by Mari Madison
Okay, okay, sure, that was the original idea of going to the club and finding a guy to begin with. But wasn’t I supposed to be the one to call the terms of the arrangement? Wasn’t I supposed to be the one to say thank you for a wonderful night and then walk away?
Okay, that sounded totally selfish, didn’t it? And it wasn’t like I was going to actually have done that. Not to Mac anyway. Mac who was cool and funny and sweet and had held me all night long.
Held me like I meant something.
Had I meant anything at all?
I wandered back to my room, half in a daze, my stomach knotted as if I were hungover, even though I hadn’t drunk a drop the night before. As I sank down onto my bed—my oh-so-empty bed—I tried to tell myself that it was no big deal. That this was how it was supposed to work from the very beginning. That I should be grateful he saved me the awkwardness of a morning after good-bye.
But all the rationalities in the world couldn’t stanch the ache in my heart. Because no matter what I had intended, the reality was, I liked him. I really, really liked him. And I never would have gone through with any of this—despite Stephanie’s urging—if I’d realized it would end like this.
Did he not feel any of what I had felt? Had it all been an act—just to get in my pants? Or had I said something at some point to make him change his mind about me? Did I talk in my sleep? Snore really loudly? Something—anything—to make him bolt for the door?
Disappointment, mixed with hurt, welled inside of me as my mind tried to comb through everything that had happened the night before. Had he planned this from the start? Had I completely missed the signs? But no. He’d been a total gentleman. He’d asked me repeatedly if I was sure I wanted this, clearly ready to back down—to sleep on the couch—if I’d shown any hesitation. Not to mention afterward, we had cuddled all night long. Why would he bother, if he was just after the sex?
And if it wasn’t just about sex, why not a second date? Why wouldn’t this smart, interesting, cool guy want to see me again? Or hell, at least give me the courtesy of a lie, a promise of a phone call that would never come. Wasn’t I at least deserving of that?
At least now I knew what the A stood for on his arm.
Asshole.
I sucked in a breath, trying to regain my sanity. The night had happened, I tried to rationalize. The deed was done. No tears or crazy revenge plots were going to change anything now. In fact, it would probably be best just to chalk the whole thing up to a learning experience and move on. After, of course, vowing to never listen to Stephanie again.
I glanced over at the phone, charging on my nightstand, having the sudden urge to call Ryan and then hating myself for even thinking it. After all, what would he say to me if I told him how stupid I’d been? That I deserved what I got? That I was an idiot? A slut? That my sister would never do this kind of thing?
I shook my head, feeling a pang of loneliness deep in my gut. I considered waking Stephanie and telling her what had happened, but I already knew she wouldn’t understand. In fact, she’d probably see this as a perfect opportunity for me to now hunt down guy number two.
I sighed, my eyes falling once again to the black jacket, hanging on the back of the chair. His jacket. In his rush to leave, he’d left his jacket behind. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if throwing it on the fire pit in the back yard and having a little bonfire would make me feel better.
But no. I wasn’t the kind of girl who did that, even if the man in question deserved it. I would rise above. Return the jacket, assuming he’d left some kind of ID inside to help me locate him. (Bet he was wishing he left his phone number now!)
I slid off the bed and began digging through the pockets, seeing if Mr. One-Night Stand left the dude equivalent of a glass slipper behind.
It didn’t take long for me to find the wallet, cradled in the inside pocket. With shaking fingers, I pulled it out and flipped it open. Inside I found a few singles, credit cards, a Massachusetts driver’s license belonging to a Jake MacDonald, twenty-eight years old. I sighed. So much for that plan. Even if I wanted to return this to him, I didn’t have any idea where he currently lived.
Sliding the license back into the wallet, I pulled out the final piece of paper from the billfold, unfolded it and started to read . . .
. . . and almost dropped the letter.
Oh. My. God.
I stared down at the letter, my eyes filled with horror.
No.
This could not be happening.
This could so not be happening.
I stared at the letter again, as if reading it over for the tenth time would make the words change on the page. But they remained stubbornly in place. Black and white. And impossible to argue.
It was a letter of employment.
A letter of employment from Mac’s new employer.
A letter of employment from Mac’s new employer, News 9 San Diego.
A letter of employment from Mac’s new employer, News 9 San Diego, where I currently was employed, too.
Yes, it seemed the very man who had waltzed in and out of my life in just one night had already signed on for a much more permanent gig—as my TV station’s newest videographer.
This was so not good.
ten
BETH
Morning, sunshine,” I remarked wryly as Stephanie half-walked/half-stumbled into our kitchen two hours later, wrapped in an overly fluffy pink terrycloth bathrobe. Her normally sexily tousled hair was now mussed and snarled and black smudges ringed her blue eyes, giving her the look of a rabid raccoon. I glanced at my phone. “Or should I say afternoon?”
“You should say nothing,” she grunted. “Unless it’s ‘Do you want coffee?’ I could handle ‘Do you want coffee?’ Maybe.”
“Do you want coffee?”
“You’re really asking me that?” Stephanie slumped into the chair across from me, her head plopping down onto the table. I rose to my feet, walking over to the counter and grabbing two News 9 mugs, pouring freshly brewed java (my second pot of the day) into each. Looking at my roommate now I was pretty glad I’d agreed to be designated driver last night. Otherwise I’d be enjoying this humiliation sundae with a hangover on top.
After adding a generous dollop of pumpkin spice creamer to each cup, I walked over to the table and handed one to Stephanie before sitting back down across from her with my own mug.
“Oh my God, you seriously win roommate of the year,” she muttered, taking a long slug, then setting the mug precariously on the edge of the table. I dove to save it from crashing to the floor, setting it back in front of her. She sighed heavily. “Like first place. Like, you should have an actual trophy and stuff.”
I snorted. “Great. I’ll clear a spot next to all my imaginary Emmys.”
Stephanie nodded absently, staring into her coffee with a blank expression on her face. “I am never, ever drinking again. Ever.”
I’d heard this one before. “Whatever you say.”
“No. Seriously, I mean it this time.” She sighed. “Well, besides next Tuesday. I have a date with Rob next Tuesday—the bartender from Tito’s? Guy makes a killer Mexican martini. Extra olives, just how I like it.” She took another sip of coffee, this time miraculously managing not to spill any on her robe. Then she set down her cup and studied me with a cockeyed look. “But enough about me and my pathetic spiral into alcoholism and misery. I want to hear about your night. Did you have fun? I seem to recall a few fun-sounding noises, coming suspiciously from the vicinity of your bedroom . . .”
My face prickled with heat. I grabbed my own coffee cup in both hands, bringing it to my lips, as if it were a shield to protect me from the impending inquisition. But sadly, I knew in my heart, even the power of pumpkin spice couldn’t stop a rabid reporter like Stephanie from getting the scoop. I could stall, but eventually resistance would prove futile.
“It started out fine,” I admitted at last. “Great, actually.” I bit my lower lip, setting my coffee down. “Until thi
s morning, that is.”
“Oh?” Stephanie tilted her head in question, the oh-so-innocent way I’d seen her do countless times when trying to get her interviewees to relax and spill the beans. “What happened? Did he take off quick or something?”
“Let’s just say the Road Runner’s got nothing on this guy.” Elbows propped on the table, I cupped my chin in my hands and sighed deeply. “I woke up and he was gone. He left a note, but no phone number. No email. Hell, I’m half-convinced he wiped away his fingerprints before making his exit, just to make sure I wouldn’t be able to track him down.”
Though he did forget his jacket, I reminded myself quietly. But I wasn’t ready to go there just yet.
I chewed on my lower lip, frustration washing over me once again. I’d gone over the entire night in my mind, countless times throughout the morning, and I still didn’t have a clue as to what had gone wrong. Everything had been so perfect. We’d clicked, we’d connected, we’d freaking spooned all night long like we were in love. How could a night that felt so special to me mean absolutely nothing to him? Was this just a Men Are From Mars or He’s Just Not That Into You kind of thing? Or was there some piece to this puzzle I was missing? Like . . . A horrifying thought niggled at the back of my brain. What if he was married? I cringed. I so did not want to go there.
“Dude! What’s with the long face?” Stephanie demanded, interrupting my worried thoughts. “Don’t you see? This is perfect! Absolutely perfect.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you still drunk?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Beth, this is what you wanted, remember? This is why you went to the club with me in the first place! One night of hot sex, no strings attached. And now, bonus! It’s not even awkward. You don’t have to give the throbbing love lance the boot. You don’t have to deal with some stage five clinger, texting you desperate love poetry 24-7 until you’re forced to block him on Facebook.” She shuddered. “Instead, you can just chalk this up to a night of awesome and move on with your life.” She reached across the table, holding up her hand for a high five. “Forget the roommate trophy. I’m getting you a dirty slut one. Which, I might add, is way cooler than some silly Emmy.”
I groaned, leaning back in my chair and staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t understand,” I protested. “I mean, trust me, I wish it were that simple. But it’s not. I can’t just move on and forget about him. Even if I wanted to.”
Stephanie lowered her hand and narrowed her eyes. “Elizabeth White. Do not even tell me you’ve somehow managed to develop feelings for this dude after just one night.”
I closed my eyes. My mind flashed back to Mac, wrapping me into his arms. His hot breath searing my shoulder as he cuddled me close, taking care to pull the blanket up over me so I wouldn’t be cold. Then I shook my head. Don’t even go there, Beth.
I turned back to my roommate. “No. I mean I literally can’t. Look.” I rummaged through my pocket and pulled out the employment letter I’d discovered in Mac’s jacket, presenting it to her. She took it from me and scanned it quickly, then looked up, confused.
“I don’t understand. Who’s Jake MacDonald?”
“MacDonald,” I emphasized. “As in MacDonald. As in, ‘You can call me Mac’ Donald.”
Stephanie’s jaw dropped. “Hold on a second. You’re telling me that your one-night throbbing love lance is going to be working permanently at News 9?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Did you know that before you hooked up?”
“Of course I didn’t know that!” I cried, exasperated. “Do you think I’m a moron? He left his jacket behind. I found it in his wallet.”
Stephanie pursed her full lips. “Wow. Well, this changes everything.”
“No kidding. I mean, how can I even go to work now—knowing he’ll be there? What if he goes and tells everyone what we did? What if they all think I’m some horrible slut? God, I have half a mind to quit. ‘Sorry Richard,’” I quipped, making up my resignation speech to my boss on the fly, “‘I know I have six months left on my contract, but I didn’t take into account you hiring a guy I hooked up with. As you can guess, I couldn’t possibly stay.’”
Stephanie rolled her eyes again. “And they call me a drama queen.” She shook her head, her black hair swishing from side to side. “Come on, Beth. Let’s not overreact. I mean, God, if I quit every job where I hooked up with a fellow employee or four? I’d be perpetually unemployed.”
I stared down into my empty coffee mug, deciding not to comment on that. While sex with strangers might be Stephanie’s typical MO, it certainly wasn’t mine. Besides, what was that ugly analogy about not crapping where you eat?
But it was too late now.
Uninvited tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. This was so unfair.
“Oh, sweetie.” My roommate’s expression softened. She leaned across the table, placing her hands on my shoulders and giving me a comforting squeeze. “Do not even. You’re awesome. He’s an asshole. He doesn’t deserve even a single one of your precious tears.”
“I know,” I sniffled, feeling like an idiot. “I know, I know. It just . . . sucks, you know? Of all the newsrooms in all the world . . .”
Stephanie pursed her lips, seeming to ponder this. Then her face brightened. “Well, think of it this way,” she declared. “You know he’s not working the morning shift. Your photog Javier would have totally given you a heads-up if he was changing shifts. Which means Mac Daddy must be on days or evenings.” She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Which means you’ll probably never even see the guy, save for the News 9 holiday party. And at that point, I’ll make it my personal mission to get you too drunk to care.”
I laughed, despite myself. “Maybe they’ll end up assigning him to you.”
“I hope so.” My roommate’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “’Cause payback is a bitch, Mac Daddy. No one hurts my little love muffin. Not on my watch!” She held up her hand again in a high five. This time I didn’t leave her hanging.
She was right, I told myself as I brought my mug to the sink. Plenty of people worked at News 9 that I barely ever saw. It would be no big deal. I never had to talk to him. Except to return the jacket, of course. Though maybe I should just leave it at the front desk. Even better.
And that was the one satisfying thought in all of this mess. At least I wouldn’t be surprised to bump into Mac Monday morning. I had time to mentally prepare.
He, on the other hand, was in for quite a shock.
eleven
MAC
It was Monday morning and I was pulling my SUV into the News 9 parking lot for my first day of work. The day was beautiful. Perfect temperature with a warm sun beaming down on my pale-ass New England skin. Back home it was probably snowing. My sister was always bragging that San Diego had the best weather in the world. I was beginning to believe it.
Ashley and I had spent most of yesterday on the beach, making sandcastles and dodging warm water waves. She’d laughed so much that she’d given herself a stomachache by the time we headed back to the car. Though, in hindsight, perhaps it was the mountains of ice cream she’d consumed that were partially to blame. Either way, I couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so happy and content—and, bonus, she hadn’t asked about her mother once the entire afternoon. For the first time since we’d arrived, I found myself thinking that maybe this had been the right move after all.
If only I didn’t have this smothering black cloud hanging over my head. Regret worse than any hangover, eating away at me without mercy. I tried to push the whole thing from my mind, chalk it up to a huge mistake and move on. But try as I might, the night kept replaying itself over and over on endless loop and I didn’t know how to make it stop.
I should have never let my sister and Joe talk me into going out in the first place. I should have stuck to my guns. Seriously, this was why I had determined not to get involved in all this dating shit to begin with. From now on, there would be no more bars, no clubs, no temptations.
> God, she had been such a temptation.
And that was the worst part. Even with all the rationalizations in the world, I still couldn’t manage to get her out of my head all weekend long. No matter what I tried to focus on, my traitorous mind kept wandering back to her long, smooth legs, wrapping around my waist, her soft breasts pillowing against my chest. Her hands, running up and down my stomach—and other places. Her wet, pink mouth, pressing against my own.
Goddamn it.
I rammed the vehicle in park, then opened the door and stepped out of the SUV. My new workplace loomed in front of me, tall, gray, intimidating, and I wondered, not for the first time, what it was going to be like to work there. Would it be challenging? Interesting? Would my new coworkers be cool? Or would I find only more backstabbing snakes like the ones I’d left behind in Beantown?
Sadly, that seemed more likely. It was still TV news, after all.
Before I had reluctantly accepted the job offer at News 9 I had considered getting out of the biz altogether. To leave it all behind. To start fresh with something less vile. Unfortunately, after talking to various recruiters and conducting a slew of Internet job searches, I couldn’t find a single opportunity outside my field. I knew TV. And only TV.
Not that I didn’t like being a videographer. Even after six years in the business I still got a thrill out of the whole thing. The adrenaline rush of shooting and editing a breaking news story, the coolness of seeing your work broadcasted on every TV—you couldn’t get that anywhere else.
No, it wasn’t the craft I didn’t enjoy. It was the slime. The scum. The people of the TV news world. People like my ex-wife.
I grabbed my backpack and slammed the SUV door shut behind me. Taking a deep breath I readied myself to face whatever the new job might throw my way. But just as I’d almost convinced myself that things could be different here, I was blindsided by an all-too familiar face crossing the parking lot. I stared, unable to breathe. It couldn’t be.