by Shirley Jump
She stuck out her tongue at him. Ten years ago, he’d have found that funny. Now it made him want her. Wanted to capture that tongue in his mouth, curl his own around hers. His groin tightened and his pulse began to thunder in his temples. Damn, he needed a date—with someone other than Alex.
“Edward may have been a jerk, but he made me think. Maybe it is time I grew up, settled down. Became a big girl. But no kids. That’s not me. Definitely not me.” A shadow fell over her face and she looked away.
Mack’s heart broke for her all over again. He reached out a hand in Alex’s direction, but she was too far away for him to touch.
Always too far. Always drawing into herself, away from him, from everyone.
Oh, Alex, he thought, will you ever forgive yourself?
Then she straightened, and the shadow washed away, replaced by her normal sunny countenance. “But marriage sounds…nice,” she went on. “Like that one dessert I never tasted in the restaurant, but everyone tells me is really great.”
A sweet, slow smile took over her face, a smile that socked him in the gut.
Holy Mother of God. He needed to find a way—if only for his own peace of mind—to get Alex out of sight. Then maybe he could forget her. Move on. Think about other women for a change. Women who didn’t want the kind of permanence Alex had just described. The kind that caused his throat to swell, his chest to constrict. No way was he going to voluntarily sign up for the kind of pain patrol his father and best friend were already walking. The kind of pain he’d already experienced. Only an idiot put his head in the guillotine twice.
But he also wasn’t going to keep on flogging himself with Alex’s presence, either. “What if, uh, what if I helped you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Helped you find a man. One who isn’t a jerk? Who actually has more than one brain cell and walks without dragging his knuckles on the ground?”
She laughed. “You mean you’d help me find my happy ending? Get this Cinderella a prince?”
He nodded. Told himself it would be a happy ending all around. Alex would finally be loved the way she deserved to be loved, and he’d stop wanting something he couldn’t have.
Because as much as he cared about Alex—and if there was ever a person in his life he had cared about more than himself, it was Alex—there was one thing he refused to do.
Screw up their friendship.
All his life, Mack had protected Alex. Taken care of her. Drawn her under his bigger wing and sheltered her from the storms of middle school, bad prom dates and, most of all, the scars left by her childhood. He couldn’t go into a relationship with her now, knowing full well he’d never be able to give her what she wanted, needed and deserved.
Mack might be a cad, but he wasn’t one who would ever put his own baser needs ahead of Alex’s basic needs.
“You’d really do that?” she asked. “The man who once made a speech—a very convincing speech, I might add—to a roomful of beer-swilling buddies comparing marriage to Alcatraz, only without the perks of prison?”
“That was years ago.”
“Try six months, Mack.”
“I never said I was considering getting married again.” He shuddered. “I’m simply being a good friend.”
Alex snorted. “And what’s in it for you?”
“You’d quit bugging me, for one.”
“I don’t bug you.” She considered the statement. “Okay, maybe I do. I am here an awful lot.”
He tipped his beer her way. “Proves my point.” And every time she was at his house, in his pool, in his living room, the torture of her presence only became more agonizing. For five seconds today, he’d thought maybe—just maybe—he and Alex could give it a shot. Then she’d blown that plan out of the water with her announcement that she was looking to settle down. Get married.
If he’d been a betting man, he’d have laid twenty-to-one odds Alex would have been the last to fall to the marriage bug. But fall she had and he had no intention of succumbing, too.
Not even for Alex. He’d seen firsthand how promising forever and ever could explode and disintegrate into something far afield from what people imagined on their wedding day. He’d stick to himself, and his dog, thankyouverymuch, and avoid the unhappy ending. Why sign up for the inevitable?
He only prayed Alex would end up different. Because she was worth much better. She was worth a man who would love her without reservation. Without strings.
And then, he could finally quiet this fascination with her. Go back to being just friends. Because as much as he wanted Alex—
He wanted her friendship far more.
“Why should I trust your taste in men?” Alex asked.
“What’s made your track record so good?”
“Hey.”
He grinned. “Listen. I’m a guy. I think like a guy. Which means I can weed out the psychopaths, the sex fiends and the addicts looking for a mommy.”
“If you do that, you won’t have any friends left.” She gave him a teasing smile.
Mack’s chest tightened. He took another swig of beer. “I’ll find someone normal.” Someone boring. Someone who wouldn’t turn her on, make her into the sex kitten he suspected she could be—
Okay, not going down the right mental path. Mack reined in his thoughts and tried again. “A man you can bring home to Grandma and still enjoy waking up with every morning.”
Though the thought of Alex waking up with anyone else but him nearly made Mack crack his beer bottle in half. All the more reason to get her fixed up, and fixed up fast.
She thought a minute, chewing on her bottom lip. Mack watched, fascinated, as her bright white teeth tugged on the crimson skin. Damn, it was hot out here.
“All right. I’ll try it your way.” Alex turned her dazzling smile on him, the one that made it almost impossible for Mack to think straight. “If all works out, then I’ll get married and finally get out of your hair. And, even better, I’ll finally stay out of your pool. After all, what are friends for, if not for setting you up?” She slipped off the towel and laid back on the lounge chair, totally oblivious to the effect she and that slim excuse for a swimsuit had on him.
Mack groaned inwardly and guzzled the rest of his beer. He shot to his feet. Alex was right. The best thing he could do was introduce her to a man who would marry her.
Alex was never going to see him as anything other than a friend, the guy she leaned on when things got tough, the one she confided in, the shoulder she cried on. For so long, he hadn’t minded filling that role, but now—
Now, damn it, he did.
And at the same time, he needed her to do the same for him. What we have here, Douglas, is a hell of a conundrum.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll find a Mr. Perfect for you.”
Then he stripped off his shirt and dove headfirst into the deep end, trying to get away from her and the fantasies that bikini conjured up.
Trouble was, he suspected he was already in way over his head with Alex.
Chapter Two
After the engagement that never actually engaged, Edward did what he always did—left Alex to clean up the mess. He jetted off to the Bahamas, or maybe it was Bermuda—Alex had stopped listening after the words “I’m married”—leaving only a note in the apartment they had shared.
Sorry to have to remind you at a time like this, darling, but this is my apartment. And since we’re no longer together, it’s time you moved out. I’ll be back in a few days. That should be enough time for you to get resettled.
Best wishes,
Edward
She took the note, written on Edward’s distinctive monogrammed thick linen card stock in his precise script, wadded it up into a tight ball, then chucked it at Edward’s favorite vase: a Chinese cloisonné. The hard paper missile landed squarely in the center. The vase teetered on its narrow pedestal and Alex charged forward to catch it, but her steps on the bouncy wood floor only shook things up and tipped the scales, bringing t
he bright red-patterned container crashing to the floor. And five thousand flowers shattered into five gazillion.
Well. That’s what Edward got for writing on such heavy damn paper.
“Resettled, my ass,” she said to the shrapnel. But without anyone around to hear, the words had as much punch as a two-year-old.
She gave herself ten minutes to rant. Ten minutes to be really pissed off and curse Edward’s name six ways to Sunday. Then she told herself to get over it and make a plan.
She started packing, pulling her books off the shelf and putting them into a box in the closet. The same box she’d used to move in a year and a half ago. Pretty sad that she hadn’t even thought to throw it out. Maybe, in the back of her mind, she’d been holding on to the box, knowing this wouldn’t work out.
What she needed was a life change. A major life change. Something that would get her out of a job she hated, out of relationships she hated, out of apartments that weren’t even hers, and into something—
Permanent.
A life with legs. The one thing she’d never had.
Alex’s hand lighted on the book that had defined her adolescence. Willow Clark’s The Season of Light. A coming-of-age story about a troubled young girl named Jensine McCallister who lived in a small town and dreamed of more. Alex flipped over the book, threadbare from its many readings, and read the back cover bio about the author, even though she already knew it by heart:
Reclusive author…Boston area…never granted interviews.
Only wrote one book in her career.
The words “Boston area” leapt out at Alex like they had been written in neon. Then the others followed suit. Reclusive, never granted an interview. What a coup a story like that would be.
Alex smacked the book against her palm. Of course. Why had she never thought of that before? All this time, she’d been searching for a story idea that would wow her editor. She’d thrown him profile after profile, hoping he’d give her the go-ahead on any of them, so she could finally score a position in Features and climb her way out of the fashion pages.
If she could track down—and interview—the inaccessible Willow Clark, essentially, do what no one else had ever done before, then Joe would have to give her a job in Features. And she could kiss stilettos good-bye forever.
Alex tucked the book into her purse, then went back to packing. Tomorrow, as soon as she got to work, she’d start searching all the interlinked newspapers’ and media databases, and find Willow Clark. Getting the interview from there should be a piece of cake. After all, Alex had an advantage she was sure none of the other reporters had had.
She’d read the book. Really read it. And maybe if Willow Clark saw that kind of passion, she’d be more apt to talk.
“You disappointed me, Alex.”
Alex turned and found Renee Wendell, standing in the doorway and holding two coffees, one an iced frappuccino with extra whipped cream. “Hey, what a great surprise. You and the coffee.” Alex stopped packing and dusted off her hands. “What are you doing here?”
“Reading your mind.” The leggy brunette strode forward and placed the foamy concoction into Alex’s hand. “It’s the job of the former maid-of-honor-to-be to bring caffeine fortification and emotional support after the jerk of the century skips town.” She looked around Edward’s apartment. “I really thought I’d find more death and destruction, though.”
Alex shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“Revenge? Pain? Making him pay for being such a complete asshole?” Renee sat on the black leather sofa. After three kids, Renee’s figure had taken on more curves, but she was still beautiful, with a wide, genuine smile and big brown eyes. “Do I need to go on?”
Alex laughed, then plopped into the opposite armchair, laying her coffee on the end table. Skipping the coaster. Let it leave a water ring, damn it. That alone would freak out neatnik Edward.
The exhaustion of the entire betrayal overtook her, and she draped her arms over the chair’s sides, suddenly wishing she could turn back the clock and unring this bombshell bell. “Believe me, I thought of blowing up his apartment. Putting all his suits into the incinerator. Smashing his tie tack collection.”
“He has a tie tack collection?”
“His first name is Edward, Renee. Does he sound like the kind of guy who would collect race cars?”
“Get me a hammer. I’ll smash ’em myself.” Renee laughed. “That’s just nuts.”
“What the hell did I see in him?” Alex shook her head.
“Same thing you see in every guy you date, Alex.” Renee ran a hand over the edge of the couch, then met Alex’s gaze with the kind of honesty only a best friend could have. “Security.”
Was that what she had been doing? Seeking some kind of Band-Aid for her childhood in Edward? Alex shuddered. Next time she’d just buy an alarm system and a Doberman. “Look how well that worked out. Now I’m boyfriendless. And homeless. Edward left me a very polite note kicking me out of his apartment.”
Renee muttered a very unflattering curse under her breath. “We’re definitely taking that tie tack collection with us. My three-year-old is all into Bob the Builder. He’ll have a lot of fun demonstrating ‘Yes, we can,’ with Tony’s hammer on those suckers.”
Alex laughed. “I feel better already.”
“See?” Renee gave her a helpful smile. “Focus on the positive.”
“Remind me. What’s the positive in this?”
Renee thought a minute. “You didn’t end up a bigamist.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Oh, gee. Missed my chance to be on CNN.”
Renee tipped her coffee cup in Alex’s direction. “There’s always next year.”
Alex rose. “First, I have to find a place to live.”
“You could live with me.”
“And sleep where? In the closet? With three kids, you and Tony are cramped in that apartment as it is.”
Renee ran a finger around the rim of her cup, the good humor washed from her face. “Yeah, well, we might be one less soon.”
The bottom dropped out of Alex’s stomach. Not again. Renee and Tony had been doing so well lately. Hadn’t they? “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” Renee waved off the words and brightened, though her cheer rang a false note. “Tony and I had a fight this morning and you know I get all dramatic over that crap.”
Alex studied her friend’s face, but the mask of “everything’s fine” had slipped back into place. Renee wore that face well. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Sure. Just peachy.” Renee got to her feet and turned, searching the apartment. “Where’s today’s Globe? We need to look in the classifieds. There’s bound to be an available apartment.”
Alex took a step closer, for the first time noticing the redness in Renee’s eyes. The strain in the lines on her face. The flush in her cheeks. But she let it go. For now. “I’ll get the paper. And the shredder.”
“For what?”
Alex grinned and the sting of betrayal began to lift with the energy of new action. “Edward’s not going to need his ties if we’re taking the tie tack collection, now, is he?”
Renee Wendell had learned to lie from the day she said “I do.”
She lied to her husband. She lied to her friends. She lied to her kids.
And most of all, she lied to herself.
That she was happy. That her marriage was okay. That she could juggle all these balls in the air and catch them, throw them back up and catch them again.
That she wasn’t seriously thinking about having an affair with another man.
“Renee, are you listening to me?”
Renee looked up from her menu, from the words that had been a blur almost from the second she sat down in the diner, and stared at her husband. He’d asked her a question and she scrambled to find the thread of the conversation that she had dropped. Birthday presents. Their middle child. Had she bought them yet. “Yes, Tony, I’ll buy the presents after work today.
Before I pick up the kids and cook dinner and help with homework.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to get bitchy about it. I can go to the store, too.”
She let out a sigh. Lately, she’d felt pulled in twenty directions. Helping Alex this morning, dealing with Tony at lunch. The constant needs of the kids, her job. And where was she in all of this? Lost in the shuffle, like that second black sock in the washing machine. “You wouldn’t know what to buy.”
“Kylie is my daughter, too, you know.” He folded his arms on the table, his dark brown eyes meeting hers, a lock of chocolate hair falling across his forehead. He needed a haircut. She’d mention the fact, but that would only set off a new argument. And she needed that about as much as she needed to get pregnant again. Frustration filled Tony’s features, the look so familiar, Renee could have drawn it in her sleep.
Once upon a time, when they looked at each other they smiled. Laughed. There’d been no tension, no fighting. Those days seemed a million miles away, as far away as her husband had moved emotionally. From her. From the kids. From their lives.
“What is Kylie’s favorite TV show?” Renee asked her husband. “Her favorite color? What doll did she ask us to buy for her birthday? She may be your daughter, Tony, but you aren’t plugged in to what she wants. At all.”
He sat back, anger sparking in his eyes, red flushing his cheeks as if she’d slapped him. “Maybe if you let me—”
“Maybe if you were home more often.”
“I’m not having this argument again, Renee.” He let out a gust. “Can we get along today? Please? For her birthday at least?”
“Of course,” Renee said. She’d play the happy wife role again. Bake the cake. Set the table, light the candles, sing the song and smile all the while. And the act would continue, while she wondered where the hell her marriage had gone and how something that had once felt so right could have gotten so badly derailed.
It hadn’t taken long for Alex to realize her housing options were limited. She and Renee had combed the classifieds, trying to find a place that fit Alex’s lean fashion-reporter’s pay and her Edward-dictated timeline. And came roach-free. Hitting all three marks was impossible.
