by Scott, D. D.
“You don’t want to talk to Beth?” he asked.
“I couldn’t hear her with all the noise. Besides,” she said, with a flutter of her fingers over his arm. She was a toucher, a habit that usually got on his nerves, but with Celia, he couldn’t seem to mind. “I can’t talk about you when you’re still sitting here.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I’ll call her later.” Why didn’t her bluntness annoy him? She’d already announced she wasn’t going to have sex with him, which, admittedly, had crossed his mind. He didn’t make a habit of sleeping with women he’d just met, but hey, if she was up for it…
“So, does everyone on your phone list have his or her own ring?” he asked.
“Only the special people.”
“Like Beth?”
She gave him a knowing smile. He was fascinated with the little mole at the base of her right eye. “Exactly.”
“What does it take to get a ring?”
“Oh, interesting question.” She tapped her darkly polished fingernail against her lips. “Beth has been my best friend since college. I was in her wedding and she’s held my hair back while I’ve vomited.”
“Ah, the vomit rule.”
“Precisely. My mom has a special ring, but then again, she gave me life. My brother —”
“The cop?” he asked in hopes she’d made that part up. If a person could get arrested for his thoughts, he’d already be in the slammer.
“Yes, my brother the cop has his own ring. It’s the theme song to Hawaii 5-0.”
“I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t call while I was going through your purse.”
The top of her boot rubbed against his pants as she uncrossed and crossed her legs to the beat of a blaring Get Ready For This. He couldn’t get a feel for her body all wrapped up in the parka, but his imagination had done a nice job of filling in the blanks.
“My brother would have had a hell of a time hunting you down from Georgia.”
He turned in his seat to face her as the guy next to him whistled at a stolen pass. “I thought I detected an accent. You’re from Georgia?”
“Born and raised,” she said, with a few additional syllables. “I thought I hid it well.”
“You do, but there’s something about the way you talk.” Something slow and sexy, if he were being honest. “What brought you to New York?”
“I was young and single. Beth got accepted to NYU law and begged me to come with her.”
“Do you like it?”
“It took some getting used to, but after five years, it feels like home.”
“What do you miss most about Georgia?”
He liked the way she pursed her lips before she answered, as if puckering for a kiss. Later, he thought. She might not agree to sex, but he was going to get a taste of her before the night was through. “My mother’s cooking, the mild winters, my family.”
“How many brothers do you have?” he asked.
“Two. The cop is married with two little girls and my other brother’s a dentist in Charlotte.” She pulled out a pair of yellow cashmere gloves and put them on her hands.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
He reached over and gathered her hands in his, rubbing them together. Her scent floated up and wrapped around him like a flame. The crowd went crazy as the Rangers scored another goal. “This game’s about over,” he said over the chants and cheers. “How about that pizza?”
She graced him with a dazzling smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
• • •
David was taller than she’d expected. He had a couple inches on her, even with her low-heeled boots. The little tingle she’d felt when he’d reached over to warm her hands only intensified when he held her hand as they weaved through the crowd and kept it until they were outside in the blustery wind. He jogged to the curb and opened the door of a cab for her. As she settled in beside him, she couldn’t stop from smiling. “The scene of the crime.”
“There was no crime committed as nothing was stolen.”
Only my breath, she thought and wondered if her heart would be next. “I don’t know,” she teased. “You left the cab with more than you got in with.”
“I’m getting back in with a whole lot more than I bargained for.”
He could have kissed her then as close as they were sitting, as electric was the air running between them felt. The cab jolted into traffic and forced both of their hands onto the doors to keep from smashing into the Plexiglas. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“A little place between here and your apartment.”
“How do you know — ah, never mind.” She pushed against the seat as the cab came to a screeching halt at a red light. “Where do you live?”
“I’m subletting a place in Midtown.”
“Roommates?” she asked.
A sideways grin settled across his rugged face. “I like living alone.”
“Since you know where I live, I should tell you I have a giant German shepherd waiting for me at home, but I don’t like to lie. I will remind you of my brother. The cop.”
“In Georgia.”
“He has a friend on the NYPD.” She looked at him with a dare in her eyes. “A very good friend.”
“So noted.”
The cab dumped them onto a side street she’d never traveled and David ushered her towards a dimly lit storefront with the ingenious name Pizza By The Slice. She appreciated the warmth and the enticing aromas almost as much as the feel of his hand on her back. David paid for their slices and beer and added two cookies he said were made by the owner’s wife.
“They seem to know you here.” She’d seen the head nods when they entered; the sly way men greet each other, as opposed to the hugs and squeals from women.
“I used to…date a girl from this part of town. I don’t miss her, but I sure have missed this pizza.”
“Do tell,” she prodded, and then wished she hadn’t when his mouth twitched in irritation.
“Nothing to tell. We were together until she became a psycho.”
“And turned you against all women?”
“For a while,” he admitted, with an uncomfortable lift of his shoulders.
“How long were you together?”
“Long enough.” He hopped up to retrieve their slices. Okay, she thought. Don’t ask about the ex, although now she desperately wanted to know. The pizza tasted delicious, and she knew that even if nothing came of her night with David Willingham, she’d at least discovered a pizza place within walking distance of her apartment. But she really wanted something to come of her evening with him.
They talked about Atlanta, one of the places he frequented in his work travels, and the things they’d both done there. By the time they got up to leave, it was nearing midnight and it felt good to stretch her legs. The cold air hit her face like a slap as they stepped onto the street. He took her hand as he walked her home.
“So what big Valentine’s plans did I pull you away from?” he asked as they approached the small stoop to her walkup studio.
“Wine and When Harry Met Sally.”
“A sappy chick-flick? Celia,” he chided. “I expected better of you.”
“You’ve obviously never seen the movie. It is a classic appreciated by both men and women.”
“Says you.”
She turned around and let out a breath that puffed like smoke between them. He hadn’t asked her out or made any noises about seeing her again. She was pretty bold with men and had been up until this point with David, but she didn’t intend to make the next move.
“So,” he said with a clearing of his throat. “Can I call you?”
“I don’t know,” she joked. “Can you?”
He rolled his eyes. “May I?”
“Of course you may.” She gave him her cell number, and then pulled out her phone, pushed a few buttons, and snapped a quick picture in the light from the street lamp.
�
��What was that for?”
“Give me your number,” she said.
After he’d recited the digits, she turned the phone so he could see the display. “Now when you call, I’ll know it’s you.”
“Cool.” He lifted his phone and took a picture of her. “Now we’re even.” He pocketed the phone. “Do I get a ring tone?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Not special enough?” he asked.
She lifted her chin and dared him with her eyes. “That remains to be seen.”
He moved quickly, but not with a jerky grab. He managed a gentle glide that felt like a dance step with his hands on her hips. He shielded the light and cast his face in the shadows. His body felt hard beneath her gloved hands that pressed against his chest. “Maybe this will help.”
His lips were cold as they touched the corner of her mouth in a deliberate near miss that left her longing for more. He didn’t disappoint as he angled his head for a direct hit, a knowing look in those deceptive green eyes. David Willingham, hockey lover, consultant, and beloved uncle to Maddie sure knew how to kiss. Light, fluttering brushes of his lips teased her mouth to open and expel a sigh as his tongue swept over her teeth. Her sigh turned into a moan as she grabbed the single remaining thread of sanity and pushed away with a shaky breath.
“David, you’re full of surprises.”
“That remains to be seen.” He stepped back and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Go inside, Celia, and lock your door.”
She used her key to unlock the outside door to the building and turned to see him standing where she’d left him, watching her with hungry eyes. “Thanks for returning my purse, David.”
“It was my pleasure, Celia. Sweet dreams.”
“Definitely,” she said as she closed the door and stared out the glass as he turned and walked away. She patted her hand over her drumming heart and skipped up the stairs.
Four
“Hey, man.” Brad Howell rested his sizable shoulder against the frame of David’s office door. “How was the game?”
“What game?” David asked.
“What game? The Rangers game. Pretty sweet seat, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” David removed his hands from the keyboard and sat back in his chair. “I didn’t sit in your seat.”
“Why not?”
“Long story,” he said with a shake of his head. The last thing he wanted to talk about with McGiven’s biggest gossip was his date with Celia. “I brought a friend and needed another ticket.”
“Dude, that seat was on the ice. I could have sold that seat.” He lifted his hands in the air. “No wonder you don’t remember the game.”
Dave gave a non-committal grunt and hoped he’d move on. Instead, Brad perched on the corner of his desk and drummed his fingers on a stack of files.
“So who’s the friend?”
“No one you know.”
“Would this friend be a girl?”
“She would.”
“I thought you didn’t do Valentine’s?” Brad said. “I gave you my ticket out of admiration for you not kowtowing to the whole holiday deal. What gives?”
“It just kinda happened.”
“So what happened to my ticket?”
“I sold it.”
Brad held out his hand, his championship ring from his days playing for the Montana Grizzlies sparkling in the light. “Pay up, my friend.”
Dave reached for his wallet and pulled out a fifty, passing it over. He thought of Celia, the way a smile had played across her incredible lips as she’d gone through his wallet the night before.
“Fifty? For that seat?” Brad shook his head and stood up to pocket the money. “Man, you got hosed.”
Doused was more like it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he couldn’t get Celia Mason out of his head. His flight for Scranton left in four hours, he had a report to update, and if he closed his eyes, he could still smell her perfume. Give it a day, he told himself as he zoomed back in on the spreadsheet before him. Don’t rush into something just because the woman had gotten under his skin. He wouldn’t jump into another disastrous relationship just because she tasted like sin and looked like an angel.
Hours later, overnight case in hand and an evening of takeout and file review ahead, he tossed his case on the bed of a chain hotel and flicked on the TV for background noise. He set his laptop on the small desk and got to work on his spreadsheets with memories of Celia Mason flickering through his overtired brain. With the report for his morning meeting finished, he shut down the computer and stretched out on the bed, too restless for sleep. He reached for the remote and thought a movie might help settle his thoughts.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as one of the choices in the classic movies selection caught his eye. With the punch of a button, he leaned back against the pillows and gave into the woman who’d occupied too much of his thoughts for comfort.
• • •
Celia kicked a pair of dance shoes out from under the couch and plopped down with a sigh. She wasn’t going to get upset that David hadn’t called. What had she expected, really? One night, a hint of a connection, and a fantastic parting kiss didn’t mean he’d call.
Why wouldn’t he call?
When she heard the first notes of You’re My Best Friend, she retrieved her phone from her purse and gave a grumpy, “Hello?”
“I take it Mr. Wonderful hasn’t called?” Beth asked.
“No.”
“Maybe he was like every other Valentine present. Flowers die, dinner and chocolate get eaten. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to last.”
“That would be an excellent explanation if we hadn’t had such a great time. And we did, Beth. We really did.”
“Okay, you said yourself there’s a psycho ex-girlfriend. The guy’s probably a little gun-shy.”
“I know you’re right. I’m just being bitchy because I walked in, yet again, on Tara having sex.”
“I don’t know why you continue to share that studio with her.”
“Mainly because I can’t afford it on my own. Other than my ill-timed arrival home, our schedules generally mesh. She’s usually gone to the show by the time I get home and I rarely hear her come in.”
“I can’t imagine the nomadic life of a dancer.”
“Well, she’s in great shape and has an active sex life. Can’t be all that bad.”
“Are you eating chocolate?” Beth asked.
Celia looked down at the pint of Ben and Jerry’s in her hand. “Maybe.”
“Do you still have the wine and the movie from last night?”
“Yes.” The worn case of When Harry Met Sally sat where she’d left it, on the coffee table next to her stack of vintage cookbooks and the bonsai tree from her mother.
“I’ll be right over,” Beth announced. “Save me some chocolate.”
• • •
When Celia got onto the subway the next morning, she pulled out her phone and saw she’d missed a call from David Willingham. From the time on the display, she figured she must have been in the shower. With the kind of giddy excitement she’d talked herself out of feeling the night before, she listened to his message.
“Celia, it’s David. I know you know who’s calling because you set up that little gadget right in front of me, which means you either a) can’t hear your phone; b) have your phone, but don’t want to talk to me; or c) desperately want to talk to me, but are trapped under something heavy. I hope you’re not avoiding my call because a friend asked about the game yesterday and I couldn’t remember a thing about it, but I could still picture that mole of yours that winks when you smile. Man, that’s a really sexy mole. Anyway, when you get out from under that heavy object, if you want to call me back, I’ll know it’s you and I’ll answer.”
Celia stifled a scream and hurried off at her stop and jogged up the steps to the street, all the while dialing Beth’s number.
“He called! And you’re never going to believe what h
e said.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“He quoted When Harry Met Sally!”
“First of all, pipe down. I had more wine than you did last night and my head is pounding. Second of all, huh?”
“I told him I was going to watch the movie on Valentine’s. He said he’d never seen it before and called it a chick-flick. Then this morning he leaves me a message quoting from the scene where Harry leaves Sally a message and gives her scenarios as to why she’s not answering the phone.”
“Trapped under something heavy?” Beth asked.
“Yes! Can you believe it? He watched the movie.”
“Have you called him back?”
“I had to call you first, try to tamp down my excitement before calling him back.” She tossed her coffee in the trash bin outside MoMa and pushed through the swiveling glass doors. Her heels clicked on the gray marble tile.
“Okay, I suggest you switch to decaf before you call him. And Cel?”
“Yeah?”
“Congratulations. Go for it, girl.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. Look, you’re a beautiful, successful, single woman. You could have any man you choose. If you choose David, he’s lucky to have you.”
“No wonder you’re my best friend.” She pushed open the door to the staff offices. “I love you, Beth.”
“You, too, honey. Call me after, okay?”
“You’ll be the first.”
• • •
David jolted when his phone buzzed on the armrest where he’d set it. One look at the display, at the picture taken two nights ago in the muted lamplight, and he took a steadying breath. “Hello?”
“Hey there.”
He detected the Southern lilt in just those two words. “Not trapped after all? That’s good to hear.”
“You watched the movie,” she said.
“Well, I was in a hotel room in Scranton with limited options. It was either that or porn.”
She laughed, and the sound of it curled his toes. “Good choice,” she said. “So what did you think?”
“I think Meg Ryan should have won an Oscar. That orgasm scene was priceless and a little bit scary.”