“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to get that looked at?” I ask, but he shakes his head. He seems sort of subdued, and exhales hard. This must have been a pretty big shock for him too. “OK,” I say quietly. Taking his hand again, because I’ll use any excuse, I lead him into the little staff locker room and sit him down on a bench. “Wait here. Try not to run into any vagrant thieves. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He smiles up at me, his eyes still looking haunted, and I try to squash down a worry about what he’s thinking—and how hard he went in on that guy out in the parking lot. I guess adrenaline does funny things to people. I go and grab two glasses, put some ice in a pail, and find the half-decent bourbon from the back office. I balance the glasses in one hand, bottle under one arm, and the bucket of ice in the other, and head back to him.
“Sure you’re not some kind of octopus?” he says, smiling more comfortably now, and I grin back in relief. I pour out our drinks, put a cube of ice in each of them, and then hand a glass to him. We clink them together.
“Here’s mud in your eye,” I say, and we swallow.
“This is getting to be something of a tradition,” he replies, and I bite my lip.
“It is. Maybe you were right about me being dangerous…”
He just blinks at me with a half-smile playing on his lips, until I start to feel like I’m being drawn into some kind of magnetic field again. “Uh, oh yeah —put your hand in this,” I say, proffering the bucket of ice quickly. “Hopefully there won’t be too much swelling. And let me get a look at that eye.” I stand up and start rooting around for the first-aid kit.
“Bourbon, check… Ice, check… Remind me, what comes after that?” he says in that deep voice of his. I feel a tingle down the length of my spine. Even though my back’s turned, I can feel his eyes on me, and I know he’s smiling. I wonder what he’d do if I said that I come after that… I smile to myself, but I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I open up a cabinet in the corner and finally locate the first-aid kit.
“That how you talk to all your friends?” I say as I head back over to him, with what I could comfortably describe as a sashay, in spite of myself. I’m still smiling a little. His eyelids lower, and I can tell he’s thinking unfriendly thoughts too. I take a deep breath, trying to regain some control, and set the first-aid kit down next to him on the bench.
“OK, Rocky,” I say, and he winces at the reference. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” I pull out some cotton balls and tip a bottle of antiseptic on them until they’re damp. His wince this time is in anticipation of the sting, but I roll my eyes at him and lean closer, gently pressing the cotton balls to the wound. He sucks in a breath, but then relaxes, and I sit up a little and lean in toward him to blow against his brow and cool it off.
“Poor baby,” I say in a whispery voice, planning to sound jokey but instead sounding way too turned-on for mopping up a cut. I lean back, knowing he’s been looking down my dress. I cough pointedly. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches or anything. I wouldn’t want to contribute yet another potential blemish to that beautiful visage.”
His eyes follow my hands as I find some bandages. “You think I’m pretty?” he says, his lips quirking up. I reach up and brush his hair back from his forehead as I carefully stick a couple of Band-Aids above his brow. Our faces are way too close for comfort, though I’m not feeling too uncomfortable. God, he smells good. There’s an additional faint hint of sweat now, but the manly kind, like the first time we met, and it makes me want to—
I lean my mouth closer to his and hold my breath. He licks his lips…
But then he pulls back and clears his throat.
“We should, uh, be getting home,” he says hoarsely.
“Yeah. Sure,” I agree quickly. Fine, he doesn’t want to go there. I don’t need telling—or rejecting—twice. I grab my sweater and we make sure everything’s safe and locked up before we head out. I pull on my hooded sweater and zip it up as we make our way down the road—the wind’s picked up a little and it feels cooler than it has in a while. Though it’s been a while since I’ve walked through the streets of Dogwood at three o’clock in the morning. I push my hands into my sweater’s pockets and quicken my pace. Greg matches my stride and seems like he wants to say something to me but is working his way up to it.
“I’m only a couple blocks over from Hazelwood. Thanks for walking me,” I say, glancing over at him. He has his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks sort of cold in just his T-shirt. I’d offer to snuggle into him, but that would go against the whole “backing off” thing.
“No problem.”
We listen to the crickets for a while and I look up at the new moon. I love how clear the skies are here, especially compared to Richmond, or any of the other bigger towns nearby.
“I never get to see the stars in the city,” Greg says quietly. Again with the reading my mind… “Really is beautiful,” he adds. But his gaze doesn’t leave my face. It should be cheesy as hell but it’s not. My heartbeat speeds up and I glance at the ground. To my relief, my apartment building looms into view up ahead.
“That’s me,” I say, pointing.
He walks me up to the door outside, and we turn and face each other.
“Listen, Cathy—”
“Thanks again for tonight,” I say, cutting him off. “For the food, and… You don’t understand how much it means to have stopped that guy. I mean, forget the takings for tonight—I don’t know if my dad’s been able to pay the insurance premium lately, and it just… My dad, this sort of thing really puts a strain on his health.” I stop and swallow. “So I really just wanted to say how much I appreciate that. And everything.” I look up at him, both of us with our hands still in our pockets, standing close.
Spontaneously, I pull my hands out and reach toward him, and he steps into my hug without saying anything. His arms tighten around me, and the feel of him seems to charge all my nerve endings. He sighs into my hair, and I remember how vulnerable he’d felt during that night we had together. I know there’s a whole world of thoughts and feelings and issues whirling inside him—and me too—but somehow just having Greg’s arms around me makes so much … sense. I can hear his heartbeat, and I bury my face against his chest, breathing him in shamelessly. I don’t know how long we hold on to each other, but eventually I realize I should probably be heading upstairs.
I relax my grip, and as I do he looks down at me, and then slowly closes his eyes. Before I know it, his lips are pressing to mine. Slowly, gently, his mouth tilting this way and that, his arms pulling me back to him. I reach up and knit my fingers into his hair, and he says “mmmm,” and the vibrations buzz against my lips and tongue. We breathe in and out through our noses, not letting our mouths part.
At last he lets me go, and I let out my breath slowly. It genuinely feels like I’m floating back down to the ground again. I stare at him, and see the frown back between his brows, avoiding my eyes like he just did something he hadn’t intended to do.
“You’re welcome,” he says in that low, velvety voice.
Then without another word he turns and walks away. I open the door to the building and stumble up the stairs to our apartment, feeling more confused than ever.
Chapter Eighteen
I had the same dream again last night as I did the night before, right after Greg had walked me to my door. I’m scared and alone … that thief knocks me over … then I see my dad, turning ashen as I tell him what happened, that we lost everything … my heart starts pounding faster and I’m deathly afraid he’ll collapse at my feet…
But then it melts away—because suddenly Greg is standing in front of me, then holding me, then kissing me. And this time I manage to invite him up here to our apartment, to my bed and we—
My alarm goes off and I shut it off with a growl. If it didn’t happen in real life, it should at least be allowed to happen when I’m dreaming. I feel guilty about the idea of him “saving” me or whatever, but I don’t think
that’s even what it is. I’m a little worried I’m actually falling for him. For a guy I hardly even know.
On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing my alarm went off.
It’s a little lame to have it set on a Sunday anyway, I know, but I wanted to go for a run, try and clear my head. I get up and change into my workout clothes, tiptoeing past Maxine’s door and out. Strangely enough, she hasn’t volunteered to come running with me again since we saw Greg and Bethany that day, and that’s probably for the best. But she, my dad, Hal—everyone was pretty shaken up when they found out what happened at the restaurant Friday night. I explained everything yesterday, even about us being there late because Greg was cooking—Max definitely raised an eyebrow about that little tidbit. But now Greg’s a hero in my dad’s eyes, so he didn’t question the idea of us hanging out.
But even with Max, I left out the part about Greg’s kiss on the doorstep. Mainly because I’m still trying to figure out myself what, if anything, it meant…
As I head out into the warm morning sunshine, push my earbuds in, and start to jog, I’m still puzzling about it, but running is always a good time to process things. That’s part of why I like it so much—it focuses my mind. I let my feet fall into a rhythm, and let my thoughts begin to churn.
So—Greg Marino. Or Greg Moran? It really is like he’s these two separate people. He started off taciturn, then definitely warmed up… He up and left me in his bed, but not before some pretty mind-bending sexual contact and weirdly emotional snuggling. He tells me I’m “dangerous,” but then gets all sensitive about thinking I only wanted a one-night stand. He does ridiculous and unnecessary acting training at the restaurant just to be around me, but then insults my pasta dish. OK, that one’s not such a big deal. But then he chases down a thief, kind of beats the dude to a pulp, and then kisses me until I’m practically floating, and then walks away again.
Which is the real Greg? Marino, the attentive, funny, sexy Brooklyn guy, or Moran, the reserved, moody—and yes, still sexy—Hollywood guy? Maybe they’re both the real him, like he said the other night. Emotional, yet pent up. One thing’s for sure—he’s the king of mixed signals. My head is still telling me to just walk away from all this, and get on with my life. But my heart—and, well, other parts—are telling me that I shouldn’t be so goddamn ridiculous as to think I could just turn my back on him.
And my eyes … are telling me he’s jogging toward me along the river path.
Right now.
Greg’s still a good two hundred yards away but it’s definitely him. That physique is hard to confuse, and even from this distance I’m practically drooling over his long toned legs and sculpted arms in his sleeveless running vest.
But has he noticed me? It’s only just over twenty-four hours since we kissed on my doorstep, but that somehow seems like a lifetime ago; it’s almost like that whole evening was a figment of my imagination, even in spite of the police coming by the restaurant yesterday, and my dad leaving a message at Greg’s apartment saying he’s welcome to have a meal on the house any time. I thought maybe Greg would have stopped in to see how things were … how I was. But I’ve heard nothing from him.
I slow down my pace and tentatively pull out my earbuds, wondering if it’s too late to do a 180 and pretend I forgot something at home. But then I see Greg lift a hand and wave. Damn it. Why do we always seem to bump into each other when I’m sweaty? But now I’m thinking about being sweaty with him, and my heartbeat’s speeding up again despite my slowing down to a walk. He catches up to me with long, easy strides, and we both stop. He rests a hand on one hip, squinting at me, and I shield my own eyes to look up at him. We’re both panting and not saying anything, and it’s weird.
“Hey,” he says finally.
I take my time, sipping from my water bottle before I reply. “Hi.” It’s not the most original, I know.
“How are you? I mean, how are you doing? I wanted to… I wanted to call or come see you but I… Shit.” Greg blows out a frustrated breath and shakes his head like it could erase everything he’s just said. It’s sort of crazy cute. “It’s good to see you,” he says softly. “Friday night was a little … intense, and I didn’t want to crowd you. I’m sure yesterday was kind of a lot too?”
I nod and smile. “Yeah, that’s for sure. My dad is your biggest fan now, by the way.”
“Oh yeah, I got his message. I’ll, uh, I’ll definitely come by and—” He stops, frowning down at me as a cloud shades us from the sun for a second. “I sort of wondered though—your dad, he wasn’t mad about us being there at the restaurant so late and … whatnot?”
“Whatnot?” I repeat, then study him for a second and can’t help breaking out into a grin. “Are you scared of him?” I ask teasingly. “Joe’s a teddy bear!” Well, he can be.
“It’s just, I know if my dad found out my little sister was with some chump late at night in the bakery, his first reaction would not be too positive.”
I shake my head, still chucking, and the sun breaks out again. “Wow. Well, Joe was too busy hailing you as a hero to worry about whether you were… What would you New Yorkers say? Schtupping his daughter?”
“Schtupping?” He’s laughing too now.
“Whatever. It’s hardly like we were screwing on the kitchen floor or anything.”
Greg’s sneaker scuffs the ground as he looks down at it with a little smile on his face. “I’ve got to tell you, I considered it,” he says in a low voice.
Holy crap. My entire body breaks out in a blush, but he shakes his head again.
“Shit. Sorry. I really need to not say these things out loud.”
I tuck some wayward hairs behind my ears and swallow some more water. “It is a little confusing,” I say, avoiding his eyes. He stays quiet until I meet them again.
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I shouldn’t have said all that stuff about us just being friends and then…” His eyes drift down to my mouth and I swallow hard. “And then kissed you.” He returns his gaze to my eyes. “That makes it seem like I didn’t mean what I said, and I do. So I’m sorry about that.”
I hope my face isn’t conveying my sinking-into-a-muddy-bog feeling of disappointment. “No problem,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
“I just can’t be in another… I can’t get involved with anyone right now, Cathy,” he says in a softer voice. “Work has to be my focus.”
“It’s OK, Greg. Honestly,” I say, trying to sound sincere, which is hard when you’re lying.
He nods once, emphatically, as though he’s trying to draw a line under all of this. “OK.” He sucks in air as though he’s been holding his breath. “Anyway, I’ll be gainfully employed by tomorrow, at last, so I’ll be out of your hair,” he adds with a cautious smile.
I think Maxine mentioned something yesterday about the first day of filming—she has, of course, made it her mission to find out Johnny Lincoln’s shooting schedule.
“Yeah, so I hear,” I say, playing with my water bottle. “Not that I mind having you in my hair.” My turn to shake my head. “That sounded bizarre, sorry.”
He chuckles, and I swallow more water and try not to turn fuchsia. “We’re actually shooting over on Main Street early tomorrow, if you wanted to see things in action,” he says. “We’ll be done by nine or so, before most of the stores open, so we don’t disrupt trade too much. But maybe if you’re on break during the breakfast shift and wanted to stop by the set or…” He frowns. “Uh, I mean, if you’re working tomorrow morning? I thought I maybe saw on the schedule—”
I’m thrilled that it’s his turn to get flustered. “You checked out the days I’m working?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
He chews the inside of his cheek. “In a totally friendly way. Like friends who think about friends and what they might be doing. Yeah.” He looks back down at the ground, then back up at me, his eyes like blue crystal in the sunlight. He smiles a smile that’s sad, and sexy, and charming, and embarrassed, and a mi
llion other things all at once. I feel heat creep up the back of my neck at how badly I want to kiss him again right now.
I draw in a breath slowly. “So … you’re allowed to have people—friends—come visit the set? I thought that was only when Access Hollywood does a puff piece on the latest teen dream or whatever?”
Greg rolls his eyes, and his smile extends into a gorgeous grin as he nods. He seems more relaxed now, and I follow him over to a nearby bench where he starts to stretch out his legs. “Sorry, I’m getting a little tight,” he says.
I try not to stare at the tightness of his ass as he leans forward and flexes his calves out.
“Uh, that’s fine…” I murmur. “You know what, I’m pretty sure my other friend, Maxine, would love to come to the set. You remember, pushy little thing, red hair—”
“And the stare that can wither men’s balls?” Greg adds wryly. “Yeah, of course.”
“Oh… Well, she’s a little protective after, um, what happened the night of the Canal. But hey, this could be an opportunity to get into her good books again. You’re already part-way there after your heroics the other night,” I say with a smile. He looks more hesitant again now, and I regret having brought up the idea that I was bitching to my friends about what happened. “If I can get her to wake up that early, she’d shit a brick to come see some of the filming.”
“A wonderful image,” he says sarcastically, straightening up again.
I reach over and push his arm, then half-regret and half-thrill at the feel of his taut muscles under my fingertips. I pull my hand away swiftly.
“Well, yeah. I’ll try and stop by with Max tomorrow,” I say, hoping to sound casual and wrap things up before I really embarrass myself. “I’ll, um, bring some of Bobby’s croissants. Oh, but they have catering on the set, right? So that’s dumb…” God, why am I getting so flustered? This is not like arranging a date. We’re arranging a totally friend-level rendezvous. With Max as chaperone.
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