Without a Net

by Blake, Jill

  Men had been compartmentalizing sex for millennia. No reason Eva couldn’t do the same. Short, hot, and purely physical—that was the way to go.

  Whatever Max had in mind for the evening, Eva had no doubt about how the night would end. She took a deep breath and turned up the air conditioning.

  ###

  Eva’s mother enveloped her in a lavender-scented hug before turning her attention to Ben.

  “I’m making some brownies. You want to help?”

  He dumped his backpack on the floor and grinned. “Do I get to lick the bowl?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Grandma!”

  “Fine,” she laughed. “Go wash your hands first.”

  Eva trailed her mother into the kitchen. It was a large, sun-filled room with rustic Mediterranean tile, distressed cupboards, gleaming pots suspended from a massive overhead copper rack, and a ton of memories.

  The big butcher-block central island was where Eva learned to bake, helping her mother roll out home-made crusts for the pies that they delivered every Thanksgiving to a nearby nursing home. Beside the door from the kitchen to the laundry room, the wall still bore faint traces of the color-coded lines that marked Eva and her sister’s height each year. It was here, at the built-in breakfast nook overlooking a half-acre of landscaped grounds out back, that Eva cried over her first real breakup, with her mother supplying the tissues and her stepfather hovering awkwardly in the background. And here that she sought refuge during some of the darkest days of Roger’s illness, forgetting for a few hours what awaited her at home, while her mother plied her with chocolate and her stepfather shot hoops with Ben.

  They would have done more, if she’d let them. But her independent streak, the same one that made her ignore their initial reservations about Roger when she’d first started dating him, wouldn’t allow her to slink back to her childhood home, son and suitcases in hand. Too much pride, even after Roger’s death, to admit that she’d failed. What bothered her more than the fact that he’d let her down was that she’d let herself down. She was the one who’d chosen to give up a promising career for marriage. And now, with her husband gone, and their marriage revealed for the mockery it had become, Eva found herself scrambling to play catchup.

  She hadn’t told her parents the worst of it. The infidelities, the gnawing fear of what Roger might have brought home and passed along to her from all those anonymous encounters—a worry laid to rest only a few days ago, with an all-clear from her gynecologist.

  They did know about the financial and legal problems following Roger’s death. After much arguing, her sister finally convinced Eva to come clean on that score. True to form, Eva’s parents wanted to swoop in to the rescue, gathering Eva and Ben back into the family fold. She’d resisted. Her mess, she reasoned, her responsibility.

  The one thing she did welcome, besides their unflagging moral support, was their willingness to help with childcare. Last summer, while Eva accompanied Roger to his daily radiation treatments, her mother drove Ben to and from camp. These days, Eva brought Ben to his grandparents’ house every other weekend. He looked forward to these Saturday night sleepovers, when he got to stay up late and watch movies on Netflix, with popcorn that he and his grandma made on the stove.

  “Ready,” Ben announced, skidding to a stop and holding his hands up for inspection.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  Eva sat back and watched her mother guide Ben through the measuring and mixing, then spreading of the batter in a greased pan.

  “How long until it’s ready?” he asked.

  “About half an hour.”

  He swiped a finger through the remains of batter inside the bowl and licked his finger clean. “Then we can have some?”

  “They still have to cool after that. So dinner first.”

  “Aw, Grandma.”

  “You know the rules,” Eva said.

  “Yeah, but…”

  Eva’s stepfather joined them, greeting Eva with a kiss on the cheek and Ben with an enthusiastic hug.

  Ben promptly forgot about the brownies. “Guess what, Grandpa! I have my belt test tomorrow!”

  “Congratulations. Are you ready?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve been practicing.” He danced backwards on his toes, tugging his grandfather out of the room. “Wanna see how I can get out of a headlock?”

  Eva smiled as their voices faded.

  “It’s good to see him so fired up about something,” her mother said.

  Eva nodded. “He’s doing better.”

  “And you?”

  Eva started cleaning up in a bid to escape her mother’s discerning gaze. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was going to bring some chocolate cake today, but I guess it’s a good thing I forgot. I’ll bring it next time. You remember Ian, my friend who’s a pastry chef? He has this to die for new recipe with dark chocolate layers and chocolate ganache filling. You’ll love it.”

  “Sounds lovely. You helped him with marketing a while back, didn’t you?”

  “When he first opened his café. And now he’s expanding, so I redid a bunch of stuff for him. For pay, this time.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure he’ll spread the word about what terrific work you do, and before you know it you’ll be so busy you’ll have to turn business away.”

  This was what Eva loved about her mother, the unbridled optimism with which she viewed the world. And the staunch, unquestioning support she always showed her family. “I hope so. And in the meantime, I’m working on another project.”

  She outlined her ideas about a virtual one-stop shop for indie authors, while her mother gathered fresh ingredients from the fridge.

  “Did you say you already have a client?”

  “Sort of.” Eva hesitated. “You know my friend Nina?”

  “The realtor?”

  “Yes. It’s her brother.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. What does he write?”

  “Medical thrillers. This will be his first book.”

  “Would you mind setting the table, sweetheart? I’m making stir-fry.”

  Eva started pulling out plates and silverware. “None for me. I need to head back soon.”

  “Are you sure? I bought Sriracha just for you.”

  “Next time, I promise.” She saw the curiosity in her mother’s expression, and barely stifled the impulse to share her anxieties over the situation with Max. What stopped her was the realization that she didn’t want anyone talking her out of what she was planning to do. She wanted to sleep with Max. She wanted to feel those large hands exploring her skin, that hot mouth devouring her lips, that hard body pressing her against the sheets. She flushed and cleared her throat. “I’ll pick up Ben tomorrow morning at nine.”

  After a beat of silence, her mother said, “We can take Ben to his karate class, if you want.”

  “Thanks, Mom, but that won’t be necessary.” She smiled to soften the refusal. Having sex with the man was one thing. Spending the night with him was something else entirely. No point dressing it up in fancy clothes. If men could separate the physical act from its emotional baggage, why couldn’t she do the same? When you got right down to it, sex was just another biologic urge, like eating, or emptying your bladder.

  “If you’re sure…?”

  Eva nodded. “Positive.”

  Chapter 13

  Max removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two shirt buttons. Straightening the collar, he examined the results in the mirror. Too casual. He redid the buttons and tried another tie. Then he shrugged into the dinner jacket, adjusted the cuffs, and glanced at his reflection. Better.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d put this much effort into preparing for a date. The clothing, the choice of venue, even the question of whether or not to bring flowers—something he had rarely considered, let alone done in previous relationships, since in his experience women seemed to ascribe too much significance to what in his mind was a throwaway gesture.

  I
n the past, he’d be the one sitting back and relaxing while his date performed metaphorical cartwheels in a bid to impress. The evenings always ended the same way, too: in bed, hers if possible. This eliminated the need for any morning-after awkwardness, since he rarely stayed the night. Work was always a great excuse. If he didn’t have to be in the ER the next day, he’d have Morbidity & Mortality rounds to attend, or a lecture to give. Assistant clinical professor wasn’t just a courtesy title, he’d say.

  But tonight he wasn’t seeing just any woman. He was seeing Eva, who was skittish as hell and so hauntingly beautiful he got hard just thinking about her.

  He remembered the first time he saw her, at the same coffee shop where they met last week to discuss his book. He was fresh out of residency, so it must have been close to six years ago. She sat at a corner table, reading a newspaper and blowing on her drink before taking a cautious sip. He’d just gotten up to approach her when an older man in a hand-tailored suit and carefully styled hair swept in and took over. Her lover? Her husband? It was only after they’d left together that Max realized why the man looked so familiar. His name was Roger Landry, and his face was plastered all over the local press. He and his business partner were battling the city over rights to transform a prime stretch of beachfront real estate into a new high-rise luxury condominium complex.

  Later, at one of Nina’s parties, Max saw her again, this time with her son. A casual inquiry yielded her name and marital status. For all of two seconds, Max actually considered pursuing her, despite the fact that she was married. In the end, common sense prevailed. Plus, she’d never given him a second look.

  Until recently.

  Widowed, and by her own admission not involved with anyone else, Eva was now his for the taking. All that remained was convincing her of the fact.

  ###

  They sat at a table overlooking the ocean. An entire wall of glass offered a panoramic view of the sunset: varying shades of orange, red, and mauve bleeding into the water, with a slow fadeout to dusk.

  Eva sighed. “I forgot how beautiful it could be here.”

  Max murmured in agreement, not bothering to look outside. He’d hardly been able to take his eyes off Eva since picking her up earlier in the evening. Keeping his attention on the road had definitely been a problem.

  She had her hair down. It spilled in glorious dark waves to the middle of her back and over one shoulder, playing peek-a-boo with the dangling silver earrings whenever she turned her head.

  Gone were the conservatively cut clothes in neutral tones. Tonight, she wore sultry red, with a plunging neckline, fitted waist, and flirty asymmetric hemline that flashed glimpses of bare thigh when she walked. Max wasn’t the only male who noticed as they climbed the stairs and crossed the hotel lobby into the restaurant. He barely resisted the impulse to whip off his jacket and drape it around her, both for camouflage and as a mark of possession. He settled for a “back-off” glare that unfortunately didn’t seem to have much effect.

  The waiter brought out their wine, distracting Max for the few minutes it took to get through the whole ritual of uncorking, swirling, sniffing, tasting, and pouring.

  Eva dipped her head, but not quickly enough to hide the smile.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She adjusted the napkin across her lap. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a place like this.”

  “You’re supposed to be impressed, not amused.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes flew to his. Then she visibly relaxed, as if catching on to the joke. “I must have misplaced the instruction manual. Any other etiquette rules I’m supposed to follow?”

  “Listen with baited breath to everything I say, of course.”

  “Okay. Then tell me something interesting.”

  “Ouch.”

  “No, wait,” she said. “Let me start. This just came up today. There’s an opportunity to join a NetGalley co-op if you want. It’s basically twenty authors who’ve gotten together to purchase a membership, so the cost to each individual is $300 a year. You upload your book, and then any reader, reviewer, or librarian who’s signed up for the service can request it and post reviews. It’s great publicity. What do you think?”

  She had to be kidding. They were in one of the most romantic restaurants in LA, she was wearing a dress that practically screamed sex, and she wanted to talk business? No way. He wouldn’t allow her to hijack this date and turn it into something work-related. It was time to put his foot down. “We agreed on a budget, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this fits into the budget?”

  “It does, but there are lots of ways the money could be spent. It would help if you weighed in on the decision-making.”

  “Can this wait until Monday?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. Someone else might snatch up the opportunity if we delay…”

  “Fine. Sign me up, but not tonight. Tonight it’s just you and me, having a good time, getting to know each other. Okay?”

  “But—”

  “There’ll be other opportunities, Eva. Trust me. No more talk about work tonight.”

  She tightened her lips.

  “Okay?” he pressed.

  She nodded. “Fine. Then you pick a topic.”

  He contemplated the stubborn twist to her lips. She’d painted them deep red, to match the dress, he supposed. While the color was a stark departure from her usual au naturel pink, the expression was pure Eva. Determined, defiant, feisty. His pulse quickened. Oh, yeah. He was really looking forward to getting her naked. He smiled. “How about we start with your childhood?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Humor me,” he said. “I’m a little rusty at this getting to know you stuff.”

  She didn’t look like she believed him, even though his words were closer to the truth than he would ever admit to anyone else. Okay, so maybe her skepticism was justified. Getting to know the women he dated had never been high on his priority list. Why bother, when none of those relationships lasted long anyway? But nothing about this pas de deux with Eva fit his usual style. Little wonder the conversation wasn’t following any preset pattern. What he found surprising was that he truly wanted to hear her response. He was genuinely interested in finding out more about her, about what forces had molded her into the woman she was today. And though he wanted her in bed, naked, writhing beneath him, this wasn’t simply a line to get her there.

  “Seriously,” he prompted, when she remained silent. “Where did you grow up? What was it like?”

  Whether she decided to accept the question at face value or figured that whatever hidden motive he had didn’t really matter, Max couldn’t tell. But at least she started talking. “My folks have a place in Woodland Hills.”

  “Ah, so you’re a Valley girl,” he teased.

  “Careful, you’re dating yourself.”

  He waved that aside. “The whole Frank Zappa thing was a little before my time. But when you’re in full teen rebellion mode, all that anti-establishment, stick-it-to-the-man stuff really resonates.”

  “I have a hard time picturing you as a teen rebel.”

  “Really? I have a biker jacket and everything. I even have the bike.”

  She studied him, as if comparing the Max who sat before her to the image he was trying to portray. “You wear a helmet?”

  “Of course. I’m not stupid.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “What? Hey, wait, that’s not fair. If you worked in an ER and saw what a motorcycle accident can do to the brain, you’d wear a helmet too.”

  “Fine, you’ve made your point.” She smiled. “So what were you rebelling against back then?”

  “Everything.”

  The waiter arrived with their appetizers, saving Max from having to elaborate. After the man withdrew, Max deflected the conversation back to her. “What about you? How was it growing up in Woodland Hills?”

  “Pretty tame. Right up until my senior year in high school.”

&n
bsp; “What happened then?”

  “I went off the rails a bit.” She speared a piece of roasted beet. “Even got arrested once.”

  “Really?” His very proper, nose to the grindstone Eva had a juvenile record? That was something he never would have guessed. “What happened?”

  “I threw a party at my father’s house. It got a little loud. The neighbors called the cops, who busted things up and hauled a bunch of us down to the station. Charged us with disturbing the peace, underage drinking, possession. You’d think we were the first teens to ever party in Brentwood.”

  “Wait a minute—Brentwood? What happened to Woodland Hills?”

  “Woodland Hills is where I lived with my mom and stepdad. My father moved to Brentwood after he and Mom got divorced. He works at the same hospital as you. Or used to, at any rate.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Francis Hamilton.”

  “You’re kidding. Frank Hamilton is your father?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “He headed the orthopedic department when I was a resident. Great surgeon, but what a—” he broke off, recalling just in time that this was Eva’s parent he was about to insult.

  “It’s okay,” she said, apparently getting the drift. “I don’t have any illusions about what he’s like. He left when I was three, and that was pretty much the last I saw of him until high school. He wasn’t interested in being a father. Not even to my brother Logan, who lived with him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

  “So this party…did your father know about it?”

  “Not until after the fact. Logan helped me arrange it on the weekend of a big out of town conference where the great Dr. Hamilton was a guest speaker.”

  “This was while you were still living with your mom and stepfather.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your brother lived his father and…?”