by Maggie Wells
Life seemed so easy for them. I’m a man. I don’t have to think about what to wear, but I do think I want a steak. I’m picking you up at six. We’ll have dinner, then sex. Lots of sex. So much sex you won’t be able to walk right or think right or keep a decent stash of rubbers on hand.
He might as well have said, I’m going to pick you up, fill you up, use you up, and then I’ll shrug and hike up my pants and go on home to my freaking McMansion and watch sports and drink scotch.
Then I’ll make you fall in love with me.
And in the end, I’ll leave you when someone shinier comes along.
“No, thanks,” she answered tersely, barely aware the last bit of conversation had taken place entirely in her head. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she started to gather the clothes she’d discarded with such fervor the night before.
Like an animal scenting danger, Ty stood stock-still before starting a cautious approach. “No thanks to the steak?”
“To all of it. I’m busy tonight,” she said, stepping into the pale-peach panties he hadn’t even bothered to admire.
“Busy.”
He repeated the word as if the syllables were entirely new to his vocabulary. In all fairness, rejection was probably an unfamiliar concept. After all, he’d been married for a few years, and she’d bet he hadn’t struck out often on the dating scene when he was single. But she wasn’t the kind of woman who invited assumptions on her time or her person. If he wanted to spend time with her, the man was going to have to figure that out sooner rather than later. She spotted her bra half-hidden under the bench at the foot of the giant bed and stooped to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry. Did something happen?” Ty took another step in her direction but stopped when she popped up, the expensive bits of lace and satin crushed in her hand. He cocked his head, a look of baffled bewilderment overtaking his expression. “Are you mad at me?”
“Nope.”
He blew out a breath. “Well, that was convincing.”
Shrugging into the bra, she avoided his gaze as she untwisted the straps. “We’ve had the conversation about presumptions before. You don’t dictate my time, Ty. You don’t get to assume I want to have dinner with you tonight.”
He let loose with another exasperated breath. “Sorry.”
He bit the word off. The fixer in her wanted to stop him before he went a word further and point out all the tactical errors he was making, but the woman in her wasn’t about to buy the man a clue if he didn’t already own one. A teeny part of her felt sorry for the oblivious creature when he went on in a manner several shades short of placating.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight, Millicent?”
“No. Thank you.” She added the last bit with a saccharine-sweet smile. “I have other plans.”
“Other plans to do what?” he persisted.
All shreds of sympathy gone, she pulled on her blouse and started buttoning. “Well, first I plan to make a list of all the things I do that are none of your damn business.”
He was beside her in three long strides. His hand closed around her elbow, stilling her motions.
Her gaze flew to his. “Okay, so presumption, sarcasm, and effrontery haven’t been effective tools. Are we resorting to physical intimidation now?”
As expected, he released her before she could draw her next breath, but he didn’t step away. Millie added a point to the deficit he’d been running. She admired a man who stood his ground.
“I’m not trying to intimidate you, nor do I mean to make presumptions.”
“God, it’s sexy when you look all muscly jock guy, but then you use your fifty-cent words,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way that could only be construed as mocking.
“They were your vocabulary words, Mil. I was only trying to explain myself,” he retorted.
“And doing a really crappy job.”
“I don’t know why I have to explain at all,” he cried. Throwing his hands in the air, he spun away from her and stalked to the dresser. “All I wanted to do was have dinner with you.”
She watched as he yanked a gray athletic department T-shirt from the drawer and shook the wrinkles from the fabric. “Are you afraid of being alone or something?” she asked.
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
Millie shrugged, then bent to grab her pants from the floor. Without pausing to give the wrinkles a second thought, she plunged one foot into a twisted leg opening. Beyond caring about how graceless she might look, she stumbled around until she got the other leg lined up and then gave a couple of good hops to yank them into place.
“Look at you. You’ve been divorced less than a week, and you’re trying to line up a date for every night.”
“I’m not lining up dates. I’m trying to be with you.”
“Right, because I am the date du jour,” she said, fastening the waistband.
He paused, the sleeves wrapped around his thick biceps but the body of the shirt suspended above his head. He blinked, then gave his head a dismissive shake before he pulled the shirt down over his head. “Christ, you must really have a low opinion of yourself.”
The commentary was muffled, but his meaning was unmistakable. Millie smirked at the implication. Fully clothed, she felt more prepared to see this battle through to its inevitable end. She opened her mouth to blast him, and his phone went off again. Annoyed, she crossed her arms over her chest and jerked her chin toward the nightstand. “Your ex-wife is calling again. Why don’t you answer? Maybe you can get her to go for a nice, juicy steak with you.”
He spared the phone a quick glance, then grimaced. “No.”
His too-quick answer made her realize he knew exactly who was calling. She kept the smirk firmly in place as she strolled toward the bedroom door where her shoes lay cast aside, but only because she was worried her chin might wobble if she didn’t. “Ah, been there, done that?”
“Got the divorce papers as a souvenir.”
Millie blinked in surprise, then frowned at the phone. “Why is Mari calling you?”
“Damned if I know.” He stepped into the track pants and settled the waistband low on his hips. “She’s been calling for the last couple of days.”
“What does she want?”
He let one shoulder rise and fall as he pulled a pair of athletic socks from a drawer. “No idea.”
“You aren’t answering?”
He shook his head. “Don’t see the point. Mari and I are done. So done,” he added, dropping onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “Papers are signed, she got the settlement she wanted but didn’t deserve, and I have nothing else to say.”
She eyed him as she wriggled her toes into her shoes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
At last, Ty looked up and met her gaze. “No. Not at all.”
“I hear she and Dante may be on the downhill slide.”
“I don’t care,” he replied stubbornly.
“You just cut her out of your life? Easy as that?”
Bending over, he slipped a sock over his toes. “I didn’t cut her out. She left.”
“Right, but you’re not even a little curious about what she wants?”
He turned his attention to the other foot. “No. I’m really not.” He snorted softly. “But maybe later on, when I’m all alone and so scared, I might be tempted.”
Millie frowned as she tried to puzzle the last part out. “Was that some kind of threat or something?”
“No, it was more of that sarcasm you like so much,” he said, placing both feet square on the floor before looking up at her again. “But if threats work for you, I might be able to muster one.”
“No, they don’t.”
He nodded as if digesting the information, then pressed his hands to his knees and stood. “Well, then. I sho
uld get you home so I can get to practice and you can start on that list of yours.” He slid his sock-clad feet into a pair of athletic sandals, snatched up a duffel bag he had packed and waiting beside the dresser, and swung the strap over his shoulder. “Later on, I’ll try to get some practice in on being alone. But, Millie, there are only certain games I like to play. Don’t tempt me into proving your theory about not being alone.
“Now, that was a threat,” he added as he sauntered past her, the bag bumping against his hip with each step. Pausing outside the bedroom door, he looked back at her. “How’d I do?”
* * *
Though she wasn’t quite done being indignant, Millie also knew Ty had every right to be pissy with her. She was disgusted with herself. She, Millie Jensen, was spewing so much unmitigated bullshit in the poor man’s direction, she was half-amazed he hadn’t bolted already. This wasn’t like her. She was a woman who prided herself on living a life of no spin. And now, she was spiraling out of control.
She drummed her fingernails on the sticky bar top and waited as a blond bartender dressed in short shorts and a Warriors basketball tank top chopped off below her perky breasts mixed her daiquiri. Avery sat at a tall table in the corner, holding their spot and grimacing into her scotch. Kate was running her own practice tonight, so she was unavailable for the intervention Millie called for herself. Her lips thinned into a straight line as she watched the bartender add a skewer of fruit to the tall glass. This was an emergency. Avery and her new age BS would have to do.
A couple of beery undergrads jostled for position behind her. One of them caught her on the arm as she was pushing away from the bar, drink in hand. Sticky, icy sludge sloshed over her knuckles. She gave the culprit her best “drop dead” look. The kid straightened up fast, swallowed hard, and mumbled a gruff, “Sorry, ma’am.”
Millie huffed as she pushed past them, her sights set on the tiny table. When had she gotten used to being called ma’am? Why was she such an ungodly mess these days? Wasn’t sex supposed to make a person feel all upbeat and whistle-y? Where the hell did Avery find those god-awful patchwork skirts?
Millie voiced the last question, and Avery treated her to a surprisingly sharp-edged smile. “I’d say you need to get laid, but the sex doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, then placed it carefully on the cardboard coaster without taking a sip. “What’s the matter? Ty not living up to his hype?”
“No,” Millie snapped, instantly defensive. “Ty’s great.” In the next second, Avery’s choice of words sank in. “Hype? You’ve heard hype about how good Ty is in bed?”
“Should I have?”
“You said it,” Millie pointed out.
They both paused, and Millie could see Avery playing the exchange back in her head. Finally, Avery shrugged. “A turn of phrase.”
Millie eyed her friend closely. Creative phrasing was a possibility. As an associate professor in the English department, Avery loved words and wordplay. Therefore, word choice was important to her. She wouldn’t have said hype unless she’d heard some hint of hype. Taking a sip of her drink, Millie pondered the possible outlets for said hype. Media? Whispers in the student body? Were faculty members speculating about Ty’s member?
“What hype, Avery?”
Pushing her wild curls back from her face, Avery settled a startlingly direct gaze on her. “The hype you built up in your head.”
“My head?”
“The guy was gone for six weeks. First, the two of you were burning up the mobile minutes, then not talking at all. I have to tell you, this is the weirdest game of cat and mouse I’ve ever seen.” She paused long enough to lift her glass in a mocking salute. “Including in cartoons.”
“Ha-ha.”
Avery took a sip of the scotch, grimaced, then set the glass down. “Seriously. I’m not sure which of you is the cat and which the mouse. I figure I’ll wait to see which one gets the anvil dropped on their head.” She sat back, her smile making it clear she was pleased with her deductive reasoning. “Usually happens to the cat.”
“I think you’re confusing a cat with a coyote.”
Avery shrugged. “Whatever.” She leaned in. “Tell Dr. Preston why you invited her here tonight.”
“I need to talk to you about those hideous skirts of yours.”
“Millie.”
Regardless of her opinions on Avery’s style choices, the woman could switch on the stern-professor stare when she needed to. And Millie felt compelled to tap her inner adolescent. “What?”
“Stop talking about my clothes, and tell me what crawled up your ass.” Avery frowned. “Or maybe the problem isn’t something has, but rather someone hasn’t?” Before Millie could confirm or deny her friend’s theorizing, Avery plowed ahead. “Has he cut you off?” She stared at Millie in wide-eyed wonder. “I mean, we assumed after he tossed you over his shoulder and took you back to his man cave you two were doing it like minks, but maybe not. Is that the trouble? You’re not doing it?”
“First of all, stop saying ‘doing it’ like you’re fifteen or something. Second, yes, we are.”
Avery pounced. “But the trouble is sex.” She leaned in closer. “Am I right?”
Millie didn’t answer. Instead, she stoppered the end of her straw with her fingertip, trapping some of the icy concoction in a vacuum seal.
“Don’t make me take your slushie away from you,” Avery warned.
“The sex is fine. Good. Great,” Millie amended, pulling the straw from the drink. “More than great. It’s sex like I haven’t sexed in…well, ever.” She moved her finger, and the contents of the straw slithered back into the glass.
“I’m sensing a big ‘but’ here.” Avery held up a hand to stave off any rejoinder. “Not that you or Ty have big butts. As a matter of fact, I think we could safely say you make one of the most tight-assed couples ever.”
Millie smirked, amused by her friend’s wordplay. “Thanks.”
“What’s the issue?”
Sucking in a breath, Millie tried to compose her jangled nerves before she answered. “Me.”
Avery snorted. “Oh, well, yeah. Shocker.”
She smiled as she lifted her drink, but it was a grim smile of acknowledgment. “I just… He’s all over me.”
“The horror!”
Her friend’s shocked gasp made Millie chuckle, but there was no stopping her now that the wheels were in motion. “He wants to go to dinner. Stay the night. Sit on the couch and watch movies in sweatpants, for cripes’ sake,” she complained.
“The bastard. How can a monster like this be running loose out in the world?”
“And he’s all presumptuous about us. Like I’m supposed to be waiting around until I can see him.”
“Well, you know I don’t approve of the waiting on a man thing, but in all honesty, Mil, it’s not like you’ve got something else going on right now.”
Avery’s switch from mockery to logic revved Millie’s indignation. “He probably only has about five condoms left. Six tops. Add those to my eleven, and at the rate we’re going, we’re going to burn through them all by next week, and everything will be over!”
The barroom hubbub hummed all around them, but in the few seconds following her outburst, Millie could only hear the low whoosh of her own blood in her ears.
Clearly taken aback, Avery sat up straighter on her stool. She tipped her head to the side like an inquisitive bird. “Pardon me?”
Mortified, Millie snatched her glass from the table and took a long, brain-numbing hit of the frozen concoction. “Never mind,” she rasped, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead to quell the ache in her frontal lobe.
“Millie, are you trying to play by those idiotic dating rules or something? Because if you are, I think you messed up one of the crucial bits when you fucked him.”
Blink
ing her way through the ebb of the brain freeze, Millie gave her head a subtle shake. “I’m not playing any stupid games.”
“But you are keeping track of the number of condoms you’ve used?” When Millie didn’t answer, Avery searched her face as if she might find the answer to all Millie’s anxieties in her pores. But rather than teasing her, Avery pitched her voice low and soft. “If you’re worried about exhausting your supply, I could always lift a couple dozen on my next run through the health services building.”
To her horror, Millie nearly burst into tears at the offer. Though she managed to hold back, she did reach across the table to give Avery’s hand a squeeze. On the surface, they were as similar as chalk and cheese, but a good friend was a good friend. And a great friend was one who was willing to steal government-subsidized rubbers for you without batting an eyelash.
“No. Thank you,” she said, adding another squeeze of gratitude before taking her hand back. “The condom thing is just something I do.” She looked away, a little ashamed of what she was about to admit. “I don’t like to get too…involved. If I put a time limit on things or set up some kind of endgame—”
“The condom countdown is your out,” Avery concluded. “Out of condoms, and you’re out.”
“I don’t want to get too invested,” Millie said in a rush. The need to explain herself both peeved and overwhelmed her. “He’s younger than I am. He’s newly divorced. One day, he’s gonna want kids, and I can’t give them to him.” The justifications spilled out of her like milk from a tipped cup. “I see no point in either of us getting too attached—”
“In you getting too attached,” Avery interrupted. “You’re planning an out so you don’t risk actually, you know, falling in love with the guy.” She scoffed at the thought, then studied Millie narrowly. “I’ve got a thousand words to describe you, but I never thought ‘coward’ would be one of them.”