Then Came You

by Kate Meader

  “Hard not to. Sex was never an issue between us. You’re still reasonably attractive, and I’m not dead.”

  If anything, he’s become hotter in the last year. Perhaps it’s the slight sadness I imagine in his eyes whenever we meet. Melancholy shouldn’t be so sexy.

  “So the only thing in the way is a boatload of history, recrimination, bitterness, and failure.” He sips his beer, a knowing lift to his eyebrow, all while keeping his eyes on me. “Just reasonably attractive, Bean?”

  I shake my head. “Confidence was never your problem, Georgia.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I lost a little faith at one point.”

  And there it is again, that wall between us that’s impossible to scale.

  “Is this the point where I should apologize?”

  “No,” he says immediately. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, simply telling you where I’m coming from. We know each other too well to sugarcoat it.”

  He’s right. But our familiarity with each other’s quirks and tics doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it’s a millstone around our necks. We had something wonderful, and it burned to an ash of regrets.

  The sound of Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love” interrupts the weighted silence between us. Grant removes his phone from his pocket and without even looking at it says, “I need to get this.”

  So much for having a moment.

  He moves away a few feet but not before I hear his greeting to whoever’s on the other end of the line. “Hey, sweetheart, I was hoping you’d call.”

  Hey, sweetheart?

  My heart shrivels at the thought of Grant speaking to another woman with such obvious affection. It can’t be his mother, so it must be—oh, God, maybe he’s with someone. Wouldn’t he have said?

  Who knows? He’s not mine anymore. I took care of that.

  Less than sixty seconds—each of them nails into the cross of my heart—and he turns to me.

  I stand, smoothing out my skirt. When I glance up, he’s watching me with intent. “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “What happened to screwing ourselves stupid in your hotel room?”

  “Baby, we’ll need sustenance. You remember how it was.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but of course Grant never joked about sex. He took it very seriously, and even though his initial comment was light, I know he’s thinking of our marathons between the sheets. Hot, sweaty, slow burns that lasted long into the night.

  But hey, sweetheart, right?

  “ ’Night, Grant.”

  And then I leave him, knowing his eyes are glued to my very fine ass.

  * * *

  —

  Back in my hotel room, Cat Damon hisses at me for leaving him for so long, so I spend a few moments comforting him. Once he’s settled, I pick up my work where I left off: a slideshow presentation I’m making to celebrate Libby’s life. It’s pretty much done, but I’m nitpicking, moving images a pixel here and shaving off a second there.

  Bored by my perfectionist self, I call Charlie, but she doesn’t pick up. Probably banging her new husband. Next, I punch up Trinity, only to get a deep male British voice.

  “Well, hello there, caller. Open your heart to your old mate Lucas.”

  “I’m looking for your woman.”

  “She’s in the shower. I saw your name pop up, and I figured it was an emergency.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Wright. I’m just calling to gab with a girlfriend.”

  He remains silent, which I’m sure must be killing him because he’s the chattiest person I know. Weirdly, Lucas has been a good friend to me in the last couple of months. After the divorce, my bond with Max became strained—he tried to be neutral, but Grant and he work together, so it was always going to be touch and go. Lucas is close to both of them but he still manages to rise above the fray, and somehow I’ve benefited from his broad shoulder. Don’t mistake me, I have never cried in his presence (good God, he’d never let me live it down), but I have confided in him more than I would ever have done with a girlfriend.

  “This was a terrible idea,” I gush out. “I’m trying to have a quiet drink in the hotel bar, and he shows up looking sexy as fuck.”

  “How dare he.”

  “Oh, shut up. Is he dating someone?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  I mull this over. Maybe it was his mom or his sister. “I haven’t spent this much time with him in years, and it’s really weird.”

  “In a bad way?”

  “Yes. And no.” I sigh, running a hand along Cat’s spine. He arches his back, begging for the good stuff. “It’s just that sex would be a terrible idea.”

  “Why, because you’d want to get back together?”

  “No, because it might give him hope.”

  He chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, not putting out so as to not hurt his feelings. You’re a martyr to the sanctity of divorce.”

  I give in. “Okay, so I don’t want to get hurt. Grant has this way of—”

  “Doing you?”

  “Yes! He’s Mr. Intensity, all super-focused, and it’d take me back to when everything was good and we felt invincible.”

  He hums. “Nostalgia can be a real drag. But maybe you should just try to focus on what was good about you two together and compartmentalize what was terrible.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  A text message pops in from Grant, a photo of what looks like my fantasy. In Cleveland.

  It’s a double burger, piled high with mushrooms and bacon.

  The accompanying message: This is happening.

  “Grant just sent me a picture of a hamburger.”

  “Boy’s pulling out the big guns.”

  “He knows I love to fill my mouth with hot beef.”

  Lucas groans, which makes me giggle. Yeah, it was pretty bad, but it lightens my mood.

  “Look, Aubs, I know you’re hurting, and you don’t have to tell me why, because the reasons are less important than the feeling. But you’re in control of what happens to you. Even with top-notch burgers in the mix.”

  There’s a bit of a scuffle, then what sounds like a few choice words. The next voice is Trinity’s.

  “Aubrey? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just checking in from beautiful snowy Cleveland. Your boyfriend’s been giving me scary insight into the male psyche. His own.”

  “Oh, shit, no.”

  I laugh. “He’s fine. I’m just feeling a bit raw, I suppose. Time with Grant does that.”

  “Well, I’m happy to stay on the line if it keeps you out of trouble.” She lowers her voice. “But a little trouble might be good for you.”

  “Already told her that,” Lucas chimes in.

  “Men. Think they know everything.”

  I laugh. They’re too cute together. “Off you go and do your thing.”

  I hang up, contemplating my next move. The hamburger gauntlet has been thrown down. Am I woman enough to pick it up?

  Chapter 8

  Grant

  It takes ten minutes, but finally I hear the knock. I’m not ashamed to say I do a little boogie right here in front of the door. Then with renewed gravitas, I open up while executing a cool lean against the doorframe.

  “ ’Sup.”

  Aubrey rolls her eyes affectionately. A faded gray hoodie with NORTHWESTERN LAW emblazoned across it in purple falls off one too-thin shoulder. Her hair is piled high on her head, and those sharp glasses of hers are perched on her nose. She probably thinks she’s made herself less sexy. She would be wrong.

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” she mut
ters impatiently.

  I hold back the door, and she passes by, careful not to touch me. Her mouth drops open at the sight before her.

  “You—you ate my burger?”

  “I ate my burger.”

  “But what the hell was that text all about?”

  I pour a glass of Pinot, then hand it off before picking up my beer. “I knew you wouldn’t come over immediately because you wouldn’t want to look too…oh, I don’t know, eager. So I ordered one burger for myself, and then—”

  With perfect timing, a knock finishes my sentence.

  “Hold that thought.” I open the door to admit the room service guy who’s shooting some healthy disdain my way for making him visit twice in thirty minutes.

  “Your second order. Sir.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” As he unloads the tray onto the work desk, I sign the receipt, adding forty percent for the tip. Once he’s gone, I unveil the tray. A steaming hot, fresh-off-the-grill double burger with mushrooms and bacon awaits, complete with fries and all the fixings.

  Aubrey stares at it, then at me. “You were so sure I’d show?”

  “No. But if you hadn’t, I would have delivered this to you myself. Ding, dong, ditch the burger.”

  She smiles. Worlds form and implode with that smile.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Just prepared. Get comfortable on the bed, Bean, and let me…do this.” I was going to say “let me take care of you” like I used to, but it’s too soon.

  She growls but does as she’s told, a familiar ritual where she loads up on pillows and gets under the covers and waits for me to bring her treats. Candy or burgers or me.

  I sit against the one pillow she’s left for me (so greedy), with the tray in between us. She sips from her wine, eyeing me over the lip of the glass, then takes a fry. A tentative nibble, a serious chomp, followed by a pitch-perfect moment when joy lights up her eyes. I treasure it, just as I treasure every second with her. The good and the bad.

  “Tell the truth,” she says when she swallows.

  “Always.”

  “You shook that fine ass when you heard my knock.”

  I feel a blush overtake me. “Ya got me, Bean.” When we first started dating, I used to dance my victory after every kiss, every touch, every smile. Sometimes in her presence, sometimes not.

  She drops a light punch on my arm. “You haven’t changed a bit since I met you. Still the guy who celebrates everything.” She looks embarrassed at her pronouncement and returns to her burger, halving it with the steak knife, then picking it up and taking a big bite. We sit in silence for a while, me stealing fries, the overdone ones I know she doesn’t like. We’re a good team.

  “I haven’t eaten anything this good in forever.”

  She’s clearly dropped a few pounds in the last year. I worry about her, but mentioning it will set her off. Eggshells dot the landscape around us.

  “Done?”

  She nods, and I remove the tray to the desk. Back on the bed, I offer her more wine, to which she shakes her head. Her frown tells me what’s coming next.

  “I should get back to my room.”

  “Before your foot rub?”

  Her mouth twitches in appreciation. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “You haven’t had the foot rub yet.”

  She swats at my chest, lets her fingers linger there. “Still work out?”

  “Swimming. At Max’s place.” After Aubrey, I started eating my feelings and not exercising, but I’m back in the best shape I’ve been in years.

  Her fingers trace my shoulder, checking out my strong muscles. Her touch is divine, but I try my damnedest not to let her know how much she affects me.

  “Lucas thinks I should go for it,” she whispers.

  “Go for what?”

  “You. Use you and abuse you. These shoulders just might send me over to the dark side.”

  My pulse jumps, torn between the facts that she’s even contemplating using my body and that my friend and co-worker is somehow in the mix. “You talked about me to Lucas?” I don’t even talk about me to Lucas.

  “I was calling Trinity, and he answered. You know how he is, won’t shut up, has an opinion on anything.”

  I do. I love the guy, but sometimes I want to punch him. Okay, most of the time.

  Sipping her wine, she still watches me with those silver-gray eyes that see everything. “Maybe we should watch TV? While I think about the shoulders.”

  We could watch some god-awful reality show if she wanted, but I’m not liking how we’re dancing around each other here. Like neither of us can settle.

  “Sure, TV it is.”

  She picks a mob flick, something gory. Aubrey has always had a bloodthirsty streak. We stay a foot apart, though I’m aware of everything. Her shallow breaths, her soft sighs, the way she flexes her toes. She’s wearing socks, but I’m mesmerized by her feet, and it isn’t long before she notices.

  “Quit it, weirdo.”

  “Can’t help it. Been a while since the object of my obsession has been so close.”

  “All right, make the most of it.” She switches positions so her feet are in my lap.

  I take full advantage, peeling off a sock. Slowly. Her feet are tiny, my hands are large, and the contrast has always added to our dynamic. I’m big and brutish, she’s small and dainty. I could break her, except she got there first.

  I drag my thumb along the arch of her foot, pushing in at certain points I know will make her feel good. She lets loose a whimper, then a strangled moan.

  “Don’t keep it in, Bean.”

  “Not that good yet.”

  It’s torture to touch her like this, to be so close and yet still unsure of my welcome. I almost prefer watching her in the courtroom, where she manifests a frosty aloofness that keeps us both safe. Seeing her like this—touching her, yet not reaching her—is a battle I’m not sure I can win.

  I renew my efforts to hear her moan. I’m a masochist of the highest order.

  “Oh, that’s it.” She shimmies her body, stretching like a lazy cat. Which reminds me…

  “Where’s the demon?”

  “Cat is asleep on my bed after a meal of tuna and spring veggies.”

  “So you’re here because your room stinks.”

  She smirks. “Just do your job.”

  I do. She moans. I turn hard. The circle of life.

  She stretches out her legs and positions her head on the pillow, looking up at me. “Thanks for doing this. I mean driving me home. I’m sorry I haven’t said that already. I know this is the last place you want to be.”

  “I don’t know. Cleveland has its charms.” I’m looking at one of them.

  “Still, it’s super nice of you.”

  “Vibrator-induced dislocation?”

  She blinks. “Excuse me?”

  “Your injury.” She’ll have to tell me soon.

  “I should get back,” she says, though she makes no effort to leave.

  “Worried you can’t resist me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been so damn cocky, Grant Roosevelt Lincoln.”

  “And you were never cocky enough.”

  Her brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

  “You never had enough belief in your talents. In your awesomeness. You still don’t.”

  “Belief isn’t enough. I’ve always had to work harder than you. I might look the part, but the smarts never came naturally. You walk into the bar exam without opening a book. Me? I have to cram for four weeks of sleepless nights.”

  I shake my head. “Because you thought anything less than a hundred percent was a failure. Like you gave up cooking because your first couple of efforts didn’t
work out.”

  “I burned that lasagna.”

  “And the beef Wellington, which was kind of ambitious for someone who can’t boil an egg.”

  “I wanted the first meal in our new place to be perfect.”

  I smile. “It already was. You were there.”

  “Grant, I—”

  “All I’m saying is that you’ve always held yourself to this impossibly high standard, and as a result it’s held you back.”

  She bolts upright. “There’s nothing wrong with having standards. With wanting things to go right. Because when they go wrong, that’s the worst feeling in the world, Grant.”

  “I know.”

  Her expression is one of torment, such that it kills me to have put it there. To bring up all these feelings again. That I might have made a huge mistake inserting myself into this journey gnaws at my chest. But it’s our journey. We should travel it together.

  She swings her legs off the bed. “Thanks for the burger. I should really…” She waves at the door.

  “Coward.”

  Her eyes widen at my accusation. “What?”

  “The second the conversation gets close, you clam up.”

  “You don’t think we’ve talked enough? We have, Grant. We’re both divorce lawyers, and we can out-talk, out-argue, out-hurt each other better than anyone. And I know what it comes back to every time—my need to keep calm and carry on versus your compulsion to fix everything, including me. Especially me, who’s basically not fixable. It was never supposed to work. We’re too different.”

  “Yet it did for seven years. We made it work for seven years.”

  “Fought like cats and dogs the whole time.”

  I stand and face her, stare her down. “We always came back to each other.”

  Her eyes are huge, filled with passion. “With sex.”

  “With knowledge. Of who we are, of how we worked together, of the foundation we’d built. It shouldn’t have been so easy to tear it down.”

  “Yet here we are.”

  I cup her jaw, giving her time to move away. “Here we are.”

  “I—I’m a mess, Grant.” She waves a hand over her body as if her appearance is a problem. As if anything she could say would scare me away.