ROOM...BUT NOT BORED

by Dawn Atkins

  "You're on bad terms with your father still?"

  "We're polite to each other. He thinks I'm throwing my life away, and I think he's never lived his. I feel sorry for my mother, who's put up with his silences and moods and all the transfers over the years."

  "She must love him."

  "Yeah," he said, as if that were stupid. There was trouble here, she could see. He acts all easy and cool and whatever, but he's really deep. That's what Penny had said about him.

  Jake was certainly more than a beach bum who lived only to play, as she'd originally concluded. He was devoted to his sister and she already knew he was a patient teacher. His construction work was excellent—when he did it. Maybe all that "whatever" stuff was an act. Maybe with someone special in his life he'd show his more stable, responsible side…

  "Taste this," Jake said, holding out a spoon dripping with chocolate, unaware of the swell of hope inside her. He was just going to feed her again, as he'd been doing since the day she'd arrived, a perfectly innocent gesture.

  But this time it would mean more. Ariel gripped his wrist, pulled the spoon to her lips and slowly licked it, holding his gaze, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. What am I doing?

  Jake's eyes flared.

  "Mmm," she said, telling him she wanted more. "Ariel," he whispered, then leaned in to kiss her. In the background she heard the phone ring, but she didn't care. Let the machine take it.

  They'd barely brushed tongues when Penny shouted, "Ariel. Your mom's on the phone!"

  Damn. Damn. Damnity damn.

  She jerked away from Jake, who kept his eyes on her. More later, he was telling her.

  She picked up the phone and realized her mother should be arriving, not calling.

  "We'll have to reschedule, sweetie," her mother said, not even waiting for Ariel to say hello. "I just can't take today off. Myra's son has a martial arts test."

  "But you need a break. We agreed."

  Her mother chuckled. "I'm fine. Really."

  "How can they make you work? You already booked the vacation day, right?"

  "They're not making me. It turns out we need to order supplies. It's just better if I do it. It saves time."

  "I'm so disappointed."

  "How about if I come out next Sunday after my shift? I can bring dinner."

  "I guess…" She felt hurt, but she understood. Her mother had a strong sense of ownership about her work. She felt that way, too, but what was one day at the beach?

  "I'm disappointed, too, sweetie," her mother said. "But enjoy the day anyway. You're right that we all need a break from time to time."

  "Did you ever intend to actually come?" she asked gloomily.

  "Of course I did. I even bought a swimsuit, a big sun hat, and some 60 SPF sunscreen in case we decided to brave the beach. Things just come up." Her mother sighed, but Ariel could tell she wasn't nearly as upset as she was trying to sound.

  "Right, I guess."

  A burst of raucous laughter from the living room drew Ariel's attention and she saw that two guys were wrestling dangerously close to her computer.

  "Hold it!" She lunged into the room to block their tumble onto her desk. The shamefaced roughhousers retreated across the room.

  "What was that about?" her mother said when she returned.

  "Nothing. Jake's sister has some friends over."

  "Jake? Your handyman?"

  Handyman? "Uh, yes." Handyman, roommate, scuba buddy, business agent, obsession and sex god, but how could she explain that to her mother? She could hardly explain it to herself.

  There was a shout and a clunk from the living room. Jake cringed. "I'll get them out of here," he whispered to her. "Come join us when you're done. I'll take the nachos, you bring the brownies when they're done. We'll be playing volleyball."

  She nodded as he headed off.

  "Sounds awfully noisy," her mother said.

  "It can be," she admitted. "But you get used to it."

  "So he's still working on the house?"

  "Uh, yeah."

  "I hope you're not paying him by the hour."

  "Trudy's paying him a flat rate. Today's not really a workday…"

  "He's still living with you, isn't he?"

  "For a good reason," she said quickly. "He's saving money so he can pay for his sister's trip to Europe. I think that's very admirable, don't you? I could hardly kick him out, could I, when he's saving money for such a good cause?"

  Her mother was very silent. Then she sighed. "Just be … careful, Ariel."

  "Careful?"

  "Is this like it was with Grayson?"

  "Grayson? Oh, heavens no. Impossible. I'm not going to drop everything and run off with Jake, for heaven's sake. With Grayson, I was young and clueless."

  "Uh-huh," her mother said, asking for more explanation.

  "I mean, Jake's impossible," she continued, worrying out loud. "He's undependable and lazy—well, not really lazy, but particular about what he does and when he does it—and he'd never settle down. He's got women all over the place… Plus, I'm completely wrapped up in my work … and he is not the kind of man I would want. Not at all… So … what was the question again?" She felt overheated—and not just because of the oven.

  "It's not my place to tell you what to do, Ariel," her mother said, "but just keep your priorities straight, honey. I know it's tempting. Your father had a problem that way. I had to keep him on track. Your father was a grasshopper. No savings. No plan. I loved the man, but we saw things differently."

  "I know, Mom, and I'm not like that," Ariel said, though she knew the powerful urge to forget herself in play had come from her father. Not that her mother didn't know how to have fun, but work came first. Because it had to. Back then, anyway. Not so much anymore…

  "I know, dear. You're like me. Just … use your head. Hearts can be tricky."

  "I will, Mom. Sure."

  But the minute she hung up, she locked her mother's warning up and threw away the key, focusing on loading up ice and sodas and napkins to take out to the beach. She hadn't played volleyball since high school.

  As she played volleyball, and at the Mexican restaurant they all went to for dinner, and throughout the raucous slumber party, Ariel focused on Jake and how much more he was than he seemed. The looks they exchanged and the fleeting touches seemed to build the pressure between them like a drumbeat. The fabric wall between their rooms had never been more thin, but with Jake's sister out on the porch and one girl or another popping into the bathroom every hour or so, Ariel didn't dare push through it and find her way to Jake's arms.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  Early Sunday afternoon, Penny and her friends left with regret, barely an hour before the yacht reception, which started at three. The girls had exhausted Ariel—taught her new dances, talked her ear off, made remarks about her dazed expression when she looked at Jake—"You're, like, totally, um, spaced."

  Exactly.

  She wanted to talk to Jake, to do something about her new feelings, but the afternoon reception loomed too large.

  "You look great," Jake said, his eyes flaring in appreciation at the pale-yellow strapless cocktail dress with a sheer over-layer she'd chosen to wear. Then he frowned. "Except I don't think you should be showing all that … skin. You want these guys to work with you, not hit on you."

  "Relax," she said, laughing lightly. "Aren't you always telling me I should attract business?"

  "Yeah, with your mind," he said grumpily. "They see you like that and they'll go brainless."

  "All the better to get their business," she said, then she slugged his arm. "Relax, Caveman, I'll wear a shawl." She smiled at his primitive possessiveness, even though he didn't own her beyond a few killer kisses. Killer kisses she wanted more of. She just wasn't sure… She had to talk to him about it, but for now she had to focus on making important business contacts.

  Jake looked perfect for the occasion. In his linen slacks and expensive plu
m silk shirt, he could easily pass for one of the business guys with a sailing habit he was going to introduce her to. He helped her put on a cream-colored silk shawl and they set off for the marina. In the car, she began to subtly wring her hands.

  Jake glanced at her. "You're nervous."

  "A little," she said, sitting on her hands.

  "Relax. I'll introduce you around, mention you're a consultant, point out what you're doing with Water Gear. Then you just charm them like you did Brice."

  "I know it'll be fine. I just … jitter." Her confidence about soliciting clients was still a bit shaky.

  "I'll lob some softball questions," Jake said. He sounded casual, but purposeful, as if he was her partner in a business venture, not a guy heading out to kick back at a party.

  "Thanks, Jake," she said, feeling better. "Don't worry about me. You should enjoy your evening."

  "This is business for me, too. I expect to net some charters and maybe a few dive lessons with this crowd." He reached into his pocket and handed her a folded paper.

  She opened it and found it was the calendar she'd created for him, substantially filled out. "You're using my chart."

  "I laid it all out so I don't have to keep it in my head. And there are gaps in the next few months I want to fill today."

  "That's the general idea. They call it planning."

  "Whatever. If it keeps me from double-booking something and getting yelled at, it's okay by me."

  "You're welcome," she said.

  He chuckled. "Okay, thanks." He gave her a level, serious look. This was the real Jake under the casual persona. Steady and thorough and never missing a thing. "I appreciate your setting this up for me. It helps."

  "Being organized is good," she said, pushing the issue.

  "Organized, but not anal. I barely set down that bike repair manual and it disappeared."

  "It was in the middle of the floor."

  "That's where it belonged. With the bike I was working on."

  "Now that you mention it, working on bikes in the middle of the living room is a bad idea. Grease and sand and…"

  "I didn't get a drop of grease on that floor… Okay, I give. I'll move out to the sunporch when you're working."

  "Wouldn't it be more convenient if you had a shop where you worked on bikes? Maybe a regular job doing it?"

  "Working on bikes is just for fun."

  "But isn't it tiring doing odd jobs all the time?"

  "Sometimes."

  Jake did want more. She knew it. This was definite progress. She just had to make him feel safe enough to go for it. "You know, when Brice opens up a second store, he'll need a manager… Someone he trusts…"

  "Are you crazy?" He shot her a look. "I could never work for Brice. Teaching classes for him is tough enough."

  "Just a thought."

  "Look, I was joking when I said you could trade business advice for my cooking. I like my life."

  "I just thought maybe you'd want something more … stable."

  "If I do, I'll get it." He shot her a look. "Save the pep talk for your clients." He was smiling, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. "You're starting to sound like the Admiral."

  "Sorry," she said. But he was thinking about more and that was good. Hope rose in her.

  They pulled into the marina, got out and walked toward the yacht, which was festive with strings of Japanese lanterns and crowded with men and women talking, drinking and eating hors d'oeuvres from trays passed by waiters.

  "Well, here I go," she said to Jake, as they headed on board.

  "You'll knock 'em dead," he said in her ear, guiding her forward with a comforting hand at the small of her back.

  Before long she seemed to be doing just that. Jake knew lots of people and smoothly eased her into each group, weaving her expertise into every conversation, so that it became natural to share amusing stories of her past successes and hand over business cards like Halloween candy.

  It was as if Jake were her agent, gently promoting her, working the crowd at a Hollywood party. Remarkable. It was clear that people respected his expertise about sailing and diving. She was surprised to learn he had a degree in recreation education. She saw him filling in his calendar some, and she managed to help him, too—introducing him to a couple looking for a sailboat captain.

  She had a hard time thinking of this smooth guy who conversed comfortably with millionaires as the goofball chasing a dog on the beach, throwing sand between his legs for a sand castle, but she was so glad she'd discovered him. She had lots in common with this side of Jake.

  Still, despite Jake's help and all the cards she'd passed out, the afternoon was fading and no lead had really clicked for Ariel. Frustration mounted. She caught sight of the manager of several trendy diners she wanted to introduce herself to, so she followed him below decks at a discreet distance. He went into the bathroom, so she pretended to look at the sailing photos on one side of the teak-accented cabin, waiting for him to emerge.

  "Ariel?"

  She turned to find Jake holding out a frosted glass. She was pleased to see him. "No alcohol," she said, shaking her head. "I have to keep my wits about me."

  "The party's almost over. Come on. The sun is setting."

  "There's a guy in the bathroom I want to snag."

  "You're attracting business, remember, not stalking it?"

  "I guess a break won't hurt." Jake linked arms with her and she felt that swoosh of lust and pleasure, a guilty indulgence when she was supposed to be working. To make up for it, she scanned the crowd for people she needed to meet and was pleased to see she'd done all she could do. The groups were sparse now.

  Except for a guy in an extremely loud silk shirt, Ariel and Jake had the bow to themselves. "Look." Jake turned Ariel toward the ocean, where the setting sun glowed pink and orange on the horizon, its light turning the water silver, as if on some magical forge. The breeze lifted her hair like a gentle hand. The soft light gave everything a violet sheen. White things glowed—Jake's teeth and his eyes around the smoky-blue pupils, deepened to gray by the dusk. Ariel sucked in a breath. "It's so lovely."

  "Absolutely," Jake said, but he was looking at her. He took her hand. "You're so pretty when you let go," he said.

  "I shouldn't be letting go. I'm on duty here."

  He pushed her hair away from her face. "My dad would love you. Never stop working, never let things slide."

  "Your dad wasn't all wrong. Hard work has its rewards."

  "Like what? Ulcers?"

  "Like the satisfaction of a job well done. Like accomplishing things, making things happen. I love my work. I help people make their dreams come true."

  "You're sure making Brice happy, and he's one cranky dude."

  "What he wants is very possible. He's just been afraid to try. He needed proof. So I've done the market research, shown him the numbers and made a plan that's perfect for him. That's my strength—customizing my work to suit each client. We'll handle it step by step, so it doesn't scare Brice. This is a perfect time for him to expand…"

  She glanced to the side and realized the man in the bright shirt was eavesdropping, a smile on his face. He was tall and big-bellied with white, longish hair and a ruddy complexion. In his Hawaiian shirt, he looked like Santa Claus on vacation.

  Catching her looking, the man spoke. "Sounds like you love your job. Hard not to listen in on that much enthusiasm."

  "I enjoy it, yes," she said. "Very much."

  "Myron Becker." He shook her hand, then Jake's, as they introduced themselves. His grin was casual, but there was an alert intelligence in his eyes. "Don't let me interrupt you."

  "That's all right," she said. "I was just talking business."

  "You mentioned market research," Myron said. "One of my partners keeps at me about niche marketing. Know anything about that?"

  Ariel explained what she knew and went on to discuss brand development and value streaming, while Myron nodded and Jake asked good questions. She was aware of him beside her, h
er partner, and she loved feeling like a couple.

  "Very interesting, Miss Adams," Myron said.

  "I'm sorry I've gone on and on," she said. "I get carried away."

  "No, no. I've enjoyed it very much." Myron reached into his pocket for a card, which he handed her. "I like your attitude. I might want to hire you. Come see me tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock. We'll talk." He patted her shoulder and left them.

  Omigod. Ariel held her cool watching Becker depart, but she said through her teeth. "I did it. I just scored a client."

  "I know. You were stunning."

  "I wasn't even trying to sell myself. I was just … talking. Oh, my. I have to jump up and down. Right now."

  "Hang on. Wait'll he's out of sight."

  Ariel contented herself with looking down at Myron's card, hoping it didn't say April Fool! What she saw stunned her. "Oh. My. God. Myron Becker is the CEO of AutoWerks."

  "That bowl full of jelly is the king of auto parts?"

  "And he wants to hire me," she said softly.

  "Looks like you scored."

  "Big. I scored big. Really, really big."

  "You sound surprised."

  "The chances of me getting such a big account are a … a…"

  "A slam dunk. He just had to meet you, that's all." Jake seemed so sure of her… Abruptly, she noticed something different in his face—something she'd never seen before. It was closeness, intimacy. Gone was the barrier she'd seen when Jake had looked at Heather that first day. Jake was looking at her full in the face, offering up his feelings, his belief in her. His heart?

  Ariel's resistance to being with Jake—really being with him—melted away. She felt sure … as if her mind and heart had moved from some painful, grinding gear, to a smooth, high-flying overdrive.

  For the first time in forever, she didn't stop to think, make a pro-con list or second-guess herself. She just threw her arms around Jake and hugged him, practically bowling him over.

  He laughed, caught his balance and gripped her around the waist. "Easy there," he said, setting her on her feet, looking puzzled, watchful. "What?"