“She’s coming?”
Meghan nodded. “That’s not a problem, is it?” So what if she’d been slightly economical with the truth? Anything to make sure she didn’t end up at dinner alone with Vincent. Spending a week at a client’s site could be lonely and it was always good to have another work colleague along, but being holed up with Vincent had turned out to be more awkward than she’d first envisaged; even before Lance had ever come onto the scene. The more Vincent gravitated towards her, the more she retreated. She regretted having given him the wrong idea, and had tried to be as distant and as uninterested as she could but the man wasn’t getting the hint. With things between her and Lance moving forward so quickly, she needed to let Vincent know what was what.
Vincent got up and slipped on his jacket, his face like thunder. “Aren’t you going to book the table?” she asked.
“You do it. I’m going out for a smoke.”
Chapter 20
He got the call at 6pm on a Friday evening, when he was working on his research paper.
“All my friends are going to be there,” she bleated.
“But this weekend, Vivian?” Her timing stunk. He loved having Cassie and he would happily have her every weekend if he could, but this weekend of all weekends? His plans for dinner with Meghan were thwarted.
“I have had Cassandra for quite a few of the weekends lately,” she drawled, making it sound as if she’d suffered extreme hardship.
Such a pity he’d gotten shot and had a backlog of dissertations to catch up on.
“I’m not complaining about having Cassie,” he argued. “A bit more notice would have been nice to have.”
“It’s a 40th birthday surprise.”
“Then you must have known about it months in advance?”
“Why are you being so difficult? You don’t usually have much to do on at weekends.”
Not usually, no.
“What are you up to?” she demanded.
“I’m still grading dissertations.” It was none of her business what he had planned. “How much later were you going to leave it before telling me?”
“I wasn’t going to go initially, but I found out this morning that more of my friends are going.”
“This morning?”
“I only decided a few minutes ago, actually,” she said, and he could tell she was smiling. He secretly hoped she would find someone; it would keep her occupied. He would have to postpone dinner with Meghan to Sunday. “Can you pick her up on Sunday?”
“Me?” She questioned, because he always did the drop-offs and pick-ups.
“Yes.” He could already hear the wheels turning in her brain. “I’ll need to continue tackling the dissertations. It will save me time.”
“Of course. Oh, and she has art homework. Cereal boxes and painting, can you make sure she does it. Try to get it to look like a house.”
“Sure.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It looked as if he had a busy weekend ahead of him. “I’ll come and get Cassie in an hour,” he said, knowing he would have to leave now in order to get back and still have some time to spend with his daughter before she went to sleep.
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, his clasped hands resting on his stomach. Maybe he could rearrange dinner for Sunday? Not having been in a new relationship for a while, he felt slightly apprehensive. Not only that, but because it was Meg. He had a feeling that if this were any other woman, he would have been more laid back. His dates so far had been disastrous. While there had always been plenty of interested women, he wasn’t always interested. He was going for quality not quantity. The sports center was full of women on the prowl. He’d tried a few dating apps and decided, after a few mishaps, that this new way of dating wasn’t for him. Constant online messaging, where innuendo went far deeper than a roving tongue ever would, wasn’t his preferred way of wooing women. Not for him the sexting or dirty language straight from the sewers. He liked good-old fashioned getting to meet people. More than that, he liked Meghan. He’d always noticed her, not because of her brains and her beauty, but because she wasn’t like the other girl. Her detached aloofness made her stand out in a class full of wide-eyed, hair-flicking, eyelash-batting girls. When something crumbled in that cool exterior, he noticed immediately. Their friendship grew, blurring the lines, even though he tried to be careful. She was funny, and warm and grounded and it was hard sometimes not to see her as an equal. That long, bittersweet night had been a real test. She’d needed him, had wanted him, and it had taken a heroic shift of his being, to turn her down.
Whatever happened between him and Meghan, he didn’t want it to be a one-night stand. No way. But he couldn’t presume too much. She wasn’t even thirty yet, and he was pushing forty. It wasn’t big enough to be a generation gap, but it wasn’t a mere few years, either. The years separating them were far enough apart for them to have different tastes in music, and films and TV shows. It could be enough of a difference to matter. And it could not. Twelve years wasn’t much now but at either end of the life spectrum it could be. His thirty to her eighteen was a no-no, but what about his sixty-two to her fifty?
He stared at his face in the mirror, turning his face from side-to-side as he examined his features. At least he had a full head of hair, even though it was peppered with gray along his sides, above his ears. He hadn’t shaved too closely either and the smattering of gray hairs along his face gave him a rugged look. He still caught the eye of many women wherever he went. It was attention he neither sought nor encouraged, and it had been there all along, well before the shooting.
Had he wished they had slowed down and not jumped into bed? Maybe. She had that effect on him and he’d been unable to hold back. And now that they’d fast forwarded so quickly, things could get complicated.
Chapter 21
The stench of fresh salty sweat hung in the air like rot. Arla stumbled out of the spin class clutching her water bottle. Her legs had turned to soft rubber, and she couldn’t feel where her thighs started and where her calves ended. It was a miracle she managed to walk at all. At one point she thought that either her heart would give out or she’d topple over with fatigue. If this was a beginner’s spin class she didn’t want to ever step foot inside the more advanced class. Not even the promise of seeing Scott amped up to the max would be enough to persuade her to do something so foolish.
The instructor’s rock solid arms and legs—on clear display in his tank top and shorts—were enough of a pull to get her here, especially when, by the end of the lesson, sweat poured off him like water from a shower head. Not only was he easy on the eye but her fitness levels were definitely improving along with her vivid imagination.
As she took a long sip from her water bottle, she saw Scott in the distance talking to one of the women from the class. “Sonofabitch,” she muttered under her breath. These tall, skinny bitches always got all the attention. Quietly furious, she leaned against the wall, putting her knapsack on the floor. She eyed the pair as she fanned her face with a Zumba class flier she’d picked up.
Tall-and-Skinny walked away and Arla saw her chance. Determined to get to Scott before the next floozy stole his attention, she pushed off the wall and promptly tripped over her knapsack. She hurtled onto the floor, hitting it hard with an ugly Splat! She was saved by her wrists that had smacked the ground, luckily, before her face did. Lying like a beached whale she was unable to move for a few seconds. Shock and acute embarrassment kept her pinned to the ground and she wished she could close her eyes and vanish.
Scott flew to her side. “Ouch. That sounded painful,” he said, reaching out to help her up. “Here, let’s get you up.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, her dignity somewhere around her ankles as she slowly shuffled to standing. “Are you sure?” he asked, his hands on either side of her shoulders. She nodded. Her wrists felt as if they’d been dipped in fire and the pain in her hips coupled with the torture she’d endured during the class, made it almost impossible for
her to stand up straight much less give a coherent answer. She pursed her lips together.
“Amber, right?”
“Arla,” she winced.
“Arla,” he said, his glittering eyes holding her captive. She swooned internally, her wrists feeling as if they’d been scraped by a razor blade. She bobbed her head, a little too much, unable to string a sentence together because every cell in her body was wailing in pain. Scott held her face in his hands, gently turning it from side to side; her heart rate soared.
“You’re fine,” he said, letting go. “Thought you might have smacked your face on the floor. Sounded like it.” She winced again because if she opened her mouth she was sure that the only noise that would come out would be a groan.
A man walked past with a young girl and she heard the little girl say, “That was like my fall, Daddy.” She heard him call her sweetpea before they were too far out of earshot. Then the man bent down to do up the shoe laces on her sneakers.
Holy shit.
There, right in front of her was Mr. Turner. Meghan’s Mr. Turner.
“I think you’re going to be fine,” said Scott, examining her wrists, an action which under normal circumstances would have been foreplay in her books. But right now she could only stare at Mr. Turner and the small girl who had called him, ‘Daddy.’
An icy coldness spread around her body. “I’m okay,” she croaked, as she wiped her chin with the cuff of her sweatshirt and trying to fake nonchalance. She still had her eye on the man and the girl.
The asshole.
Meghan had slept with him. And worse, Meghan liked him.
“I’m fine,” she said, wishing that Scott would disappear.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She turned to Scott and waved her hand about as if to dismiss his concern, and winced at the pain this motion had caused. “Don’t you worry about me,” she laughed through gritted teeth. “It’s nothing. I do this all the time.”
“Fall over?”
“I fall over doing downward dog.” She glanced at the man and child again, and flashed a smile at Scott.
“You do yoga as well?”
“I try to but I have the flexibility of a steel rod.”
“You’re funny,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “I like your sense of humor. Take care now.”
She flapped her hand in front of her face, admiring the athletic god with his hard-as-marble buttocks as he walked away. She turned back to Turner, and froze. He was greeting a woman with a kiss and he looked happy.
The lying, cheating bastard.
Chapter 22
She’d felt like a teenager getting ready for prom—a little too excited, a little too nervous, a little too happy. So it was a slight relief when Lance called to postpone their dinner date to tomorrow night. It was a better alternative because she needed more time to think about what dinner with Lance might mean.
Was she ready for this? Did it matter that they had history—history which some might find unpalatable? History that her parents did not like the sound of, nor believe her when she told them it had been purely innocent. Would people care? That question when people asked, ‘How did you meet?’ Would they be embarrassed to share their story?
She was racing ahead of herself. Who would ask? She was worrying for no reason, thinking ahead as if they might have a future. As if it were the type of story they might tell people on their wedding day, or tell their children. Stop!
She was racing ahead with crazy thoughts. Maybe this was going to be something short and sweet. Closure wrapped up with a pretty bow.
Daydreaming, with a magazine in her hands but with her thoughts someplace else, the sound of her doorbell interrupted her. Surprised, because she hadn’t been expecting anyone, she answered the door only to have Arla charging into her apartment like a heat seeking missile.
“Hey,” said Meghan, temporarily dazzled by Arla’s neon green leggings and wristband.
“I thought I’d come by,” Arla explained. “I was on my way home.”
“But I’m not on your way home.”
“You’re not?” Arla laughed, but it was a fake laugh.
“No.”
“I fell,” Arla confessed. Holding out her wrists as if submitting proof. “You poor thing.” Meghan winced as she examined her friend’s wrists. “Do you want to put some ice on that?”
“Nah.” She walked into Meghan’s living room. “Mind if I hang out here a while?” Without waiting for an answer, she sank onto the couch.
“You’re really serious about this exercise thing, aren’t you?”
“It has its moments.”
“I bet,” said Meghan. “How was it today?”
“So-so.”
“Was it spin again?”
“Yeah.”
With Scott?”
“Yeah.” Her friend was surprisingly quiet given that she’d just come from her spin class, with the infamous ‘Scott’. Meghan wondered if Arla had struck gold at the sports club. “Let’s do something fun tonight,” she suggested, especially since she now had the evening free.
“Tonight?” Arla didn’t sound keen. “I’m not sure about tonight.”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Meghan asked, smiling devilishly. “It’s not like you to be tongue-tied.”
“I’m tired,” Arla insisted. “Shall we hook up tomorrow night? I’m all sweaty and can’t be bothered to shower and come back out again.”
“I can’t make tomorrow. I’m going out to dinner with Lance.”
“Lance?” The way she said it sounded strange, as if she’d forgotten who he was.
“Mr. Turner…you remember?” She said sarcastically. “We were supposed to go out for dinner this evening, but he cancelled.”
“I bet he did.”
Meghan ignored her. “So we’re meeting up tomorrow.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“I didn’t realize you guys were so serious,” said Arla.
“It’s hardly serious,” Meghan laughed. “It’s dinner, and it’s the first time we’re going out on a proper date.” She lowered her voice. “We kind of rushed into things, remember?”
“Hmmmm.” Arla’s response, a soft grunt, surprised Meghan. “I’m thirsty,” she said, suddenly getting up. “Need some water.” She disappeared into the kitchen causing Meghan to sit in silent confusion. Usually she couldn’t get Arla to shut up and now she was having trouble getting more than two-word answers out of her.
“Is this what a spin class does to you?” Meghan asked when her friend returned. “Because you seem slightly distant and not all there right now.”
“Sorry. I’m tired. It was a tough class. Let’s go out tonight and watch a movie.”
“I thought you said you were too tired!”
“Then let’s go out and eat,” Arla suggested.
“I thought you were too tired.”
“I’m never too tired to eat. I’ll go home now, shower and change and come back for you.” Arla placed her half empty glass on the table and got up again. Maybe by then she would have pulled herself together and might be in a position to share whatever was on her mind. “See you in a about an hour,” said Meghan, walking her to the door.
“’Bye.” She closed the door, folded her arms, and stood there, trying to work out what had just happened. A few seconds later, she picked up Arla’s glass and returned it to the kitchen when the doorbell rang again. Meghan answered the door to find Arla was standing there with a peculiar look on her face.
“What now?” Meghan asked, curious.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
Meghan sighed inwardly with relief. She’d known it all along. “Go on.” Silence stretched out like rising soufflé. “Who is it?” she asked, secretly hoping that it was the case.
“Are you really that set on Lance Turner?” Arla asked, “you barely know the guy.”
“What?” Meghan asked, startled. Arla had prev
iously been so excited about the two of them getting together that her words now took Meghan by surprise. “I’ve known him for years.” Where was this coming from?
“But Meg, you don’t really know him. Ten years is a long time to be out of touch with someone and then to get involved so fast.”
“What’s brought this on?”
“I’m looking out for you.”
“Looking out for me?” asked Meghan. A prickly silence followed. Weighted with something. “I can’t understand why you’re not happy for me. I feel happy. ”
“So why haven’t you told your mom or sister about him?”
Meghan looked at her in utter shock. “You know why.” Her family hated him. The rumors had spread fast, Tillie Collins and Shaun had seen to that. It was odd how her parents forgot that the episode—her mother’s suicide attempt and its effect on the family—had all stemmed from her father’s affair. Funny that. “You know they blame him for what happened.” It was easier for her mom to lay the blame on Lance than to admit she’d failed them. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Arla. I don’t understand where you’re coming from. If I didn’t know you any better I’d think you were jealous.”
“Jealous?”Arla shot back. “Do you really think I’m jealous of you?” She threw her hands into the air. “You’ve got some nerve. You must think you’re something. I bet you secretly laugh at me in my work out gear, and my fitness obsession, and my pathetic attempts to catch someone’s attention.”
“That’s not true,” Meghan insisted, shifting her weight onto both feet evenly. Arla was going full force into battle. “Forget tonight,” she said, stepping away from the door. “I don’t want to see you. Do you really think I’d be jealous of your figure, your job and your new love life?” She rushed away.
Meghan was too stunned by the outburst to tell her to wait.
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