Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3)

by Gretchen Galway

  “Definitely,” she said, striding past him. The false spring of the month before had succumbed to a winter storm blasting the California coast from the northwest. Rain pelted both of them in the face as they headed out into the night.

  Zack opened his umbrella and offered it to April, who had lifted her bag over her head as a makeshift shelter.

  “Something fun, I hope,” he said.

  “What?”

  “This weekend. Your plans. Fun.” The sight of her lips glistening with rainwater had obliterated all the verbs from his mind.

  Well, not all. Lick, taste, and suck remained.

  He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t be that guy. That creepy guy. He had to be professional. He slowed his pace so she would walk ahead, get away from him.

  But April put the bag down at her side and looked up, letting the rain strike her in the face. After a few long seconds, she lowered her head and fell back to walk beside him. “I’ve just figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?”

  “Everything. Life.” She tilted her head back again and grimaced—it might’ve started as a smile, but a large droplet smacked her in the eye.

  He fought the impulse to move the umbrella over her. “This just happened?”

  “Just now. Want to know what it is? The secret of happiness?”

  He was worried she was going to be cold on the train ride home. Her wet hair formed ringlets around her face. “I’d love to know,” he said.

  “The trick,” she said, “is not minding.”

  “Ah,” he said.

  “I mean that in the Zen way, not the masochistic sociopath way.”

  “Thanks for clarifying,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my umbrella? I only live a few blocks away.”

  “That’s right. You do. The best commute I ever had was when I lived in Liam’s condo and worked downtown.”

  He moved it over a few inches. At least her shoulder wouldn’t get wet. “Here. Take it.”

  “I am one with the rain.” She pushed it away. “I am the willow. I bend, I do not break.”

  “You can bend and stay dry at the same time.”

  “Nope,” she said. “I’m tired of cowering. I’m going to walk with my head high, damn it.”

  He wanted to point out that holding the umbrella with the handle allowed placing one’s head at any altitude one wished, but he understood she was making a philosophical point. “Heading home?” The BART station was two blocks ahead of them to the left. His condo was straight ahead. He should say goodbye.

  “I had a really shitty day,” she said. “But look at me—I’m totally fine.” She held out her arms and embraced the sky.

  “Want to go get a drink?”

  Well, now he’d done it. It was probably a very bad idea, as bad as ideas come.

  She looked at him and sighed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 14

  FEELING RECKLESS, APRIL LED HIM to her favorite bar south of Market Street, not too far from his condo. It was a yuppie bar, of course, couldn’t be helped, but not too trendy, and they had excellent pita chips.

  She would’ve preferred to relax with Virginia, who finally had forgiven her for almost getting her into trouble with Zack months earlier, but even a man who looked queasy after kissing her was better than going home to her mother on a Friday night, especially after a day like today.

  “What would you like?” he asked, gesturing at the bar. It was blissfully free of any theme other than drink.

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  “I may do so eventually,” he said, “but I’m usually pretty good at stopping myself.”

  She smiled. He really was kind of cute. “I’ll have an appletini.”

  “Seriously?” he asked. She scowled and he held up his hands. “Just kidding. I’ll get two.”

  Because the rain hadn’t scared enough people away, she had to fight a damp, thirsty Friday-night crowd to find two empty chairs for them at a cramped table near the bathroom. Very romantic.

  Which was perfect, of course. She didn’t think she was going to jump him again—she’d never before wasted her time on a guy who wasn’t interested—but it was good to avoid temptation when she was feeling so vulnerable.

  She watched him through a gap in the crowd. He had a Clark Kent thing going on, no doubt about it—that dark hair, the glasses—she really, really liked the days he wore glasses—the square jaw, the sensual lips… Her belly tingled at the memory of his kiss.

  She looked away, chewing a fingernail. Not that she was going to sleep with him, but did he have to swear so adamantly that he wouldn’t touch her, either?

  The trick is not minding, she told herself. When he arrived with two colorful martini glasses, she was able to greet him with a smile. They could be pals. Both outsiders, neither of them fashionistas, new to Fite, oddballs in life—they’d be pals.

  She reached into her bag for cash to give him. “I thought you were kidding about getting one for yourself.”

  “What’s that?” He frowned at the bill in her hand.

  “I’m paying for my drink.”

  “My treat,” he said.

  She paused, but she’d never been one to turn down a free cocktail, so returned her cash to her wallet. “I’ll get the next round.” She sipped the enormous basin of sweet, alcoholic liquid in her hands, wishing she’d ordered an Irish coffee, because she’d started to shiver. Like so many of her good ideas, dancing in the rain hadn’t withstood the test of time. And she’d always put on a show for an audience. If Zack hadn’t been there, she probably would’ve run like hell for the train and been halfway home—and dry—by now.

  And alone with Mom and her poop-eating dog.

  Zack was looking around the joint with that studious, owlish expression of his. “Is this a gay bar?”

  She laughed. “God, no. I’ve gone home with—” She stopped herself before she shared her fun-loving, sexually liberated past with him. “With… the knowledge that this is definitely not a gay bar. There are women here, see?”

  “Mostly men, though. And lots of women like going to gay bars because they don’t get hassled.”

  “You know this how?” she asked.

  He ran his thumb along the rim of his glass. “My late wife. Meg. And her best friend. They used to go to a place in Brooklyn just for that reason.”

  “Are you sure it was for that reason?” she asked, then realized she’d just joked about his dead wife being a lesbian. “Oh my God, I’m sorry—”

  His hand touched hers. “It’s all right.” He smiled. “It’s much better to make jokes than tiptoe around like I’m going to burst into tears.”

  “Tasteless jokes.”

  “Even better.” He moved his hand away from hers.

  Well, one thing was working out—she wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, she was feeling rather warm.

  Awkwardness settled between them like a racist uncle at a wedding. They both shifted in their seats, their gazes darting around, settling on anyone but each other.

  “So,” she said, finally. “How was your day? Other than Liam moving you up into—”

  Into the design assistant cube farm. How had she forgotten?

  “It was fine,” he said. “Other than that.”

  She’d just realized why he’d asked her out for a drink. “You heard me, didn’t you? When I had my conversation with Teegan.”

  He lifted his glass for a long swallow. “I heard.”

  Her body tensed. “Well. I suppose I know what Liam will want to talk about this weekend. He’ll probably make a special visit tonight, with Merry in tow.” She drained her martini and felt the booze tingle under her skin.

  She’d have to convince Liam to do nothing. That would be a challenge. Her brother was a corporate workaholic with an Olympic medal—doing nothing was as foreign to him as wearing pink lace panties.

  Well, she assumed. Months of living in his condo hadn’t unearthed any secret kinks of her big bro
ther’s other than how he liked to alphabetize his bookshelf by title and got twitchy if she returned one to the wrong place on the shelf.

  “I didn’t tell Liam,” Zack said.

  “Monday, then.”

  “I won’t tell him.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  He put his drink down. “Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because it’s none of his business.”

  “Well, technically, that’s exactly what it is.”

  “I’ll handle it myself. Teegan is just playing alpha to see if she can get away with it. She’ll get bored eventually.”

  He nodded. “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Don’t feed the trolls,” he said.

  “Exactly!” She picked up their empty glasses. “Another round?”

  “No… yes. Sure.”

  She stood up. “You’re really not going to tell Liam about the pretty mean girl shitting on his baby sister?”

  “If Jennifer, Teegan’s boss, encourages her to treat all of the support staff, freelancers, and coworkers with petulant inconsideration, and she’s not the only one who does, then I’ll include that observation in my general report on the team, which I provide at the end of the month.”

  “And you’ll leave me out of it?”

  “I might change my mind if you keep asking.” He pointed at the glasses in her hands. “How about a beer this time? I’m not colorful enough for the stuff you drink.”

  Another urge to kiss him struck her, but this time she had the willpower to hold herself back. She’d taken home enough men from this bar—too many hookups that went nowhere. “You got it,” she said as a shiver racked her.

  It was just her wet clothes. Nothing to do with the way she wanted to swim in his dark blue eyes.

  She got two pints of lager and scanned the crowed for familiar faces. It had been over a year since she’d met the last guy from here she’d gone home with. Well, to Liam’s home. And he’d interrupted them just when things were getting fun.

  She sipped her beer as she walked back to the table, feeling older and wiser. She didn’t miss dating. Her more tender parts missed the physical contact, the rush of pleasure, the naked embrace, but the rest of her was glad to be out of that game. None of the guys had ever been as great as she’d hoped. Not as funny, not as kind, not as smart. Although she’d had quite a few one-night stands, and relationships that lasted a week or so, she’d always hoped it would turn out to be forever. That the cute guy with the dimple in his cheek and the twinkle in his eye would be the one to understand her, to love her…

  She was smarter now. Her last boyfriend had been such a loser, yet she’d hung on to him for months, squeezing him like a withered slice of lemon over iced tea, unable to give up on the hope there could be more. How couldn’t there be? How could she be so wrong about people, about men, again and again? That guy at the bar wasn’t a secret, misunderstood genius—he was just another self-absorbed dork with an obsidian earring and a Japanese tattoo.

  She placed both pints on the table and flopped into her chair. Her underwear had crept up her ass, glued in place by the damp pants—the Fite hiking trousers she’d worn in an attempt to fit in and impress.

  “You know what I need?” she said, toasting him with her beer before chugging the first quarter of it. “I need a makeover. I obviously don’t have the knack for this corporate uniform thing.”

  “You?”

  “Admit it.” She poked him in the shoulder. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt again, this one with tiny white stripes. By newly formed habit, her fingers itched to measure the stripe width, get it into the computer. “You’ve noticed I’m not the most fashionable chick on the planet.”

  His mouth curved in a half smile. “I’m hardly one to judge. Luckily, that isn’t part of my job description.”

  “But you know how to look serious. People take you seriously.”

  “I’m a guy. It’s a sexist world.”

  She appreciated that he was aware of his male privilege, but she also knew he was trying to change the subject. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to be unique. I like it. However… I’d like to be able to blend in when I feel like it, and I’ve got to admit I’m going to need help.”

  He looked at her, then down into his glass. “I like your clothes.”

  Fuzzy, happy feelings coated her like dandelion fluff on a spring day. “You do?”

  He nodded. “You make an impression.”

  “Not the right one, though, maybe, don’t you think?” She moved her chair closer to be heard over the crowd. “It would be harder for assistants like Teegan to dismiss me if I had a different look.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings.” She took another drink. It was mostly true; she’d taken great pride in nonconformity. But it had always been a choice, not a default position, and she wanted to prove to herself she could adapt if it suited her. “You’ve got to admit that if I weren’t wearing a funky outfit today, Teegan might not have been so quick to treat me like a disposable diaper.”

  “Speaking of which, how’s your niece?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” she said. “Well, will you help?”

  “Change diapers?”

  “Change me,” she said. “I want some of that corporate style you’ve mastered to rub off on me.”

  “I’m sure they’re laughing at my style—my total lack of it—more than they’re laughing at yours.”

  “Nobody laughs at you,” she said.

  “Like I said, it has nothing to do with what I’m wearing.”

  “It does. Look at that shirt—all buttoned up. Literally.”

  Frowning, he plucked at it. “It’s a shirt with buttons.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All this time, it was the source of my power,” he said, shaking his head. “I never made the connection.”

  The second drink had clarified everything. She stood up so fast she bumped his arm and spilled his beer. “Let’s go.”

  “Go?”

  “Shopping,” she said. “Union Square is only a few blocks away.”

  He licked the spilled beer off his knuckles. “Right now?”

  The sight of his tongue momentarily derailed her. Oh, yeah, right now, babe, let’s go.

  She pulled out her phone. “It’s not even seven yet. Macy’s is open late tonight. Did you have something better to do?”

  “You don’t want me to come shopping with you, surely,” he said.

  “I surely do.”

  He laughed, and his whole face softened. “No. You need a woman. Or at least a guy with a clue.” He put his hand on her arm and tried to pull her back down. “Finish your drink, and we’ll both go home.”

  Her heart began to pound until she remembered he obviously didn’t mean together. “I’ve already finished it.”

  “Why not ask your brother’s fiancée, Rose?” he asked. “She looked like she’d be able to help you.”

  Jealousy nibbled at April’s ego. “She’s too busy right now getting ready for the wedding,” she said. “Besides, she’s not good at looking boring. She has no experience with it.”

  “Which is why you want me?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Exactly.”

  “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Come on. It’s not too late, but it will be if we don’t get going,” she said.

  “It’s raining.”

  “I’m already wet, and you have an umbrella.”

  “I’ll still get wet,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You owe me, remember? If you’re really sorry about what happened two weeks ago, you’ll prove it.”

  He drained his drink and stood up. “Union Square?”

  “Yes! This will be so much fun.” She patted him on the shoulder.

  No, stop doing that. He felt way too g
ood to keep doing that. Strong, broad, male. And whenever she touched him, something flickered in his eyes.

  “So much fun,” he said.

  * * *

  He blamed the appletini.

  He sat on the couch outside the dressing room, trying to tune out the loud overhead TV broadcasting a feature about dieting cats.

  It had come to this. He couldn’t even sleep with her, and he’d let her drag him into a department store on a Friday night. His shoes were soggy. He needed a toilet.

  And he was going to have to look at her body repeatedly and share his opinion.

  Yes, he would say. Perfect.

  He was in such trouble. He was swiftly careening into full-blown obsession. If only he’d devoted more time to dating this year, he wouldn’t be as desperate. Every little tilt of her hips or smile on her lips made him want to push her against the wall.

  “What do you think?”

  She stood before him in an outfit a grandmother on a gambling bus to Reno might wear: a baggy floral blouse, a pink cardigan, and tan no-iron trousers.

  “Great,” he said. “We have a winner.” He’d already decided he wasn’t going to participate in any meaningful way.

  Not the meaningful way he’d like. Wasn’t that exactly why he was so unhappy?

  “Seriously,” she said. “I see women wearing this sort of thing to work all the time.”

  He bit his lip and nodded.

  “It’s hideous, of course, but isn’t that the point?” she asked.

  “Shall I meet you at the register?”

  “You don’t like it,” she said.

  “It’s great.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. You pick something out then.”

  “I said—”

  “I’m in the first room on the right.” She spun on her heel. “The more you fight this, the longer it’ll take.”

  He sank down onto the vinyl sofa and looked up at the TV. The fattest cat he’d ever seen was scowling at him through the screen.

  He got up and strode out into the store to grab the first outfit he saw. She’d already shared her sizes with him, but he’d forgotten, so he had to eyeball it. He found a pair of dark khaki pants. And then a sky-blue, pinstripe button-down shirt. Exactly what he was wearing.