by Q. T. Ruby
I raise an eyebrow in answer to that silly question.
“You slept with him?” Bridget asks with saucer-sized eyes, leaning forward more.
“You are going to fall off that seat. And yes.” I exhale a huge whoosh of air.
“Holy crap!” Bridget yells and immediately smacks her hand over her open mouth.
I flush and shrink in my seat.
Camille shakes her head at me, her face serious. “I can’t believe you slept with the guy.”
“Why?” I ask, my stomach falling. “Did I make a mistake? I did, didn’t I?”
Camille rolls her eyes at me. “You’ve barely been on a real date in . . . God knows how long, but when you do, you go out with Daniel Chase? And you sleep with him? It’s insane and . . . fantastic!” Camille lets out an uncharacteristic burst of giggles.
“What’s he like?” Bridget leans in even further and grins from ear to ear.
“Well, he’s funny and charming and sexy and . . .” The heat rises into my face as my thoughts drift to the slip and slide from last night and this morning and this afternoon.
Bridget snaps her fingers in my face. “Over here! Hello! Wake up! So, he’s going to call you?” Bridget asks, impatiently wanting every bit.
“He said he would. And you’re going to fall.” Her ass teeters on the very edge of the sofa.
“Are you going to see him again?” Bridget asks with a giddy laugh.
“I think so.”
Camille turns to Bridget and says, “She really does suck at telling us this stuff.”
Bridget nods.
“Well, how’d you leave things?” Camille raises her hands in annoyance.
“He mentioned me visiting him when I have spring break in a couple of weeks.”
Camille’s and Bridget’s mouths fall open again. “Daniel Chase wants you to fly out to visit him? In L.A.?” Bridget shouts. Loudly. It hurts my ears.
“Yes. Shh.”
“Are you going to go?” Camille asks.
I shrug. “If it works out, then I suppose I will.”
“So, wait, wait, wait . . . Let me get this straight,” Bridget says, slipping off the edge of the sofa and onto the floor. Without missing a beat, she sits back on the sofa and continues. “You meet Daniel Chase on an elevator, he flies out for a few dates, then you sleep with him, and now he wants you to fly across the country to visit him?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy crap!” Bridget squeals again, launching herself at me. She throws her arms around my neck and nearly chokes me. “I’m so excited for you!”
Camille jumps up and adds to the hug, causing the three of us to fall into a heap of arms and legs in the chair I occupy. After much laughter, we untangle ourselves and sit squished together on the chair.
“So the past few weeks—you were dating him?” Camille narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t stop grinning.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Bridget flicks my arm.
“Ouch! I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d grill me . . . which you did.”
Camille says, “So? Do you know how awful it was to watch you drag yourself from day to day, knowing you were missing out on life? It wasn’t fun, Claire. We want to be in on the good stuff, too, you know and . . . my God, this is good.” She smiles wide.
“We all know you had fun—didn’t you?” Bridget asks, elbowing my side and smiling.
“Yes, I definitely had fun. But I’m really sorry. I should have told you.”
Camille smacks my arm.
“Ow! What was that for?” I rub my arm.
“That’s for keeping this from us!” Camille laughs. She continues to dole out smacky-taps to my arms and knees and shoulders as she says, “You’d better—”
Smack.
“Never—”
Smack.
“Keep shit like this from us again.”
Smack.
I try to block the smacks, but Camille is a tough chick to hold off. “Okay! I won’t.”
Smack.
“You promise?”
“Yes!” I catch her wrist. “Now no more! Sheesh!”
“So when will you know about going out there or not?” Camille asks.
“I guess I’ll talk to him about it this week. I’ll have to buy a plane ticket.”
“And clothes, Claire. You need some seriously slamming clothes to bring. And we are accompanying you shopping, just so you are aware. God knows you’ll try to pack the damn sweatpants,” Bridget adds, laughing.
“I will not.”
“Liar,” Bridget says.
“Is this a serious thing?” Camille asks.
“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it.” If there is one thing to avoid, it’s thinking about where—if anywhere—this might lead. “I mean, it’s all very new, and you know how it is when things are new.”
“Yeah, all hot and bothered!” Bridget exclaims.
I laugh, blushing.
“Claire, I’m so happy for you,” Camille says.
“Me, too,” Bridget says as we group hug.
* * *
With the workweek beginning, I need to refocus. I can’t get lost in the I-slept-with-Mr.-Beautiful-and-I-might-be-visiting-him-in-L.A. world. I have work to do!
On Monday night, when the girls and I sit around the living room watching TV and doing work as usual, my cell phone rings.
“I wonder who could be calling Claire?” Bridget remarks, feigning wonder as I speed out of the room.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey.”
“Oh, hi, Mom. How are you?” I ask, plopping down on my bed in massive disappointment. Will he blow me off?
“I’m fine, honey. Were you expecting someone else? You sound disappointed.”
Oops. “No, I was just doing work and the phone startled me,” I lie, hoping to avoid the rundown of questions.
“How’s work going, sweetheart?”
“Good. You know, the usual.”
“Don’t you have spring break coming up?”
“Yeah, in a couple of weeks.” Spring break in L.A. . . . If he calls, that is.
“Think we might see you?”
“I’m not sure. I have to see what the girls are doing. So, how’s everything with you and Dad?” Changing the subject usually works.
“Oh, just fine. We had lunch with the Palumbos today.”
“That’s nice. How are they doing?”
“Very well. Actually, do you remember their son Michael?”
“Yeah, he got married a few years back, right?”
“Yes, but he just got divorced.”
Oh no. “That’s too bad.”
“Yes, it is, but then we were talking about you, and we were saying how nice it would be if you two went out. You know, just to get reacquainted.”
Ugh. My mind is bathing itself in dirty thoughts of Dan, and my mother is trying to set me up. Again. “I don’t think now is a good time for that.”
“Why not? When is a good time, Claire?” she snips. And I can tell that she probably had married me off to the guy by the time her sandwich arrived at lunch.
“It’s just that I’m really busy right now, and I don’t have time to date.”
“You know, I hate to break it to you, Claire, but you are getting older, and it’s only going to be that much harder to have children.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, well, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“It’s getting late. I’m sure you have to get some sleep since you’re so busy.” Each word is punctuated with her usual dose of guilt and sarcasm.
“Yes, I am tired . . .” of this conversation. I want to throw it in there,
but I don’t.
“Well, good night, then, honey,” my mother huffs.
“Good night, Mom.”
Frustrated, I press END and start to leave my bedroom when my phone rings again. Shit! She’s not done grilling me.
“Hello?” I say cautiously.
“Hello, Claire.”
“Hi, Dan, how are you?” I flop back down, relieved, and allow his smooth, silky voice to envelop me.
“I’m very well. How are you?” He sounds so sweet and cheery.
“I’m good, thanks. How was your flight?”
“It was fine. How’d the inquisition go?” He snickers.
“Thanks for that display, by the way.”
“What display?” He snorts. “So really, how did it go? I’ve been wondering. They looked a little . . . surprised?”
“To say the least! But it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Well, that’s good. What did you tell them?”
“That you’re very lame, and I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
He breaks into laughter. “Of course you did. Thank you. You are so very sweet and great for my ego.”
I giggle. “No, I told them I had a great time . . . what did you tell your friend?” I ask—tit for tat.
“That I drove Miss Daisy all the way home!” Dan cracks up.
I gasp and can’t help but laugh, too. “Oh my God! That’s terrible!”
“I’m just joking. I told him I had a lovely time.”
I’m not sure if I should believe him. “You did?”
“Yes, I did.” His voice deepens, bringing me right back to being alone and naked with him.
“Is that all you said?” I ask a little breathless.
“No.”
When he doesn’t respond I say, “Well, what else did you tell him?”
“Hmm . . . what’s it worth to you?” he asks with a soft laugh.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if I can give it,” I say playfully.
“I want whatever you’re willing to give.”
“Did you like what I gave you last time?”
I hear him exhale. “More than you know.”
“Is that what you told your friend?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I told you I’m an honest person,” he says.
“If that’s the case, then what else did you tell your friend? Tell me—please?” I ask seductively.
He groans. “Well, when you ask like that . . . um, he asked if I wanted to see you again.”
“And what did you say?” I ask on pins and needles.
“I said yes . . . but between you and me, I left something out.”
“And what’s that?” My heart is pounding.
He pauses. “That I want to know how many days it is until your spring holiday.”
I freeze for a moment, stunned silent.
“Are you still there?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say breathlessly because even my lungs are shocked. “Are you saying that you want to count the days?”
“Yeah,” he says shyly.
“Um, let me look. I have to grab my calendar. Hang on.” I sit up and reach for my school bag. I’m so nervous that my shaking hands have a hard time pulling out the calendar but finally do. “Looks like the week of March nineteenth.”
“Okay. I’ll still have to work while you’re here, so would you like to bring your flatmates along?”
“Seriously?” I try to remain calm.
“Yes, Claire, seriously,” he mocks, chuckling. “That way you can have fun while I’m stuck at work.”
“If you have to work that much, maybe I’d just be in the way.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll see if I can switch a couple of things around, too. Do you want to come in on the nineteenth, then?”
“Um,” I say, shaking my head to clear my scrambled head. “Actually, I have this fundraiser thing for work I have to do on Tuesday, so I won’t be able to come out ‘til Wednesday. Is that a problem?”
“Not a problem at all. So you can come out Wednesday and stay till Sunday?”
“Would that be too much for you?”
“Not at all, but there’s no pressure. You can stay for as little or as long as you’d like—you can even bunk off work the following week.” He snickers.
I chuckle, too. “I can’t do that, but Wednesday to Sunday sounds great. I’ll need to check on my roommates though.”
“Of course. I’m marking my calendar now. That’s in sixteen days,” he murmurs.
Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.
“I’m sure it’s late there, so I’ll let you get some rest. I’ll be thinking of you in that bed of yours.” His voice dips low and quiet.
My heart lurches, and I’m tingly all over. “Yeah, well, you aren’t alone in those thoughts.”
“Good night, Claire.” I can almost hear him smiling.
“Good night, Dan.”
No sooner do I hit END then a hand taps on my door. Amused by the predictability of it, I open the door. “You’re funny, Bridget,” I say, returning to the living room with her trailing on my heels.
“Well, come on! Don’t leave me hanging. What’d he say?” she asks. I sit next to Camille on the sofa as Bridget sits on my other side.
“I’m going out there on the twenty-second and . . . he wants you guys to come with me,” I say quickly and clasp my hands over my ears, ready for what’s coming.
“AHH!” Bridget screams. “Really?” She bounces up and down.
Camille and I laugh. How can we not? She’s adorable shrieking like that.
“Yes, he said he still has to work, but if you guys come, we can go out while he’s working.”
“Oh my God! This is fantastic!” Bridget shakes me.
“I’ll check my calendar tomorrow at work. I’ve always wanted to go to L.A.,” Camille says, her smile just as wide as Bridget’s.
“I hope it doesn’t cost that much,” I say, feeling the realities of being a teacher.
“I’ll check around online tomorrow and see what I come up with, okay?” Camille offers.
“Thanks. I love you guys,” I say, hugging them.
“We love you, too,” Camille says.
“I can’t wait to go shopping!” Bridget says. “It’ll be fantastic.”
Chapter Eleven
I arrive home from work the next day with an armload of fixings for a special dinner I have planned for Camille and Bridget. They’ve always been there for me—through thick and thin, through the wedding dress and the sweatpants. And after keeping Dan a secret, I want them to know just how much I appreciate them.
As I chop the veggies for the salad, there’s a knock at the door. I dry my hands on a dishtowel and open the door to a deliveryman holding a long, white, rectangular box tied with a light pink satin ribbon.
“Delivery for Claire Parelli?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Please sign here.”
I sign the clipboard and manage to take the large box from the man without dropping it.
“This is for you, too,” he says, placing a manila envelope on top of the awkward box.
“Thank you,” I mutter, angling myself through the doorway and kicking the door shut with my foot.
I hurry over to the dining table in the corner of our living room and set the box down. Quickly untying the ribbon and lifting the box top, I gasp as the pinks, purples, oranges, deep reds, and yellows flood my eyes. It’s by far the most breathtaking wildflower assortment I’ve ever seen—and a hell of a lot bigger than the last bouquet. A card placed perfectly on top reads:
Fifteen days.
Oh. My. God! I’m speechless once again, and my heart twirls and dances in my chest.
I grab the envelope and rip it open. From the inside, I pull out three first-class plane tickets. I stand staring from the flowers to the tickets, the tickets to the flowers. This is insane!
Camille comes in the door during my catatonic moment.
“Whoa. Those are some major flowers. What’d you do to the guy?” She laughs, nudging me.
My wide eyes slide over to her face. I shake my head.
“What’s wrong?
I hold up the plane tickets.
“Oh my God! He sent you a plane ticket?” Camille shouts in disbelief. “So what’s the matter? You look like you just witnessed a murder.”
“No, Camille, he sent us plane tickets. First class,” I correct her, fanning them out. “And I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, I should be thrilled here, no? But I’m just . . . scared out of my mind.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Camille assures me, gently rubbing my arm. “He obviously likes you.”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
“That is not a problem, Claire.” Camille smiles reassuringly. “This—all of this—is a good thing, and it’s supposed to be fun. Don’t ruin this for yourself.”
“What do you mean? I don’t want to ruin any of it—that’s what I’m afraid of,” I spit out in one fast breath.
“I know you don’t, so try to relax and enjoy the moment instead of thinking of every bad thing that could possibly go wrong. This is a good thing. No, I take that back—this is a great thing! You’re finally living a little and you’re young . . . well, sort of,” she teases. “And you have the hottest man on the planet pining for you! Just enjoy it, would you? Plus, I’ll be there with you. Take a deep breath now.”
In . . .
Out . . .
“Better?” Camille asks.
“I think so. You’ll be able to come, too?”
“Yeah, I checked at work today. It’s going to be a great time, trust me.”
I hug her hard. “I still can’t believe he sent us plane tickets,” I say, feeling a little bit steadier.