Oh, he wasn’t going to let her off that easily. “Still,” he said, “since we’re both going to be at the San Moritz on Saturday, we might as well get together. Do they give you dinner at those things? The San Moritz has a great restaurant. I’ll make us a reservation for seven, how will that be?”
Instead of replying to his question or suggestion, Naomi asked, “So what’s your thing in Atlanta this weekend? You never did say.”
This time it was Sloan’s turn to open his mouth and have no words come to his aid. He struggled for several tense seconds, then smiled. “It’s a reunion of sorts, too. I’m getting together with some old friends from high school. Future Estate Planners of America. FEPA.” Then, before she had a chance to say a word, he hurriedly added, “The San Moritz Hotel, seven o’clock Saturday night. I’ll see you then.”
And as quickly as he could, Sloan hurried out the door and down the front walk to his car. Before she had a chance to call him on his ruse. Before she had a chance to say no. Before she had a chance to back out.
And before he had a chance to change his mind. Not that he would, he quickly realized. Because suddenly, he couldn’t wait to see Naomi Carmichael again. Especially since, this time, it would be on his turf.
Chapter 7
“You look awesome, Mom.”
Naomi gazed into the full-length cheval mirror tucked into the corner of her bedroom and wondered what on earth had possessed her to do this ridiculous thing. But when she saw her reflection, she immediately had her answer. Obviously, it wasn’t her doing this ridiculous thing. No, the woman doing this ridiculous thing was a total stranger. Because the woman in the mirror, although she bore a vague resemblance to Naomi, clearly was not Naomi.
Instead of her usual sweats and or blue jeans, she was dressed in a plain, long-sleeved, knee-length cocktail dress with a modestly scooped neck, a garment she hadn’t removed from her closet for years. Smoky stockings hugged her legs, and her feet were tucked into low-heeled black pumps. The only jewelry she wore were the pearl earrings her aunt Margery had given her for her high school graduation.
And it didn’t stop there. Ginny had insisted that her mother had to wear makeup if she was going to be going someplace so nice, so she had given her mother a complete makeover which, instead of making Naomi look as if she’d just been hit by a Lancôme bomb, made her look as if the beauty fairies had visited her in the night and had smoothed out and perfected each of her facial features without cosmetic enhancement. Her eyes seemed larger and darker, her lashes longer, her mouth fuller, her cheekbones more prominent. Yet somehow Ginny had done it all without making Naomi look like a streetwalker.
Ginny had also acted as her fashion consultant, tsk-tsk-tsking at every article of clothing Naomi possessed until stumbling on the black dress at the very back of the closet. She’d had to dig for the earrings, too, but had been delighted once she’d discovered them—and not just because she intended to borrow them for the upcoming ninth-grade mixer.
Evelyn, however, was the daughter who had insisted that Naomi absolutely had to go to Atlanta tonight. She’d overheard the conversation between her mother and Sloan the Thursday before, and the moment the door had closed behind him, she had hurried into the living room to start making plans. Naomi had quickly cut her oldest daughter off, had insisted she was going to call Sloan the next morning and cancel their date, that she never should have agreed to see him in the first place, that he had caught her unawares, and she simply hadn’t known what to say. She had known, though—and she still did—that going out socially with Sloan Sullivan would be a very bad idea. Because over the course of the last four weeks, she had begun to care about him way too much.
Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for the last month, she had found herself feeling as nervous with anticipation as a girl going out on her first date with a boy she’d had a crush on for years. She’d found herself wishing she could wear something other than sweats for their encounter, knowing full well that a little black cocktail dress like the one she wore now simply was not appropriate apparel for basketball practice. And as she’d watched him during practice, noting the fluid movement of his body and the rapt center of his concentration, she had grown more and more attracted to him physically.
Worse, as she’d watched him interact with her family, she’d grown more and more attracted to him emotionally. With every meal he’d shared with her and her daughters, she’d noted an easiness and camaraderie of spirit in him that few people—few men—would be able to manage when confronted by so many women. And she’d seen, too, how attached her daughters were becoming to Sloan. Especially Sophie, who craved attention and so seldom got enough. All of them, she thought now, craved attention from him in one way or another, attention that had been missing in all their lives for much too long.
Naomi also told herself now, as she had told herself all along, that she couldn’t allow Sloan into her life—into their lives—any more than she already had. Because he was only a temporary addition. Very temporary. And she didn’t want the void he would doubtless leave behind when he went to be any bigger than it already would be.
And although Naomi hadn’t been able to tell Evy all of those things, she had assured her daughter that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—see Sloan socially. Evy, though, had made her promise that she would keep their appointment.
“You need this, Mom,” she had told her mother. “You never get to go anywhere. And you and Mr. Sullivan get along so well together.”
“But, Evy,” Naomi had objected, “I can’t drive all the way to Atlanta just to have dinner with a man.”
“Why not?” her daughter had demanded. “This is perfect. You’ll be in your own car, and you can leave whenever you want to. He’s a nice man, Mom. A total hottie. I know you like him. And I can tell he likes you. And you never get to have any fun.”
And that, Naomi had thought then, was the kicker. She really didn’t ever get to have any fun. And Sloan was a nice man. Not to mention a total hottie. She did like him. And she knew he liked her. She just wasn’t sure it was a healthy—or productive—kind of liking. Because it was only a temporary liking. Wasn’t it?
Still, Atlanta wasn’t that far away, she reminded herself. It might be fun to go out to eat with him, someplace nice. It was only dinner. And she would pay for her share so that she wouldn’t feel indebted to him. And she and Sloan did get along well. And this could be a nice kind of conclusion to their—working—relationship.
Of course, there was that other relationship, she reminded herself. The one-sided one she’d created in her besotted brain. The one that had been generated by one fantasy after another over the last month, not all of them sexual in nature, though, certainly, there had been a few where she and Sloan had been—
Well. Involved in something other than coaching.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was the harm? she asked herself, pushing her annoying thoughts away. There was little chance that Sloan was going to try anything funny. Although there had been one or two times over the last month when she’d looked up to find him watching her in ways that were…questionable…he’d really offered no indication that he was interested in her in any way other than a friendly one. As long as she could keep herself from jumping his bones and ravishing him shamelessly and doing something she’d regret later—and she was pretty sure she could keep herself from doing all those things—then what was the harm?
“Beat it, you guys,” Evelyn said now to her sisters, scattering Naomi’s thoughts once and for all. “Mom and I need to have a woman-to-woman talk before she goes out.”
Well, that certainly sounded ominous, Naomi thought as she gathered up the few things that would fit into the little beaded purse Ginny had loaned her, an accessory that was roughly the size of a carpet fiber.
The other girls protested, but Evy stood firm. “Out, runts,” she insisted, pointing at the bedroom door. “Now.”
Grumbling, each of her three sisters obeyed. Evy closed the door behind them
and leaned back against it, gazing at her mother as if she were about to lay down the law. If it hadn’t been for her accelerated height, in her faded blue jeans and massive flannel shirt, her tattered ponytail caught high on the crown of her head, Evy could have passed for a girl much younger than sixteen. However, when she opened her mouth to speak, she sounded every one of her years. And then some.
Meeting her mother’s gaze levelly, Evy said, “I hope you’ve left enough room in that purse for a condom.”
Naomi gaped at her. It was, to say the least, not what she had expected to hear from her daughter. “What?” she said.
Evy pushed herself away from the door and crossed the room to stand in front of her mother, crossing her arms over her midsection as if she meant business. “Look, Mom,” she said gravely, “things have changed a lot since you were dating before. You have to practice safe sex now. And I also want you to know that if you don’t want to come home tonight—”
“Evelyn!” Naomi gasped, jumping up off the bed and straightening to her full height, which was still a couple of inches taller than her daughter. “Of course I’ll be coming home tonight. And I do not need to save room in my purse for a condom.”
Boy, had times changed. Naomi remembered her aunt Margery telling her to always save room in her purse for a dime, in case a boy got fresh with her, and she needed to make a phone call for her father to come and get her. Now her daughter—her daughter—was telling her to be sure and pack a condom.
In response to Naomi’s exclamation, Evy only smiled and shrugged. “Well, if, at some point in the evening, you decide that you don’t want to come home tonight,” she insisted, “just remember that I’ll be here to keep an eye on things. Really, Mom. It’s so not a big deal.”
Spoken like a true sixteen-year-old, Naomi thought. A sixteen-year-old who had yet to even date a boy, let alone dabble in anything even remotely resembling sex. Basketball was Evy’s passion, Evy’s life, right now, and had been for years. She had no interest in dating. Which, of course, was just fine with Naomi. Still, her daughter’s lack of socializing with the opposite sex hadn’t exactly broadened Evy’s horizons. Not that Naomi necessarily wanted them broadened, mind you, but she did worry sometimes that her daughter just didn’t have a realistic view of the whole male-female dynamic.
Then again, that might not be such a bad thing, she couldn’t help thinking.
“Oh, and just in case,” Evy added. She reached behind herself, into her back pocket, and withdrew a small plastic packet, extending it toward her mother. “I really do think you should take a condom with you. You never know. Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”
Naomi gaped at her daughter again. “Where did you get that?” she demanded.
Evelyn lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “One of the girls at school.”
Naomi bit her lower lip thoughtfully. She had known for some time now that this conversation would eventually take place. She’d just been hoping she could put it off for a bit longer, until Evelyn was, say…fifty or so.
“You have friends who are sexually active?” she asked, hoping she kept her voice casual, when in fact she felt like grabbing her daughter and locking her in the closet until she could have her fitted for a reasonably comfortable chastity belt.
“One or two,” Evy said.
Well, at least she was being honest, Naomi thought. “And how do you feel about that?” she asked her daughter.
Evy gave her another one of those one-shouldered shrugs and said, “Personally, I think it’s kind of gross.”
Oh, thank God, Naomi thought.
“But there is this guy in my chemistry class who’s kinda hot,” she continued.
Oh, dear…
“And I think he’s interested in me,” Evy continued.
Oh, no…
“But I don’t think I’m near ready for anything physical, you know?” her daughter finished.
Naomi felt some measure of relief, but couldn’t quite keep herself from pointing out, “A minute ago, you told me it’s not a big deal.”
“I meant for you,” Evy said with a smile. “You do have four daughters, Mom. I figure you’ve done it at least four times. Probably more.”
Naomi smiled back, then cupped her daughter’s face gently in her hand. “It never stops being a big deal, Evy,” she said softly. “Remember that. It is always a big deal. That’s why you want to be in love when it happens. Because it is a big deal. Always.”
Her daughter smiled back. “I’ll remember that.”
“I hope you do.”
Evy glanced down at the condom she still held in her hand, and Naomi told herself not to panic that her daughter seemed so comfortable with the thing. “Guess you won’t be needing this then, huh?” Evy asked.
Naomi smiled at her daughter again, but for some reason, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say no. Still, her lack of a response must have told Evy something, because she tucked the condom into her back pocket again.
“Are you going to give that back to the girl you got it from?” Naomi asked hopefully.
“Maybe I’ll keep it as a reminder,” Evy said. “I’ll hang on to it for a while.”
“A long while, I hope,” Naomi said pointedly.
Evy laughed. “Yeah. I imagine it’ll be a long while. I got basketball to think about.”
So she did, Naomi thought. Would that Naomi had been able to keep her own thoughts on basketball for the last month, she wouldn’t be in the strange position she was in now—a position she still couldn’t believe she’d let herself be talked into.
Because she had let herself be talked into it—there was no way she could deny that. Let was the operative word here. She could have come clean with Sloan Thursday night and just told him he’d caught her in a lie, and that she’d just wanted to avoid seeing him socially, because it wasn’t a good idea. He’d known she was lying anyway—any fool could tell that. And he’d deliberately maneuvered and manipulated the conversation until he had her right where he wanted her. Worse, Naomi had allowed him to maneuver and manipulate, fully knowing what he was trying to do. He’d finagled a way for them to be together, and she’d done nothing to stop him.
Why?
It was a question that had circled through her head for two days, and she was no closer to an answer now than she had been the first time she’d asked herself. She didn’t know why she wanted to drive all the way to Atlanta, just to have dinner with Sloan. Even if he was nice and charming and interesting. Even if she did find him profoundly physically attractive. Even if he did make her feel things she hadn’t felt for a very long time, things she had begun to think she would never feel again. Even if she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since their first encounter.
Okay, so maybe she knew why she wanted to drive to Atlanta to have dinner with Sloan. Because she was lonely, and she found him attractive, and it had been a long, long time since she’d felt so comfortable with another human being. She still didn’t think it was a very good idea. Because in spite of their attraction to each other, anything the two of them might undertake wasn’t going to go anywhere. Sloan was a workaholic who lived in another town, a man who had infinitely more interest in taking on the stock market than he did in taking on a family. He was a man who could commit to nothing except his job. He’d made that totally clear to her that very first night.
But in spite of her little pep talk to herself, Naomi scooped up the little black beaded purse, smoothed a hand over the elegant black dress, and took one final look at herself in the mirror. Because, even knowing everything she did, she wanted to have dinner with Sloan Sullivan. It was only dinner, she promised herself. That was all. Dinner and a little conversation. It would be just like all those Tuesday nights and Thursday nights had been, except that the two of them would be in different surroundings. More romantic surroundings. More intimate surroundings. And they wouldn’t be sharing the surroundings with four other people. No, the two of them would be aaalll alooone.
&
nbsp; Dinner, Naomi reminded herself forcefully. It was only dinner. And conversation. And then, for sure, she would come home. And then she would never see Sloan again. And then…
She sighed heavily. And then, she had no idea what she would do. She’d just have to take it one step at a time.
Chapter 8
When Sloan first caught sight of Naomi, he almost let his gaze wander right over her, so unexpected was her appearance. And it wasn’t unexpected just because he had been fairly certain she would chicken out at the last minute and not come tonight. No, it was also unexpected because, when he finally did register her appearance, he at first didn’t think the woman he was looking at was Naomi, because she just didn’t look like herself tonight. No, tonight, she looked… She looked… She looked…
Wow. She looked…wow. In fact, she looked very, very wow.
He couldn’t quite say what she had done to herself that made her look so different from the way she usually did, because, in truth, she didn’t really look any different from the way she usually did. Except that, somehow, she looked totally different from the way she usually did.
Or something like that.
Her short, dark hair was the same as always—except different, in that she had tucked the curly tresses behind her ears, something that showed off her facial features more prominently than before. And her facial features looked the same as always—except different, in that her sooty eyes seemed larger, darker, sexier, somehow, and her full, lush mouth looked even tastier than it had before. Although she wasn’t wearing her standard sweats, what she did have on was by no means revealing or provocative—well, not provocative in the traditional sense of the word, anyway—which shouldn’t have made her look all that different from the way she usually looked. Except she did look different. Because the black dress hugged her curves with much affection, and due to its lack of decoration, it focused Sloan’s attention back on her face, a face he hadn’t realized, until this moment, was so beautiful.
A Mother's Day: Nobody's ChildBaby on the WayA Daddy for Her Daughters Page 22
