Gray Hair Don't Care

by Karen Booth

  She smiled sweetly and he instantly knew he was out of the loop. The question was how far. “I did. For a while. But doing runway and magazine shoots can be brutal. It’s not always the healthiest environment. I mostly have individual clients now. Celebrity chefs. Actors. A few pop stars. Internet influencers. Stuff like that.”

  “Anyone I know?” He took a swig of his beer and grabbed another slice of pizza.

  “My best client is Tammera Beyer. She’s on the Cook It! channel. She was my hair stylist for a long time while she was trying to break into TV. She’s even better with food than she is with hair, and she was great at that.”

  “I’ve heard of her. Haven’t seen her show, though.”

  Lela grinned warmly. “She’s always trying to get me to do crazy stuff. Right now, she’s trying to convince me to start my own line of cosmetics.”

  He swallowed down another drink of beer and plopped the bottle on the table. “Yes. You should totally do that. I could help if you want. I’m good with start-ups.”

  “Maybe. One day. I’m not there yet.” Lela shrugged it off. “Anyway, Tammera’s my best friend.”

  “That used to be my job.”

  “A million years ago, maybe.”

  “Maybe? What are you talking about with maybe? We were definitely best friends.” Just thinking about it, Donovan couldn’t help but long for the simplicity of the relationship he’d had with Lela in college. It had always been so easy to be with her. She never expected anything from him. Everyone else—his mom, his brother, girlfriends—all loved to build him up just to tear him down. He didn’t want to be on a pedestal, or as he liked to think of it, a hook.

  “Hey. You’re the one who went and got married,” Lela said. “We couldn’t stay best friends after that.”

  That was indeed true. Genevieve had demanded he cut all ties with Lela after they got engaged. All these years later, he hated hearing the hurt in Lela’s voice. Had she been holding onto it this whole time? Or was it cropping up because they were seeing each other again? “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He had the distinct impression he’d let down his best friend twenty-some years ago. Like most days, he was filing away a mental note to do better next time. “I still hate that things changed.”

  “The earth spins. Life goes on. Yada yada yada.”

  “I know. It sucks.”

  “Look at it this way. Genevieve barely tolerated us as friends when you guys were dating, then not dating, then dating again.” Lela bounced her head from side to side, her sandy brown hair flopping along with it.

  “You’re right, but you must’ve had a guy who didn’t like it either.” Although, come to think of it, Donovan didn’t remember Lela having many guys around at that time. He’d probably blocked it out.

  “There was no guy.”

  “Sure there was. What about that guy who wore all the flannel shirts? With the glasses?”

  Lela narrowed her sights on him, making him wonder if he was nuts. “Are you talking about Max? He was in one of my study groups. He had a very serious girlfriend.”

  “Oh. I guess I didn’t realize that.” She was such a spectacular human. There was no way he was the only guy who ever saw it. “Well, you got married, didn’t you? So there was eventually a guy.”

  Lela bunched up her lips then finished off her beer. “Eventually. Yes.”

  He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his belly. The pizza was mostly gone. So was the beer. But he wasn’t ready for his night with Lela to end. “What now? The night is young.”

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Grab a beer from a bodega and walk around the city? It’s too nice out to stay inside.”

  She shook her head. “People don’t really do that anymore. The cops actually enforce open container laws now. Plus, I have to go feed my cat. He’s probably used his claws to carve a murderous manifesto into the hardwood floors.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “You want to meet my cat?”

  “Of course. I have a million questions to ask him.”

  An effortless smile crossed her face and Donovan had to catch himself. There’d always been a glimmer of attraction between them, circling overhead. One time, it swooped down and flew right into their faces. He’d devoted a lot of energy to ignoring it. She was the first real friend he’d ever had. No one had come close to eclipsing her in that regard. “Yeah. Of course.”

  After he paid the bill, they walked outside. The sights, sounds, and smells of the city were coursing through his body like he’d just plugged into a limitless power source. It was invigorating. “Why don’t I come back to New York more often?”

  Lela took several steps down the sidewalk, then turned to him, walking backwards. “Maybe because I’m here?”

  He hustled to catch up. “That was never the reason.”

  She arched her eyebrows and lifted her chin. It was her way of calling him out. “Or is it just because you can’t stay in one place?”

  He did move around a lot. He’d lived all over the world since college—Chicago, Miami, Dallas, a short stint in Albuquerque he’d rather forget, Tokyo, Madrid, and London. “Probably. You’re the steady, dependable one.”

  “You make me sound like a washing machine.”

  “I mean it in a good way.”

  “Right.”

  “Seriously. The best possible way.” He slung his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her closer. There was a part of him that knew he shouldn’t do it. Every other time in his life he’d pulled a woman in, it ended in a fight, a relationship, or sex. He absolutely did not want the first two. The third could be amazing, but he didn’t want to repeat old mistakes. He hadn’t dealt with it very well the one time he and Lela had wound up in bed. Although, hopefully, he wasn’t that same guy anymore.

  Chapter Three

  Donovan and Lela walked over to 7th Avenue to catch a cab down to her apartment. They rode through the night, the taxi popping over bumps in the road as the driver sped up to red lights and lead-footed it away from the green. This was not how they’d traveled together when they were in school. Back then, they explored on foot, took the subway, or when his Vespa was working, he’d take her on that. He had so many incredible memories of running around the city with Lela that it would be difficult to pick a favorite one. Hell, it would be hard to untangle them. There were the nights they went to see bands at CBGB or The Pyramid, crushed up front against the stage and ferrying beers to each other. Or rainy afternoons spent hanging out in his apartment, studying or reading, always talking. And of course, there had been the Saturdays sneaking into churches.

  Lela admitted early in their friendship that she had a thing for weddings. They made her happy, and as her best friend, he’d felt obligated to enable her somewhat odd hobby. So, they would dress up—Donovan in a laughable wide-lapeled tux he found in a secondhand store, and Lela in a lavender dress she’d Frankensteined together by cutting up a few thrift store finds. He’d called it the Pretty in Pink dress, just like the one Molly Ringwald’s character put together for prom. He attached no romantic feelings to the vision of them dressed like that—it was more astonishment that no one had ever kicked them out of a church sanctuary.

  “You realize, Lela, tomorrow is Saturday.” The cab slowed down and turned onto West 21st Street. “We could go to a wedding. Sneak in and sit in the last pew. People-watch.”

  “Maybe. I’m still not on super steady ground after my divorce. Today was more of an impulse.”

  “Well, I’m glad you took a chance. Otherwise, we would’ve been half a block apart and still not seen each other.” That was a truly depressing thought. He hated the idea of missed opportunities. The cruel twist of fate.

  She smiled at him warmly and placed her hand on his thigh. She likely meant nothing by it, but his crotch did not get the memo. Everything in the vicinity of his hips went tight. “I’m glad we both decided to do it, too.” Lela scooted forward on the backseat to better talk to the driver a
s they crossed 8th Avenue. “It’s up here on the right. Middle of the block. You can pull over anywhere.”

  Donovan fished his wallet out of his pocket to pay, leaving a fat tip, then slid across the seat to climb out. Lela was already halfway up a flight of stairs leading to a picture-perfect brownstone. “You’ve really moved up in the world.”

  “I should hope so. I might not be rich, but I do make decent money.”

  That was a bit of a shot at Donovan, who came from considerable wealth on his mom’s side. He didn’t like to dwell on it or even talk about it. In fact, Lela was one of the only people who knew, although she’d never experienced in person what it was like to be fully immersed in the James’s world of money, guilt, and questionable intentions. “I wasn’t trying to say that you didn’t.”

  “It’s okay. I know that.”

  She keyed her way inside and Donovan followed, stepping into a beautiful foyer, with a black-and-white checkerboard landing and a vintage chandelier overhead. Ahead was a long stretch of what looked to be original hardwood floors, leading all the way to the back of the house. Down the stairs came a fluffy orange cat, meowing with every other step. Lela crouched down to rub his head. “Donovan, meet Rio.”

  “Duran Duran?”

  “Of course.”

  “You could’ve gone for a less obvious song.”

  She swatted his arm. “Don’t be a snob. That’s one of my favorites. Plus, what was I going to do? Name him The Chauffeur?” She cocked her head to one side and adorably stuck out her lower lip. “Actually, that would’ve been pretty cool.”

  “Maybe you can get Rio a friend.”

  “I don’t need more responsibility in my life.” Lela kicked off her heels. “Do you mind taking off your shoes?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.” He untied his Tom Ford oxfords and set them to the side.

  Lela strode down the long central hall, flipping on lights as she went. He hustled up, wanting to take in everything, but quickly realizing that however this place was decorated, it was not Lela’s style. As he stole a glance of the large living room running along one side of the house, the furnishings were not only spare, they were super modern black leather, when he’d always known her to be far more colorful, never so bleak, and definitely much more cluttered.

  “Is this where you lived with your ex?”

  She grabbed a bag of cat food and filled Rio’s dish. “Yes. It’s a work in progress right now. I need to make a bunch of changes. He refused to take the furniture, which is really stupid since he picked it out.”

  Donovan leaned against the kitchen island and sighed. He’d done that routine more times than he cared to remember, separating himself from the material goods acquired during a relationship. “What was he like? Your ex.”

  “That topic requires a drink.” Lela headed to the far end of the kitchen and opened the upper cabinet. “I have tequila, vodka, and gin. For mixers, I have tonic and soda. Otherwise, red wine.”

  “Gin and tonic?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Donovan didn’t want her to have to play bartender. “You sit. I’ll make the drinks.”

  “I’ll help. You don’t know where everything is.”

  Donovan pulled out the gin bottle as Lela grabbed two pint glasses from a cabinet.

  “I see we’re going for the supersize.” He gestured with a nod to the glasses.

  “This is not a super fun conversation.”

  “Got it. Fill those to the top with ice. Then we need tonic and lime.”

  “Refrigerator.”

  Donovan went hunting, finding the fruit in the crisper drawer and the half-size tonic cans at the back. “I see you still have a thing for pickles.”

  “Hey. Did you agree to this just so you could snoop?”

  He turned back and smiled at her. “Maybe.” He free-poured the gin, then the tonic.

  Lela cut slices of lime and squeezed them into the drinks, then stirred them with a butterknife. She raised her glass. “To friends.”

  “Yes. To friends.” He sipped his drink, the bubbles and citrus tickling his nose. Their gazes connected, and even though he got a little zing of electricity, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Two people picking up exactly where they’d left off. “So. Your ex?”

  She took his hand, her fingers warm and perfectly coiled around his. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable.”

  He trailed behind her, his body buzzing from the effects of the drink and of Lela. He had to make a conscious effort not to run off to the circus with his thoughts. Because here in this moment, all he could think about were decisions and mistakes and the course of his life. Should he have been less committed to keeping Lela in the friend zone when they were in college? Was she what had been missing from his life?

  They sat on one of the black leather couches, which looked truly out of place among the original elements of the home, like the white carved stone fireplace surround or the old cast iron insert. “If your ex picked out this furniture, I already know why it didn’t work. It’s cold and totally lacks character.”

  Lela pulled her leg up on to the sofa and faced Donovan. “Mark was a good guy. But, honestly, I think I talked myself into the idea of loving him. All of my friends were married and having kids and I felt like life was passing me by. So he came along and swept me off my feet, and I went along with it.” She took a long sip of her drink then cradled the glass in both hands. “I know that sounds terrible.”

  “We’re wired to do crazy things for love and sex.” Much of Donovan’s life could be summed up by that statement, although he would vote to substitute stupid for crazy. “So no kids then?”

  She shook her head. “That’s one of the worst parts. I really wanted them, but he was dead-set against it. Of course, I knew this when I married him, so I have zero business being upset about it.”

  “You can’t change your feelings.”

  “That’s very insightful.”

  “I went to therapy for a while, but that’s the only part I really remember.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She lazily rubbed the glass with her index finger. “Tell me about the wives after Genevieve.”

  Donovan hated that it was wives, plural. He felt like a cliché. To cope, he gulped down a good third of his drink. “There was Tess, the dermatologist. That lasted two years. Then Nadia, the yoga instructor. That lasted eight months, I’m afraid to say.”

  Lela shook her head then raised that same finger she’d been massaging the glass with. “Let me guess. Tess was younger than Genevieve, and Nadia was younger than Tess.”

  Donovan swallowed hard. “Why does it sound so horrible when you say it?”

  “Because men are painfully predictable?”

  “Please don’t lump me in with the other dudes of the world.”

  “I’m merely pointing out a pattern. You happen to fill it.”

  “I like older women, too, Lela.”

  She arched both eyebrows at him then took another long sip of her drink. “Don’t tell me. Women your own age?” Her eyes went wide as saucers in feigned astonishment.

  He laughed and smacked her leg with the back of his hand. “Yes, women my own age. I like you.”

  Their gazes connected again, completing a circuit. “I like you, too.”

  His breath became heavy, so much so that it felt like it had to be heaved out of him. He found himself leaning closer to Lela, drawn to her in the inevitable way metal couldn’t stay away from a magnet. “I hate that our friendship ended. I know it was my fault and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure I share just as much of the blame.”

  “No. What you said at John’s was dead-on. Getting back together with Genevieve ended everything. I should have said something. Just so you wouldn’t have to wonder what I was thinking.”

  “We weren’t a couple. We were friends. I don’t think you owed me that explanation.”

  Donovan felt the need to bring up one of many elephants currently occupyi
ng the room. “But we slept together. So we weren’t strictly friends.”

  “That was a one-time thing. You get a free pass on that.”

  “I don’t want a free pass. I know I messed up by leaving the next morning.”

  Lela shot him a quizzical look. “Um. If I were you, I’d take the free pass.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say it wasn’t the absolute best.”

  “What? It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “Mostly? I was just left a bit…” She was clearly searching for words. “Unsatisfied.”

  That word. It was a dagger to his heart and his ego. “Hold on a minute. The one time we had sex you didn’t have an orgasm?”

  She shook her head, looking sheepish. “Nope.”

  “Did you fake it?”

  “No. You just didn’t happen to notice.”

  He slumped back on the couch, feeling more than a bit defeated. His entire memory of that night was now cast in a far less flattering light. “Wow. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not a big deal. Plenty of guys in college didn’t really know what they were doing.”

  “Uh, I definitely knew what I was doing.”

  She unleashed a patronizing smile. “You don’t need to get defensive.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Okay.”

  “No. I’m absolutely dead serious. More serious than I’ve ever been in my entire life.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, feeling like if he could only right one wrong in the world, this was it. “Let me prove it to you.”

  “This isn’t darts. Don’t treat me like I’m the elusive bullseye.”

  “I’m not. That’s because the bullseye, for me, is not elusive. It’s not only attainable, it’s an imperative. Your bullseye, of course. Not mine.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “A tiny bit tipsy. That’s it.” He cleared his throat, if only to let some noise fill the silence between them. “Of course, if you don’t want to have sex with me, I understand.”

  Lela traced the top of her glass with her finger, not taking her eyes off him. “Okay. But I get to be in charge.”