Infinite Loop

by Meghan O'Brien

  With a vague sense of unease, Mel remembered the words that would have elated her only three years ago. You’re a good cop, Raines, and you’ll make an excellent detective. Lieutenant Jackson was wondering why she wasn’t taking the test; now she knew that Hansen wondered, too. She didn’t know how to explain why the thought of making detective now made her feel so empty. Falling back on humor, she gave her partner a mischievous wink. “Maybe I’m just not ready to leave you yet, Hansen.”

  “Can’t say I blame ya.” He changed lanes as they approached a cluster of familiar fast food places. “What do you say? Lunchtime?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Tacos?” He shot her a wide-eyed look of innocent hope.

  Mel groaned. “Tacos? Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s your pick tomorrow if we can have tacos today.”

  Mel felt a grin appear without her consent. “Hansen, it was supposed to be my pick today. You had a real craving for greasy cheeseburgers yesterday, remember?”

  “Tomorrow and Friday, then,” he offered. “You can have the next two.”

  “I’m such a sucker.”

  “And that’s really a very fine quality in a partner.” Chuckling, Hansen flipped on the turn signal. A garish sign advertised the taco joint Mel had frequently sworn never to visit again. Mel stifled further protest when he pulled into the driveway of the restaurant and guided the car into the drive-thru. As was his custom, he fell into a state of deep and silent concentration while he studied the colorful, glowing menu.

  She was grateful for the reprieve, and her mind immediately returned to Regan. I’ll call her tonight, she decided. Her heart began to jackhammer in her chest, and she brought a hand up to rest on her throat. Nothing’s ever going to change unless you change it. She studied her shoes, balling her fists in her lap. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than a second date.

  The thought, meant to comfort, only scared her.

  *

  Regan was drowning her sorrows in good, old-fashioned hedonism. It was seven o’clock on Wednesday night, and she was ensconced in her favorite easy chair, a thick down comforter wrapped around her pajama-clad body even as she enjoyed the chill of air conditioning. Stretched in front of her, her feet moved back and forth on the footrest in time to the music that poured from her television screen. Her eyes were fixed on the fast-paced video game in front of her, hands moving in practiced motion over her controller. On one side of her was a full bottle of water, and on the other was a half-empty bag of gummy bears. Oh, yeah, it don’t get much better than this.

  She let out a triumphant yelp as she executed a perfect 1080 Swiss Cheese in what was quickly becoming a record-breaking game of SSX on her Playstation 2. “I am a goddess!” she crowed, pumping an exultant fist into the air. “Who needs sex when I have video games?” she asked no one in particular.

  She was trying to take Adam’s advice. Working late every night was kind of pathetic. She reached a quick hand over to snatch a gummy bear from the bag while her snowboarder sped down a straightaway. Unlike this right here, of course.

  The sound of the phone ringing jarred Regan right out of her zone. She whipped her head around in a frantic effort to locate her cordless phone—over there, on the table—then turned back to watch in horror as her digital snowboarder smashed face-first into the snow. Shit! There was no time to mourn her high score. Regan sprang from her chair and raced over to half-vault, half-stumble over her couch. Her mind was racing as she grabbed the phone. It could be her. She turned on the phone and brought it to her ear with such force that she nearly clocked herself in the head. “Hello?” she gasped.

  For a moment she heard only silence, then, “Regan?”

  It was instantaneous—a Pavlovian response to the sound of a beautiful woman’s voice. Regan’s heart began thudding madly in her chest. Her throat tightened and she felt her voice catch. Her cheeks were hot and flushed. It’s her! For Christ’s sake, you moron, say something! She actually called you. Let her know it wasn’t a mistake.

  “Yes, this is. It’s me…I mean, I’m Regan,” she stuttered.

  “Hey, this is Mel…um, from the straight bar. Did I interrupt you or something?”

  “Oh, no!” Regan shouted, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Wincing, she explained, “I, uh…I was in the middle of a video game and it took me a minute to find the phone.” She blushed at her unthinking honesty.

  Mel’s chuckle helped to alleviate some of her distress at the admission. “Cool. And you can stop blushing, okay? I still think you’re adorable.”

  Regan disobeyed by turning even redder. The throaty voice on the other end of the phone made her legs weak. She sat down on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning back against the couch. “And what makes you think I’m blushing?” she asked.

  “They don’t call ’em ‘powers of deduction’ for nothing,” Mel replied. “I happen to know that you always blush when you talk about something you think is nerdy.”

  This insight did nothing to slow her pulse. “I find that most adult women aren’t overly impressed by my geeky toys.”

  “I’m not most adult women. I suspect you aren’t, either.”

  Regan laughed. “No, I’m not.”

  “For the record, I like video games.” Mel’s voice was friendly, conversational, and it set Regan at ease. “I’m sure you could kick my sorry ass at almost anything, but I have been known to play.”

  “Almost anything?” Regan grinned at the patterned wallpaper in front of her, and then closed her eyes, trying to picture what Mel would look like with a phone in her hand.

  “Nobody beats me at Tetris,” Mel said.

  Regan’s grin widened until her cheeks hurt. “Oh, that sounds like a challenge.”

  “Consider the gauntlet thrown.”

  Regan laughed. Now that her nervousness had eased a bit, her body began to relax. She bit her lip and made a confession. “I wasn’t sure you were going to call.”

  There was dead silence for a moment. “I wasn’t sure I would, either.” Brutal honesty.

  “Why did you?”

  “I…” Mel sounded off-balance at the question. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  Regan’s heart thumped hard, erratic. She brought a hand up to rest on her breast with a sense of euphoria. She thought about me? “I’m so glad I’m not the only one,” she breathed, and sensed that her words hit Mel just as hard.

  Mel’s voice changed when she spoke next. “I want to be honest. I don’t have much experience with this.”

  “Experience with what?”

  “Calling women. Dating. Whatever this is.”

  “What do you want it to be?” This absolutely gorgeous woman sounds just as nervous as I do. Does she realize how much that helps?

  A pause. “I want it to be dinner tomorrow night, to start.”

  Regan beamed at the wall in front of her and wiggled her toes with the excitement. “I’d like that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I would. I’m really glad you called.”

  She heard Mel’s smile in her voice. “I’m glad, too.” She cleared her throat. “Well, unless you want to ride my bike again, we’d better meet someplace or you can come pick me up.”

  Regan shuddered at the memory of that motorcycle ride, and what had happened after it. “How about I pick you up? I’m hell with directions, so I’ll never make it to an agreed-upon meeting place.”

  Mel snorted. “Then why do you think you can make it to my place?”

  “Incentive,” Regan replied. “Now give me the directions.”

  Mel’s answering laugh reminded her of just how attractive the incentive was.

  Chapter Three

  Mel smiled across the table, chin resting in the palm of her hand. Her elbow was planted on the table, and her eyes were stuck on Regan’s red hair and pale skin. Beguiling. Mel had never wanted to use the word before, but that’s exactly what she was.

  Regan
was wearing an army green ringer T-shirt that proclaimed There’s No Place Like 127.0.0.1—presumably some kind of computer geek thing—and low-rise cargo pants. Her hands were clasped in front of her on the table, and her foot tapped audibly on the tile floor. She was chattering away, obviously nervous but trying hard not to show it.

  Mel looked around at the intimate surroundings of the restaurant Regan had chosen; a dozen crowded tables lit with candles surrounded them, and brightly colored paintings adorned the walls. “Um…this is a nice place,” she offered when Regan paused to catch her breath.

  “I have an unhealthy addiction to their breadsticks,” Regan said.

  “Ah, so you had an ulterior motive in bringing me here? And here I thought you were catering to my love of Italian food.”

  “Let’s just say I figured this could be a win-win situation.”

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to call,” Mel said without thinking. She dropped her eyes to the table, feeling vulnerable for having said it. “I swear I must have taken your card out of my wallet a hundred times, looked at it, then put it away again.”

  “You were nervous?” Regan sounded incredulous.

  Mel responded with a shaky laugh. “I’m still nervous.” In fact, this was scaring the hell out of her.

  Regan reached across the table to take Mel’s hand. “As a good friend of mine once said, please don’t be nervous.”

  Mel cocked her head at Regan, staring into tender green eyes. “Friend, huh?”

  “I’d like to be,” Regan said in a soft voice.

  “Ladies.” A sandy-haired young man appeared at their table, pen poised over a pad of paper. “Are you ready to order?”

  Mel was glad for the interruption and let Regan order first. Why was this so hard? She’d spent all week thinking about Regan. The shy redhead was the only thing that felt good to Mel right now, and this was the first time anyone had ever affected her like this. That had to mean something, right?

  She scanned her menu, at a loss to decide what qualified as good date food. Spaghetti sounded messy. Scampi would give her killer breath. “I’ll have the lasagna.”

  “Good choice,” Regan commented after the waiter walked away. “My second favorite meal here.”

  Mel took a sip of her water, studying her date over the rim of the glass. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be so nervous. She clasped her hands together on the table, slightly freaked out when she realized that she was already thinking about “next time.”

  “I’m a lot less nervous in bars,” she said.

  Regan laughed. “I noticed. I don’t understand it, though. The more I get to know a person, the easier it is for me. Being surrounded by strangers kind of undoes me.”

  “I guess I feel more comfortable around strangers.”

  “But everyone needs friends.”

  Regan’s quiet certainty brought Hansen’s words to mind: I think everyone needs someone to remind them of the good things. Mel wondered why what seemed patently obvious to Hansen and Regan was so elusive to her.

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” She looked past Regan to the profile of a man sitting near them, careful to avoid eye contact with her date. Their conversation was unnerving her, as was her growing compulsion to be totally honest.

  “Oh, come on,” Regan said softly. “I can’t believe that someone like you doesn’t have friends.”

  Mel shifted her gaze to the hand clasping hers. “I don’t. My choice, really.” God, she sucked at this.

  Regan stared at her a moment, then withdrew her hand from Mel’s to gesture at the space between them. “So is this…okay?”

  “This is very okay.” Needing something to do with her hands, Mel unrolled her napkin, freeing the cutlery within. “I was telling the truth when I said I liked you the other night,” she said. “I had a really good time.”

  Regan beamed at her. “I had a good time, too.”

  Mel couldn’t help but return Regan’s happy expression. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen such honest emotion from a person before. Regan, once at ease, was so unpretentious and genuine that Mel could only sit in awe of her. She was beautiful.

  “So.” Regan rested her arms on the table. “Now that you have me here, my friend, what will you do with me?” She gave Mel a mischievous smile.

  Mel could see her wanting to come out of her shell, struggling to overcome her reserved nature, and found she wanted to do the same thing. She felt desperate to connect with her new friend, to stop being so guarded. “I don’t know,” she answered, more serious than Regan probably expected. “But I look forward to figuring it out.”

  The waiter returned with their salads and Mel picked up her fork, thankful for an excuse not to talk for a few minutes.

  Regan had other ideas. “So what about those women who took you to that bar? They’re not your friends?”

  Still on the friend thing. Mel finished chewing a crouton, then said, “Jane—the blonde, about my height—she’s the closest thing I have to a friend. We probably talk on the phone once every few months. That was the first time I’ve been out with her in about a year, though. The others are her friends.” She gave Regan a playful grin. “I didn’t pay a lot of attention to them. I don’t think they knew quite what to make of me.”

  “A seducer of ostensibly straight women?” Regan suggested.

  Mel snickered. “Oh, please. Nobody ever thought you were straight.”

  Regan wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, sighing in exaggerated relief. “Thank God.”

  They concentrated on their salads by silent mutual agreement, occasionally looking up to smile at one another over the lit candle at the center of their table. Mel couldn’t believe how much like a real date this seemed, and how little she suddenly cared about that fact. It felt good. So far. After a couple minutes their waiter turned up with a basket of steaming breadsticks.

  “Ah. Your fix,” Mel teased.

  “Oh, happiness.” Regan retrieved a hot breadstick from the basket the instant it was deposited the table.

  Mel watched with amusement as she took a healthy bite, closing her eyes and moaning contentedly as she chewed. There was nothing like the sight of pleasure on a woman’s face.

  With a wholly satisfied expression, Regan gasped, “God, these are good.”

  Mel picked up a breadstick, raising an eyebrow at Regan before taking an experimental bite. She chewed a moment and then sighed. “You’re right. These should be illegal. You have to promise not to bring me to this joint too often or you’ll be rolling me out of here.”

  She tensed slightly as she realized the implication of her statement. Already she could see a future that included Regan. It was time to stop getting ahead of herself.

  “I promise. Besides, I have plenty of other vices I can introduce you to.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Regan chewed for another moment before giving Mel a curious look. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you like video games.”

  Mel felt startling heat rise in her cheeks. “And I have to admit that my motives haven’t always been pure. My favorite bar in college had a Tetris arcade game and I found that being the constant high score had a strange aphrodisiacal effect on women.”

  “Man, you’ll have to show me where that bar is.”

  “Nah. I’m not going to toss a total babe with your gaming prowess to those wolves. I’d rather keep you to myself.”

  Regan’s mouth curled. “Total babe, huh?”

  “Totally.” Mel felt her confidence returning as they ventured away from serious topics into the light banter that had so intrigued her their first night together.

  “So, where did you go to college?” Regan asked in an obvious attempt to divert attention away from herself.

  “Michigan State. On a softball scholarship.”

  “Oh, no, not a Spartan!” Regan bemoaned. “We’re rivals!”

  “U of M, huh? I won’t hold it against you.”

  Regan sputter
ed. “So says the couch burner?”

  Mel scowled playfully. “Stupid rioting kids. We’ll never live that down.”

  Before Regan could come back with another zinger, their waiter bustled up to the table with their order. Regan met Mel’s stare from across the table, and they held the eye contact as the young man arranged their dishes.

  Regan had ordered spaghetti. As soon as the waiter departed, she poked at it with her fork and asked, “So, what did you study?”

  “Besides women, you mean?”

  Regan leaned back and assessed Mel with an amused expression. “Yes, besides women.”

  “Criminal justice.” Mel didn’t mean to be short, but talking about her life was such an unfamiliar thing that it left her struggling for words. It was exciting to be here, though. Mel felt the same energy thrumming through her body that she got when she drove up north to find deserted country roads where she could open her throttle. Did Regan feel this connection, too? Was it making her heart feel like it could pound out of her chest?

  “I guess that makes sense,” Regan said. “Did you grow up in Michigan?”

  “No. I was born in Oklahoma. I came to Michigan to go to school and then joined the department in Detroit when I graduated.”

  “Did you know people out here or something?”

  “Not really. I’d just met Jane in college, but like I said, we’ve never been extremely close.”

  “What about your family?”

  “What about them?” It always came back to family. Mel could feel her defenses stirring, and tried to remain calm and open. Regan was just being polite. People talked about their families in social settings, didn’t they?

  Regan seemed unaware of Mel’s discomfort and continued her innocent questioning. “I mean, are you close to them? Were they upset when you moved out here?”

  “Not really.” Mel kept going despite the fact that she wanted to run and hide at the topic. Haven’t I let it ruin too much already? I refuse to ruin this thing with Regan. “I have a brother, Michael. We’re not very close. My dad and I—well, we don’t get along. And my mom died when I was eight.”