by Kris Jayne
"They want you to be happy. It's just their idea of happy isn't yours. Tell them."
Vivienne scoffed. Her face remained still, but he could hear her exasperation.
"I will. I'll find a way. It's complicated, and I'm not ready to answer their questions."
"I need you to do this. For me. In the next couple of weeks. Please. Just give me a heads up so I know what's coming."
"Fine."
"No offense, but I'm ready to end this. I want to move on," he said.
"I know. You must be itching to find someone new. Although, I don't know how you expect to find my replacement when you live at the office. You'll have to start picking up women in the lobby. Or hanging around outside the ladies' room." Vivienne's joke was too much on the mark.
Nick gave a wry smile, but felt uncomfortable. The only way he'd met Micky was the brief five minutes he wasn't slaving away in his office or huddled at home, which he had been for the past few months. He suddenly felt absurdly glad her car battery had died at the moment he walked into the parking garage. Sexy damsels in distress didn't normally just fall out of the sky.
He remembered leaning over the car and seeing the creamy skin descending into her blouse as her button came undone. One or two more buttons, and the view would no doubt get even better. His face—and other parts of his body—warmed at the memory.
"Hey, Nick," Vivienne prompted him out of his reverie. Her eyes narrowed as a sly smile emerged. "Have you met someone? Your face is turning pink."
"This doesn't feel right…" His foot began tapping compulsively. The complexity of the situation plagued him, and he couldn't explain the continued involvement of her father in his love life. Talking about his lust for another woman would be too strange anyway.
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I guess. It's a relief if you have met someone."
"That makes it easier to kick me to the curb, does it?" Nick said and chuckled.
"I'm sorry. I really am s…"
"Dear God, Vivienne, if you say you're sorry one more time, I'm going to drown myself in my cocktail." He sat back with a sigh. "Yes, I met someone."
"Where'd you manage to find her?"
"Don't laugh," Nick held up his hands, finally relaxing a little. "I met her in the parking garage at work."
Vivienne laughed. Loudly. The sushi chef behind the sleek glass counter turned their direction and scowled.
"Well, at least I wasn't hanging around outside the ladies' room. What kind of pervert do you think I am?"
"I don't." Vivienne turned serious. "You're a good guy. A great guy. I want you to find someone who knows how to match your intensity. I never could do that. You're this romantic, sexy guy, and it was pearls before swine with me."
"I know now why you and I never really clicked."
"In the bedroom." Vivienne finished. "I wanted to. But I knew if it wasn't working with you, it never would."
"If you don't mind my asking, when did you know that you were gay? Did you know before we dated?"
"Oh, I've had those feelings as long as I can remember. I had my first crush on a girl when I was seven. But, I knew it was wrong. Or, you know, I thought it was. I just pretended it was something other than that—other than being gay. Then, I got older and had boyfriends. It was easy to keep them at arm's length because of how my parents raised me. I thought if I met the right guy, those feelings would go away. I could change. Everyone around me talked about how it was unnatural. You have to know, Nick, that I genuinely wanted to be with you. I hoped you were the guy who could change me. I wanted you to be. I know that's completely unfair, but I did care about you." Vivienne confessed. "I still care about you. That whole idea is just backward. You and I aren't like we should be."
Nick felt a mixture of sadness and joy. He realized that this was the first fully open conversation he'd ever had with Vivienne. He understood why she would lie to herself, but he wondered what had made him so willing to settle for anything less than this level of honesty, plus the passion he'd craved. He and Vivienne both deserved that. She tipped her platinum blonde head to the side, and they sat silent.
Then, the truth hit him. He hadn't ever loved Vivienne. Not in a romantic way. There were things he loved about Vivienne. She was smart and independent. In every other area of her life, she knew what she wanted, and she had incredible confidence. All in all, he was lucky to know her.
He hoped he still had enough luck to find the real love of his life with all of those things, plus the passion and connection. That total package was something he'd never had. But now, Nick knew exactly where he wanted to start looking for it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The air grew crisper as the week progressed, and by Saturday, there were dire predictions of a rare, early winter blast. Micky never knew if she should take the weather fearmongers seriously since the local news stations seemed to love scaring the hell out of everybody with radar images scattered with wild colors. She didn't want anything to interfere with the day's plans.
She closed her laptop and stretched after a morning of working on presentations. Micky was determined to push any stress out of her mind and focus on having a good time. The light at the end of the tunnel for the day was knowing Nick would be picking her up at six to grab a bite to eat before going to the American Airlines Center for the Mavericks game.
Not only would she get to spend time with Nick, but his older sister and her family would also be there in his suite. His willingness to introduce her to his family reassured her.
At four o'clock, she started getting ready. She stood in her walk-in closet in a towel with wet hair contemplating what to wear.
She pulled out a silk jersey wrap top with animal print and thought it might work with a pair of jeans. So far, Nick had mostly seen her in her uptight work clothes. He'd also mostly seen her yelling at him and running the other direction. She wanted to show him her relaxed self. Her sexy and relaxed self.
Micky put the top up to her chest and kicked the closet door closed so she could see herself in the full-length mirror. The deep V-neck would show a good bit of cleavage. That could be a plus. She'd have to watch bending over.
Shit. Micky hung the top back up. The last time she worn it was last winter on a date with Eric.
"That top makes your breasts look like they’re gift wrapped," the liar had said. He had trailed his index finger down her sternum with a Cheshire cat smile. Hearing the sound of his voice in her head brought back the sensations of betrayal and mistrust. He'd never apologized. He'd written in an email saying he'd been in an "impossible" situation. Micky sneered. "Impossible" because there would be no way for him to tell the truth and keep banging her.
What's worse is the coworker who introduced them had also known and not told her. Tony later defended his actions, telling her that he "didn't judge," and it was "none of his business." Micky kicked a box of old clothes and screamed.
Eric didn't deserve any more of her emotional energy. Nick had at least been honest about his entanglements. She needed to push Eric and his nonsense out of her head and focus on the future. Nick. Tonight. Sexy outfit.
She pulled out a calf-length sweater dress and looked at her boots. The dress would flatter her in all the right places, but she didn't want to be one of those women who goes to a sporting event all dolled up. Maybe jeans?
She settled on her most alluring pair of long, lean denim, with a cute pair of black, knee-high riding boots and a nice top. She had a royal blue cashmere sweater in the same wrap style that showed off her curves and a bit of cleavage, but not so much she couldn't be around children. Plus, the color matched the Mavs blue. It was perfect.
She also picked out a nice matching pair of lavender lace undies. Nick probably wouldn't see them, but wearing hot underwear always gave her a confidence boost. And she'd wear her hair down, which she hardly ever did at work—usually opting for a ponytail or bun. Tonight, the dark waves would cascade around her shoulders, framing her cheekbones and fri
nging her color-shifting hazel eyes. The blue of her top highlighted the lighter flecks in her irises, making her eyes greener. Not as green as Nick's. Her skin tingled.
After she finished getting ready, she surveyed the results in the mirror. She looked good—casual, but sexy. She loved that Nick was tall enough she could wear her heels.
Micky then upped the ante a bit by putting on her red lipstick—which rarely made an appearance. Usually, she kept her makeup understated and questioned if she could carry off vixen red lips. She often put it on and then took it off, which she was just about to do when the doorbell rang. With her time running out, vixeny red lips it was. With one last glance at the mirror, she took a deep breath and went to answer the door.
She looked at Nick and immediately felt flushed. He stood in the doorway, his green eyes looking even brighter with his emerald green sweater peeking out from his heavy wool coat. He wore jeans, which made her glad she decided to do the same.
As she invited him in, he passed by her, and she caught a glimpse of his jeans from behind. It was unfair for a man that handsome to have a butt that nice.
Nick's heart pounded, and his mind went blank. As soon as he rang the doorbell, his stomach took a little flip. The nerves baffled him. It was a casual date. They'd have drinks, go to the game, and eat hot dogs. He was a grown man who'd been on dozens of dates. Nick reminded himself again that his relationship with Micky was about business, first and foremost. Then Micky opened the door.
Holy hell. Released from the tight ponytails and buns she often wore, her hair fell into loose and flirty ripples. Her sweater and jeans were stretched nicely around an hourglass figure he'd place bets looked as good from behind as it did from the front.
Was that cashmere? Nick's fingertips itched to find out. The cherry on top was this red lipstick that defied explanation. He wanted to taste it. Nick had to press his hands against his thighs to stifle the urge to touch her.
"I need to refill Ophelia's dog bowl and grab my coat," Micky said. Nick looked down Ophelia who was investigated him with curious sniffs. "Isn't she the cutest little hound dog? You better hope you pass muster."
"Hello, Ophelia. I'm not worried. Puppies love me." Nick bent down to scratch the fuzzy head of Micky's beagle, who jumped around like he was Santa Claus, wagging her tail so hard she twisted sideways.
Micky laughed. "She's the worst guard dog ever."
"She's adorable. How old?"
"She's ten, but still a total puppy. Aren't you buddy?" Micky filled the dog bowl with kibble and handed Ophelia a couple of treats, all of which were gone almost as soon as they appeared.
"Is she going to be okay outside? Or do you leave her inside?"
"I gave up trying to keep her inside or outside. She has a dog door, so she can come and go as she pleases."
"Ah, I see. So, she basically runs the house."
"No question. I know the Dog Whisperer guy says I should be pack leader, but I'm woman enough to admit that I'm not in charge."
Nick would bet she was woman enough for all sorts of things.
"That seems to be more important if you have a pit bull. She doesn't look quite as dangerous."
Micky laughed again as Ophelia sniffed at Nick's shoe and then turned another three-sixty, waiting for him to play with her. "We better get out of here before she sucks us both in."
Chapter Twenty-Four
As they drove from Micky's house to the uptown neighborhood near the arena, a bit of freezing rain started to fall, and Micky settled back into the warmed passenger seat of Nick's Mercedes.
"Do you have a suite at the AAC?"
"No, no. The firm does, and I can occasionally get tickets. I have season tickets, but not in the suite. When I take my nieces, I try to get in the suite and sell my seats. They like going to the games, but I can't say that they can pay full attention for three plus hours. This way, they can run around a bit or maybe watch something else on one of the TVs."
"You sound like everyone's favorite uncle. That must be nice to have some kids in your life. I need to start bugging my brother about kids."
"I'm sure he'd love that. You should let him get down the aisle first, or work on having them yourself."
"Yeah. I could focus on my own life, but that wouldn't drive him crazy."
"Is that the sole purpose of having sisters in your life? Mine is the same way. Although, it's my mom who bugs me about having kids."
"At least she has some grandchildren already. My mom has none," Micky noted. "And I hear about it."
Nick pulled into the parking garage near the arena, and they walked to Victory Grill, just a block away. Even though Micky had her heavy coat, she shivered a little as temperatures continued to drop. Nick moved from her right to her left side, blocking the some of the wind, and put his arm around her. She scooted as close to him as possible. Once inside and seated, they kept talking and ordered appetizers and drinks.
"You don't talk much about your parents. Do you see them often?"
"I see my mother a few times a year, and we talk on the phone. She lives in Scottsdale. My dad splits his time between Houston, Miami, and whatever new adventure is capturing his attention. Over the summer, I think he was in Bali."
"You lose track of where he is?"
Micky shrugged. "He was supposed to be here to meet Clarissa's parents. He said he was coming a couple of weeks ago. Not sure what came up, but he called Pete and told him he couldn't make it. It's too bad, but not surprising. He's not a bad guy. He just lives by the seat of his pants. We've learned to just enjoy him when we see him. He is a lot of fun."
"Must be nice to have the kind of job where you can travel and not be chained to a desk. What does he do?"
Micky just laughed. "Pete Llewellyn Sr. doesn't work per se. He has an inheritance from his father, and he's worked in real estate and does some investing. He basically manages the estate he inherited. Honestly, now that we're grown and he's not paying child support, I don't know that he has a lot of expenses. Other than the travel, he lives pretty simply in properties that my grandfather owned."
"That's nice if you can swing it," Nick said with an edge in his voice.
"I'm not sure it is. I know he sounds like a trust fund baby with Peter Pan syndrome. Maybe he is." He'd never had to work and, consequently, never had to grow up. Even after having children, he maintained a free and easy lifestyle with few entanglements. "It's one of the reasons Pete and I hang together."
"It's great that you and Pete have each other," Nick remarked. "I take it the proposal went well. Has your brother set a date yet?"
"It was beautiful. I never thought my brother could be so romantic. They're completely in love." Micky sounded wistful even to her own ears. She cleared her throat. "I can't wait for the wedding. They're targeting next fall. I love weddings. The ceremony, the flowers. Sorry, I know you had your own wedding planned."
"It's fine," Nick said and took a swig of his beer. "I wouldn't have figured you for such a romantic."
"I have my moments. Plus, I love a good party," Micky added. "What about your family? Your sister's name is Amy, right?"
"Yes. Amy Carrera. She's my big sister. She married her husband James about ten years, or a little longer at this point. He will be there tonight. I actually knew James first and introduced them. Now they have two girls—Alice and Natalie. I should warn you, Alice is over the moon about meeting you. Natalie can't wait to see you again. They have thoughts of making sure I still have a wedding next summer."
"I see. Your cancelled engagement."
"Yes. I told them you and I are just friends."
"A friend? Is that what this is?" Micky raised her eyebrows.
"That's as much as I care to share with children, or with my mother. She'll be equally curious, but she's not coming tonight. I thought I'd spare you the full Halden experience."
"Friend is good. I can be your friend." Micky laughed, picked up her martini glass, and winked at Nick. "A toast. To being friends."
/> "You're a smart ass as well as a romantic. I like it." Nick obliged her, picking up his glass and leaning closer. "To friendship. Sexy, inappropriate, benefit-laden friendship."
"That's the best kind of friendship." Micky toasted Nick again.
"As much as I enjoy the direction this conversation has taken, we should get going. I told my sister I'd meet her at the south entrance at seven. Shall we?" He flagged down the waiter for the check.
After settling the tab, they walked outside and a cold blast of air slammed into them. Nick and Micky hustled down the street to the arena. The sidewalk was starting to get slick, and Micky stumbled a couple of times, only to be caught by Nick and pulled in even closer, her face in his neck.
The warmth emanating from his body made her grateful for the cold weather. He smelled cleanly of soap and sandalwood. When they rounded the corner to the south side of the arena, Nick kept a firm arm around her and soon they both heard, "Uncle Nick! Uncle Nick!"
A pair of dark-haired little girls with matching hot pink knit caps came running toward them with a tall, slender brunette trailing behind them. As they came close, Micky noticed the woman had the same clear green eyes and bright smile as Nick—only in a feminine package.
"Hi! You must be Micky." Amy extended her hand.
"And you must be Amy," Micky replied, taking the woman's outstretched hand. In a nanosecond, the slightly taller of the two girls turned toward Micky. The girl looked at her intensely with curious chocolate brown eyes, her gaze traveling from the bright red coat to the riding boots shielding Micky's feet from the cold, wet street.
"Nice boots," the girl observed. "I'm Alice."
"Thank you, Alice. And how are you Natalie?" Micky spoke to the younger girl who was still entwined around Nick's legs and peering up at her with the same dark brown eyes.
