly voice, missed looking at that gorgeous, beloved face. Her mouth quirked into a smile, but it soon faded.
No matter how glad she was to see him, the fact remained that he'd been in Nashville three years and hadn't contacted her once. Not once.
The empty place began to throb. She tried to make it stop by thinking of the warm, sturdy comfort of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, the faint rustle of his breath against her hair, but as wonderful as it felt to have him back, it hurt that he hadn't called her the minute he'd arrived.
For some reason, tears were pricking at her eyelids again. She blinked hard and pressed her lips together but they still came. Had she really been so mean the last time she'd seen him?
They'd always argued, about everything from how to save the world to who should date who and why. What was different about that last day? He was acting as if she'd somehow hurt him, when he was the one taking off for Japan and leaving her alone.
Well, he'd paid her back, big time. For some reason, that hurt a lot more than her breakup with David. She squinted at the red numbers on her digital clock and wondered if it was too late to run out for double chocolate fudge ice cream.
CHAPTER THREE
Michael slammed the ball into the wall as hard as he could, which wasn't nearly hard enough. The echoing thud was satisfying though, and when the ball ricocheted off the floor and straight back at him, he was ready.
"Ugh!" he grunted as he slammed it again, then ducked as it rebounded straight back, too fast. His foot slipped on a patch of sweat, and he went down hard on his butt.
Cursing, he flung the racket and stayed down. Turning up the bottom of his sleeveless practice shirt to wipe his face, he conceded defeat to the racquetball. It had beaten him, fair and square.
Tonight hadn't been a good night, all around. No matter how hard he hit the ball or how violently he swung the racquet, he still saw Cat every time he closed his eyes.
Lying on the sofa with that sleep shirt stretched over her round, cute butt. Her short black hair that made her look like a sexy little pixie. The hurt look in her big green eyes that he was terribly afraid he'd caused. Sara was right, he shouldn't have waited so long to contact his best friend.
He pushed his fingers through sweat-dampened hair, and wiped his face again. It wasn't Cat's fault that he was hung up on her. Somehow, he had to get over her while remaining friends, because even if he couldn't have her the way he wanted her, he couldn't imagine his life without Cat in it.
Somebody tapped on the glass. He looked up, blinking the sweat out of his eyes as the door opened. "J.R., what are you doing here this late?
J.R. walked in looking as sweaty and frustrated as Michael felt. His sharp-featured face, accented by short, dark blonde hair and a matching goatee, was grim behind his ironic
smile.
"First, it's not late. It's morning--early morning, but morning nonetheless. Second, I could ask you the same thing. Third, I'm probably here for the same reason you are."
Michael looked at his watch and groaned. "Four a.m. I know what kind of day I'm going to have. Serves me right. Schmuck," he muttered under his breath.
"Did you just call yourself a jerk?"
"Close," Michael said.
J.R. held out a bottle of water, which he grabbed gratefully and turned it up. The cold stuff felt great as it slid down his throat, and dribbled down his chin. He handed the bottle back to J.R. and stood, stretching his tired muscles. He shot his friend a glance. "More like an idiot."
"In that case, we're not here for the same reason. I'm here because my brother's an idiot."
Grabbing his towel and racquet, Michael headed for the showers. "What'd he do?"
"Hank has decided he's fallen in love with this woman." J.R. stripped and wrenched on the shower faucets.
Michael did the same in the next stall. "The one you were talking about? The one who's ten years older than him?"
"And a gold-digger."
"You've met her?"
"No. Not yet. But what else does a woman who's nearing fifty want with a man who's not even forty yet?" J.R. shouted over the sound of the shower.
Michael laughed and threw a bar of soap over the three-quarters wall at him. "You mean besides the obvious?"
J.R. nodded reluctantly and shrugged his soapy shoulders. "Well, okay. But damn. You'd think he'd learn. One cheating gold-digger in a lifetime would be enough."
"So now she's too old for him, she's a gold-digger, and she cheats? Sounds like a country song."
"Ha. I just worry about him, you know?"
"Yeah. You're the only guy I know who thinks he has to take care of his older brother."
"Yeah, well." J.R. ducked his head under the shower spray, then grabbed a towel and threw one to Michael. "So what's eating you?"
Michael wrapped the towel around his lean hips. He slicked his hair back, squeezing water out of it, then started dressing. He shook his head at J.R. "I did something pretty stupid tonight--last night."
"Oh yeah? Was it at least fun?"
"Huh. Not particularly." He paused, thinking of Cat in her sleep shirt, looking at him with those big green eyes, driving him crazy with wanting her. "Maybe parts of it."
"So--"
"I went to see Cat."
"Cat? Oh yeah, your friend from school. The one you're so hot for." J.R. ducked as Michael tossed his wet towel at him.
"I am not hot for--," he sighed, "Yeah, her."
"Good." J.R. pulled on a T-shirt.
"Good?"
"It's about time you let her know you're here. What happened?"
"Everything I was afraid would happen. She's mad at me for not calling her. She's still playing tough as nails, and she's still getting hurt." He shrugged.
As the two men walked out of the gym, they both squinted and groaned at the rising sun.
"You want to get together for a game tonight?" J.R. asked.
Michael rolled his neck, working out the knots. The punishing solitary workout had done nothing to relieve his tension or his frustration over seeing Cat again. "Yeah, sure. Around nine?"
"Nine? That'll work. I gotta go. I've got an early meeting."
"Yeah, me too. Eight o'clock."
They looked at each other. Michael laughed shortly. "Unless I'm mistaken, Mr. Jimmy Rodgers Blair, Esquire, my eight o'clock is with you."
J.R. grinned at him and took out his cell phone. "Carol, call Assistant D.A. Gray's office and cancel my eight o'clock. Right, and send over that motion to dismiss the Montgomery case. It's on my desk. I'll be late getting in today."
He listened for a second while Michael watched, amused. "Nope. No reason to reschedule. I'll talk to him at the gym." He punched the off button. "So, Mr. Assistant District Attorney, you want to grab some breakfast and talk about you coming back to the firm?"
Michael shook his head. "I'm beat. I think I'll go home and take a nap. I don't have to be in court until two. Oh, and by the way, I'm ignoring the part about coming back to the firm."
"Okay. Looking forward to kicking your butt tonight. You can tell me all about your hot friend Cat. Because if you're planning to persist in being just friends, then she's available, right? You can introduce us."
"Not bloody likely," Michael muttered.
J.R. laughed and clapped him on the back. "See you later."
"Yeah, later, and by the way, fat chance on getting the Montgomery case dismissed." As Michael got into his vintage Porsche, he pictured Cat and J.R. together. His heart wrenched with an almost physical pain. He rubbed his chest, wondering what Cat would say if he told her the truth. How would she react, if he actually said to her, "I'm in love with you."
Thinking about it, he realized that, just like six years ago, he had no idea how she'd respond. Her reaction last night had surprised him. He'd expected her to be angry with him, but what he'd seen in her expressive green eyes, for a brief moment, had looked a whole lot like hurt.
If he thought for one second that her feelings for him were anything more than friendship, he'd lay his heart wide open to her--wouldn't he? Or was he afraid she'd treat him like one of her fiancés? Like he was disposable.
That's where his frustration came from--the fear of being rejected. The fear that, when he finally confessed to Cat that he was in love with her--had been for years, she'd laugh.
He almost turned around and headed back to the gym. All the frustration he'd taken out on that racquetball was back, in spades. He pulled out of the parking lot of the gym, preparing to head back to his apartment for a nap. But after an instant's hesitation, he turned right instead of left. He wasn't going to get any sleep, and he had a pile of briefs and motions on his desk to get through.
Rolling down the window to let the air dry his damp hair, he drove to the D.A.'s office. He kept a change of clothes there. He yawned and stretched. He'd had no sleep. It was going to be a long day.
* * *
All day Friday, Cat worked on the basic site design for You Dot Com. Finally, around two o'clock, she was ready to key in the questionnaire.
She picked up the faxed sheets, which the dragon lady CEO had said were 'everything else you could possibly need.'
She rolled her eyes, just as she had when the woman had said it on the phone. Okay. She sat back in her chair and took a look at the first page. Basic demographic information looked fine. She turned the page to the personal questions and kept reading, for about one second. She blinked and read the words again, then shook her head in disbelief. What kind of people did they think they were going to match up using these weird questions? They looked good as long as they stuck to name, date of birth, sexual preference, etc. But the personal questions were very strange.
Cat had researched a few on-line dating services in preparation for working on the You Dot Com software. One hundred per cent of them used essentially the same format. The questions ranged from Do you like pets, to What type of sports are you interested in?
But You Dot Com was totally different. If they were going for unique, they'd succeeded. The first question after the basic information gathering was Are you a virgin?
"Whoa," Cat whispered. "That'll weed out the shy ones." She looked at a few more questions.
Do you feel more comfortable in the company of men or women?
If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be, and why?
Name your three favorite parts of your body.
Would you be more likely to hop into bed with your best friend or your worst enemy?
She chuckled. That last question could be very interesting and enlightening, since most people's best friends--and probably worst enemies--were of the same gender.
"No, that's not interesting. It's ridiculous, just like the rest of these questions." She picked up the phone and dialed Deb's extension. In a few seconds, Deb
was standing in front of her desk.
"Let me see," she demanded.
Cat gestured toward her computer with a flourish.
"Wow," Deb breathed as she read. "Scott said they were different."
"Different? In the interest of full disclosure, they should advertise 'we're your creepy computer dating service.' What am I going to do with this? I've got to test the questionnaires and the program that gives people their free sample."
“Free sample? You mean like a free sample date?”
“No, just a sample of a couple of possibly compatible people. It gives the percentage compatibility. Like a teaser, you know? ‘Based upon your answers, we show you to be more than eighty per cent compatible with User 942 and User 386.’ Something like that. It’s a heuristic program. It learns more with every questionnaire that’s filled out, and it uses the knowledge to compare questionnaires.” Cat looked at Deb. “It’s actually pretty sophisticated. Oh well, I guess I'll just make up some people."
"No wait. Here's a great idea. Put yourself in, and some folks from around the office. Oh this could be fun."
"I can't do that, Deb. That's an invasion of their privacy."
"All you have to do is get their permission. Oh, I know. Do you and Michael!"
Cat shook her head vehemently. "No. No!" She held up a finger when Debra opened her mouth. "Don't say another word. I am not, not now, not ever, going to be romantically involved with Michael. So stop trying to manipulate me. In fact, I'm never going to be romantically involved again, with anybody."
"Oh sure. Give you a week and you'll be engaged again."
"Oh, thank you for your confidence in me. I will not be engaged again." Cat glared at her friend. "Nope. No more men. Not ever."
"You can't do that. You need a man."
"Right. What's the old saying? Like a fish needs a bicycle. Absolutely not. I'm fine, in fact I am better off, by myself."
Debra stared at her. "You? By yourself? When did you decide that?"
"Oh, let's see. I guess it was five days ago, when Dave dumped me. Yeah, I believe that's when it was." She nodded cheerfully, but inside she reaffirmed her decision. She just wasn't meant to get married. That's all there was to it. As the thought formed, Cat realized she'd always known it, deep down. She was too much like her mother. Neither one of them was meant for lasting relationships.
