What She Wants

by Sheila Roberts

  Still, the idea of Adam happily snoozing away after ruining his sleep the night before wasn’t appealing. It was quarter after seven now. Time to wake up. Jonathan yanked the sofa pillow out from under Adam’s head and whacked him with it.

  Adam bolted up. “Wha?”

  “Thought you might have to get up.”

  Adam groaned. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  Right. He’d just been faking. “You snore.”

  Adam frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter after seven.”

  “I have to get going. Man, I’m shot.” He eyed Jonathan’s mug. “Is that coffee?”

  Jonathan nodded at his coffeemaker. “You can make yourself some.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Adam said, and unzipped his sleeping bag. “But first things first.”

  Jonathan watched him wander off down the hall to the bathroom, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. Lucky for Adam he had a suitcase of clothes. It was a cinch he wouldn’t be getting into his house for more anytime soon. Poor guy.

  From what Adam had said the night before, Jonathan suspected he’d had it coming. Still, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for his poker pal. Locked out of your own house. That had to be humiliating.

  He heard the toilet flush and suddenly realized that potential humiliation was lying out in plain sight on the toilet tank. Oh, no.

  Maybe Adam hadn’t seen it....

  “What the hell?”

  Adam had seen.

  Jonathan rushed down the hall and arrived at the bathroom to find Adam holding The Undercover Tycoon and staring at it in horror. He looked at Jonathan as if he’d just discovered Jonathan was an ax murderer.

  “Give me that.” Jonathan strode over and grabbed the book to snatch it away.

  Adam wasn’t ready to let go. “What the hell is this?”

  “Never mind.” Jonathan yanked again.

  Adam yanked back and Jonathan pulled harder.

  “Give me the damned book,” Jonathan growled.

  Adam let go at the same time Jonathan gave up the struggle. The book did a swan dive, putting the tycoon in the toilet.

  They both stood for a moment, watching the paperback floating in the toilet bowl. Who knew what was going through Adam’s mind, but Jonathan had only one thought. “My sister’s gonna be pissed.”

  “That’s your sister’s book?”

  “Yes,” Jonathan said grumpily, fishing it out. “Well, it was.” Maybe he could dry it off, set it out in the sun. Once it was dry she’d never know the difference.

  “What are you doing reading your sister’s romance novel?”

  This wasn’t exactly something he wanted to share. He wished he’d remembered the dumb thing and ditched it while Adam was snoring. “Never mind,” he said, and took the soggy tycoon out to the front porch.

  Adam was right behind him. “That’s a chick book.”

  “I know,” Jonathan said as he laid it out on the porch railing. Chica, who’d come over to see what was going on, sniffed it. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, picking it up again. Maybe if he put it in the dryer.

  “So, why are you reading a chick book?”

  Jonathan hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, but looking at Adam regarding him with disgust was enough to make him reconsider. What the heck. “I’m doing research.”

  “Research? What, are you going to write one of those?”

  This was awkward. “No. I just...” Don’t want to be a loser. He couldn’t bring himself to say that, so instead he clamped his lips shut and went back inside, Adam and Chica following him.

  “What? I mean, dude, that’s weird.”

  “No, it’s not. I figure I can learn something from these books.” If he could keep them from getting destroyed.

  Adam gave a disdainful snort. “Like what, how to get the prince to take you to the ball?”

  “No. How to figure out what’s important to a woman.” Jonathan set the tycoon on top of the fridge where Chica couldn’t reach him. Then he took his Vanessa Valentine novel out from its hiding place under his magazine. “They’re written by women, and the women who read them like what the heroes do. I’m thinkin’ reading some of these is a good way to get a handle on what makes a woman tick and what she wants in a man.”

  Adam took it from him. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Adam turned it over and read the back cover. “Sounds dumb.”

  Jonathan could feel his cheeks heating. Yeah, what did he know? He was just the dork who’d given Adam a place to sleep after his wife kicked him out.

  “So who’s the woman you want?”

  “Never mind.” He went to the kitchen and pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard, keeping his back to Adam, willing the flush of embarrassment from his face.

  “No, seriously. Who is she?”

  “No one you know.” Adam was a relative newcomer to Icicle Falls. He hadn’t known Lissa.

  “So she doesn’t live around here?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “She used to?”

  Jonathan got busy pouring milk on his cereal. “Yeah. We went to school together.”

  Understanding dawned and Adam nodded sagely. “Your high school sweetheart. That’s right. You and Kyle have a reunion this summer. I remember you guys talking about it the other night. So, is your old girlfriend coming back for the reunion?”

  “We never went out. We were just friends.” Jonathan shrugged like it was no big deal.

  “And you want to see if you can start something with her.”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan admitted.

  Now Adam was looking skeptical. “And reading these books is going to help you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  Guys like Adam thought they knew it all. He’d probably never had trouble sweeping women off their feet. But it looked like sweeping and keeping were two different things. Old Adam wasn’t doing so well himself right now. He was in no position to scoff.

  “You got a better idea?” Jonathan demanded. “How much do you know about women?”

  Adam threw up his hands. “Nothing, nada, zip. Nobody does. Women are another species.”

  “I’d say they’re a species worth studying,” Jonathan said. “Unless you like sleeping on my couch more than you like sleeping in your bed.”

  Adam scowled and rubbed his chin, then dropped the book on the coffee table. “I’ve got to get ready for work.” He pulled some clothes out of his carry-on and disappeared back into the bathroom.

  Denial. The guy was in denial. He was probably hoping to run over to his house later, toss out an “I’m sorry” and watch his wife throw the door wide open. For that to happen Jonathan suspected she’d need to be either brain-dead or under a spell.

  “May as well dig out the blow-up bed,” he said to Chica. “He’s gonna be here for a while.”

  Adam got cleaned up and was out the door in twenty minutes, and Jonathan once again had the house to himself. He and Chica ate breakfast and went for a walk. Then it was time to watch Good Morning, Oregon.

  Today Lissa and her cohost, Scott Lawrence, were interviewing, of all people, Vanessa Valentine, who had a new book out. Vanessa, a brunette who looked to be somewhere in her forties, was the picture of success in a black suit and fancy pearl necklace.

  But it was Lissa who held Jonathan’s attention. Today she wore a red skirt that showed a modest but alluring amount of leg, and a creamy white blouse that looked as silky and touchable as her hair. As always, she was flashing the sweet smile that must have made viewers feel as if they were her best friend.

  And, as always, she was gracious and welcoming. “Vanessa, it’s a real treat to have you with us today.”

  “Thank you,” Vanessa said.

  “And you have a new book out.”

  “Yes, I do. A Fire in Winter just hit the stands last week.”

  “So, what can readers expect from this latest Vanessa Va
lentine novel?” Lissa asked.

  “First of all, they can expect a good story. I always try to deliver that to my readers because they deserve it. They pay hard-earned money to be entertained and I want to make sure they get their money’s worth.”

  Now Scott broke in. “And your legion of loyal fans keeps growing. But it’s mostly a legion of women, right?”

  “My readers are predominantly women, but men read my books, too,” Vanessa replied.

  “See?” Jonathan said to Chica, who was parked next to him. “I’m not the only guy reading this stuff.”

  Scott’s expression was frankly disbelieving. “So, tell us, Vanessa. Why should men read romance novels?”

  Vanessa looked at her host as if he were a fine specimen of stupidity. Then she smiled and said, “I can think of several reasons. For one, romance novels deal with the things that are most important in life—love, relationship, family, working to conquer obstacles. That’s worth reading about. Secondly, a man can learn about maintaining a relationship from reading romance fiction. He can also learn how women think. And I hear a lot of you complaining that you have trouble figuring us out,” she added with a teasing grin.

  Scott laughed reluctantly. “You’ve got that right. But what about those sex scenes?”

  “Yes. What about them?” she quipped. “Men, if you want to know what turns a woman on, you can get a pretty good idea from reading a romance novel.”

  “Now, if that isn’t proof I’m on the right track, I don’t know what is,” Jonathan said, and Chica agreed with an enthusiastic bark.

  “You make a pretty good case,” Scott said. “I think I may have to come to your book signing.”

  “I think so, too,” Vanessa said, still smiling.

  “Vanessa will be signing her new book, A Fire in Winter, tonight at the Lloyd’s Center Barnes & Noble at 7:00 p.m.,” Lissa said. “So, men, here’s your chance to talk to an expert in romance.”

  “And I guess we’d better start reading romance novels.” Scott smiled. “Thanks for being with us today, Vanessa.” To the viewers he said, “After this, we have Chi Chi Romero, who’s going to show us how to spice things up in the kitchen.”

  And that was the end of the interview with Vanessa. Too bad I didn’t tape it for Adam, Jonathan thought. Maybe it would’ve convinced him he needed to do his homework.

  But then again, maybe not. Guys like Adam, who had everything come easy to them, had trouble grasping the concept of homework—that no matter how smart you were, or thought you were, you still needed to do it. Jonathan suspected this time was going to be different, though. Once a guy got kicked out of his house, there was no quick route back.

  * * *

  Adam found it hard to concentrate at work. No wonder, with the way his life was going.

  He’d called Chelsea when he reached the office, tried to make up for his memory lapse by inviting her to dinner and had been told in no uncertain terms what he could do with his offer. It had all been downhill after that.

  As a pharmaceutical rep he spent more time waiting in doctors’ offices than he did actually talking to them about the new medicines in his company’s catalog. All that waiting gave him way too much time to think, and when he’d finally get a chance to see a doc, he invariably looked like he needed to be taking one of those new antidepressants he was peddling. One doctor even offered to write him a prescription for a competitor’s product.

  Back at the office he made phone calls and then hung up, wondering what exactly he’d promised, and had to read his emails repeatedly before he understood what he’d read. All he could think about was how mad Chelsea had been. All he could see was the hurt and anger on her face when she’d glared at him from the bedroom window.

  The idea of spending another night on Jonathan’s couch was anything but appealing. He had to do something. He called Lupine Floral and ordered a huge bouquet to be delivered that day, ASAP.

  “What’s her favorite flower?” asked the man who answered the phone.

  Favorite flower? His mind was a blank. “She likes yellow.” She’d painted their whole living room yellow one week when he was gone.

  “Well, then, we’ll send her a sunshine bouquet—yellow and white daisies and yellow pom-poms and yellow roses in a yellow ceramic pitcher.”

  Adam didn’t care what they came in, as long as they got the job done. “Yeah, that sounds great. Give me the biggest one you’ve got.”

  “How would you like the card to read?”

  The card. He hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t want to announce to the whole world that he was in trouble. “How about ‘I love you’?”

  “That says it all.”

  He hoped so. He gave the man his credit card information and ended the call. That should do it. Maybe now he could talk about medications without wanting to take a bunch.

  He was smiling when he drove down his street after work. Chelsea would have gotten her sunshine bouquet by now and it would have done the trick.

  She loved flowers. She worked part-time at Mountain Nursery and she’d planted all kinds of flowers around their house that made it look really nice—roses and a bunch of other things, names she’d rattled off that left him glassy-eyed.

  He wasn’t into flowers. But he was into his wife and he felt confident his peace offering would prove it.

  He lost his smile when he pulled up in front of his place and saw a kitchen trash bag with a yellow flower head sticking out the top. She’d tossed the arrangement? Seriously? And that wasn’t the only bag on the porch. Several huge garbage bags sat huddled together, and beside them was his baseball bat, his glove and his fishing gear.

  Okay, this was not funny. He got out of the car, marched up to the porch and checked inside one of the trash bags. Clothes. She’d just wadded up his clothes and stuffed them in garbage bags. He was going to have to pay a fortune to get his pants pressed.

  He banged on the door. “Chels!”

  Of course she didn’t answer.

  He banged again.

  Once more the bedroom window flew open. There she was again, that pretty face, that long, brown hair. That frown. Sadness overrode his anger. “Come on, baby. What do I have to do?”

  “Change.”

  “I’m trying,” he protested. “I sent you flowers.”

  “That’s not changing. That’s bribing.”

  “That’s saying I’m sorry,” he corrected her.

  “Do you see any daisies around here?” she demanded.

  He looked around. “Umm.”

  “I hate daisies. They smell. And if you ever paid attention to anything I said, you’d know that and you wouldn’t have sent them to me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, so am I. Go away, Adam,” she said, and slammed the window shut.

  Now the anger was back, full force. He kicked the bag holding his rejected bouquet off the porch. Then he grabbed a couple of bags of clothes and stormed to his SUV and threw them in.

  Another two bags got hurled into the SUV, followed by his baseball stuff and his fishing gear. He got behind the wheel, slamming the door after him. If this was how she wanted to play it, fine.

  But by the time he reached his new home, sweet home, the anger had burned off. What was he going to do?

  Jonathan was already there and was putting enough hot dogs for two lonely men on the grill when Adam came up the walk, carrying a trash bag of clothes and a fishing rod. He’d known. He didn’t say anything, though, and Adam appreciated that. One of the great differences between men and women. Women loved to say I told you so. Men didn’t say anything.

  “Where can I put these?” Adam asked. Only five little words but he almost choked getting them out.

  “Upstairs spare bedroom,” Jonathan said, and turned a hot dog, “the one with the books. I put a bed in there for you.”

  Adam walked past Jonathan’s bedroom. It was decorated bachelor-style, with only a bed and a couple of blankets, a nightstand with a lamp and a paperba
ck romance—more research, probably—a dresser and a dog bed. He hadn’t bothered with curtains at the windows, just a shade.

  Pretty different from how Chelsea had fixed up their bedroom—all vibrant reds and gold, lots of pillows on the bed, a hope chest at the end of it. The rest of the house looked equally good, with coordinated furniture, attractive knickknacks here and there, always flowers. He’d taken her decorating for granted, as if houses just sprang up all furnished. Now, comparing it to Jonathan’s place, he realized how much she’d done to surround his life with comfort and an atmosphere that said, “Ahhh.”

  He moved on past another bedroom Jonathan had turned into an office with a desk, chair, bookcase and a bunch of computer equipment and entered the room that would house his clothes and toys. This room, too, was spare. One wall held a giant bookcase. In the corner next to it sat an old overstuffed chair that looked like a family hand-me-down and a floor lamp.

  Jonathan had left him a blow-up mattress and an air pump. Adam started inflating his new bed and watched morosely as it took shape. A night on the couch was one thing. A blow-up bed and his own room was something altogether different. It symbolized what both he and Jonathan knew. He was in deep shit and was going to be stuck here for some time.

  He didn’t find any hangers in closet so he laid his pants and shirts on the floor. He wondered if Jonathan had any hangers he could borrow. He doubted it. Hangers were one of those things that women remembered to get and men took for granted.

  Like they took a lot of things for granted. Adam frowned and went back to his SUV for another load.

  Once back in the spare room, he checked out the books on the shelf. He knew Jonathan was a smart guy—anybody who could fix computers was—but it still surprised Adam to see that his pal was such a big reader. Funny how little he knew about the men he played poker with every week, especially their host.

  He and Jonathan had met a year and a half ago. Adam had needed some work done on his computer and had hired Jonathan. They’d gotten to talking, and somehow the talk had gotten around to fun guy stuff. Adam had admitted to always wanting to learn how to play poker and Jonathan had mentioned the weekly poker game he was putting together. Next thing Adam knew, he’d found some men to hang with. But that was all they really were.