by Mallory Kane
"How did you go from kissing to laundry?"
"I did that. I stopped the kiss."
"Why would you do that?"
"His kiss made me very nervous."
"Oh, sweetheart, that's not nerves. You're horny." Deb sat up and crossed her arms. "Why are you trying to keep Michael at arm's length?"
"I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"Really? I think you do. You two were talking and eating ice cream. An absolutely perfect setup for a love scene. And then, Michael probably sees a bit of ice cream on your lip, so he makes his move. He touches your lip, then he leans in, and kisses you like he's wanted to kiss you--probably all his life."
Cat was amazed. "How did you--?"
Deb waved a hand dismissively. "So there you are, in his arms, and you mention dirty laundry. There's something seriously wrong with you Cat. You need to think about this long and hard. And while you’re at it, take a look at what’s right under your nose. You've spent years looking for Mr. Right. I think you’re living with him right now. You just need to get over whatever prejudice you have against him and show him you want the same thing he does."
"The same thing he does? I don't even know what he wants. And even if I did know what he wants, what if I don’t want the same thing."
"Oh you do. You just won’t admit it to yourself. You've got a wonderful, caring, sexy guy who apparently is crazy about you, right there in the same apartment, and you're avoiding the issue. You won't deal with it. Just like you won't deal with what's really going on between you and your mother."
Cat straightened and composed her face. There were always unspoken agreements between friends to avoid certain issues. Between Deb and Cat, the big issue was Cat's relationship with her mother.
"Sorry. I know you don't like talking about your mom, but until you deal with your issues with her, you're never going to be able to trust a man--or yourself."
Cat reached for her purse and retrieved her wallet. "How much do I owe you for this therapy session, doctor?" she asked.
A brief look of hurt crossed Debra's face, but she composed herself and stood. "I've got to get back to work. You think about what I said." She turned on her heel.
"Deb, wait,” Cat said, “I'm sorry. Thank you. I know you're right. You're such a good friend.”
Debra turned back and smiled. “Sweetie, you know I have your best interests at heart. I'll help you figure this out. Now come here. I think you need another hug.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cat had just walked into the apartment when the phone rang. She set down the bag of groceries and checked the Caller I.D. It was her mother.
"Moth--Janice?"
"Hello, Ca-Cat."
"What's the matter?"
Her mother laughed nervously. "Nothing. I just called to see if you wanted to come have lunch with me."
Cat pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a second, feeling like an actress in a bad movie. "Um, when?"
"Tomorrow? You don't work on Saturday, do you?"
Cat couldn't focus on her mother's words. She'd called her Cat instead of Catherine Mary. It should have been a moment of triumph for her, but for some reason it just made the empty place under her breastbone throb.
"Cat, are you there?"
"Yeah. Yes. I'm here. Where did you want to meet?"
"I thought we could have lunch here."
"Here?" Cat repeated blankly.
"Here, at my apartment."
"Oh, there." Cat was totally bewildered. Her mother didn't cook, at least not in the normally accepted sense. It had never made sense to Cat. Her grandmother, Janice's mom, had taught Cat to cook, and so logic dictated that she must have taught her own daughter. But Janice had never shown the first sign of having learned. Her idea of a home-cooked meal was either eggs or canned spaghetti.
"Should I bring something?"
"No. Just come around eleven-thirty. It should be fun." Janice hung up.
Cat flopped down on the couch. What had gotten into her mother? With a sound that bordered on a snort, Cat thought about the obvious smart-ass answer to that question. She knew who had gotten into her. Still, when she thought about it seriously, Cat couldn't remember the last time she'd been invited over to her mother's apartment. She stared at the ceiling. It must have been before Gram died. She'd picked up her mother and taken her to the Nursing Home once, after Gram's second stroke. She remembered the uneasy silence, the wariness, as if each of them wanted to say something comforting to the other one, but couldn't come up with any words.
Then, a week later, Gram had died. It seemed as if her death had severed the last, tenuous connection between Cat and her mother.
Cat didn't like to think about her grandmother too much. It made her sad, made her want to just curl up on the couch and do nothing but mope for about a week. Generally she saved thoughts of Gram for that twilight time between waking and sleeping. Thinking about her as she fell asleep was sort of comforting. Thinking about her in the middle of the day was painful. She wondered briefly if Janice ever thought about Gram, and during what time of the day.
Cat sighed and got up. She looked around the living room, walked through the kitchen, then checked her watch. When was Michael going to get home? She didn't think she could stand being alone for another minute. She needed to talk to him, see what he thought was wrong with her mother.
As she walked past his bedroom, a colorful mountain caught her eye. She looked in. Half his bed looked slept in, the covers carelessly smoothed. The other half was piled almost to the ceiling with clothes. Cat shook her head and smiled. He'd dumped all his clean clothes, fresh from the dryer, onto his bed. Just like a guy.
She started sorting and folding his clothes. She'd never seen so many tee shirts and boxer shorts in her life. She smiled as she folded and smoothed, one time picking up a handful of fresh, clean sheets and holding it to her nose. There was that clean, warm dryer smell, a faint hint of laundry detergent, and just the smallest whiff of the unique, kind of woodsy scent that was Michael. Cat closed her eyes and just breathed. They ought to bottle this stuff, she thought. How nice it would be to dive into a bed covered with these sheets, a bed that also contained him.
Whoa! Cat looked at the sheets, then dropped them. Danger! Danger Will Robinson! she quoted to herself. She forced her wayward thoughts back to the problem at hand, folding Michael's underwear, um, clothes. His clothes.
The tee shirts ranged from basic white to all the colors of the rainbow, with and without outrageous slogans. One bright orange one she picked up said One tequila, Two tequila, Three tequila, Floor. Another said, This Bod's for You. She laughed.
"More loot from Promo Girl?" she muttered. She had no idea where to put them, so she stacked them on the end of the bed. Towels, she could handle. She folded about a dozen and placed them in the closet in the bathroom. That got rid of a big chunk of the mountain. Most of what was left were the boxer shorts.
On top were the red striped boxers with their black embroidery. So Small. Cat hummed the song as she folded boxers in all colors, with and without designs. Then she came across a green pair with candy canes. "Christmas boxers, Michael?" she whispered, chuckling. "I hope it hasn't been that long since you've done laundry."
Underneath one pile, she spied a familiar red and white stripe. The other pair of failed promo shorts. She remembered Michael saying he wasn't going to tell her what the other pair said. Eagerly, she reached out and closed her fingers around the material.
"What are you doing?"
"Eek!" She jumped about a foot straight up in the air, then turned, hiding the boxers behind her back.
"Oh, hi, Michael. I thought I'd fold your clothes for you."
"What do you have in your hand, Cat?" He reached behind her, but she sidestepped him.
"Nothing." She smiled benignly.
"Yes, you do. Give it to me."
"Michael, how dare you accuse me of--of pilfering your laundry. I can promise you there's
nothing I want, unless it might be that tee shirt that says 'This Bod's For You.'" She grinned, but Michael didn't grin back. In fact he scowled at her.
"Stop playing. Give me my boxers."
"Wow. Somebody woke up grouchy this morning. Why didn't you let him sleep?" Still no laugh from him. What was his problem?
He feinted quickly to one side then reached behind her on the other and grabbed her arm.
"Ow!"
"Oh, hush, I'm not hurting you." He wrenched the offending piece of underwear from her hands.
"Come on, Michael, stop being such a prude and a grouch. I just wanted to see what they said."
He glowered at her. "I told you I don’t want you to know what they say. They don't say anything."
Cat was tired of his attitude. "Fine. Excuse me for trying to do something around here. You told me you had plans for me. I certainly haven't been cooking, so I thought I'd help with your laundry. You obviously don't want me to. So what did you have in mind for me to do?"
Michael's cheeks and ears turned red. "I'm sure something will come up. You could cook if you wanted to. But stay out of my things."
"Fine. Trust me, I can do that." Cat flounced out of the room.
Michael watched Cat's cute behind as she stormed out of his room as he stuffed the shorts into the side pocket of his jacket, doing his best not to picture the song title that was prominently displayed across the front of the boxers. The song title he hadn't wanted Cat to see.
"Schmuck," he whispered as he made a half-baked attempt to fold the rest of his laundry, he quickly disposed of it, stuffing clothes into drawers with little regard for neatness.
He knew he'd been in a bad mood ever since last night, and if he were honest with himself, he knew why. He was tired of being good old Michael, always the same. Real tired of it.
He thought about what he'd like to do. He'd like to go out there and show Cat how he really felt, show her everything he'd kept hidden all these years. Show her what lurked beneath his 'best friend' surface. He didn't feel like good old Michael at all. He certainly didn't feel like a best friend ought to feel.
Ever since he'd kissed her, he'd felt like grabbing her, holding her, and finishing what he'd started. He felt like dangerous Michael, sexy Michael, horny Michael. He growled to himself.
But instead, he took a cold shower.
* * *
When Michael came out of the shower, his fresh, clean scent assaulted Cat from all the way across the room. She looked up over the refrigerator door, and her knees went wobbly at what she saw. The sight of him, his hair damp and curling on his neck, sweatpants riding low on his hips, and the complete absence of a shirt, combined to send a sharp, throbbing desire straight to the core of her.
She had to stop this. He was Michael, her best friend, and she needed her best friend right now. She needed his steady influence, his strong, practical attitude about all the things that had her blubbering with emotion. She might even need his shoulder.
Their gazes locked, and for a brief moment, Cat thought she saw something dangerous and sexy glinting in his hazel eyes, but she blinked and it was gone.
"Michael? Janice called me."
"Your mother?"
"Of course, my mother. How many Janices do you know?"
Michael struck a mock pose, pretending to think. "Let's see. Three probably, if you count the one from high school who later became James."
"All right, all right. How many who might call me?"
"So your mother called."
"She wants me to come to lunch tomorrow."
"That's nice."
Cat shook her head.
"It's not nice?"
"Of course not. She wants me to come to lunch there, in her apartment. She's apparently going to cook. Do you know how many meals she has actually prepared in her life?"
He shrugged. "Not really, but speaking of dinner--"
"None! Okay, maybe a few, but practically none. Beenie-weenies. Macaroni and cheese, out of a box. We'll probably have beenie-weenies and chips and canned cola."
"Maybe the point is not the food."
"I know the point is not the food. Don't you understand? I--don't know what she wants."
"No problem. My famous shoulder is available."
"Oh, Michael." Cat resisted for about a half-second, but his outstretched arms and his soft, hazel eyes were too much for her. She pushed the refrigerator door closed behind her and walked straight into his arms.
He wrapped her up in his embrace. Her cheek rested against the hollow just below his collarbone, which put her nose right where his chest hair started. A few of the hairs still held droplets of water, and Cat fought the urge to open her mouth and catch the warm droplets on her tongue. His body was warm and hard, comforting and disturbing at the same time. His scent washed over her, fueling the desire that had become a constant simmer inside her.
One hand cupped the back of her head protectively, and the other was splayed on her back. She knew when he bent his head. She felt his breath against her hair.
She wanted to cry.
"I turned you down last night when you wanted to go to the lake. Want to go now?" he whispered against her ear.
His low, sexy voice sent hot, delicious yearning through her. Want to? She thought she would die if they didn't. Not trusting herself to speak, or even to move, Cat nodded carefully.
"Okay. We can get a pizza and some sodas on the way."
Cat turned her head slightly and brushed her lips across his chest, which swelled as he took a swift breath.
He pushed away without looking at her. "I'd better put on a tee shirt."
Cat cleared her throat. "Yeah. I'd better change, too."
One pizza and one hour later, they were at the lake. Cat had slipped on a loose cotton dress and flip-flops, and Michael had changed into a tee shirt and jeans, with tennis shoes.
The night was warm and a little muggy. The woods were filled with the sounds of crickets and locusts and owls, and moonlight played silver across the still water. Cat gingerly set her foot onto the rickety pier. In the moonlight, the boards looked faded and cracked, and she was sure she saw things crawling in the shadows. She bent at the waist to brush off a spot beside Michael before she sat down.
"Ugh, I can't believe how squeamish I've become," she complained.
"Me either," Michael laughed. "You should have let me go back for a blanket."
"No," she said firmly. "This is fine. We are going to do this. It will be just like old times."
Michael muttered something that sounded like good old Michael.
"What?"
"Nothing." Michael stretched out on the pier.
Cat twisted to look behind her then lay down beside him. "Eww!" She sat up. "Is there a bug on my neck?"
"Nope. I don't see anything. Stop being such a wimp, twit."
"Oh, thank you, twit. I feel so much better knowing you're here to protect me." She lay back down and looked up at the sky. "Oh, look. Living in town, I'd almost forgotten about all the stars."
"Yeah," he said, sounding distracted.
"There's Orion, and the Big Dipper." She sighed. "This is so great. Just like it used to be. Michael?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you feel old?"
"Not as old as you."
She slapped at his leg. "Stop it. I'm serious. Do you ever feel like life is passing you by?"
"Sometimes."
The wistfulness in his voice increased the longing inside her for life as it used to be, before she'd gotten it into her head that she needed to get married, before Michael had left for Japan. There was something about those times, something she longed to regain. "Sometimes I feel like I'm missing something, and I don't even know what it is."
Michael cursed softly. She couldn't tell what he'd said, but she knew from his tone that it was an expletive of some sort. "What's the matter?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Bug in my hair."
Cat turned her head. His hair was haloed with
moonlight, and the clean, sharp planes of his face looked like they were carved from alabaster. Sometimes he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.
She closed her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were back, Michael? Why didn't you want to see me?"
After a moment of silence, he answered. "It just didn't seem to be a good time. Right about the time I got back you became engaged to--."
"Johnny. He was sweet, but the engagement didn't last very long."
She sat up and kicked off her sandals and crossed her legs, making sure the cotton skirt covered her adequately. She opened her mouth to ask him the real reason he hadn't told her he was back, but the sight of him, lying there, made her mouth go dry and her pulse pound.
His face was beautiful, but his body was exquisite. He had one hand behind his head, and the moonlight sculpted his body in light and shadow. The long, lean perfection of his biceps, his shoulders his chest, nearly took her breath away. She could see the ridges of his abdomen, and beneath the white T-shirt , beneath the zipper of his jeans was an enticing bulge--stop it, she admonished herself. This is Michael, your best friend. Don't screw this up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The words played like a mantra in her head as she pulled her eyes away from the front of his jeans. She lay back down.
"Cat? Something wrong?"
"No, no," she said quickly. "Not at all." Boy was this a stupid idea. The two of them, alone, with nothing around them but the silvery moonlight and the crickets.
Her body thrummed with awareness. Her breasts tightened. Some part of her wondered if she'd suspected this would happen if they came to the lake, where some of their best times had been. Was this the reason Michael had refused to come last night? So why had he suggested it tonight?
Friends. We're friends.
Cat pushed aside her dangerous train of thought. She stared up at the sky, tracing the familiar constellations. "Remember how we used to lie out here and talk?"
"Sure. We probably solved every problem in the universe, from right here. You even said once you were going to do a controlled study on the benefits of world leaders negotiating with each other while lying on their backs staring at the stars."
