All Tied Up

by Alison Kent

  “You make it easy to do when you don’t say anything.” Exasperating man, adding frustration to her heartache and her stress. “I went to a counselor once. He was like that. Saying nothing. Sitting back and waiting for me to talk myself into a corner.”

  A frown furrowed Anton’s brow. “When did you see a counselor?”

  Lauren huffed. “More of my dirty laundry, right? Phobias, fixations and fears? Is that another question on your list?”

  “C’mon, Lauren. This is not about the scavenger hunt.” He looked away, looked back, his eyes dangerously bright and a near transparent blue beneath the light of the moon. “This is about you and me. You’re the one who asked if I thought we were rushing things.”

  Leaning her head onto the arm she’d propped on the pool edge, she softly answered, “Because I think we have.”

  “You’re making that call after, what? Three weeks?”

  “How many times have we argued in the last year? How many times in the last three weeks?” Funny how easy it was now to talk, now that she’d stopped avoiding the uncomfortably sensitive subject.

  “An adjustment period. It’s not unexpected.”

  She pressed her palm to her chest. “I didn’t expect it. I thought a year together would count for something. That we’d gotten beyond being…petty.”

  “You think I’m being petty?”

  Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe she was the one overreacting. She just didn’t know anymore. And she’d never be able to figure it out while she was living here. “I don’t know if it’s you. It’s quite possibly all me.”

  “I see.” Anton backed away and boosted himself up onto the side of the pool, dangled his legs over the edge. “So, what are you saying?”

  The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. But she wasn’t sure if that was best avoided by staying or by leaving. At least leaving until she had a better idea of why so many of her feelings were at odds.

  “I think…for now…I should move back in with Macy. At least until we—you and I…until you and I have…No.” She had to do this right, because she’d done it so wrong the first time. “Until we take the time to get to know each other. The important things. Hopes and dreams. Fears, even. Not ridiculous yearbook captions or underwear preferences.”

  He didn’t say a word, didn’t even look in her direction. He only stared at the surface of the water lightly ruffled by the cool evening air. Then he took a deep breath and shook his head, a shudder, really, as if ridding himself of a disturbing pest.

  Lauren waited for his answer, but he slid back into the water, a sleek otter at home, in his element and safe from harm. He took off for the far end of the pool in a brisk execution of his earlier leisurely stroke.

  Still she waited, climbing the submerged stairs at the end of the pool. She found her cover-up where Anton had draped it over the back of a lounger. She shrugged it on out of habit, certainly not out of need. At least not any need she could feel. Since she couldn’t feel. Anything.

  She waited until she had nothing left to wait for, then returned to the house to pack.

  10

  “LADIES. We’ve talked the scavenger hunt to death. Can we please get back to gIRL-gEAR business?”

  Sydney Ford had to raise her voice to be heard above the chatter of the corporation’s partners. Five of the six, Sydney included, with Lauren having yet to make an appearance, sprawled across the living area of Macy’s loft in a gathering that suggested pajama party and not strategy session.

  This was Macy in her element. The noise of interaction. The frenzy of flying ideas. The creative inspiration of five like-minded brains. She couldn’t imagine having to keep any sort of regular schedule in any sort of regular office, wearing any sort of regular clothes.

  Lauren had been right about Macy’s predilection for pajamas. Tonight, however, she’d considered the professional nature of the get-together, made the concession and dressed in a camouflage tank top and army-green fatigues. She’d been doing that a lot since Leo had moved in. Getting dressed.

  And making concessions.

  Doing what she could to give him space when the whole point of having him in the loft was to keep him underfoot. Stocking up at the whole foods market on the coffee he liked, when her original roommate guidelines demanded every man for himself. Swabbing a mop over his bathroom floor, since she was mopping her own anyway, and his was only another ten minutes of work, or would’ve been if she hadn’t stopped to smell his soap, his aftershave, his bathrobe hanging on the hook behind the door.

  She’d yet to sit down in her bedroom on the stool facing her vanity mirror and have a true heart-to-heart about the reasons for following rules. How rules were designed to keep one out of trouble, especially the trouble caused by sexy attorney types who lured unsuspecting females into shower stalls and guest bathrooms.

  Or maybe she needed Lauren to do the talking since, sometime during the past couple of weeks, Macy had forgotten every rule she’d ever set down about exploring guest bathrooms and shower stalls with sexy attorneys. Not to mention that she’d discovered the small thrill that came with doing Leo Redding’s grocery shopping. And the satisfaction she’d found in giving him the peace and quiet he needed.

  It was like she’d been channeling Carol Brady.

  “C’mon, Sydney.” Kinsey Gray’s plea offered a welcome interruption to Macy’s musings over living a domestic sitcom as harebrained as The Brady Bunch. “I missed out on the whole scavenger hunt. I’m doing my best to stock up on vicarious thrills here.”

  “Besides, dear CEO,” Chloe added, settling back onto the dais she’d made of bolsters and pillows, and making sure she had Sydney’s attention before saying more. “You haven’t revealed a single, solitary, noteworthy thing about Ray.”

  Both Macy and Melanie hurried to add their seconds to Chloe’s comment, Melanie admonishing, “You can’t hold out, Sydney. The rest of us have shared at least one good gory guy detail.”

  And Macy stating, “Think of it as work, Syd. It’s all about the column, and with our current readership numbers, that means the bottom line.”

  Sydney looked around the room into four expectant faces, and when her eyes rolled up, her eyelids closed and she shook her head in weary defeat, Macy and Melanie shared a triumphant high-five.

  From the floor in front of Macy’s chair, Melanie moved to the sofa and snuggled down into the cushions opposite Sydney’s end. Macy stayed where she was, having a bird’s-eye view.

  Kinsey was the one who couldn’t sit still, pacing the strip of floor between the sofa and the entertainment center until Chloe tumbled her down into the pillow pile.

  “One thing,” Sydney said, when the shenanigans were over and she finally had the attention she’d been trying for ten minutes to get. “But then it’s back to work.”

  She tucked her loose curls behind her ear. “He doesn’t talk about it, but he did tell me it’s not a big secret, so I’m not breaking his confidence here.

  “Anyway, Ray has a scar on his chest. It’s about six inches long and cuts up and over his heart,” she said, and demonstrated. “He got into a fight in some Caribbean bar.”

  “Wow.” Macy wasn’t sure what else to say in response, but had no trouble asking the obvious. “What was he doing stirring up trouble in the Caribbean?”

  This time Sydney pinned each partner with a look designed to up the curiosity ante. “Searching for his younger brother, who’s been missing for three years.”

  A hush settled over the room and Macy had no doubt the other women were seeing stoic Ray in the same brand-new light. What was the saying? Under that calm exterior beats the heart of a…What? It would come to her in a minute. But even more notable than Ray’s new larger-than-life dimensions…how had Sydney discovered his hidden scar?

  Macy was about to ask the pressing question, but Melanie started giggling. Hiccups at first, then hysterical laughter that she tried desperately to stifle, digging herself in deeper with the effort.

  “What is
wrong with you?” Macy finally asked when it looked as if Melanie would never recover.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Melanie fanned both hands in front of her face. “It’s just that…here I thought the scar on Jess’s breastbone was impressive.”

  “What’s up with all the guys and their scars? I feel so cheated.” Chloe frowned and pouted her way deeper into the pillows. “I wonder if Eric’s been holding out on me.”

  Macy thought of the scar she’d never asked about but had first noticed when she’d showered with Leo. “Leo’s got a nice big one.”

  After a moment of supreme silence, one after another the women shrieked, whooped and cackled. Macy rolled her eyes. Oh, good foot-in-mouth grief, she thought as the laughter continued.

  “And just how big is it?” The obvious question finally came from Sydney—proper, genteel Sydney, of all people.

  “I was talking about his scar. But you can forget it. Just forget it. I’m not saying another word.” Judging by the burning heat, Macy’s face had to be bright cherry red. “You want anything else, you’ll have to wait for Melanie to give up Jess’s secret.”

  “Yeah, Mel. What happened to Jess?” Kinsey prodded, giving Macy a quick wink.

  “He’ll kill me for this, but…it seems he got talked into posing as Michelangelo’s David for a drawing class at the Art Institute. The instructor, the wife of one of his co-workers, I think it was, asked if he’d mind shaving his chest.”

  Melanie fought to keep a straight face, but burst out with a side-splitting laugh, shouting, “So he did. And he cut himself shaving. We’re talking four stitches, cut himself shaving.”

  At least five full minutes passed before a single gIRL-gEAR partner could draw a breath without dissolving into a fit. Not that any of them wished harm to Jess, Macy knew. But the picture of the incredibly introverted Mr. Buff and Gorgeous requiring stitches? After shaving?

  How had anyone talked him into stripping down in front of an art class, anyway? And how had he kept the incident quiet for so long? Trust Melanie—

  “Ladies! Now that we’ve all had our fun at Jess’s expense, let’s finish up this meeting.” With Sydney’s request and a round of deep cleansing breaths behind them, the women settled down and got back to their notes.

  “I know it’s hard to get jazzed about winter and holiday fashions in February, but such is the makeup of our business. Now.” Pen in hand, Sydney checked her notes. “Looks like we’re up to gIZMO gIRL.”

  Melanie tucked two pillows in her lap and resituated her notebook computer. She adjusted the bright red headband holding back her shiny brunette hair, worked her glasses around until she was happy with their fit on her nose.

  “Uh, anytime, Mel.”

  Melanie stuck out her tongue at Macy, then turned to the group. “Am I the only one here who feels like I’m never living in real time? That I exist in a strange sort of gIRL-gEAR vacuum? You know, that I’m sick of Christmas by the time Christmas gets here because I’ve been in Christmas mode for the past six months?”

  “By the time Christmas gets here you should be in bikini mode,” Sydney pointed out.

  “I will never be in bikini mode, are you kidding? All that waxing?” Melanie shuddered.

  And then, out of nowhere, Kinsey interjected, “I did it. Had a Brazilian wax done.”

  Sydney buried her face in her hands and moaned.

  Melanie cried, “Yuck!”

  Macy yelped and whimpered like a dog in pain.

  Chloe, calm as always, simply said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the urge to show off my ass in a thong badly enough to let someone pour wax down my crack.”

  “No one pours wax down your crack. It’s more like…swabbed on.” Kinsey screwed up her nose and made a paintbrush-to-canvas swabbing motion that mutated into an over-the-top, all-hands-on-deck action, and sent her into another fit of laughter.

  “Swabbed down your crack, then.” By now Chloe had resorted to her compact mirror to check the truth-in-advertising of her waterproof mascara. “And onto other places from which I don’t even want to think about hair being ripped away. I prefer to shave, thank you.”

  More groans erupted. More whoops. More hollers. Another five minutes of hilarity before Melanie tapped the eraser of her pencil to the earpiece of her glasses. “I can’t believe what we have to go through as women. Can you imagine what it must be like to be a man? To get up every day, run a razor over your face, shower, throw on a suit and go?”

  “No hot rollers.”

  “No tweezers.”

  “No eyelash curler and no hot wax.”

  Macy waited for the others to finish, then shrugged. “Half the time I don’t mess with more than mascara.”

  That earned her all the pillows Chloe and Kinsey could throw. Macy ducked until the bombardment fizzled, finally looking up to find four glares aimed her way. “What did I say?”

  Melanie stage-whispered from behind the back of one hand, “I think it had something to do with the mascara.”

  “Exactly. Not all of us are lucky enough to have hair that naturally looks like we spent hours with a stylist.” This from Sydney, who wore her dark-blond hair in elegantly sleek chignons to match her elegantly sleek temperament.

  “And not all of us have skin that wouldn’t know the meaning of a zit or a T-zone.” The comment came from Chloe who, in her position as head of gRAFFITI gIRL’s skin-care line, was the resident expert on zits and T-zones.

  Macy crawled out from under the pillows to sit on the arm of the red-and-yellow plaid chair. “Maybe not, but then the rest of you have one big thing I don’t.” She held up two fingers. “Make that two things.”

  “I know, I know,” Kinsey yelled and, in unison with Melanie and Chloe, cried out, “Boobs!”

  Sydney gave up, sank down to the sofa and knocked her forehead repeatedly against the portfolio now folded across her knees.

  Chloe admired her new manicure in a light spring green. “And most of us don’t have to resort to decorative scribbling to draw attention to our assets.”

  Macy gasped at the indignity of it all. “My tattoo is not about drawing attention. It’s about self-expression.”

  “Yeah. Expressing that you need attention.”

  “I do not need attention. If I did, you can bet this tattoo would be down the side of my neck and not hidden under my shirt where there’s nothing to see.” Macy jumped to her feet and pulled down the straps of her tank top so that everyone would know she was not seeking attention.

  And there at the head of the hallway that lead to his temporary quarters in Lauren’s old rooms stood Leo Redding.

  He wore a scowl like Macy had never seen him wear, and not much else. Nothing on the top half of his body, nothing on his legs or feet. And his long-legged briefs in dynamite red left little to anyone’s imagination.

  “There may not be much to see,” Leo growled. “But there’s a hell of a lot to hear.”

  Macy pulled her straps back over her shoulders, feeling reprimanded and strangely self-conscious, then telling herself to get over it. This was her house. He was only a visitor. His opinion didn’t matter. She didn’t give a flip what he thought. Do, too! Do not! Do, too! Do not!

  “Why Leo, sugar.” Chloe reclined on the few remaining pillows, looking like a queen waiting to be served. “I would never have guessed that red is your color, but is it ever.”

  Macy circled around the back of her chair and approached her scavenger hunt partner, because that’s all he was. That’s all he was! Her temporary roommate and scavenger hunt partner. And if Chloe didn’t close her mouth…

  Macy hadn’t known herself capable of possessing such a jealous streak until it shot its pointed, dartlike end straight into her heart. She took him by the upper arm, her fingers coming nowhere close to making a dent in his bicep.

  “Trust me,” she whispered, and guided him back down the hallway and out of the sight of prying eyes. Once in Lauren’s room, Macy let him go, reluctantly, unsure whether to
stay and make the group’s apologies as well as her own, or to walk away and leave him.

  She didn’t want to leave him.

  She didn’t want to walk away.

  He made the choice an easy one because he made it for her. He pulled on a pair of gray jersey shorts and a plain white T-shirt, shoved his feet, sans socks, into running shoes. “Trust you? To do what? Tell your girlfriends everything you’ve learned about me? See if I’m good for a laugh?”

  “Leo, it’s not like that at all.”

  “Oh?” He recklessly stuffed notepads and folders and two thick law books into his satchel. “You think I should relay that info to Ray and Jess?”

  Macy crossed her arms over her chest. “If you were eavesdropping, which obviously you were, then you know I didn’t say a word about you.”

  He hefted the satchel and made for the door.

  “Leo, please stop.”

  When he paused, she spoke to his rigid back. “So we shared our scavenger hunt finds. What’s the big deal? You can’t tell me guys don’t gossip over a cold beer. Besides, Jess and Ray are like family. We love them. We’d never share their secrets with outsiders.”

  “What about my secrets?” He slowly turned, his glare touchingly vulnerable. “I’m not a part of the family. Will some stranger be talking about my ‘big one’ over a cold beer next week?”

  He’d heard her gaffe in explaining about his scar. Which meant he’d heard enough to know she’d been talking about his scar, damn it. Now what? Macy tried for a casual shrug. “You told me once that size doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

  “Wrong?”

  “Dead wrong. It seems we both were. Because we’ve just proved that three-thousand square feet isn’t enough living room for two people, now, haven’t we?” With a mocking nod, he swung around and headed for the elevator.

  By the time she found her voice, the motor’s hum announced his swift descent.

  Funny how her own stomach dropped to her toes.

  COMING TO THE OFFICE had sounded like a good idea an hour ago, Leo thought, staring at a point between the far edge of his desk and the closed door across the room. Slumped back in his chair, one ankle squared over the opposite knee, he mindlessly rolled the barrel of his pen up and down the legal pad propped on his thigh. He wasn’t getting a damn thing accomplished.