Death by Cuddle Club
Page 22
Then there was that whole thing with Tatum Banks. Rochelle so owed me on that one! And everyone saw this debt except Rochelle. She still wouldn’t pay up. Paying up being dishing the dirt on her new flame, Detective Richard Head. Is that so much to ask?
Okay so I might know who and with whom in this case. But what about the rest of it? How’s the sex? You know the whole … where? when? how long? How long, as in how long had they’d been seeing each other. Geez, get your mind out of the gutter! Only cause it’s getting crowded and I was here first. (First … perpetually … I get those two mixed up.)
Again, is that so much to ask? It’s just normal girl talk, right? But Rochelle wouldn’t even be goaded into it.
Just so we’re clear, Rochelle wasn’t the only one getting some action.
Let me rephrase that: “ROCHELLE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE GETTING SOME ACTION!” That’s right … I am shouting. I actually have a love life! Like, with a real person and everything.
And not just any real person. With a hot one. One of those yummy manly men.
Since the Cuddle Club case—yes, I still have nightmares about that whole cuddle experience—Dylan Foreman and I have been a couple.
Actually, it had been three months to this very day. Kind of cool.
My mother was over-the-top thrilled. Mrs. Jane Presley? Well, she knew all along that we’d end up together. And me? I was happy. Cautiously happy. And yeah, scared to death, doing this relationship thing.
I know. Hard to believe, tough-as-nails Dix Dodd doing “close”. And yes, we’re also doing “it” too—just ask Rochelle. Oh dear God, no, she’s not watching! See, I give up the details. Lots and lots of details. Too many? Yeah, like there is such a thing between BFFs.
Perhaps I wasn’t doing close-close, but I was getting closer to it.
The fact is, I have a boyfriend. Wow, that still blows my mind.
So why the lament that life is weird? Because, like with everything else in my world, this traditional relationship couldn’t be smooth going...
Or maybe I couldn’t let it be.
Yup. That sounded like me.
Dylan Foreman is twenty-nine. Go ahead, do the math. At pushing forty-one, I was well within that half-your-age-plus nine range—it is nine, right? Dylan’s great. He’s one of the good guys.
Oh, but that down-the-well boyfriend scenario I referenced earlier? There’s a reason that brings a smile to my face. A bitter one.
Yup. I’ve had my own share of heartache. A big slice of it named Myles Gauthier.
Suffice it to say, I swore I’d never let my guard down again. Never love that much again. After I kicked Myles to the curb, I swore I would not let anyone get close ever again. One of those nobody’s-that-rich-or-that-well-hung vows.
Well, Dylan’s not rich...
The point being, despite my past crappy experiences with Myles—yes, experiences plural; I’m a slow learner sometimes—I was trying with Dylan. This was new for him too. Dating the former-boss-turned-business-partner. Sleeping with an older woman. An amazing older woman. And though he was always very guarded, very mum, on the subject, I knew Dylan had once had his heart broken too. But not as bad as mine, I’d bet.
Except he wouldn’t bet.
Which told me there was still a sting there.
Truly, there are no two people on the planet more competitive than me and Dylan. You’d think our romantic involvement would have lessened that. You’d be thinking wrong. It only intensified it.
Take our one month anniversary, for example. I hadn’t even realized we had been dating one whole month when the fourteenth of December rolled around. But Dylan, the romantic, brought me a heart-shaped cookie that morning, still warm from Perky Joe’s coffee shop around the corner. Dylan had obviously unwrapped the plastic and microwaved it there; nothing’s fresh from the oven at Perky Joe’s. Sweet? Yes, even I know cookies are sweet. Quite often chocolaty too.
It was a thoughtful gesture. Under normal circumstances, this would be kind of cute. But these weren’t normal circumstances—this was Dylan and me.
“Didn’t you remember our anniversary, Dix?” he’d asked. He’d had that smarmy smile on his face. That one-up smile.
I hadn’t, of course.
“Oh course I remembered!” I said. “I ... I have a little something for you right ... where did I put it?” I started rummaging through the things on my desk to find something—anything—resembling a gift. But somehow a length of staples and ball of rubber bands just didn’t say “oh baby, oh baby”. I did have this rubber thimble with little nubby bumps all over it… Of course, that would be more for me than him. The things he could do with those nubby bumps...
Dylan had known I was bluffing about having a gift for him. He used that to his advantage.
Well played, Mr. Foreman … well played.
“It’s okay, Dix. Just because our relationship means so much to me doesn’t mean it has to be the same for you.” He kissed me on the forehead and went back to his office, where he snagged the mail box key and headed back out the door.
The prick! This meant war!
Before I even took a single bite of that cookie, I threw on my coat, grabbed my purse, raced across the office to the door. Then—what was I thinking?—I dashed back to that cookie.
With a mouthful of chocolate chip, I zoomed over to the pharmacy not far from the office. It was a block away, right next to Stoner Stan’s, the adults-only toy, video and smoke shop.
“Hi ya, Dix,” Stan, the owner, called to me as I ran past. “How’s your mom? I haven’t seen her in ages.”
I didn’t have time to chat. Much. “Katt’s great, thanks Stan. Oh, and I’ll pick up my order on Wednesday! Say hi to Bambi and the kids. Talk soon!”
He waved me along. As I took off again, I almost ran down a little old lady. If she hadn’t jumped her pink- and blue-haired self out of the way, we’d have collided.
“Watch it, Dixie-Doodle.”
What? Was that a lucky guess? She did look vaguely familiar…
But the clock was ticking. I didn’t have time to ponder where I might have seen her before. So I carried on, blasted through the pharmacy door, and slid around the corner to the greeting card aisle. I just needed to get one of those sappy cards, sign it, and have it on Dylan’s desk before he returned with the mail. I snatched up the first romantic-looking card I could find. There was a loving duo on the front. Great! I glanced inside didn’t see the words ‘DEEPEST SYMPATHY’. Perfect.
I practically threw the money across the counter at the clerk, then pulled a pen from my purse, and scribbled a little something on the inside of the card.
I shoved the card into the envelope, then plowed through—er, passed by—that tough-looking pair of Salvation Army folk in front of Perky Joe’s.
I tossed the card onto Dylan’s desk and dove back in behind mine a full two seconds before he came back into the office.
“Happy...” Puff puff ... need air now. “One month...” Stitch in side ... killing me. “Anniversary!”
Dylan smiled as he picked up the card. Then he opened it and looked absolutely stricken. Pale as a sheet. Scared shitless.
“What?” I panted. “What’s wrong?”
Big, tall, strapping Dylan Foreman didn’t scare easily, but as he read the card again—out loud this time—he looked petrified. “Congratulations on your pregnancy?” He looked up at me. “Dix are you ... are we…? I mean, I thought you’d put a little weight on, but—”
“No!” I protested. “You’ve got it all wrong… I retain water! It’s a hormone thing.”
“But ... but you inscribed the card. ‘To Dylan, from Dix … may there be many more.’ Wait a minute…” His voice went comically high. His eyes shot to my stomach. “How many have you got in there?”
“It was a mistake, okay?”
“We sure as hell didn’t plan it.”
“Whoa! Dylan, take it easy,” I said. “There’s nothing in this oven. I must have picked up the wrong
card.”
He started to get it, as evidenced by the color that was coming back into his cheeks.
“Wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t tell me you just ran to the pharmacy while I was getting the mail and grabbed the first card you came to that had a couple on it. Surely you’re not that competitive, Dix.”
I said nothing. He had, after all, told me not to tell him.
But that was the only time he’d managed to one-up me on an anniversary.
At the two month mark, I came into the office first thing in the morning to find him leaning on my desk, a dozen roses in hand. But I’d been ready. Well prepared and planning for days. That’s right: I gave him the rubber thimble after all. Cause the more I thought about nubby bumps…
That was a month ago.
So here we were, three months down the line. To the day. February fourteenth. I’d circled it in red on the calendar so I’d remember. Too anxious to sit, I stood leaning against my desk in the bright and early morning, sipping my coffee, and I know I had that I’m-so-smart smile on my face. I know ’cause I kept checking it in the mirror. I watched the clock. And I watched the door.
I knew Dylan would soon arrive. But I had no idea who else would be charging/sashaying through our office door this day.
Did I mention how weird my life is?
It was just about to get weirder.
Copyright
Copyright © 2013 Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty, writing as N.L. Wilson
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and are not to be construed as real. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors.
Edited by TheAuthorsRedRoom.com
Cover by The Killion Group, Inc.
Book Design by Hale Author Services
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