Page 46 of Just Come Over
“What note?” she said. “There’s no note. The date didn’t go anywhere, just like I told you. I’m the same as ever, and I’m fine. I’ll say yes to Kelly Tarlton’s all the same, though. Do you mind taking Casey as well? She’d love to see the penguins, and I’d kill for a couple hours alone. Face mask, pedicure, very long bath, architecture magazines. Heaven.”
“So many avenues to explore,” Hayden said. “First—Mr. Plaid Shorts wasn’t interested? Too right he was interested.”
“But I wasn’t.” She was just glad Rhys and Casey had left and weren’t hearing this. “No spark.”
“Mm-hmm,” Hayden said. “Surprising me not at all.”
“Would it—” She stopped, then tried again. “What would a man think—other than you—if I told him that? That there was no spark with somebody? If I mentioned that I—”
“Oh, boy,” Hayden breathed. “If you mentioned that you what?”
“Had sort of lost my—desire. I can’t believe I said it,” she hurried on.“Whydid I say it? Too much to drink, possibly.” Or the look in Rhys’s eyes. She hadn’t melted once during all that kissing, but the minute he’d looked at her? Oh, yeh. She’d done more than melt. She’d burned.
“Let me get this straight,” Hayden said. “Who did you say this to? Not to Dr. Plaid, because we both know what he’d say. ‘Thanks for nothing, see you at the office, and by the way, you’re getting saddlebags.’”
“I am not getting saddlebags. I exercise.” She ran her hand down the back of her thighs to make sure. Her tummy and bum were possibly not as tiny as they might have been, but she wasn’t getting saddlebags. She had good legs. It was her bestthing.
“But if you said this to, say, Rhys Fletcher?” Hayden went on. “As in, ‘Why can’t I get excited anymore, even when a man kisses me for hours and uses his tongue the way I like? Why didn’t I get that panty-melting buzz tonight? Is there something wrong with me, Rhys? Will I never be satisfied by a man’s touch again?’”
“Ugh,” she moaned, then rolled over and hit her forehead against the mattress. “Ugh. Ugh. And I did not say the thing about the tongue. It’s bad, though, isn’t it?”
“To the most competitive man in the world? Possibly. Or not. Not bad at all, unless you didn’t mean him to take it as a challenge.”
“I thought so.Bugger.”
“Didhe take it as a challenge? I wouldn’t have thought it, and yet I would. So many interesting cross-currents there. Most upright fella in the world, I’d have said. Boringly so, if he weren’t so smoldering hot. Mana up to the eyeballs. Your brother-in-law, too. Don’t tell me I have to defend your honor, please. I’m too young to die.”
“No. Of course not. I may have embarrassed myself a bit, that’s all. Oh, well. It was one time, on one night. We’re friendly. I’m helping with Casey, as you know. And by the way? The most upright fella in the world doesn’t run around on his fiancée and make babies with somebody else, and then waltz off and go on with his life.”
“Is there more than one baby now?”
“No. Figure of speech.” She was feeling more than cross.
“He’s doing all right by her now, it seems,” Hayden said. “Back to fully honorable status, I’d say. Exactly how friendly are you?”
“Never mind. I’m sorry I told you. Kelly Tarlton’s on Sunday sounds awesome. Thanks.”
Now, she knew she’d be ringing him up and canceling Kelly’s, because they were shopping for rabbits on Sunday instead, and she wanted to do it. Seeing Rhys and Casey together did something healing to her heart, maybe, despite the lying-and-cheating aspect, and her heart needed healing. She told Rhys, “Go on and slice that lamb now,” and got the veggies out of the oven. “And tell me again why moving into your house makes more sense than us staying here.”
He picked up the carving knife and fork and got to work. He’d got his hair cut on Tuesday. Although it was as dark and thick as ever, it was more under control now, like the rest of him, the hair pushed back from his forehead, furrowed both by lines and scar tissue, with its distinctive hairline that was exactly like Casey’s. His hair fell only to his chin, and he’d shaved, too. Chin dimple present and accounted for, and if anything, more visible muscle than ever. She wished he wouldn’t wear white T-shirts that showed his tattoo, his golden-dark skin, and the swell of his biceps. He’d been working out more, he’d mentioned, but surely it wouldn’t show that fast. Maybe she’d just had more occasion to look, especially since her eyes were about at the level of his chest. Which meant she looked at his chest a lot.
“Could be that staying at my house doesn’t make sense, of course,” he said, “other than the rabbits, if we end up with rabbits. But I think we’ll end up with rabbits. Or it could be that I thought it might be a treat. Which doesn’t sound good until I say that your bath is surely not big enough for you to stretch out, and mine is, and has a view besides. I don’t care—I’ve never used it—but I thought you might. Like going on holiday to a posh hotel, possibly, since I won’t be there. A holiday with two kids and your job still to do, but you can’t have everything, eh.”
She stared at him. “How did you know that I was thinking about lying in the bath?”
He stopped carving lamb. “What? Uh... you told me. A bubble bath, and painting your toenails.”
She had not told him about her toenails. She’d never have done that. It was her one indulgent time, at night, which for some reason, was fantasy time, too, or had become so. Whatever she’d told Hayden, whatever she’d told Rhys, her buzz was back.
She needed to find somebody, obviously. That had to be why she was reacting so inappropriately. How did you find somebody when you never went out? It was a daunting prospect. “Never mind,” she said. “We’ll do the rabbit-minding, one way or another. Although I don’t know anything about rabbits, fair warning. If I kill one, you’d better tell me how to get a replacement fast.”
He smiled. “No worries. I’ve researched. Also, I expect Casey will put us both right.”
Going to a Blues game again was weird. More than weird. Surreal.
She hadn’t been for four years, not since Dylan had left New Zealand to play a final season in England, and hadn’t taken her with him. “It’s for less than a year,” he’d said, “and Isaiah’s in school. I’ll visit.”
It hadn’t been hard to convince her. She hadn’t wanted to go. Dylan wanted to pretend to be single, and she wanted to actuallybesingle. Going to the games had been hard for a couple years by then. Smiling and cheering with the other wives and girlfriends, and wondering how late Dylan would come home. It wasn’t a time in her life that she wanted to revisit.
