Plum Girl (Romance)

  "Dominick, are you going to happy hour tonight?" Looking up from his monitor, he saw Mo standing in the doorway, smiling openly, invitingly.

  "Ah, no, I don't think so." What would be the point? Happy hour just reminded him of Lonnie, and he had too much work to do anyway. Not just for GraphNet, either; he was scouting out locations for his software business.

  He just had to tell himself to forget Lonnie—a girl who was certifiably psychotic if she was dumping him just because they'd had one stupid fight. Well, there was no "if" about it; she'd never returned his call, sending a clear signal that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Fine. Obviously he couldn't make her call him back. He couldn't make her see how great they were together. It was that unnamable something between two people—that inexplicable pull. They shared great laughs, great talks, great sex. Make that very hot sex. The kind that had nothing to do with experience or kinkiness or gymnastic ability, and everything to do with chemistry and trust and love.

  Women. Fine, that was it. As far as he was concerned, the fairer sex mess had messed with his head enough for a while. Fairer, my ass.

  "Why not? You've gotta come," Mo encouraged sweetly—cooingly. Not that he minded. It was nice to have a girl actually appreciate him. Unlike old What's-Her-Name...

  Lonnie Gwendolyn Kelley.

  "Nah, I don't think so," he said.

  "I might go, M," Harold said, suddenly appearing next to Mo. "If we can get the new links finished in time." She flashed him a brief look and said, "Oh, that's nice," with what sounded a little like forced sweetness.

  "D, I'm telling you, there's something different about you today," Harold said.

  "He didn't shave," Mo offered immediately.

  Dominick ran a hand over his jaw, just realizing himself that he hadn't shaved. Come to think of it, had he combed his hair before he left? In a split-second of alarm, he grabbed on his pant legs to check his socks. Both navy blue. Okay, he wasn't completely going to hell yet.

  "Well, have a drink for me," he said, and turned back to his monitor, knowing it was an idiotic thing to say, but at the moment he couldn't worry about the staleness of his repartee. He didn't want to talk about happy hour; he just wanted to be left alone.

  "D, the CD-ROM I sent to E-Bizz accidentally got returned. Do you want—"

  "I'll deal with it later," he replied in a clipped tone.

  "But shouldn't we—"

  "Later."

  "Okay, D. I just—"

  "I'll take care of it," Dominick growled.

  "All right, no problem," Harold said. "By the way, was that girl I saw in your office last week your girlfriend?"

  "Harold, just get the hell out of here!"

  His so-called protégé scurried away—terrified of his so-called mentor—and Dominick experienced a fleeting pang of guilt. Then he checked his voice mail, his e-mail, his regular mail. Nothing. The word summed up everything all too well.

  * * *

  The next morning marked the first Saturday of Lonnie's "Weekend Exercise Regimen," which she'd outlined the night before, after an even-Medusa-is-hotter-than-me tantrum.

  It also marked the last.

  She returned from her "run" having walked two-thirds of it, and then finding herself helplessly drawn to Au Bon Pain on the way home. She opened the front door, carrying an Asiago bagel and slurping a diet Coke, having cheated on the first day of her new exercise plan and not overly caring. Her decent mood had everything to do with her new job. Emma had called the day before and offered her a two-year position, just as Macey had said she would. Lonnie told Emma she'd get back to her on Monday, but inside, she knew her answer already. She was heading to Maine in the fall to begin her future.

  She walked into the apartment, and right away spotted Peach dabbing some sea-green paint onto the far left corner of BosYork.

  "Hey."

  "Hey! Thank God you're home!" Peach exclaimed. Then she qualified, "I mean, I just didn't know where you'd gone."

  "You were asleep when I left. I went for a run. Well, sort of."

  "You never run."

  "I said sort of." Lonnie chucked her keys God knows where, and set her breakfast on the coffee table. "Do we have any paper towels? Wait, what's that smell? What, you're cooking?" She followed the scent of baking chocolate that came from their minialcove-of-a-kitchen. "What's this?"

  "Yeah, I'm helping Cheryl," Peach said, and followed Lonnie over toward the oven. "Three dozen Godiva fudge brownies. She needs them for a high tea she's catering today."

  "High tea?"

  "I know. I know. Iris's friends may be pretentious, but hey, they provide a lot of good catering opportunities."

  "That's nice," Lonnie said absently, and went back to the sofa.

  She glanced up at her sister, who appeared to be painting, but... something was off. Peach seemed fidgety. She kept looking over her shoulder, and she was moving her paintbrush against the wall with tiny, artificial strokes. What's she up to?

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

  "I wonder who that is," Lonnie said, and rose from the sofa with a hunk of bagel sticking out of her mouth.

  "Wait!" Peach blurted. Lonnie turned, looked at her questioningly, and she said, "Take that bagel out of your mouth. Here, let me get another paper towel and you can wipe yourself off—"

  "What are you talking about?" Lonnie interrupted, ripping the bagel out and swallowing the portion that was already in her mouth. "Why are you being so weird today?"

  "Weird? No reason," she said too innocently, and tried an accompanying too-innocent shrug. "I mean, I'm not." There was another light knock on the door, and Lonnie moved to answer it. She looked through the peephole first, and her stomach dropped.

  Dominick!

  After a couple of deep breaths, she opened the door, with knots in every major organ and a profound hope that she didn't have Asiago breath. "Dominick," she said, deliberately neutral. "Hi."

  He looked genuinely surprised to see her. What the hell? What did he expect? Obviously he'd come to see her, to talk to her, to make amends, to reconnect—

  "Is Peach here?" he asked.

  "What?"

  He swallowed uncomfortably—good, serves him right!—and repeated his question. "Is Peach here? She asked if I'd stop by and take a look at her laptop." He barely even made eye contact while he spoke. The nerve! Here he'd shown up at her apartment after not calling her for a week, looking gorgeously rumpled and unshaven, and then asked to see her sister! Boy, did she know how to pick them, or what? Fine, then. All men were awful, wretched beasts, and no, damn it, she was not a sexist.

  "Excuse me?" She tried to keep the woman-scorned wrath out of her voice, but failed. "You're here to see Peach?"

  "Hi, Dominick!" Peach said, hurrying over to the door. "Come in."

  "What's going on?" Lonnie planted her hands on her hips and waited for an explanation from one of them.

  Dominick avoided her eyes again—appearing terribly bored by her mere existence—and replied, "I told you. Peach asked me to fix her laptop." His face was hard and impervious, and his normally hot-lava eyes were now cold black stones. From what she could tell, that is, since he was barely sparing her a glance.

  "Its my laptop," she corrected angrily.

  "Right this way, Dominick," Peach said, pulling him by the sleeve into their apartment, and Lonnie's blood boiled.

  "Peach!"

  "Lon, I told you, the D drive isn't working. You know we can't afford to get it fixed ourselves, and Dominick will probably figure out the problem right away."

  "You know what?" he interrupted. "Why don't we just forget it? I've got other ways to spend my time." He started toward the door, shaking his head angrily.

  "Dominick, wait! You said you'd help me!" Peach declared in an overly dramatic, woe-is-me appeal. Her sister, the con artist.

  "You said she wouldn't be here," he stated bluntly, still not looking at Lonnie.

  He'd said she as if she was a particularly
revolting mutant alien life form. A deaf mutant alien life form. "Could you not talk about me like I'm not even here?" she asked in a huff.

  "Whatever. Do you want your damn computer fixed or not?"

  "Peach," Lonnie said, ignoring Dominick and giving him a taste of his own medicine, "I told you I'd fix it."

  "Lon, you know less than nothing about computers. No offense."

  "But—"

  "You know it's true," Peach went on. "You thought a zip disk was a floppy that's blank."

  Dominick snorted, and Lonnie shot him an icy glare.

  "Lon, it's true," Peach said.

  "Gimme a break—"

  "Look, you want me to stay or go? Just tell me now," Dominick demanded, looking pissed and unyielding and gorgeous and perfect. And she loved him more than ever. Damn him. He hadn't called or e-mailed, he'd blown off their whole relationship over some stupid fight, and now he'd shown up at her apartment, giving her obnoxious attitude, and she still wanted him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. She wanted... oh, Lord, so many things. Him. Them. Forever.

  "Fine. Fix it. But I'm going out—" The phone rang, interrupting her, and Lonnie grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

  "Hi, it's Cheryl. Is Peach there?"

  "Oh, sure, hang on," Lonnie said, and turned to give the phone to Peach... who was looking suspiciously expectant.

  "Hi," Peach said, clearly knowing exactly who it was already. She stole a few glances at Lonnie and Dominick, while she went on melodramatically. "Oh, really? Well, that certainly does sound like an emergency! My, yes, certainly I'll help you out. After all, what other choice do I have?" The last part came out theatrical enough to make Lonnie worry. What now?

  "Okay, I'll be there right away!" She hung up the phone and announced, "Well, Cheryl needs me to help her with something right away." She grabbed her red-gold-and-black patchwork jacket out of the closet. "Oh, no!" She threw her hand to her forehead in a faux I-just-thought-of-something gesture. "I can't just leave the brownies unattended! They're still cooking. Lon, will you stay and keep an eye on them till I get back?" While Lonnie grappled for words, Peach took advantage of the silence. "Thanks a lot! Well, I'll see you guys in a little while—"

  "Freeze!" Lonnie commanded.

  "Shit," Dominick said, patting his coat pockets. "I just realized, I left my backup disk in my car. I'll be right back." After he was gone, Peach tried to make her own escape, but Lonnie stopped her.

  "You're not going anywhere. I want to speak with you right now."

  "Gee, wish I had the time—"

  "Now."

  Glancing to make sure Dominick was nowhere in sight, Lonnie shut the front door most of the way, and said, "I can't believe you!"

  "What—"

  "First you call Dominick behind my back—"

  "The computer—"

  "Stuff it."

  "I didn't even think you'd be home!" Peach protested innocently.

  "Nice try. You were all panicky that I wasn't home. If this isn't the most obvious setup in the whole world—"

  "Like you're so original. 'If he really liked me, he'd call.' That's the oldest refrain in the universe."

  "Yeah... well... tried but true."

  "Oh, I was afraid there wouldn't be a trite platitude we could use to help us illuminate things."

  "I'm furious with you right now," Lonnie whispered, in case Dominick was on his way up the stairs.

  "That's just what you think now," Peach declared, and started buttoning her jacket. "And fine; if it makes you feel better, you're right. This is a setup. So, big deal. You're my sister, and you're fucking up. Whose job is it, if not mine, to clean up your messes?"

  "You're a menace."

  "Thanks," Peach said, pleased with herself.

  "What do you not understand about little sister? I'm supposed to butt into your life. And... I don't know... call you 'squirt,' not take any crap..."

  Peach scoffed, "Let's not waste our time with fantasies." She finished the last button, sighed as if terribly put out by Lonnie's denseness, and said, "Dominick's a winner. Just look at the latest evidence. What guy agrees to fix the laptop of a girl who hasn't called him in a week?"

  "So this is all to save my love life?" Lonnie asked.

  Peach replied, "Well, I can't deny that there's a slightly selfish motivation, too. Honestly? You're becoming a nightmare to live with. No offense."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You snapped at me three times yesterday. And last night I heard you singing 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn' in the shower. Come on, how much am I expected to put up with?"

  Lonnie grinned in spite of herself, in spite of Peach, in spite of the sullen man getting his backup disk, in spite of everything. "Dominick's probably left anyway. He probably got in his car and drove away."

  "Right. Just like he probably came over so he could fix your laptop."

  "What?"

  "Good luck," Peach said, smiling, and headed out the door, passing Dominick on her way. "Later, Dominick. Thanks again!" The door thudded closed, and left Lonnie standing in silence with the object of every emotion coursing through her.

  "Well, my laptop's over there," she said, motioning toward the small table by the front window. Dominick just nodded and moved past her.

  "Mind if I take off my coat?" he asked.

  "No, of course not." They were acting like strangers. This sucks. She bit hard on her lower lip to keep from crying. Or screaming at him.

  Lonnie went over to her bed, climbed on it, and sat cross-legged, feeling awkward. Suddenly she had a memory of Dominick holding her in that very spot, beneath the puffy comforter, pressing their bare bodies together and kissing her cheek softly as they drifted closer and closer to sleep. Great, now her bed—happily celibate right along with her, for years—held only memories of sex with Dominick.

  She'd just have to buy a new bed; it was that simple.

  "You got anything to drink?" Dominick called over his shoulder. "That is, if it's no trouble. I forgot to bring my own tap water with me."

  Smart-ass. "Really, I think I can get you a drink without too much drama," she said coolly, and went to the kitchen sink. "Are you sure you just want water?" she called out, and stuck her head in the half fridge. "We have diet Cherry Coke, too. Um... and, what's this? Oh yeah, some V8. It looks sort of old, though, and Peach put it in a pitcher. I'm not sure why."

  "Water's fine," he said, suddenly right next to her. She almost jumped, not expecting his low, purring voice so close, and not expecting his beautiful body so close, either. Relax. Relax, she told herself, and closed the refrigerator door. She avoided his eyes—black, potent, and dangerously magnetic—and turned to take a glass out of the cupboard. Her heart was racing, and she was determined not to let it show.

  She stood at the sink, filling a wine goblet with water, when she felt Dominick's arms slide around her, encircling her waist. He tightened them and pressed his chest against her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, and hugged her closer.

  She struggled for the breath she'd need to formulate an appropriate response. After all, it wasn't as if she was just going to fall right into his arms again.

  She was still angry with him. Wasn't she? She wasn't so sure when she almost immediately sagged limply against him and let her head drop back so his lips were grazing her neck. He nudged her hair aside with his nose, and kissed her slowly, sweetly, applying just enough wet suction to provoke an instant hot flash.

  She shut her eyes and let a moan escape, while he worked her neck and grew hard against her. Instinctively, she rubbed herself against his groin, and her breath came up shorter. "Dominick," she whispered, as his tongue trailed down her neck, and his lips sucked her skin. "I... I'm sorry, too."

  She pushed hard against his erection—which grew even bigger—and he let out a strained groan, right before pressing them both toward the sink. Desperately aroused, as his palms found her breasts, Lonnie used every ounce of restraint she had to t
urn in his arms and pull back from him. "Wait a minute," she said, trying to get her voice back. "We can't just start making out like nothing's happened." Although, why we can't, I have no idea, she thought, as she looked up at his rugged five o'clock shadow and heavy-lidded, jet-black eyes. Okay, get it together.

  He plowed his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Lonnie... I'm sorry I was such an asshole. Hell, when I say something stupid, call me on it, yell at me, but don't let it be the end of everything."

  "But... I..." He reached for her again, and she kept him at bay with her arms. "Wait. We need to clear everything up. About Terry—"

  "Forget Terry," he interrupted. "I know there was nothing between you. I mean, I know what you told me, and I believe you."

  She hadn't been prepared for that. "But you said—"

  "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I was jealous. I don't have a better excuse than that." She started mulling it over, and he added, "I don't want to lose you after I just found you. Can't we move on from here? Can't we start over?"

  She smiled slowly. "Well, which one do you want? To move forward, or to go back?"

  "Both, as long as you're mine again."

  The oven timer dinged, and Lonnie moved past him to check on Peach's brownies. He moved toward her, but she opened the oven door so that it served as a barrier between them. She glanced down at the brownies. They were still gooey-liquid-brown, so she shut the oven door again. There went her barrier. Then she noticed that Peach had the oven set at 200 degrees, when brownies cooked at around 375. At that rate, they'd be done by sunup the next day. God, when she got her hands on that little con artist...

  "Look, Lonnie," Dominick said, "if you want to forget all about us because of that one fight, then maybe its for the best anyway, because I'm not perfect. I say a lot of stupid things. So if that's the way—"

  "No, it isn't that!" she said, and sealed the space between them. "I want to be with you, but only if you trust me."