Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  “All right. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  “Harder to explain to cops,” he quipped, and I snickered.

  “Idiot.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  I sighed. “Well, cookies obviously, but that’s a no-brainer. Maybe we coax Blake to take a business trip. You know, a few days a whole city away?”

  “He does actually have a job, you know. Not so simple.”

  “A weekend, then. Friday, Saturday, Sunday.”

  “Where to?”

  “Who cares? Just tell him to get lost next weekend, and we see what Lolita does.”

  “She’s not a Lolita yet,” he said, and I caught a whiff of annoyance in his tone.

  “She’s cheating,” I said, nibbling on my thumbnail. “I just haven’t caught her yet.”

  “Not everyone’s a cheater,” Drew snapped, his tone making me start. “Sometimes people actually find the real thing. It is out there, you know.”

  “Chill, Cupid. I didn’t say everyone cheats.”

  “Sometimes I feel like you’re just waiting for it. And you’re so damned satisfied when you’re right.”

  “I’m just a firm believer that people shouldn’t play with people’s feelings.”

  “No, you’re still just scarred from something that happened when you were, like, thirteen. Maybe it’s time to stop reliving your parents’ relationship over and over.”

  “Fourteen.” I frowned at the weathered, bark-laden branch underneath my Cons. “And you’re so annoying.”

  “When I’m right? I know.”

  “Besides, I am moving on. I don’t tell you about every relationship in my life.”

  “Moving on to whom, the next straight guy you see? Like Jordan, who you don’t think I know spent the entire day with you yesterday?”

  “We staked out Rachel’s mystery meeting. Turned out to be her real estate agent. She’s seen him twice in as many days, and she ain’t selling or buying. Property, that is.”

  “Since when do you stake out with a client? Or is Mr. Blake also in that tree?”

  I sighed. “I’m coming down. You can bitch me out over food. Otherwise, it’s just too depressing.”

  When I landed on the soft grass with an oomph, I stretched and straightened, glad the mission had at least been completed without a hitch. And then my gaze landed on the patch of unmowed grass. The unraked grass. The un-weed-wacked grass.

  “Are you serious?” I rubbed my eyes tiredly.

  “What?”

  “Drew, get my cookies or suffer the consequences. Samoas. Not those damn Thin Mints. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Chapter 11

  AFTER THE morning I’d had, a swim in the community pool sounded like certain ambrosia. I dove into the deep end, slicing through the water cleanly, not taking the time to acclimate from the heat to the sudden embrace of cool water. The cold snatched my breath clean from my body, and I surfaced with a gasp, shoving hair out of my eyes. I expected a burn from salt water in my eyes that never came—I guess I was too used to wiping out in the salty ocean.

  I did a couple of freewheeling flips in the water, getting acclimated to the different buoyancy. It was only then that I realized how long it’d been since I’d swum in a pool. Swimming for recreation had never really been my thing. Nick had been the swimmer between us. He’d swum like a beautiful fish, the lean muscles of his swimmer’s body flashing in and out of the water. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost see him grinning at me, water sluicing off his defined pectorals, the very picture of health. God could never decide which should be more golden, his hair or his skin, and there he was, framed by sun, his goggles pushed up on his head. A grimace twisted my face as I reached for him and he disappeared. It had been a stupid vision anyway. Now Nick couldn’t even walk.

  My unfortunate vision and my steadily tiring leg ruined what was left of my impromptu swim, and I slowly floated to the ladder. I slogged upstairs for a nap, lying down in the cool dark that I associated with my own private haven. I could only keep my eyes open for a few minutes before they began to flutter uncontrollably and then dropped shut as if a lead weight lay upon each one. My muscles ached restlessly as I rolled in my covers, like a gigantic guinea pig, searching for the right spot.

  My body was tired after the rigors of my day—the yard work, the tree climbing, the swim (wow, my days had gotten strange)—but my mind refused to shut down without a fight. I finally fell into a jerky sleep of restless dreams. Dreams of dark roads and flashing lights that played on an endless reel. Nicky looking at me, talking to me, laughing, teasing me about my choice of music.

  As he cast a glance my way, I simply looked at him, framed by sudden headlights where there had been nothing but darkness. He was so damned beautiful, but something was wrong. Why the headlights were coming at me and framing Nicky’s profile hadn’t registered just yet. The window exploded upon impact, and my eyes slammed shut instinctively. And then the night was alive with sound—wrenching sounds of sirens and screams. Nicky screaming. Me. Screaming? No, my mouth was an empty, soundless scream as he flew out of the car, and the slick black ice took him farther from me. The sound of crushing metal and shattering glass was horrific, leaden and metallic in my ears.

  I twisted to the side, but I felt trapped in the heavy blankets, sodden from my sweat.

  Are you okay? Okay? Okay? Annie, are you okay?

  My eyes flew open as I jackknifed up in bed. “Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” Words from the song “Smooth Criminal” blared from the clock radio.

  I slapped a hand over the snooze button and ran a shaky hand through my hair. My dreams were rare. But when they came… they were overwhelming.

  I stripped the bed of my sweat-sodden blankets and padded to the washer, dragging the length of my comforter behind me. I dumped in an excessive amount of laundry detergent (because measuring is for squares), and dragged myself to the shower. The hot water drained me and gave me energy at the same time, as I lathered myself with my new soap, hoping the scent wasn’t too fruity. I sniffed. Smelled damned decent, actually. By the time I’d thrown on a pair of cargo pants and a faded black tee, I felt almost human again. I cranked down the air mercilessly—I wanted an ice cube to feel nice and comfy. I dropped down on the couch and flipped through my DVR menu restlessly.

  Junk. Junk. I deleted another episode of The Closer that kept popping up. Junk I would guard with my life if anyone got froggy with the delete button. I set an episode of Burn Notice to record and let an episode of Law and Order play while I checked e-mail on my HP. Before long, I found myself browsing car websites and scratching leisurely. Just as God intended.

  I had just gotten an interior tour of a Chevy Avalanche—thank you QuickTime—when my cell phone went off. I listened to the ringtone until it was almost too late before picking up.

  “’Lo?” Ah, four years of college education at work.

  “Mackenzie, this is Jordan.”

  I sat up a little straighter, almost toppling my laptop. I was so ridiculously pleased to hear his voice it was embarrassing.

  “Yeah?”

  “You left your iTouch in my car. Didn’t want you to go crazy looking for it.”

  “Damn. I thought I’d lost that. I’d actually kind of given up hope on finding it. Even cleaned my apartment looking for it, horror of all horrors.”

  I was aware that I was babbling like a fool, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “I mean really,” I continued, blabbermouth central, “do you know how many places something that small can hide?”

  He snorted. “Somewhat. You should try keeping up with my Nano. It’s precisely the size of a freaking matchbook.”

  “I’d never get something that small. It wouldn’t last two days.”

  “It’s good for jogging.” I heard the murmur of voices and knew he spoke to someone else. “What? No, it’s on the table.”

  Ah. Of course someone like Jordan wouldn’t be sitting at home alone on a S
aturday night. “Well, I don’t want to hold you,” I said before he could.

  “Hm?” He sounded distracted as music began to filter over the phone.

  “I don’t want to hold you,” I said louder.

  “Oh no, you’re not. We’re having that welcoming party I told you about. It’s also an excuse for me to christen the new barbeque pit. Really, it’s just a glorified gas grill on the patio. Management is finally allowing us to have grills again.”

  I laughed. “Good for you. I’m still suffering with my Foreman grill over here.”

  He paused, and even though I could feel it coming, I knew I’d tell him no. “You really should come down,” he said.

  “With you and your friends? I’m sure I’d fit right in.” I yawned widely, letting my eyes drift closed a bit. I would almost be up for another nap except I was sure the nightmares would follow.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That’s supposed to mean I’ve gone to enough of those firm dinners and gatherings to know exactly what I’d be in for.”

  Trevor’s associates gave highbrow a new, unpleasant meaning. Besides, I’d spent the better part of my morning in a tree. I wanted to spend my evening pleasantly, not eating hors d’oeuvres with people who thought your worth was valued by the series of your BMW.

  “Not everyone at the firm is like that.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Am I?”

  My eyes snapped open. Well, damn, he had me there. “No. Is that your Perry Mason moment?”

  He sounded smug. “A little bit, yeah.”

  “All right fine, let me know when the rest of them are gone, and I’ll come hang out with you.” I almost groaned, realizing how that had sounded. Instead I bit the fleshy part of my hand between the thumb and forefinger and continued on quickly. “You know, as friends. Watching the game or something.”

  He sounded amused. “Something butch, you mean?”

  “Urgh,” I said eloquently.

  “Hang on.” The noise in the background suddenly ceased, and I heard a door close. “I’d like it if you came tonight,” he said, his words polite enough but the demand clear.

  That kind of complete focus both thrilled and scared me. I couldn’t imagine what he could do with that kind of single-minded focus in the bedroom. Hands under my thighs, spreading me wide, giving me exactly what I’d asked for. Begged for. He had strong legs. Fucked like a machine, I’d bet. Good God. My face went scarlet, and no one was even there to see.

  “I don’t think—”

  “You think way too much. Now get in your raggedy-ass truck and bring your ass to the party.”

  “Raggedy?” My eyebrows shot up. “Bessie still has plenty good years left in her.”

  “If Bessie is that old, dilapidated heap I saw, she should be shot and put down.”

  I was so busy snickering that I almost didn’t catch his sneaky, “So I’ll see you in ten?”

  “Ten?” I squawked. “I live thirty minutes away.”

  “Thirty minutes, then.” Click.

  “No, time is not the issue,” I growled to empty air. Talking to myself, of course.

  I didn’t know why I was fighting it quite so hard. I wanted to see Jordan more than I probably should. Now I had a perfect excuse. Maybe that was part of the problem. I argued myself into going, but I wouldn’t change. That was my compromise. I thought about cologne and decided the Dove smelled just fine. He had invited me. If they didn’t like me as I came, then oh well. I started Bessie up with crossed fingers, hoping she hadn’t heard about me surfing the net for the Avalanche yet.

  Chapter 12

  THE SMALL get-together wound up being about thirty people milling around Jordan’s newly landscaped backyard. His choice of location denied me the opportunity to see the inside of his monstrosity of a townhome. It only appeared to qualify being a townhome by the fact that it shared one wall and driveway space with another such monstrosity. I made my way around the side yard, keeping to the flagstones and following the beams that bathed the backyard in soft yellow light like a forest fairy tale. I stood there for a moment, surveying the crowd and noting the faces.

  It seemed like a different type of crowd than Trevor usually introduced me to. Jeans and tees seemed to be the sponsored outfit of choice, and I wasn’t out of place at all. And was that beer? Before I could rudely migrate directly to the beer, skipping the hello to my gracious host, I spotted him laughing with some burly guy near the grill who looked less like a lawyer and more like a client. His eyes met mine. My breath stuttered in my chest for a moment, and I was grateful he had a bit of a walk before he reached me as, when he handed the guy the silver tongs, he’d waved. He headed my way, looking effortlessly amazing as usual, in white cargo pants, a white tee with “Save Japan” across the front in tiny black letters, and white flip-flops that slapped against the tile as he approached. I swallowed hard. Turns out I really dug guys who wore old relief-effort T-shirts.

  “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “You make it impossible to say no.”

  His eyes widened a little, and I suddenly realized how sensuous that sounded. I didn’t take it back.

  I almost expected him to greet me and disappear back into the crowd of his friends, but he lightly touched my elbow to guide me around, introducing me to people. After the second group, I snatched my elbow away, not caring if he took it the wrong way or not. There were only so many tingles that could shoot up my damn spine.

  Rachel gave me a curious wave from her perch on the balustrade, and even I, who had no attraction for the fairer sex, could appreciate a thing of beauty. Her dark hair set off her completely white palazzo pants and blouse to perfection, and as she brought a delicate wineglass to shockingly red lips, she looked like a magazine ad. The girl wasn’t classically beautiful, but she had damned lovely bones.

  When he introduced me to her, it became clear just how little either one of us had thought this through. It would be kind of hard to follow someone who had met and spent time with you. I had no sooner complimented her Tory Burch sandals than I met someone else, and then someone after that. Somewhere between the time burly grill guy passed me a steak heavy enough to make my plate creak and groan dangerously and cute possibly gay guy (let’s face it, frosted tips?) winked and offered me a chair next to his, I realized I was having a damned fine time.

  I debated for a moment on where to sit, conducting a quick surveillance of the layout. There were several low glass tables set up with big cushioned chairs that no one was taking advantage of. There were also plenty of those same plush patio chairs set up in semicircles around the flagstone patio, where people seemed to be doing a balancing act with their food and talking a whole lot more than eating. There were several small bonfire circles set in white circular pillars that flickered off animated faces, and I was suddenly inspired to give being social a shot. I headed for the chair Frosted Tips was gesturing toward to put him out of his flirty misery. If he didn’t stop giving me hand signals, a plane was going to take off somewhere.

  It wasn’t like it was a hardship. He was ridiculously good-looking, even though his butterscotch hair had been razor cut into some sort of style that could indicate he had a severe case of Beiber Fever. He flashed particularly pearly whites at me.

  “Doug makes a mean steak, doesn’t he?”

  “If Doug is that biker guy manhandling that grill, then I’d have to agree.”

  He chuckled, holding out his hand in the region of my face as I balanced my paper plate on my knees. I juggled my beer and my plate for a dicey moment to free up my hand and then shook his heartily. His hands were strong. Firm.

  “Kelly Markey.”

  “Mackenzie Williams.”

  “I haven’t seen you around the building.”

  “I don’t work in the building,” I answered smoothly. “That would be strange if you had.”

  “So are you with someone here?”

  “Jordan, actually.” I took a taste of the ro
semary and garlic potatoes, enjoying them so much that I almost missed his raised eyebrow.

  “Channing? You and….”

  “What? No. No.” Oh, jeez, this was a new type of blunder. Outing someone who wasn’t even gay? “He invited me as a friend. Just a friend.”

  He smiled. “I was going to say Jordan just doesn’t give off that vibe.”

  “And I do?”

  “I was right, wasn’t I? Besides, you have way too many highlights not to be.”

  “Cute, Beiber.” He actually was. See, Mac, I congratulated myself. This isn’t hard at all. “So do you guys have many of these events? These welcome the new associate things?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I would be the new associate.” He grinned. “Family law. Fourth floor. You should come see me sometime.”

  “As much as my family irritates me, I’m not quite ready to legally separate from any of them.”

  “So if you’re not one of the attorneys, what do you do?”

  “I’m a….” I thought better of revealing my actual profession just in time, but my thought left me with an awkward pause. Think. And then I smiled a little. “I’m in the landscaping business.”

  “Oh really? That so?” Kelly injected so much enthusiasm into his query you’d have thought I’d announced I was a lion tamer with Barnum & Bailey. “You know, I’ve been looking for a good landscaper to create a pond in my backyard.”

  Oh hells, no. “I’m kind of booked for a while. But I’ll let you know if I have an opening.”

  “You must be good,” he said, finally tucking back into his food.

  I shrugged modestly. “I do all right.” Hell, Mr. Nesbitt’s yard had probably never looked better.

  “So what’s your professional opinion of Channing’s yard, here?”

  Lord above. He was going to pretend interest in my profession to be polite. And I was going to have to feign interest as well as expertise. I should have gone with the lion tamer thing.

  “It looks good. Healthy. Well watered, but not too much,” I guessed. Why not assume Jordan did yard work as competently as he did everything else?