by Rebeca Seitz
“Man, I’d like to curl up in there with you. What am I going to do, Wilson?” He gave her one dismissive look, then closed his eyes. “Oh, fat lot of help you are. And to think I give you the best in kibble and treats.”
She turned and headed back to Jake’s apartment. Honesty is the best policy. Just tell him you saw Bill today.
Her hand was shaking as she reached up to knock on Jake’s door. Calm down. Tell him, and you’ll feel better. Her shoulders straightened with resolve, and she rapped on the door.
“Come on in. It’s open.” His voice is even sexy through wood.
He was setting an ice bucket and two glasses beside a pizza box and two-liter on the coffee table. “Wilson all squared away?” He grinned at her, and she willed her knees to keep working.
“Mm-hmm. Probably falling into la-la land as we speak.”
The ice cubes clinked against glass as he fixed her a drink.
“Good. I think they made progress tonight.” He nodded toward a sleeping Carter on the back of his chair.
“They didn’t kill each other. I’d say that’s progress.” She took the drink he offered, ignoring the tingle where their fingers met on the cold glass, and sat down. “So if this is our official second date, I think there’s some spilling to occur.” The soda burned on its way down her throat.
He sighed. “You’re right. I promised spilling, and I’m a man of my word.” He poured his own drink. “But, as a wise woman has said, the night is young.”
“Oh no.” She wagged her finger. “You’re not getting away with that again. Spill, mister.”
He sat down in the chair beside her and took a sip. “Getting away with what?”
“You know what. Waiting until the end of the night, then telling me you’ll just share your story on our next date. That worked for the first date. Not tonight. I want to hear all about your sordid history as a bouncer.”
“A bouncer?”
“Hey, I don’t have a whole lot to work with here. You’ll learn that leaving things to my imagination is not a good idea.”
“I’ve never been a bouncer.”
“Rodeo clown?”
His laugh warmed her right down to her toes. “’Fraid not.”
“Bad actor in an off-off-Broadway play?”
“Never.”
She looked around the room. “Furniture dealer?”
“Nope. Mom and Meredith helped with this.”
Major Carter looked at her with lazy interest. “I’ve got it!”
“This should be good.”
“Cat saver! You went around town in the dead of night in a superhero cape, rescuing abandoned kittens. That’s how you got Carter.”
He threw back his head and laughed. She drank her Coke and watched his Adam’s apple move under a tanned throat.
“You’re actually close with that one.”
Coke seared her throat as she choked. “What?” she sputtered.
“Minus the cape, of course.”
“You rescue cats?”
“Cat, singular.” He held up one finger.
“The big, bad past story you didn’t want to share with me until our second date was that you rescued a cat? I think I’m missing something.”
She watched as he took another drink. “Wait, why this particular cat?”
He pointed at her. “There’s the question.” He sighed.
“And the answer?” Do I want to hear this?
“Major Carter was a woman’s cat. A woman I was seeing.”
His pained expression made her want to stop him, but curiosity got the better of her. “And why would this woman give you her cat?”
His eyes seemed to be begging her for understanding, but she didn’t know why.
“Because her husband was allergic.”
Her breath caught. Her husband? No. He was not a cheater like Bill. Why is every man I fall for a cheater? Are any of them loyal at all anymore? “Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t. Get that look off your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you think I’m a cheater. She was separated when I met her.”
Her heart started beating again. Separated wasn’t divorced, but it also wasn’t married.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Her husband had cheated, and she was planning on divorcing him. I met her three months after she’d moved out.”
“Didn’t you think that was a little quick for her to start dating?”
He shrugged. “She said she was divorcing him. I believed her. We started seeing each other. Six months later, she told me he was sorry and in counseling and she had to take him back.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Six months, and all it took was one phone call from him with the right words.”
Or one conversation on a bench at the mall.
“The only problem was that she had gotten a cat, and he was allergic. Thus, Major Carter.”
“Ah, it’s all becoming clear now.” That there’s no way I can tell you I talked to Bill today.
“Yeah. When I met you, I thought, ‘Here I go again.’ But it’s a little different since you’re already divorced.” He took a drink. “No big decision about signing the papers or anything.”
“Nope. Signed, sealed, and delivered a couple of months ago.” Which doesn’t keep him from trying to get me back.
“So, we’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I was worried, with your history with Bill, that you’d think I was a cheater.”
“You said she was separated when you met her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, separated is not divorced, and she had no business dating anybody until she had signed those papers, in my opinion, but I don’t think you were cheating, no. She may have been, though. I’m not sure. Haven’t thought about it enough.” She nibbled a fingernail and considered.
He blew out his breath. “At least you’re not running from my apartment. That’s better than I’d hoped for.”
She laughed. “You were really worried, huh?”
“I was.” He leaned forward, setting his glass on the coffee table. His hand covered her knee. “I’m glad I didn’t have to be, though. I like that we can be honest with each other.”
“Honesty is good.” Is it dishonest not to tell him? She cleared her throat. “So, what are we watching tonight? Tell me there’s not a sci-fi marathon.”
He grinned and stood up. “You’re safe. Tonight is your decision. I’ve got a couple hundred DVDs to choose from.” He opened the door of what she’d thought was an armoire. It was packed with movies. “Take your pick.”
Setting her glass down, she walked over to the armoire. “My word. You’re a veritable Blockbuster.”
He grinned. “I like movies.”
She ran her fingers along the spines. Stargate, Star Wars collector editions, Galaxy Quest, Spaceballs, The Matrix entire boxed set. “Your sci-fi freakishness is on display here.”
He looked over the movies. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Gladiator, The Patriot, Braveheart, Gods and Generals, Lethal Weapon I–IV, We Were Soldiers, Patton. “And your love for fighter movies.”
“Fighter movies?”
“Yeah, look at these.” She pointed to the titles. “You either love fighter movies or Mel Gibson. Since your mom and sister decorated this place, I’m assuming you don’t harbor a secret love for men. So I went with fighter movies over Mel.”
He pointed at her. “You’d be dead-on.”
“Good. Another crisis averted.” She pulled out Must Love Dogs. “I think this is appropriate considering the start to our night.”
He looked at the cover and laughed. “Good choice.” He put the DVD into the player, and they settled back into their chairs.
He turned to her as the FBI warning came on the screen.
“Hey, Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for understanding about Carter.”
&
nbsp; “What’s there to understand? You shouldn’t have worried about telling me.” Since now I have to worry about telling you Bill wants me back.
“All the same, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, hush. The movie’s starting.”
chapter 19
A few neighborhoods away, Lydia stared into the mirror, turning every way possible and sucking in her stomach. No matter which way she looked, though, the pudge and bulge were still there. Combine that with the stretch marks from the twins and she was pretty sure she had lost her mind the day she had placed the order for this orange thing. It had looked much better on the online model. Airbrushing.
At least this shade of orange was her color. She smoothed down the see-through mesh over her middle and appreciated the way it contrasted with her olive skin and dark hair. Maybe if she kept her hair all down, Dale would be mesmerized by that rather than the saddlebags on her thighs and the baby fat still hanging onto her frame. She turned in a circle and watched the orange feathered edges swing with her.
“They couldn’t have made the thing four inches longer?” she muttered, feeling the soft feathers slide on her bare skin. Just four inches and those thighs would be covered. She looked in the mirror again and squared her shoulders. She could do this. Oliver and Olivia were over at Mac’s. Dale was sitting out there in his recliner, watching a rerun of the Tennessee–Alabama game right now, and didn’t have to be at work for another two hours. Second shift had its good points. It was the most perfect timing she was going to get anytime soon. He had seen that game a million times. And if he had already watched it, then there was a pretty good chance he’d be willing to turn his eyes from it long enough to take in her orange getup.
“And if he chooses an old ball game over me in this outfit, then I quit.” She whipped around and marched out of the bathroom.
She made it halfway into the living room before Dale dropped his remote. “What are you wearing?” She tried to believe he was overcome with passion rather than hear the outrage in his voice.
“Something I’m hoping will get your attention off that TV and onto me.” She pointed at the television and then put her hands on her hips.
“Do you know the windows are open? If the neighbors look in here, they’re going to see you!” He got up off the couch and went over to the bank of windows, frantically closing the blinds. “What were you thinking?”
This was so not happening. She was not standing in her living room, clad in orange feathers and UT symbols in very strategic locations, while listening to her husband talk about the neighbors. He was supposed to be jumping her. Maybe next time she should get something . . . What was she thinking? There would be no next time. She stamped her foot, knowing it was a childish maneuver and not caring one whit.
“Dale Pritchett, I can’t believe you’re over there closing the blinds when I’m standing here in this—this—” She sputtered and tried to come up with a dignified word, but failed miserably. “This getup.”
“Well, I can’t believe you’re parading around our house in that getup.” He finished closing the last blind, and she saw red. Crimson Tide red, she thought with satisfaction, and her eyes narrowed.
“I’m parading around our house because you’ve done nothing for the past two months but sit there in front of that stupid television and watch sports,” she said in the steeliest voice she could manage. “But I can see that my effort is completely unappreciated, and so let me assure you such a gesture will never—and I do mean never—be made again.” She turned and stomped from the room with all the dignity she could retain while orange feathers were swirling around her legs.
The stomping carried her all the way into the bedroom, where she slammed the door and locked it with complete satisfaction and rage. She tore the offending garment over her head and threw it in the garbage can by the bed, then snatched up the phone and angrily punched in Mari’s number.
“He told me the neighbors were going to see.” Her voice shook with fury.
“Lydia?” Mari asked. “What? What about your neighbors?”
“Not the neighbors. Dale. I walked into the living room in that . . . that getup.” She pointed at the offending article of clothing in the trash can and then realized Mari couldn’t see her over the phone. “And all he did was tell me the neighbors were going to see.”
“He didn’t make a move on you?” Mari’s voice was full of disbelief.
“Oh, sure, he made a move.” Lydia jumped off the bed and paced back and forth with angry, short steps as she talked.
“Directly over to the blinds, where he closed them so fast it made my head spin. Then he asked me what in the world I was thinking.”
Dale knocked on the bedroom door and asked Lydia to come open it. She yelled back at him to go away.
“Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry.” Sympathy poured through the phone line. “Want me to come beat him up for you?”
Lydia plopped back down on the bed, tired and defeated.
“No, I want you to come and knock some sense into me. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.” She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Dale, go away. I’m on the phone,” she yelled at the bedroom door. “At least he didn’t comment on my wrinkles or baby fat.”
“Way to look at the bright side. See? There are lessons to be learned here. What else can we take away from this?”
“That my husband has no desire for his wife at all?” She threw an angry glance at the door as Dale’s knocking turned to pounding. “Go away!”
“No,” Mari continued. “That your husband has a very deep concern for what parts of his wife the neighbors see. That could be a good thing.” Silence hummed over the line as both women thought about that. Lydia had to admit that Dale hadn’t exactly rejected her. He had rejected her in front of the neighbors. Okay, so he was concerned about others seeing her in the orange getup. If she wasn’t so mad, that would be endearing. She looked at the door and waited for another knock from Dale. He seemed to have given up.
“You’re right.” She sighed again. “His problem was that the blinds were open.”
“So go back out there and make sure they’re still shut.”
“No ma’am. Wild horses couldn’t drag me back out there. Do you know the color of humiliation? It bears a remarkable resemblance to my face right now.” Besides, there was something degrading about having to work this hard to get her husband interested in her. They hadn’t been married long enough to warrant all this effort.
“At least go out and talk to the man. He’s an hombre, which means he has no idea what’s in your head and is thinking incredibly wrong thoughts right now. Go set him straight before this gets to be a bigger mess.”
Lydia picked at the polish on her fingernail and considered Mari’s words. She was right again. If left to his own devices, Dale would think of every reason in the world Lydia had done this other than the correct one.
“Okay, I’ll go.”
“Good for you. Call me afterwards and tell me what happened, ’kay?”
“’Kay. Wish me luck.”
“You won’t need it. You’ve got his ring, his last name, and his kiddos. He loves you. Go talk to him. And remember he’s a man. One thought process at a time. It’s just how they’re wired.”
Lydia chuckled. “Thanks, friend.”
“Anytime.”
Lydia hung up the phone and pulled on her jeans and a sweatshirt. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, so she might as well be comfortable having it.
She opened the bedroom door and peeked outside, but Dale had taken her command to go away at face value. He was nowhere to be seen. She opened the door the rest of the way and walked toward the living room, noting with a smile that all the blinds in the house were now closed. Dale was nothing if not thorough.
She saw the wariness in Dale’s expression the minute she stepped into the living room. His eyes took her in as if she were some unknown thing moving through his house—determining whether she was friend or
foe.
His shirt felt soft beneath her fingers as she patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry I freaked you out. That’s not what I had intended.”
The furrow in his brow deepened. “What did you intend?”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. “I thought I made that clear when I came out here dressed up in your favorite team’s logo.” She went and stood in front of the television, waving her hands around as she talked. “I’m sick of this television, Dale. All you do is watch sports and eat. You don’t play with Oliver or
Olivia, you never walk Otis, and I can’t remember the last time you looked at me for any reason other than to ask what we were having for a meal.”
“That’s not true! I walked Otis last week.”
“When I put the leash in your hand.” She rolled her eyes at him. “And even then you waited until whatever game you were watching was over. The poor dog sat whining by your recliner for fifteen minutes.”
Dale looked around the room as if trying to find the whining Otis. “No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did.” She put her hands on her hips. “See what I mean? You’re not even aware anymore of what’s going on around you.”
“Of course I am, Lydia. You’re being difficult.”
“I’m being difficult?” She pointed to her chest. “I just walked into my own living room in the bright of day wearing orange feathers for you! And all you could do was tell me the blinds were open. And you sit there telling me I’m difficult? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
Dale’s confused look turned to one of anger, and Lydia knew she had lost whatever opportunity had been there to fix things.
“Look, I don’t know why you felt the need to do that, but don’t get mad at me for not knowing what’s in your mind. I’m not a mind reader. If you want something, just say it.” He threw up his hands in frustration and sank back into the recliner. “Why can’t women be more like men? We want something, we just go get it or ask for it.”
Lydia stared at him. He wasn’t that dumb. He just didn’t want to understand. And if he didn’t want to, there was nothing she could say to make him. She hung her head in defeat and sighed. “Fine, Dale. Enjoy your game.” She walked out of the room and headed toward her scrapbooking room. Maybe there was some paper that needed tearing or distressing.