Diane should make these events private. Oh, wait. She does. He joined. OH MY GOD! Diane knew Luke just joined because she approves the new people on the site. That’s why she diverted the conversation. She’s a shrewd one, but I don’t know if I can trust her. She was probably just annoyed with Chris for being bitchy, or maybe they’re both interested in the same man again. Too bad Diane and I can’t meet at my locker or pass a note in study hall.
I can’t let Luke come here. My stomach is in knots tighter than the ones approved by the Coast Guard. What am I going to do?
I hesitate and start to type. Erase. Try again. Erase. Repeat. AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Deep breath, here goes. If I were Catholic I would bless myself right now.
“I am actually on my way out. How about we meet closer to my house? There’s a new bar on the corner near The Wine Lounge. It’s called The Pump Station. Fire truck theme. Can’t miss it. 20 minutes?”
My face is on fire waiting for his response. Steve must think I’ve drowned myself in the toilet by now. I’ll compose myself before I say goodnight, and I really shouldn’t make fun of dying…
“I’ll be there.”
Fuck. This is bad. I should not be left alone with a cell phone. I fix my makeup as best I can and poof my hair. I check for roots and they’re coming in. It’s dark anyway and he likes older…wait a minute. I am not going to meet him for any other reason than friendship. For old time’s sake. And to get him off my back since he can be quite persistent. I bolt back to the bowling alley floor on wobbly legs, searching for Steve.
“There you are.” He comes up behind me again, and I gasp. He grabs my shoulders. “Hey, are you okay? You were in the ladies’ room a long time. Gina said you weren’t feeling well.”
His sweet eyes prompt me to groan with guilt. “I’m okay. Just a little tired. We didn’t get much sleep last night, right?” I attempt a playful grin, but I probably resemble a demented clown.
“Yeah, last night was fun.” He pulls me close and kisses my neck. “But you’re right. I have students coming in for that special research project now that finals are over. I need to be sharp.” He pulls back and raises an eyebrow. “You’re coming over tomorrow night, right?”
I wonder if college students carry bugs around in their pockets like little boys. I imagine the students emptying their stash on Steve’s desk and organizing them.
“I put these guys in a jar and scared my mommy.”
“This is a bug I smooshed on the driveway.”
“I pulled the wings off this one.”
“Of course, Honey. Can’t wait.”
I snap back to reality and my secret plans. I am only doing this one time. Luke will see how happy I am with Steve. Besides, he probably has completely innocent reasons for connecting.
I run out the door, and see Tony and Gina with their heads together, laughing and flirting. At least I did one good thing tonight.
I get to The Pump Station in record time, and practically screech my tires pulling into a parking space up front. Eleven o’clock on a Tuesday is apparently not a busy bar time, which is good for me.
I spot him right away. If he just leaned against the doorframe like that on a night when anyone was actually out, he would have women hanging off his limbs like ants on a hamburger at a picnic. That makes me wonder if Steve has an ant colony in his house.
How could Luke possibly have gotten better looking? I sigh all the way up from my toes. The perfect black hair, and SO much of it. His collar is open, revealing his perfectly toned chest with just a little bit of hair peeking out. His shoulders are huge! Were they always that big? I’m staring like an idiot, but he doesn’t see me yet. He’s looking at his phone. The stubble on his face. For the love of God, couldn’t he at least shave? He does get five o’clock shadow by noon. Now he spots me, and stands up to his full height. All six foot, three inches of dark, hot Portuguese blooded…
He puts his arms out and a slow smile creeps over his face. “Rebecca. You look beautiful. Even more than I remember.” He closes the distance between us and wraps me in a firm, but soft embrace.
I melt, but I haven’t turned into a noodle, since I’m still standing. “Hi, Luke. You look great, too. I can’t believe you’re back.”
He looks into my eyes and says, “I know. I can’t believe it, either.” He pulls me close again and now his hands are on my sides. I do not want him feeling my fat. There is no way he doesn’t see how much weight I’ve gained, but I don’t want him to have physical confirmation.
I break contact and gesture to the bar. “Let’s go inside. I can’t stay long. I have an early day tomorrow, but I want to hear all about the news.”
He holds the door for me, and as I duck under his arm to enter the dimly lit establishment, he says in my ear, “Yes, I want to share my plans.”
We walk to the bar and my eyes scan the room for anyone I know. It’s almost empty. Whew. New places never attract a huge crowd on a weeknight. They need karaoke or some other entertainment. Assessing the bar’s marketing strategy, I turn back to Luke. “Your plans?” I blink hard and swallow harder.
“Yep, plans. What would you like to drink? Still a wine drinker?” He flashes his perfect TV guy smile and I forget the English language. I do, however remember him saying “Eu te amo” while kissing the inner…
A swift head shake and I’m back. I hold onto the bar and respond, “Yes, sounds good.” This isn’t a “wine” type bar, but the bartender goes off to fetch some kind of alcohol. I don’t even know what Luke ordered. I am getting pissed at my lack of self-control. I’m acting like Claire. He’s just a man and I’ve been with many. Well, not that many, but I am forty-six. That’s thirty years of men!
Steve loves me. I begin to repeat those words in my head, like a mantra. Eu te amo. Why does “I love you” sound sexier in foreign languages?
The bartender brings our wine and Luke raises his glass. “A toast. To reunions.” I clink his glass and take a sip of wine. Luke adds, “And new beginnings.” Good thing I just took a sip and swallowed it quick.
“Are you okay? Was it something I said?” He is eyeing me mischievously as I cough into a napkin. Now I remember the downside of his charm. Those black hooded eyes and the cleft chin make it hard to concentrate on the bad parts. None of which are visible.
“I’m fine.” I take another small sip of wine to prove it. “So, why did you come back here? You had a great thing going on Entertainment Nightly.”
“I did, but it was all fluff. I need to do something of substance with my life.” He leans in and says, “You understand, minha querida.” My dear. I may have forgotten what a pain in the ass he can be, but I also forgot how easy it is to fall under the spell of this language.
He goes on to explain how he left the show and wanted to return to Richmond. “It was always a place of great creativity and passion for me.” He smiles seductively and my insides melt. Never mind what’s happening to my outsides.
I finger the bar napkin and steady my glass with the other hand. “Are you really writing a screenplay? I don’t remember you being a writer.” I narrow my eyes quizzically, then gasp as I realize that I just admitted to doing further research on him. “My neighbor noticed you on the news, and mentioned it.”
“My little party girl. You probably don’t even own a TV.” I glare at him in a playful way and he continues. “Okay, you probably do own one, but no cable, right?”
I nod. “So, how long have you been back?”
“It’s been about a month.”
I look down at my right hand diamond, purchased right after we broke up. “Violet and I did some Google searches. We also found some other...less flattering information.”
He puts down his wine glass, leans his elbows on the bar, and forms a steeple with his long, strong fingers. His beautiful, stubbly chin rests in the cradle. “Ah, yes. The rumors. You know me, Rebecca.”
“So it’s true.”
“Absolutely.” He leans back and laughs. “Don’t look s
o shocked. She is married, but miserably, I assure you.” He lowers his voice. “You know I can’t resist a sexy, older woman.”
“And you joined a singles’ group? What’s that all about?”
“I’d like to meet some new people. I don’t like to socialize with the network people. As you see, that gets me into trouble sometimes. And you know my love of music. I would like to play guitar and sing. Not professionally. Just for fun in a bar on open mic night. It’s a hobby. Normally TV stations don’t like that, but they told me that as long as what I do is tasteful they have no problem with it. Their ratings are up 200% for the evening news.” Therefore he could join the Chippendales and they wouldn’t care.
“Sooo, writing? Or is that just a cover for your escape?”
He laughs again. “No, I am truly writing a screenplay. It is about my experiences dating older women.” His eyes sear my skin. “Fictionalized, of course. My...friend in Hollywood said she can help me out. As a part of the divorce settlement she hopes to get full control over one of her husband’s production companies. She isn’t just a pretty face and a good—”
“What? You mean you’re writing about cougar dating?”
“Yes, minha querida, but that’s not a nice word.” He pauses. “I need your help.”
“How can I possibly help with that? I work in human resources. You know that. I don’t know the first thing about writing, editing, none of that. And I only watch movies.”
“You’re an experienced ‘cougar.’ My favorite of all time.” He signals the bartender for the check. Mercifully, that means we are almost through. Shit, unless he thinks we are moving this sudden creative brainstorming session to my house. I need to think before I make sneaky plans. Probably because I hardly ever do. But what a dope I am. How about we meet closer to my house? However, if Steve would have come home with me, like he used to, none of this would have happened.
My phone buzzes and I glance at it. A text from Steve.
“Good night, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams. I love you.”
I look up to find Luke studying my expression. My face is hot.
“Is that your boyfriend?” He points to my phone on the bar.
“Yes, I am dating someone. Quite seriously, in fact. For about a year.” I shift on the bar stool and sit up straighter. “We’re going to move in together soon.” We are? No, we’re not.
“That’s wonderful.” He takes my hand and kisses it, holding on just a moment too long. “I am happy for you. He’s a lucky man. And are you still working on your art?”
My blush deepens. “No, I haven’t painted anything in years.”
“That’s a shame. I still have the painting you did for me. It hangs in my bedroom. Remember, the one from that vacation in Cabo? You were always so full of paint. I loved how you painted at home in nothing but your—”
“Yes, I didn’t want to get paint all over...my clothes. I’m glad you still like it.” His huge grin brings me back to the painting, but also the other activities in Cabo. I take my last sip of wine, shaking my head no as the bartender approaches for a refill. Luke grabs the check and reaches for his wallet.
I find my voice and say, “I do appreciate your confidence in my cougar knowledge, but I have an age appropriate relationship now.”
“Is he older?”
“A few years, yes. He’s a wonderful man.”
Luke squeezes my hand. “I’m sure he is, querida. You should paint for him.” He winks and smiles. “Please know that I have no designs on you, especially now that I know you’re in love. I have always respected love. Not always marriage, but love...always.” He taps his heart and leaves cash on the bar. He offers his arm and helps me off the barstool. As we walk to the door, he continues, “I’m in the process of writing and I need another eye. Your insight.”
“Okay, you can send it to me and I’ll look it over.” When I am at my house, and Steve is off pursuing one of his many hobbies.
“I will do that, but only a little at a time, so you can give me thoughtful feedback.” He stands on the curb and regards me seriously, touching my cheek. “But be warned...I am using our time together as material. I need you to read it to make sure I am not offending you.” He sees my alarmed expression and adds, “Of course I don’t mention you by name...but I do capture our passion.”
I don’t know how I am standing. My legs have moved from noodles to oatmeal, bordering on the consistency of maple syrup.
Why am I agreeing to this nonsense? I lean in and reach up to give him a little peck on the cheek. “It was good to see you. I need to get home to bed. Sleep. I need lots of sleep...big day tomorrow.”
“Good night, Rebecca. Same e-mail?”
“Yep, good night, Luke.” I get to my car and turn around. He is still standing in the same spot, watching me with an amused expression.
He turns and walks away, as I whisper, “Welcome back, Luke.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Why the hell are you riding a penguin?” I bolt upright in bed and smash the night table, sending tissues, glasses, cats and my alarm clock flying all over my already messy bedroom. “I’m sorry, kitties.” They look at me like I’m a complete nut. Since I was just talking about riding penguins, they’re probably on to something.
Obviously that was a dream. I rub my face vigorously and pull the blankets up to my neck, shrinking back down into my fluffy comforter. I am losing it. I dreamt that Luke came back to my house last night, riding a bull, and Steve showed up just as he was about to carry me away, out my window, wearing my new Victoria’s Secret black teddy. Only Steve was half of Steve’s normal size and he was riding a penguin. Luke was all hot and sweaty, and Steve had icicles on his mustache. There are so many ways this is crazy and makes zero sense, but Steve doesn’t have a mustache. Or a penguin. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I haven’t been to the house yet.
I get up and walk to the shower, peeling off my pink satin sleep shirt, and picture Luke and Steve fighting for me using plastic light-up swords. Then Steve threw tarantulas at Luke and they started biting him. As they began fighting, all my girlfriends grabbed onto Luke’s legs and started rubbing him. Insane.
I let the hot water calm my jangled nerves. The worst part of this jarring awakening is that the last time I looked at the clock it was five AM. It’s seven o’clock now. This means that my whole night’s sleep consisted of a two hour nap.
I lather up my hair, which is currently dark auburn, and remember I need to make an appointment to have my roots touched up. I have naturally black hair, but since it needs to be colored to hide the grey, sometimes I experiment with a different shade. Last time my hairdresser wanted me to go burgundy. Apparently a hot new color. I wonder if Steve would like it. I burst out laughing at the thought of little Steve riding on a penguin and commenting on my hair color.
I step out of the shower and dry off, and do my hair and makeup. I always wear lipstick and usually just mascara and a little bit of blush. I dress in my work girl uniform, today with black slacks and a light blue button down shirt. Again the buttons are straining. The girls can’t be getting bigger, but actually what was it my skinny, small chested mother used to say? Breast tissue is mostly fat. I have gained a few pounds lately. I can feel the sensation of Luke’s hands resting on my waist while hugging me last night. He probably had to resist the urge to squeeze the new, unwanted folds of flesh. He was disgusted, I know it. That’s why he has no “designs” on me. Anyway, I personally think my mother is jealous that big boobs skipped a generation in our family.
I don’t own enough under eye concealer to repair my exhausted appearance. I haven’t slept well in days, ever since my dinner with Steve. And now Luke’s return is only making it worse. My eyes are framed by bags big enough to hold quarters, and I can’t stop yawning. Maybe if I do some jumping jacks...
Shit, where am I? What happened? I’m on the couch. Is that drool on my velvet pillow? I did some jumping jacks, got tired, and sat on the couch to put my shoes on. The cats laid on me and
I fell asleep again. Shit, it’s eight-fifteen! I never get to work this late. I feel like Claire.
I jump up, stretch and fill the cats’ bowls. “You guys are lucky you get to sleep all day.” I pat them both on their little heads and grab my purse. This is going to be a long day. As I get into the car, I remember exactly how long. I sigh heavily and pop on my rhinestone encrusted sunglasses. Shit. I back out and hear a scream! I hope I didn’t hit anything. I shrink and wave my apologies to the mother walking her child and dog back to her condo unit. Why doesn’t anyone watch where they’re going? Jeez.
I could tell Steve I can’t come over tonight. I’m sick. Yes, he thought I was sick last night. I need a conference with Claire and Gina. I would have stopped in to see Violet, but I have no time. Besides wedding planners don’t have any reason to get up at the crack of dawn.
I pull into the parking lot and try to maneuver into the first free spot I see, but some asshole parked a monster truck in a tiny space. What are people hauling in these vehicles? How many kids do they have? Are they Amish? No, if they were Amish they wouldn’t own a car. Mormons? How much mulch do they need? They aren’t lumberjacks. They work at Bella Donna Press. It’s probably owned by a guy over compensating for…damn it! I back up to reposition myself and slam my car into the sidewalk. I should have stayed in bed.
I meander into the building and take off my sunglasses. Oww, the fluorescent light is worse than the sun. I need coffee. Since Bella Donna’s recent success, the break room is sporting some luxury items, like an espresso machine. I wonder how many shots I can have. My normal milky coffee is not going to cut it this morning. Ooh, and look—honey buns. That will help wake me up.
With my arms full of goodies, I head to my office. I down my espresso and widen my eyes. That was just the right amount. Now to dive into today’s problems.
“Rebecca…Rebecca…hey.”
I awaken to someone poking me on the shoulder. Who the hell is here? Where’s the cats? Shit, I’m in my office. Now there’s drool on my desk. I look up at an exasperated Claire.
Afraid of Her Shadow Page 5
