Start Me Up

by Kenner, J.

“This isn’t about love or war.”

  “All’s fair in sex and sin. Better?”

  Her lips twitched, but she got herself under control and shook her head. “Listen, Nolan. We’re not really … compatible.”

  He reached out, then twirled a strand of her hair around his finger before gently tracing her jawline. “Aren’t we?” She trembled under his touch, and a sweet shot of victory raced through his veins.

  She drew a noisy breath. “I’ll admit a bit of a weakness for you, but that’s only because I don’t really date that much and you—”

  “Fascinated you? Titillated you? Aroused you?”

  “Unnerved me,” she said firmly.

  “Yeah?” He flashed his best seductive smile. “I’m happy to unnerve you again.”

  “Please. I have a date, and you need to go.”

  A date? He turned, then saw a Lexus turn onto her street.

  “Please,” she said, a note of panic in her voice.

  “All right,” he said, then paused at her steps to turn back. “But just so you know, Ben Franklin is my personal hero.”

  Her brow furrowed as she shook her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “If at first you don’t succeed…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Call it fair warning.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Benjamin Franklin never said that.”

  Nolan frowned, then pointed at her. “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But he should have.”

  * * *

  Shelby stood by the front door of her parents’ house, her hand clasped in Alan’s as they said goodnight to the small group of faculty members who’d come over for the evening.

  “This man is going places.” The dean clapped his hand on Alan’s shoulder as he smiled at Shelby. “He’s a good one.”

  “I know,” she said, forcing a smile. Usually she loved faculty dinners at her parents’ house, but tonight had bordered on painful. It was Nolan’s fault, of course. His promise—no, threat—that he wasn’t going away. And, honestly, she didn’t need that kind of complication in her well-ordered life.

  She sighed as she closed the door behind the last guest, feeling like a walking, talking lesson in not breaking your own rules.

  “Something wrong?” Alan asked, as he stroked her cheek, his brown eyes dark with worry.

  “I’ll second Alan’s question,” her mother said. “You were very quiet tonight.” She was a tall woman with the build of a ballerina. She tended to wear her hair up except when she was home alone, and the style only made the resemblance more apparent. Now, she pulled out the pins and let her dark hair fall around her shoulders. It was the only feature they had in common, and Shelby was grateful to have inherited her mom’s lovely hair.

  “It’s nothing,” she assured them, leaning up against her father’s broad chest and relaxing into his hug. “Just some stuff going on at work.”

  “Trouble?” her mother asked. “Because you need to keep in mind that corporate policy and rules are in place for a reason. Just like the rules of academia. You follow them, you climb the ladder, and once you’re at the top, the view is much clearer. Right now, your view is blocked by everyone else trying to climb up with you.”

  “I know, Mom.” She appreciated her parent’s work ethic and their tenacity. But the advice really didn’t apply. Not that she intended to share the real issue with her mother. Not ever. But certainly not with Alan around. “It’s just a snafu with an audit,” she lied. “The client didn’t turn over some information and he’s made his life horribly messy—and mine along with it.”

  That was true enough. But as she already had a plan for dealing with the Thompson audit, that wasn’t what was weighing on her mind.

  “You’ll work it out,” Alan said, tilting her chin up and stealing a kiss. “You’re too good not to.”

  “Thanks.” She relaxed against his long, lean body, breathing deep and remembering that this was exactly what she wanted. A man to support and understand her. A home where real problems were handled, not joked about, and things were discussed in private, not on the damn airwaves.

  “Hey,” Alan said, loosening her arms. “Love the affection, but I’m also a fan of breathing.”

  “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I got carried away.” Wasn’t that the truth?

  “You’re sure you’re not upset with me?” Alan asked, as they all made their way to the kitchen-dining area, where Shelby loaded the dishwasher as Alan cleared.

  “You mean about tomorrow? Don’t be silly.”

  Alan had learned only that morning that the department expected him to give a speech next week to visiting faculty from three foreign universities. And even though they were supposed to go to Celia’s wedding together on Saturday, she’d assured him that she had no problems going alone if he needed to use that time to prepare for such a big opportunity.

  “I know how tight your schedule is. And I’m more than capable of eating wedding cake and sitting with my friends all by myself.”

  “And you want to do your best,” her father said, passing Alan a glass of port. “We’re very proud of you.” He gave Shelby and her mother a drink, too, and they all toasted Alan’s success.

  “What about you, sugar?” her dad asked. “When will we see you make partner?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know Frank’s rooting for me, but the partners won’t offer me even a junior partnership until I’ve handled a larger corporate account.” She already did consulting work for a number of small corporations, often with only one or two employees. It was great training, but if she wanted to be a partner, she needed the experience she’d get from a long-term project doing in-depth consulting with a large local or nationwide company.

  Since she did want to be a partner, that was something she talked with Frank about on a regular basis. And she knew he was keeping his eyes open, watching the client list with an eye to assigning her a partnership-track project. “The company’s doing a lot of outreach right now, so new clients are flooding in. I’m crossing my fingers I get a new assignment soon.”

  “You could always teach,” Alan said later, after they’d said goodbye to her parents and were back in Shelby’s living room. “We could work side by side. And someday we could host faculty parties like your parents.”

  She looked up at him, surprised. She’d always assumed they were on the same wavelength about the future, but just as they’d never talked about being exclusive, they’d also never talked about settling down.

  “I don’t think I want to teach,” she said, sidestepping that particular elephant in the room. “I like getting my hands dirty.”

  “Do you? Well, maybe we can get dirty together.” He pulled her into his arms, and she waited for a sensual tingle that flat-out didn’t come. “We could sweep the kitchen. Wash the dishes. Or we could get dirty in other, more interesting ways.”

  He brushed a kiss over her lips, but she pulled back, smiling in a way that she hoped didn’t look forced. “Could I take a rain check? I’m really tired, and my head’s been hurting ever since I drank that port.”

  Most of all, I don’t want to sleep with you.

  The bare truth washed over her, both scaring and saddening her. Because this was Alan. Her perfect guy. The guy who satisfied all of her checkboxes. And he was talking sex and suggesting a home together.

  She should be turning cartwheels.

  But she wasn’t.

  Her whole life, she’d known how she wanted her future to look. So why was it that lately her vision had skewed?

  Chapter Nine

  “Turn on 96.3,” Hannah said, shoving through Shelby’s front door with both hands full of dresses on hangers and a duffel bag swung over each shoulder. “Your boyfriend’s on the air.”

  “He does weekdays, and he’s not my boyfriend,” Shelby said, taking a handful of dresses and spreading them over the back of the couch. “I only need to borrow one. For that matter, I’m sure I already own something that’s just fine f
or a wedding.”

  “A, I’m sure you don’t. And B, he’s subbing for Wayne Dorsey.”

  “Who is…?”

  “On vacation, apparently. And the Saturday morning DJ.”

  Since Shelby had made no move to tune in, Hannah plugged her own phone into Shelby’s small set of speakers and opened up the streaming app. The one that Shelby had very sternly talked herself out of downloading last night after a long hot shower and two glasses of Chardonnay.

  There was a crackle of static, and then the last verse of The Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction filled the room.

  Hannah tilted her head toward the speakers. “Got something to confess?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shelby said.

  “Mmm.” Hannah pulled out a long, slinky red dress and held it up in front of Shelby.

  “I’m not wearing red to a wedding.”

  Hannah made a face. “Good point. But it’s loose on me. You should try it on.”

  Shelby tilted her head. “I don’t want to climb in and out of your wardrobe. I only need one dress. And why do you have so many cocktail and evening dresses anyway? I know you aren’t off doing weekly galas because half of these still have tags.”

  Hannah lifted her chin, looking a little defensive. “I found a few online discount stores I really like. Besides, if I weren’t a mobile closet, you’d be out of luck.”

  “That one,” Shelby said, deciding it was time to change the subject. The dress was cerulean blue, with a halter-style top, a full skirt, and a built-in petticoat.

  “Good choice,” Hannah said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Just because I dress professionally at work doesn’t mean I want to wear sackcloth to a wedding.”

  “I know.” Hannah winked. “It’s just so much fun to tease you.”

  She passed Shelby the dress just as the song ended, and Shelby’s breath caught in her throat as Nolan’s voice filtered out from the speakers. “But I tried,” he said, his voice singsong. “And in the end, I got bupkis. So I ask you folks, is she playing hard to get? Or am I just hardheaded? We’ll do a little psychoanalysis of me, Nolan Wood standing in for Wayne Dorsey on Sunny-side Saturday, right after this message from our sponsor.”

  Hannah crossed her arms and stared Shelby down as an ad for a local pet store started.

  “Fine,” Shelby said when Hannah’s stare started to get creepy. “He came over yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing,” Shelby admitted. “I told him I had a date and sent him away.” She cringed a little, then confessed. “He came by the day before, and I pretended I wasn’t home.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Sadly, no. Apparently, at heart, I’m an eleven-year-old girl.”

  “Well, thirteen, maybe. Tops.” Hannah exhaled, the sound weirdly maternal. Then she sat on the edge of the couch, crunching at least five dress skirts in the process. “Okay, let’s analyze this. Do you like him?”

  “Yeah,” Shelby said honestly. “We had a lot of fun. He’s a genuinely nice guy.” Who did genuinely nice things to her body—but sex did not a relationship make. And she had a future planned with Alan, even if none of it was official yet.

  “Okay. Check in the like column. Was the sex good?”

  “Hannah!”

  “Right. Check in the mind-blowing column.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes but, since Hannah wasn’t wrong, didn’t argue.

  “Do you want to see him again?”

  “No.” The answer came out firm—mostly because Shelby forced it out from between her lips that way.

  Hannah leaned back. “Do we need to try that one again?”

  Before Shelby could answer, Nolan’s voice filled the room again, its low timbre seeming to rumble through all the sweet spots in her body. “Oh, yeah, baby. I should get shut out more often, because the phone lines are lighting up. Forget solar. We can power this town through my humiliation alone. Okay, caller one. What do you say? Should I just put my tail between my legs and walk away?”

  “Yes,” the very female voice said. “She’s obviously a psycho-bitch not to want you.”

  Shelby’s jaw dropped open.

  “Just call me. I’ll make it totally worth your while. Five-one-two, five—”

  “Aaaannnnd thank you for that kind invitation, caller. We’ll hear another opinion right after this musical look by the Chairmen of the Board into my broken psyche.”

  As his voice faded out, the classic Gimme Just a Little More Time filled the room.

  “Not a bad idea,” Hannah said. “Give the guy a chance.”

  “Hannah—”

  “Look, I know you have a plan, and I know the idea of that” -she pointed toward the speakers with her eyes wide- “can be a little scary. I mean, the man’s a bundle of slightly vulgar imagery, right?”

  “He’s a perfectly nice guy,” Shelby said, then groaned when Hannah raised her brows. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. That’s my point. He is a perfectly nice guy. Just because he’s a little outside your box doesn’t mean he’s going to end up like your cousin or your uncle.”

  “Those are only the ones you know about,” Shelby said. “Don’t you get it? Nobody in my family until my parents even went to college. Real estate ownership is not a thing with them. And they wouldn’t know a college fund if it bit them in the butt.”

  She drew in a breath. “They’re all nice enough, I guess. But we spent some time when I was growing up with my cousins, and we had nothing to talk about. All they did was watch television. And not even dramas or comedies. Nothing that we could actually talk about. No discussing themes or characters or even amusing commercials. They just watched shopping networks and ordered things then complained about having no money. Or they watched game shows and complained that they never won anything. And none of them seemed to care. They didn’t want to get a better job or read a classic or, well, anything.”

  She sat back, exhausted from the passion of her words, and a little surprised that all of that had spilled out of her.

  Hannah was leaning forward, her elbows on her thighs and her chin resting on her fists. “I totally get that,” she said seriously. “My mom and I had a horrible time after my dad was killed, and her sister told her to just get on welfare. But she didn’t. She scraped and clawed and ended up back in school. She worked as a teacher and learned how to pinch pennies so that she could put me through college.”

  “You do get it,” Shelby said, relieved. She’d known that Hannah’s policeman father was killed in the line of duty when she was a toddler, but she hadn’t realized how hard her mother had scrambled.

  “Yeah. And so do you. You know about college funds. And you understand mortgages. And you’re ambitious. But what does this have to do with Nolan?”

  Shelby stood, trying to put her thoughts into words. “See, this is why one-night stands are a bad idea. They never just go away after one night.”

  “That doesn’t make them a bad idea,” Hannah retorted. “It just means they’re poorly named.”

  Despite herself, Shelby laughed. “It’s just that Nolan doesn’t fit, you know? I mean, he’s all bawdy jokes and crazy pranks. But Alan’s working for tenure and already thinking about a family.”

  “Hmm,” Hannah said, and in the silence that followed, Shelby realized the song had ended and another one was coming to a close. Before Hannah continued, Nolan’s voice filled the room again. “It’s nine-fifty-eight, and that gives me just enough time to toss in a mention of my favorite bar, The Fix on Sixth. Trust me, peeps, you want to check this place out. Amazing food, fabulous drinks, and starting this Wednesday, a bi-weekly calendar contest for all you guys out there. And I don’t mean for you to gawk at, I mean for you to get up on that stage, strut your stuff, and try to get yourself set up as Mr. January, because The Fix is filling up a calendar with a whole year full of men. Visit the website or drop by for details on how to enter.”
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  “Ohhhh,” the female voice crooned. “Twelve hunky men. I’ll definitely have to … come … watch the contest.”

  “You do that, baby,” Nolan said, as Shelby rolled her eyes and pointed at Hannah with an I told you so expression.

  “We’re at the top of the hour. And you know what that means—time for me to stop being Wayne. But if you haven’t had your fill, tune in every weekday morning from six to ten for Mornings with Wood. I’m Nolan Wood, and you’re listening to Sunny-side Saturdays.”

  “Enough of that,” Hannah said, going to her phone and turning it off. “And before you say anything, it’s his job. His schtick.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” Shelby said, smiling at the memory of some of Nolan’s quips. But the truth was, if it wasn’t for the fact that she wanted to win an argument, she wouldn’t even be arguing the point. It was fun to talk to Nolan, no doubt about it. But that didn’t mean he was the kind of guy she wanted to hitch her star to.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Hannah said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re all the way down the road with this guy. Can’t you just have fun with him? Why do you have to commit? Just date. Until Alan puts a ring on your finger, you need to explore what else is out there.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “But it’s probably a moot point. Despite his playlist, after yesterday, I doubt I’m ever going to see him again.”

  * * *

  Manny Ortega owed Nolan big-time.

  First, instead of spending Saturday evening at The Fix with his buddies, he was in the ballroom at the Four Seasons hotel on the shores of Lady Bird Lake, the portion of the Colorado River that ran through downtown Austin. Second, he was wearing a damn tuxedo, and it was killing him to not tug at the collar. And third, Lauren and her politi-dweeb husband were on the premises.

  Seriously, someone should just kill him now.

  The only reason he was at the wedding of Brian Ross and Celia James was because Brian’s father owned at least a dozen restaurants in the Austin area, not to mention three South Austin office complexes. His company was one of the most prolific advertisers on KIKX, and Manny considered Jonathon Ross to be just one step short of God. Which made his son Brian some sort of demi-god. Which apparently meant that Nolan—as a local celebrity—had to make an appearance and kiss his ass.