Pride

by Robin Wasserman

  That was it—nothing more.

  She was with Kane now, exactly where she wanted to be.

  He floated lazily across the hot tub to join her and playfully flicked some of the churning water in her face.

  She giggled, but before she could splash him back, he grabbed her hands and kissed her.

  “You look pretty spectacular in a bikini,” he commented when they broke for air, giving her an appreciative glance. “Anyone ever told you that?”

  Beth blushed and sank a bit deeper into the water, suddenly very aware of how much of her was exposed.

  When she didn’t reply, he grinned and flexed a bicep. “Traditionally, now’s the time when you tell me how handsome and sexy I look,” he pointed out.

  Now she splashed him. “Yes, you’re a total hottie, babe,” she gushed in her best Barbie voice.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes again, his face plastered with a smug smile. “Mock me all you want, but you know you wish I was wearing a Speedo.”

  Beth laughed and nestled herself against him, relaxing into the delicious warmth of the water, the brittle sting of the winter air, the solid body beside her. She suddenly felt very tired—and very content.

  So tired and so content that she let her guard down for a moment—and the question she’d been holding in for so long just slipped out.

  “Kane?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why are you with me?”

  He began idly rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “I thought we just established that,” he said lightly, without opening his eyes. “You’re one hot babe, I’m one hot babe—makes perfect sense to me.”

  “Seriously, Kane—we’ve got nothing in common.”

  “We both like hot tubs,” he pointed out. “And bikinis …”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Come on,” she said, exasperated. “I mean it. We’re totally different. And I’m nothing like any of the girls you dated before.”

  He opened his eyes then, and sat up and took her hand. “Have I ever made you think that’s a bad thing?” he asked gently.

  “No, I just—”

  “You’re right. You’re nothing like them, Beth. And that’s why I’m with you.”

  “I just think people must look at us and wonder.” Beth sighed. “We don’t seem to make any sense.” She didn’t know why she was saying all these things, not now, but it was as if once she’d started, she couldn’t stop herself.

  “We make sense to me,” he insisted. “Who cares what other people think? They don’t know us—they don’t know me.”

  Beth touched her hand to his cheek. “Sometimes …” she paused—but she’d come so far already, why stop? “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you.”

  She could feel him tense beneath her fingers, and he shifted away.

  “You know me,” he countered. “This is me—what you see is what you get. I’m easy.”

  Beth shook her head. “That’s got to be the biggest lie you’ve ever told me. Easy?” She smiled fondly. “Not so much.”

  “What do you want from me?” he asked petulantly.

  Beth draped an arm around him, wishing he hadn’t gotten so defensive—she didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to talk. They didn’t do much of that, she realized.

  “I guess I just want—more,” she told him honestly. Spending time with Adam today had reminded her of what it was like to really know someone—and she wanted that again, somehow. “I really like you, Kane, and I just want more of you—I want to know all of you.”

  He perked up suddenly. “Something else we have in common,” he pointed out. “I want to know all of you, too. Your lips,” he kissed her gently. “Your neck.” He kissed her again, soft, brief kisses that grazed her chin and ran down the length of her long neck. “Your beautiful—”

  “Kane!” she squirmed away. “We’re in public!”

  “You’re right,” he replied, gaping at the surroundings as if he’d only just noticed. “What are we doing here? Come on.” He stood and extended a hand to her. “Let’s go back to my room. We can start this whole getting to know each other thing.”

  She stood, without his help, and grabbed a towel as she stepped out of the hot tub and onto the steamy patio. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “Hey, get your mind out of the gutter. I meant we should go back to my room and talk … for a while.” He draped another towel around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, rubbing her shivering body to warm her up. “I really like you, too, Beth,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re not the only one who wants more.”

  Beth took a deep breath and closed her eyes, resting her head against his dripping chest. Part of her wanted to go with him—all of her wanted to go with him, in fact. Why not? He was handsome and charming, his smile made her tremble, they were in this beautiful, romantic resort, and for whatever reason, he wanted to be with her. And, she realized, she wanted to be with him.

  So what was the problem? Why did the thought of stepping into his room and closing the door behind her make her heart race and her muscles tense? She knew what he was expecting out of this weekend. She’d known it from the start. So why did the thought make her hyperventilate?

  What is wrong with me? she thought in frustration. She’d let her fears torpedo her relationship with Adam. Was she going to be alone the rest of her life because of her stupid issues? Kane wasn’t Adam—he’d been patient with her so far, but patience wasn’t in his nature, she could tell. How long would he wait?

  She opened her mouth to tell him, “Yes, let’s go back to your room”—but couldn’t choke out the words.

  “I’ve got to go back to my room and dry off, take a shower,” she said lamely. She gave him a long kiss, then extricated herself from his embrace.

  “You can shower in my—”

  “I’ll come over later, when I’m done,” she promised.

  And she so wanted it to be the truth.

  But she knew herself.

  And so she knew better.

  It was like a scene out of a movie, and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Adam had lit a fire in the fireplace, and the low flames popped and crackled, filling the room with a fresh, woodsy scent and a warm glow. Harper lay on the bed, her swollen knee elevated, sipping a steaming cup of coffee (with some Baileys poured in for good measure). And the pièce de résistance: Adam, stripped down to his boxers, his tan, taut body lit by the glow of the fire, as if bathed in a golden aura. He was fiddling with the radio, searching for a suitably romantic station—but Harper, tired of waiting, waved him back into bed. A crackling Dixie Chicks song on the local country-western station would just have to do.

  As Adam climbed onto the mattress next to her, Harper closed her eyes and was finally able to forget about her throbbing knee, Adam’s afternoon with Beth, the horror of the night before—it was all erased by the gentle pressure of his body against hers.

  “I’ve been waiting all day for this.” Harper sighed as Adam kissed her, first on the lips, then dotting the skin of her exposed breastbone. “I’m just—ouch!”

  “Sorry—your knee?” Adam pulled away hastily but, wincing, Harper rolled over and leaned back into him.

  “Forget it. Just—” She kissed his bare chest, rubbing her hands up and down his biceps, his rippled stomach muscles. Everything about him was incredible. “Just relax.” She rolled over onto her back and he kissed her again, running his hands through her wild mess of hair. Every inch of her skin was tingling, alive at his touch. She could feel him trembling, and she smiled, knowing that, this time, she could be the teacher and he the student—that she was about to show him things he could never have imagined. His soft breath tickled the side of her neck and she giggled, then caught her breath as, ever so slightly, his lips played their way across her body.

  She’d never felt this way, exhilarated, bright with anticipation—not since the first time. Maybe not even then. She’d done it all before, but with Adam, everything wa
s new, everything was—

  “Harper?”

  “Oh, Adam,” she moaned. “You’re—”

  “Harper?” He pulled away from her and sat up abruptly, his face tense and red. “I … can’t. I’m sorry, it’s—”

  “Again?” she asked in disbelief, before she could stop the word from slipping out. She put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

  “I want to. I just …”

  Harper came up behind him and put her arms around him, teasing her fingers through the soft blond hair on his chest.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “It’s—this happens.” Did it? Certainly never to her. Not before. And not twice in a row.

  “It’s not okay,” he exploded in frustration, pushing her away. He rose and began to pace around the room. He was so vibrant, glowing with anger and frustration—she wanted him even more. “Goddamnit! This is just so … humiliating.”

  “Adam,” Harper began plaintively, unsure what to say. She got out of bed and went to him, grabbed him, forced him to stand still. “Adam, look at me.”

  But he refused, and when she lightly grabbed his chin and tried to turn his face in her direction, he squirmed away. It was like talking to a petulant little boy who knew he was about to get in trouble and didn’t want to face up to what he’d done.

  Or, in this case—hadn’t done.

  “It’s not you,” he muttered, staring fixedly at the crackling fire.

  Right. What else could it be? After last night with those losers from the basketball team … and then he’d spent all day with sweet, virginal Beth. Harper held her breath for a moment, trying to get her emotions under control. Adam was with her now—he wanted her. This was all just a fluke. Bad luck, bad timing. It had to be. And they’d get through it.

  “Adam, do you want to try—”

  “Maybe you should just go,” he interrupted her in a rough, husky voice. “It’s late, and—”

  “Sure. Yeah.” Harper backed away from him and hastily began pulling on her clothes. She’d hoped they would at least sleep there together, curled up in each other’s arms. Awkward as it was, it was better than … nothing.

  Don’t make a big deal out of it, she instructed herself, and maybe it doesn’t have to be a big deal.

  “We have to get up early tomorrow, anyway, to drive back and”—she faked a yawn—“I’m really tired.” She slipped into her heavy coat and zipped it up. Even though she wouldn’t actually have to step outside to get back to her room, she was suddenly cold, and wanted something warm and heavy wrapped around her.

  “Harper, I—” Adam paused, and finally turned to face her. Standing there in the middle of the room, still half naked, he looked so vulnerable, Harper just wanted to rush to him and assure him everything would be all right. And make him assure her that it didn’t mean anything, that he wanted to be with her, as much as ever.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said instead, affecting a cheerful voice.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He gave her a lame little wave and took a step toward her, then stopped. “Good night.”

  Harper forced herself to smile, then limped out the door. None of it meant anything, she assured herself. Sex, no sex, whatever. Adam was falling in love with her, and it didn’t matter what his friends said, or how much his pretty princess ex-girlfriend wanted him back—Adam was hers, for good.

  She wasn’t worried. Of course not. If there was one thing Harper was sure of, it was the power she had over men.

  All men. Hadn’t she proven that by snagging Adam in the first place? So whatever was going on in Adam’s head, it was minor. It was temporary.

  It had to be.

  Miranda was already in bed and nearly asleep when she heard the door open and saw Harper’s shadowy figure tiptoe across the room.

  “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” Miranda said, flipping on the lamp by her bed.

  Startled, Harper nearly tripped over herself.

  “Let’s just say Adam and I wore each other out,” she said, giving Miranda a meaningful grin as she began changing into her pajamas.

  Miranda laughed—there was nothing she loved more than Harper’s post-date epics, although since she’d started dating Adam, the juicy stories had been few and far between.

  “So? Spill,” Miranda pressed. “Was it worth the wait?”

  Harper blushed, and Miranda almost choked. She’d seen Harper’s face turn red after a few too many hours in the sun—or a few too many margaritas—but never out of embarrassment. And never about a guy.

  “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Harper protested, climbing into bed and tucking herself beneath the garish flowered comforter.

  “And that applies to you how?” Miranda asked, ducking as Harper tossed a pillow at her head. “Come on, was it everything you expected?”

  “And more,” Harper allowed, a secretive smile playing across her lips. “It is Adam, after all.”

  “That’s all you’re going to tell me?” Miranda shrieked, throwing the pillow back at her best friend.

  Harper just laughed. “Come on, Rand, I’m tired. Can we just say it was amazing and incredible, and leave it at that? Dirty details in the morning, I promise.”

  “Yeah, yeah, fine,” Miranda agreed grudgingly. “It’s not like I’m living vicariously through you or anything.”

  “Speaking of which,” Harper asked, turning to face Miranda and propping herself up on her elbow, “what did you do tonight? I figured you’d still be out partying.”

  Decision time. Miranda could admit to Harper, her best friend, who knew everything about her down to the name of her third-grade imaginary friend, what she’d done with her night. That is—nothing. Or, more specifically, nothing, followed by an hour of trolling for dates on the Internet, followed by more nothing. She could confess everything about matchmadeinhaven.com and spend the next two hours sitting up and speculating about the charming and mysterious ReadltAndWeep, and plotting out her next move.

  And for a second, it seemed like a fabulous idea. Miranda opened her mouth to spill all—and then caught herself, just in time. Because there was Harper, exhausted from a night of wild, passionate—whatever—with the love of her life. And all Miranda had to offer was an empty bag of Oreos and a new crush on a cybergeek? She could already see the look of patronizing encouragement—or worse, ridicule—that was sure to follow her confession.

  No, thank you. Not tonight. She was too tired—and, to be honest, too secretly excited about ReadltAndWeep—to bear the humiliation. Besides, what were a few more secrets between friends?

  “Big party in some kid’s room,” Miranda said truthfully, avoiding the small fact that she hadn’t bothered to attend. “You’re right, though, it’s late. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” She quickly flipped off her light so that Harper couldn’t read the lie on her face. A moment later, the light over Harper’s bed went out, too, casting them both in darkness.

  “Miranda?” Harper suddenly asked, her disembodied voice sounding strangely hesitant.

  “Yes?”

  There was a long pause, then—

  “Nothing. I’m just … glad you had such a great night.”

  Miranda sighed. Little did she know.

  “Not as great as yours,” she chirped. Also true. “You’re so lucky to have someone like Adam.”

  “That’s me,” Harper said drily. “The luckiest girl in the world.”

  Reed’s band sucked.

  Kaia didn’t know too much about music—but then, she didn’t have to, because whatever the band was playing didn’t really qualify.

  It was loud, all right, and did seem to somehow involve instruments. But the guitarist’s screeching solos sounded like a drowning cat, and the drummer, off in a world of his own, had abandoned any kind of rhythm for the random clanging and pounding you might expect from a three-year-old left alone with a pile of pots and pans. The overall effect was slightly less than melodic.

  As for the bar �
� Kaia’s short time in Grace had quickly revealed to her that the nightlife options were rather lacking—but this place topped the list of dumps. It was overwhelmingly brown, from the padded imitation leather walls to the bartender’s cigarette-stained teeth. A couple of arcade games were tucked into the corner, along with a jukebox and what looked—at least from a safe distance away—like a coin-operated porn viewer. The walls were covered with the tattered remnants of holiday decorations—a year’s worth of holidays, from sagging and faded Fourth of July flags to ripped four-leaf clovers. A handful of surly loners nursed their drinks at rickety tables, and a group of burly, middle-aged men, apparent escapees from a Teamsters’ convention, roared with drunken laughter by the beer-stained pool table.

  If there had been a stack of comment cards, Kaia would have recommended that the management erect a new sign on the fake saloon doors out front: ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. It would be both an appropriate sentiment and a public service.

  After her first sip of flat beer and the opening chords of the Blind Monkeys’ first “song,” she’d almost walked out.

  And then Reed had begun to sing.

  The song was horrible, the original lyrics lamely unoriginal, and the backup band worthless. But Reed’s voice … it was like barbed wire draped in velvet. Low and hoarse, but warm, and with an intensity that scared her—and drew her in. He leaned in toward the mike and gazed out at the audience, and his eyes seemed to meet hers, then flicker past. Kaia couldn’t look away.

  He wore a tight-fitting navy T-shirt and black jeans, and his face was framed by a tangled halo of jet-black curls that kept flopping down over his eyes.

  He’d clean up nicely, she mused—but the idea of Reed Sawyer in a Hugo Boss suit and Bruno Magli loafers seemed laughable, and wrong. His look fit him—just as the bar fit him, the town fit him. She was repelled by all of it—so why couldn’t she tear herself away?