ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Liar,” she said.

  “You’re one to talk.”

  Smiling, she stood up. “I need to pee. Be right back.”

  He watched her weave through the crowded tables to the back of the café, her blond hair flowing down her back in long, golden waves as she passed the artistic porn hanging on the walls.

  Other eyes, male eyes, followed her. A guy wearing headphones big enough to DJ a dance club looked up from his laptop and tracked her, even craning around in his seat to check out her ass. Another man, sitting with a pretty redhead glued to her smartphone, watched Rose out of the corner of his eye, scanning her head to toe, his gaze lingering at chest level. And the guy near the back, whose long legs were blocking her way, actually leaned back with a grin and said something to her, something that made her laugh and touch her hair as she stepped over him.

  Guess she has a little something for everyone, Mark thought sourly, draining his cup. He was developing a little crush on her himself, if you could call nagging lust a crush.

  Some people just had it. Sex appeal. Nicki Cameron, his high school’s class president, had it, in such excess that three guys were willing to endure the others dating her at the same time. No matter that she was a sociopath, cruel and dismissive; she was hot.

  Not that Rose was a sociopath, in spite of the lying. But he was looking for something more than sex, someone who made him feel a deeper wanting—primal, protective, profound. When he’d seen Blair the first time, he’d felt it, this masculine urge to step in and beat the world away with a club and cherish her forever.

  Rose just made him want to tear her clothes off.

  When she came out of the bathroom, the excessively extroverted, long-legged dude stood up and said something to her. She flushed pink, laughed, and shook her head, her gaze drifting over the tables to where Mark sat.

  Long-legged dude looked over, saw Mark, and frowned, but then he said something to Rose and she laughed again. When she finally rejoined him at the table, Mark gave her a sour look and said, “You’re popular.”

  “It’s the hair. Next time I’ll wear a hat.”

  He didn’t think it was the hair. “What did that guy want?”

  “To have sex with me,” she said.

  “He said that?”

  She gave him a raised eyebrow.

  “Fine,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I won’t, sweetheart, but at the moment I need a job more than I need to get laid.”

  “I’ve got the opposite problem,” he said, instantly regretting he’d said it out loud.

  She smiled. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t concentrate and you’re grumpy.”

  “I’m not grumpy, I’m mature.” But he got up and bussed the tables, giving Long Legs a hard look as he dumped the dishes in the bin. He didn’t look old enough to drive. What made him think he could hit on a grown-up woman like Rose?

  Encouragement. On their way out, while Mark watched in shock, Rose accepted a piece of paper from Long Legs and slipped it into her shoulder bag with a smile and a wave.

  The night was unusually calm, almost balmy, and the moon was an orange globe at the horizon. Mark pulled her car door open. “Did you tell him I was your brother?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just friends?”

  “I didn’t say anything about you,” she said.

  “And he just gave you his number anyway?”

  “Sure. That’s how it works, Mark. You can’t wait for girls to fall in your lap.”

  “You can in some places.” He started the engine. “It just costs a little extra.”

  “Whatever works for you,” she said brightly, patting his knee. “It’s great to get out, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure your website skills are totally at professional levels now.”

  “Yeah. That is a problem. Thanks for reminding me of the carnage of my life. For a minute there I was almost feeling happy.”

  He pulled out into traffic, glanced at her. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Twisting around in the seat, she dumped something in the back with a thud, rearranged herself facing forward. “Shit.”

  “What was that?”

  “Your book,” she said. “You’re right. I can’t fake this one. I’ll have to find something else.”

  Oddly disappointed she was giving up so easily, he said, “If anyone could fake it, you could.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “What did you study in college? Did you say you went to college?”

  “Yeah, I went.”

  He waited. When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “Even if it was underwater basket-weaving, there has to be some practical application. What was it, art history? English?”

  She spoke so quietly he barely heard her. “Biology.”

  “But that’s great. There’s tons of work in the medical field.”

  “Oh, really? Have you looked, Einstein?” she demanded.

  He braked hard enough at the stop sign to make her grab the dash. “Just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself is no reason to yell at me.”

  He accelerated, passed a bike pulling a baby trailer covered with blinking yellow and orange lights. They passed under the BART train tracks into Rockridge.

  “You’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You’re great. I am feeling sorry for myself and I’ve got no right to.”

  “No, you should feel sorry for yourself. Your ex-boyfriend and your best friend are moving into your house together to have a baby and you’ve got to move out but you don’t have a job,” he said. “Just be nice to me while you wallow.”

  “I will.” She patted his thigh again. “I promise.”

  When her hands were back to her side of the car, he relaxed. Maybe he should ask her to stop doing that. “You want to stay here in the Bay Area, right? Or are you thinking about just going home?” He realized suddenly how badly he wanted her to stay.

  “Not going home.”

  Good. “Okay. So, you were a bio major. Did you graduate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it, pardon me for putting it this way, but you haven’t bought me Social Skills for Dumbshits yet, so I might get offensive here,” he said. “Was it a real school? One somebody out here might’ve heard of?”

  “Those are two different questions,” she said. “It was Cornell. Whether or not Californians have heard of it, who knows? You all have your heads up your ass about some pretty basic stuff.”

  “You have an Ivy League degree in biology,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “It’s hopeless. Shall I drive you to the homeless shelter?”

  “You don’t understand. I’m not a doctor or anything, I only have my Bachelor’s.”

  An idea was nagging at him, but it was risky, loaded with pitfalls, potentially embarrassing. Did he want to give up his peaceful, private, profitable gig to help a woman he’d only met a couple of days ago?

  “I know a company that hires bio grads,” he said with a sigh.

  Her head turned towards him.

  “Mine.”

  Chapter 7

  ROSE SKIPPED INTO THE HOUSE, her heart light.

  Mark was sure he could get her an interview at his company. Why hadn’t she ever asked him what kind of software he worked on? If she hadn’t finally spilled about her biology degree, he might not have thought she’d be right for a popular “health and wellness” website.

  To hell with pretending to be a graphic designer or webmaster for a week. She might actually find something cool. With benefits. A future.

  “There you are!” Blair jumped up from the couch, dropping her box of Cheez-Its on the table. “Where have you been?”

  Rose frowned at the box. “Is that really the best bite for your baby?”

  “Shut up. I was hungry and you weren’t here. Want to go out to dinner?”

  “Where’s John?”

  Blair pick
ed up the box. “He had to fly back.”

  “Already?”

  “He didn’t want to miss any more work. Don’t give me that look; he’s about to quit and he has a lot of loose ends to deal with.”

  “Fine.” Rose took a deep breath. “I’m glad. It’s hard to have him here.”

  Mouth full of crackers, Blair gave her a sad look, chewing.

  The grim contours of her life came back to her. “So. He’s moving in,” she said.

  Blair nodded, swallowed. A smile crept across her face. “He’s already got a job lined up. A start-up in Silicon Valley.”

  “Isn’t that a long commute?” Rose held up a hand. “Forget it. Not my problem. Good for him. Really. You’ll need the health insurance for the kid, all the other benefits.”

  “Thank you, Rose, for everything. I want to buy you dinner somewhere nice. Anything.”

  “Aren’t you tired? You didn’t sleep last night.”

  “I had a nap.”

  “Not enough. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  Blair hugged her arms around herself. “That’s what he kept saying.”

  “Sure. He wants you to do all the work.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s changed. He had some kind of… thing. He’s really come around. He bought a dozen pregnancy and baby care books.”

  Rose wanted to believe it, she did, but it was too much, too soon. “Let’s do dinner tomorrow night. Tonight you can get into bed and I’ll work on my résumé.”

  “I thought you had something starting Monday.”

  “Yeah. Well. I think I’ve got something even better,” Rose said. “Mark said he can get me an interview where he works.”

  “Oh, that’s great!”

  “They’re always looking for people with medical backgrounds, he said, but an MD isn’t necessary. In fact, they like people who aren’t doctors. Something about the corporate culture; it’s more patient-oriented, a little alternative. I want to research it tonight, really get a handle on it before I go in.” She looked down at her jeans and sweater. “I’ll have to figure out what to wear. They’re much more casual out here. He didn’t think a suit was the right vibe, but my mother would roll over in her not-dead-yet grave if she found out I wore jeans to a job interview.”

  Smiling, Blair sank back onto the couch. “This is great. I knew you’d find something out here. Was it hard talking Mark into getting you the interview?”

  “It was his idea.” Rose took the box of crackers away from her and went into the kitchen. “How about we order a pizza?” she called out. “I’ll make a salad while we wait.”

  Blair got up and followed her into the kitchen. “His idea. Interesting.”

  “We’ll be getting married first, of course,” Rose said, getting out the lettuce, carrots, and a bag of spinach. “Isn’t that what you were going to suggest next?”

  “Beat me to it.”

  Very carefully, Rose kept her voice light. “Speaking of marriage, will it be a double ceremony?”

  After a small pause, Blair said, “We want to keep it small. Very small. Very, very small.”

  Rose had braced herself for the idea of John and Blair getting married but it was still hard to accept. John had told her the first time they’d woken up in bed together that he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than her naked body. He’d called her a goddess, made her feel worshipped, wanted.

  That ended pretty quickly. Rose turned to Blair, saw the glow in her cheeks, the animation in her eyes that hadn’t been there for weeks, and worried her happiness wouldn’t last either.

  But damn it, Rose would be as big as her bra size and hope it would. Forever and ever after, for the baby who deserved both parents, for her friend, even for John.“Will there be guests at this infinitesimal ceremony?”

  “If they’ll come,” Blair said, putting an arm around her waist.

  “I will,” Rose said. “But… I won’t be in the ceremony. I can’t. Standing up with you guys…” She shook her head.

  “I understand.”

  “It’s not you. It’s everyone knowing, watching, comparing us. I’m not a masochist.”

  “I know. I totally understand. I just want you to be there,” Blair said. “We’re thinking City Hall now and a party after the baby’s here. I want to be able to really let loose at the reception, have champagne, all that.”

  Drinking. Now that’s an excellent idea. Five minutes later, martini in hand, Rose was listening to Blair gush about John's plans to be at her next doctor’s appointment, his ideas for the nursery, how he didn’t want to know if they were having a boy or a girl, baby names.

  “He’s got some crazy ideas,” Blair said. “I think it’s because he hated his own name—John—growing up. He likes something more unique.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, since she had a few creative ideas of her own, Rose peeled the carrots into the sink, wondering why it didn’t bother her to think about the baby, just John.

  Their relationship had been so quick, a fling. On Monday they were talking about form in the weight room, and by Friday they were having sex in the backseat of his Explorer in the parking lot. Then all weekend long, all over the place, and every night the following week.

  He loved having sex with her. He loved her body. He loved touching, kissing, smelling, tasting, watching, fucking her.

  Going out with her? Not so much.

  Being seen in public with a fat blonde with an affection for chunky jewelry, bright colors, broad gestures, and loud laughs?

  Nope.

  As much as he turned her on, and John still made her burn at night, remembering their times together, she’d been about to break it off with him because of his problem. And it was his problem, not hers, that he was embarrassed to be seen with her. You couldn’t argue with attraction, and if he hadn’t been attracted to her, she wouldn’t blame him. She majored in biology—she respected it.

  But to want her and be ashamed of it, that made him a spineless, shallow, insecure hypocrite.

  And he was going to marry her best friend. It didn’t matter that he loved to be seen with the petite, quiet Blair, and doted on her in a chivalrous way, in public and in private, in ways he’d never shown to Rose. What if it didn’t last? Blair might get fat. She’d certainly get old, God willing. And then what?

  “Have you told his mother yet?” Rose asked. “She might not agree to the civil ceremony.”

  “He can stand up to her.”

  Rose had never seen him do it, except by running away. “I wouldn’t mind driving to Reno, just so you know. If it comes to that. It’s only a few hours from here.” Earlier that day, desperate and reckless, Rose had researched the drive on the Internet, considering gambling as a possible way out of her financial limitations.

  Sipping her martini, she reflected that it was best to adopt vices one at a time. More than that might be more than she could handle.

  “She’d hate that,” Blair said.

  “Bonus.”

  “They do have a condo at Lake Tahoe. Right on the lake.” Blair smiled, shaking her head. “We couldn’t. She’d be so upset.”

  “Start as you mean to go on. If you let her walk over you now…”

  “You’re right. It would be fun, don’t you think? Just us, Elvis, and the casinos? We could do something more formal next year when we have the reception. This would just be like a starter wedding.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Rose said.

  “You’d do it? Make the drive?”

  “Sure. And I bet your unborn child won’t be the first baby to visit Nevada in utero. Maybe they sell baby tees for that.”

  Brighter than Rose had seen her in months, Blair grabbed the salad bowl, laughing. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’d started to worry it was going to be just me and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Rose said, draining her drink. “Now you’re calling me names.”

  Blair squeezed her. “Let’s order two pizzas. I’m s
tarving. And if you ever question what I put in my mouth again, you’re dead. I don’t care how much I love you.”

  Rose saluted her with her drink, nodding. “Ditto.”

  Dinner was excellent. Blair ate enough for three, Rose drank enough for two; they sat, bundled in blankets on the deck, watching the San Francisco skyline disappear under a blurry gray fog across the bay. They had the happiest evening together they’d had since John had entered their life.

  Knowing it might not last.

  * * *

  The cubicles spread out over a hundred feet in each direction. On the perimeter, offices with tall, skinny windows surrounded the sea of gray carpeted dividers. The ceiling was white, the carpet was tan, the walls were beige.

  It was like a maze of oatmeal, Mark thought.

  “Have you seen our new building before, Mr. Johnson?” the woman escorting him down the corridor asked. As they walked, curious heads popped up like pocket gophers in a soccer field, checking him out.

  At first he didn’t realize she was talking to him. “Call me Mark,” he said, his palms sweating.

  Did they know who he was? Is that why they were staring like that? It was supposed to be a secret. Ancient history.

  “Here’s his office,” the woman said. Bridget, her badge said. She was in her mid-twenties, short curly hair a nondescript sandy blond—more beige, he thought—with glasses. Dressed like an administrative type, not technical, which is to say she was wearing a blouse and black pants instead of the jeans programmers liked to wear, male or female.

  When she saw the room was empty, her eyes widened with alarm. “He should be back any second. I don’t know what happened to him. Can I get you anything? Coffee? RedBull? M&M's?”

  “M&M's? Really?”

  “If that’s not okay, we’ve got Twizzlers, PowerBars, fresh fruit, and cashews. No peanuts, since Allen Buckworth is allergic. Like, fall over and die allergic.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “I’m fine.” He made his way to a chair in front of the glass and black steel desk and sat down.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

  He gave the most reassuring smile he could manage. “I’m fine. Really.”