by Fox, Sylvie
“That’s kind of why I’m calling,” he said. She heard a sudden crashing sound in the background as if he’d dropped the phone. “Sorry, I’m getting my luggage down for a trip to New York.”
“Okay,” Sophie said slowly. “What’s going on with Hol?”
“Nothing major. She’s kinda sick today with some flu bug or something. I think she’ll be fine, but I’d sure appreciate it if you could maybe check on her.”
“Of course,” she said, then ended the call. She called Holly’s cell, but got no answer, so she left a message wishing her friend well. Now she had two things to worry about—Holly and Ryan.
On the second day, a little niggle of doubt crept into her head. Maybe he wasn’t the guy she thought he was. Maybe he was like all the others. But she could excuse Ryan for not calling on a first day of a busy workweek. Years ago, she had learned that Monday was the worst day for a job interview, because people were overwhelmed when they came back from a weekend, catching up with what was on their desks.
She called Holly again, but got the machine. Maybe there was something wrong with her karma. She put her phone in her apron, pulled out her sable brushes and got back to work.
By Tuesday, all the usual self-doubts and recriminations surfaced. Men always said they were going to call, then never did. She was old enough to know that. Getting your number was a way to end an acquaintance without having to say right out, I’m not attracted to you. This isn’t going anywhere. Sophie felt stupid, naïve, clueless for thinking that this time was any different than the others. Guys didn’t like making love to a woman as responsive as a cold fish, and definitely didn’t call to see them again. There was never going to be any bathroom graffiti displaying her number for a good time.
When the line producer announced that the show was off for a few days while the kids caught up on legally required school hours, she decided to pop over to Holly’s office for lunch. Maybe a little girl talk could assuage her worries about the sincerity of Ryan’s interest. Holly had far more real-life experience with men than she did; after all, she’d been married.
Holly, who never missed a day of work, ever, that Sophie could remember, had called in sick. Guilt washed over Sophie like a cold shower, snapping her from her malaise. She had spent the last two days twiddling her thumbs, worrying about Ryan’s rejection instead of following up on her unanswered messages. She dialed Holly’s home number, determined to redeem herself.
“I stopped by your office to see if you were free for lunch. Your assistant told me you’d called in sick for the last two days. You okay?”
“Soph, I don’t know.” Holly paused. Her voice sounded unusually timid. “I got really sick at Nick’s place. I feel like I must have some kind of weird flu or something.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Holly said, though it was clear from the inflection in her tone that someone coming over to care for her was exactly what she needed. “I thought you were on the set of one of the kids’ shows today.”
“I have a couple of days free. The young star has to make up some missed school hours, so the crew’s off.” The reception cut out as Sophie got into her car. When they could hear each other again, Sophie’s brain kicked into gear. “I’m going to stop at the drugstore and load up on stuff. What kind of symptoms do you have?”
Holly’s voice was muffled. “It started with me barfing at Ryan’s place.”
“Oh, that’s bad,” Sophie groaned. “He must really like you if he sticks around after that.”
Holly ignored her friend’s comment. “It feels like a bad period. Probably something we ate. I let him talk me into too much junk food on the pier with a nacho chaser.”
Sophie nodded, her eyes glued to the dashboard. “Oh, okay. See you in a bit.”
My God, Holly sounds like she’s pregnant. Holly might suddenly be deaf, dumb, and blind to her symptoms, but Sophie wasn’t. She picked up the requisite Pepto-Bismol, saltines, ginger ale, and club soda, but threw in a pastel colored box of pregnancy tests for good measure.
Unceremoniously, Sophie dumped the plastic carryout bag on the table. The contents spilled out haphazardly.
“Sophie, you’re a godsend,” Holly said, twisting the cap off the ginger ale and pouring herself a glass. “Wait, why did you buy that?” she said pointing at the early pregnancy test kit on the table. “I’m sick with some weird stomach flu, not pregnant.”
Raising one pierced eyebrow skeptically, Sophie looked hard at Holly. “Clearly, I’m no medical expert, though I did work on a doctor show once, but you’re acting a lot like my sister Selie did in her first trimester. When was your last period anyway?”
“I don’t remember, but Nick and I have always used protection,” she said emphatically. Then she paused. “Except…”
“Except for what?”
“Just that first time,” Holly said abashedly. She winced at the memory. “We got a little carried away.”
“Sounds like a lot carried away.” Sophie pushed the slim pastel pink and blue box into her hands. “Just do this to be sure. Then I’ll take you to Canter’s and we can try the chicken soup cure.”
They never got to the twenty-four hour Jewish deli or to Sophie’s dilemma about Ryan, which now seemed trivial in comparison. Holly was pregnant. Sophie was no less shocked than Holly. Of course, she knew where babies came from. She just hadn’t imagined that her very responsible friend could be so careless. She winced thinking back to Saturday night with Ryan. She’d been so self-conscious of her body, of the sex act itself, that pulling out her unused box of condoms would have been mortifying. But seeing Holly overwhelmed by an unplanned pregnancy convinced Sophie that she’d have to get over her embarrassment and take charge of protecting herself—that was, if she ever got the chance again.
Ryan picked at the Cobb salad his assistant Evangeline had brought. Healthy eating was one thing, but sometimes he just wanted real food for lunch. Shoving more eggs, bacon, and avocado into his mouth, and ignoring all that lettuce, he worried over the pages of notes he’d made on a yellow legal pad. In bold print at the top of the pad, he’d written, “Sophie.” It had taken the better part of three days, snatching whatever time he could in the office between meetings, to come up with a plan to persuade Sophie to give this lawyer a chance.
Before he lost his nerve, and the afternoon work demands overwhelmed him, he clipped on his headphones and dialed the eight one eight number Sophie had so reluctantly given him.
“Sophie Reid,” she answered crisply.
Ryan paused, flustered. She sounded so grown up and well dressed on the phone. He’d been imagining her far more vulnerable and, well, naked.
“Can I help you?” Her voice broke the static filled air.
Thank goodness he was wearing headphones otherwise he probably would have dropped an ordinary receiver into the cradle out of sheer embarrassment.
“It’s Ryan. Ryan Becker,” he echoed her no-nonsense tone. Wow. That was stupid. She already knew his name.
A quiet “Oh” was all he heard through his headset.
Unsettled by the sparseness of her side of the conversation, he waded in. “First, I’m sorry I didn’t call before now. I’ve been swamped at work. But I’ve devised an eleven-point plan to get you to orgasm,” he said, dropping to a whisper with the last word.
Sophie laughed. The full throaty sound arrowed straight to his groin. “Not a ten or twelve point plan?”
“No, eleven is the number I ended up with.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the plan is predicated on you coming out with me Friday night.”
“I think maybe that’s something I can agree to.” She hesitated. “What’s the catch, Mr. Three Syllable Man?”
Did he sound that much like a pompous lawyer? He was going to have to get more friends who spoke plain English. “The only catch is that our date, so to speak, would be in Big Bear. And it wouldn’t be just Friday, but the weekend as well.”
“What tim
e are you picking me up?” she asked.
Wow. That was much easier than he thought it would be. He’d expected her to grill him on his eleven-point plan. He’d made a dozen bullet points to convince her to go. She never ceased to surprise him.
“T-two o’clock okay?” he stammered. “I, um, looked up the production schedule for your show and it seems that you’re off…”
“Yep. Studio teacher said the kids’ hours were too low. Nothing you can do about that. I’ll see you Friday.”
“Oh, you can bring Sasha,” he said before she could hang up.
“Cool.” She rang off.
He pressed the disconnect button on his wireless headphones and yanked them off, dropping them unceremoniously on his desk. Standing before his view of the ocean, he raked a hand through his hair and shook his arms, trying to rid himself of the nervous feeling that had gripped him during the entire call.
Looking at the tent in his pleated pants, he wondered how he could ever have thought she wasn’t his type. Everything about Sophie made him hot, from the sexy rasp in her voice to the slight protrusion of her dusky areolas. His mouth watered at the prospect of feeling her hard nipples in his mouth again. He swore there and then, he would do things right this time, delaying his own pleasure for as long as he needed. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, placing his outstretched hands above him.
The sound of a light knock and his heavy wood door opening shook him from his reverie. “Ryan, do you need anything before I cut out for lunch?”
Thank goodness he had the presence of mind not to turn around when Evangeline poked her head in. The last thing he needed was a sexual harassment claim. “Can you call the realtor and confirm the Big Bear reservations when you get back? I’ll e-mail you some files I need after your lunch break,” he called over his shoulder.
“Will do, boss,” Evangeline said, mock saluting him before closing the door behind her.
Ryan reviewed a few agreements with various actors, writers, and directors before he quit for the day. The impending weekend weighed heavily on his mind. His promise to be the first lover who would bring her to fulfillment, so to speak, was a huge responsibility. It was like deflowering a virgin. He needed help. He couldn’t imagine calling his brother or asking his mom for advice, so he high-tailed it out of his fourteenth story office and headed over to the biggest bookstore within driving distance.
He generally wasn’t a fan of the huge mega bookstores with their in-house coffee bars, but he was professionally trained to turn to books when he needed an answer to a particularly difficult issue, and shaking that kind of habit was not easy. He prowled around the bookstore, having no idea where to begin to look. He rebuffed help from a twenty-something employee, too embarrassed to explain his needs.
Finally, he came upon a “Sex, Love, & Relationship” section in the far corner of the third floor. Ryan browsed titles that promised to school him in the art of seduction or make him dummy proof when it came to sex. He flipped through a couple of books and made his choices, not quite meeting the eyes of the checkout girl as he handed over his platinum credit card.
He stayed up far too late reading, and taking notes on his trusty yellow pad. He was going to be ready for the weekend.
Chapter Seven
Sophie’s bedroom looked like a tsunami had hit. In her haste and nervousness, she had strewn clothes everywhere. What did one pack for a weekend that was going to be filled with either sex—in which case she’d be naked most of the time—or, if he gave up on his eleven-point plan, a number of long walks through the woods with the dog in tow? She wanted to believe that she would finally experience the kind of sexual release that books and songs were written about and wars were fought over, but deep down it felt hopeless.
She ran to the den and checked the Big Bear temperatures on her laptop. It was definitely sweater weather out there—a full twenty degrees cooler than the Valley. She haphazardly threw together a couple of pairs of jeans and a few of her less outrageous sweaters, and pulled her shearling lined leather jacket from the back of the closet. She yanked on a black turtleneck and jeans, and pushed her hair, still dyed Goth black from yesterday, into a checkered newsboy cap and set it at a jaunty angle.
Sasha followed her to the kitchen as she bagged kibble, a couple of chews, and plastic bowls for the dog.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Sasha started barking before the doorbell chimed. It took a few deep breaths before she could work up the nerve to open her front door. Her mouth almost went dry at the sight Ryan. How had she forgotten how hot he was?
The white turtleneck he wore highlighted his broad shoulders, flat stomach, and lightly tanned skin. She balled her hands at her sides, though she was itching to run her fingers through his hair, and trace his slightly stubbly jaw line. His hair was getting a little long in the back, and curled deliciously along his collar.
The dog was not nearly as inhibited as Sophie was. She had no problem showing her excitement. She launched herself off Ryan’s legs, encased in fawn corduroys, and spun in happy little circles. He dropped to his haunches to pet the dog, letting Sasha lick his face enthusiastically.
He stood again, his six-foot three frame towering over her. “Sasha’s obviously ready to go. You packed?”
Sophie nodded, not trusting her voice. She turned around to haul her bag to the car, but Ryan took the bags from her. “I’ve got that.” He nestled her hot pink duffel and floral tote bags in the trunk alongside his sturdy and very masculine-looking black leather weekender. “Do you need anything for the dog?”
She found her voice. “Everything is in the tote. I’ll just get her leash.” She turned back to the house and then looked back at him leaning against the car, arms and legs crossed oh-so-casually. “Are you sure that it’s okay to put Sasha in your car?”
“It’s just fine,” he insisted.
She got Sasha’s lead off the peg by the door. The jangle of the leash excited the dog so much that it took a couple of minutes for Sophie to actually hook the leash on the dog’s collar. She was going to have to look into dog training when she came back. She locked the door behind her, set the alarm, and took a deep breath. As soon as she got into his car, she knew she was committed to whatever the weekend might bring.
The early afternoon traffic flowed surprisingly smoothly and Sasha quickly settled down on the quilt covering the back seat. When they hit the Foothill freeway, Sophie relaxed a little, settling into uneasy silence for the long hour and a half ride ahead.
After a time, using the steering wheel controls, Ryan quieted the jazz that always seemed to play in his car like background music. “You okay? You’re a bit quiet over there,” he said, glancing at her for only a moment.
“Holly’s pregnant,” Sophie blurted out, then covered her mouth, instantly regretting the outburst.
Ryan mouthed, Wow, his eyes trained on the road.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Sophie backtracked. “Promise you won’t mention it,” she pleaded.
“I’m the soul of discretion,” he promised. “What is she going to do?”
“Have the baby. She’s wanted a family for a really long time. It’s the man part she’s having a hard time fitting into the equation.”
“How does Nick feel? He is the father, right? They seemed pretty cozy at Korby.”
“He doesn’t know,” she said. Realizing how bad it sounded, she tried to amend the statement. “It’s a long story. She has her reasons. Damn, I’ve said too much already.”
“I guess she has a lot to think about,” Ryan said evenly. Not taking his eyes off the road, he showed her how the car’s stereo system controls worked. “Why don’t you pick something you’d like to listen to?”
She settled on Power 106. Hip hop blared through the speakers before she turned the volume down a micrometer. “Sorry,” she shouted.
He quirked an eyebrow.
“You get used to it,” she explained. “I spend every day with teenagers.”
<
br /> Ryan stole a glance at the woman next to him. Christ almighty. What in the hell was he thinking that he could go even a couple of hours without touching her? It was a good thing he drove a stick shift. He had to keep both hands free to operate the car. That voice, those lips. With every breath she took, every bump of the car made her small breasts bounce. Did she ever wear a bra? If it were legal, and they didn’t have an innocent dog with them, he would have pulled across all six lanes of traffic and initiated her in the ways of backseat sex.
He glanced at the dashboard navigation system. Forty miles to go. Mentally reviewing the information he’d gathered from his nighttime reading, he was relieved that he had decided to try something several of the books mentioned. The minute they arrived he would get a handle on things, so to speak, to delay his pleasure, and enhance hers. It had never occurred to him to seek his own release before he met a woman for a date. The heightened anticipation and tension had always been a part of the fun. But that anticipation had spelled disaster for him and Sophie last time. This time he wanted to be fully in control.
Imperceptibly, he shifted in his seat, glancing down briefly. It wasn’t a full salute, but there was a slight chafing against the fly of his pants. He kept his eyes forward and tried to think of neutral topics he could ask her about. Ryan turned the music down to a manageable level and she looked over at him expectantly.
“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?” he asked, sounding lame to his own ears. It was such a stupid first date kind of question.
“It’s just me and Selie,” she responded.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s the Marcia Brady of my life,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “She’s gorgeous, and everything in her life goes pretty much perfectly. She went to the right schools, married the right guy. My niece is positively angelic. Somehow my dear sister manages to ‘have it all.’ You’d love her. Everyone does.”
He let her wind down before he spoke again. “If I ask you something, will you finally give me a straight answer?”