by Cari Quinn
She backed across the bed so fast that she would’ve pitched over the side if he hadn’t reached out to catch her. She batted at his hands, willing her mind to clear. She hadn’t drank that much last night. Why couldn’t she make sense of any of this? “Your idea of a joke isn’t very funny.”
“Do you think I’d joke about being inexperienced? To a woman like you, isn’t admitting that basically the kiss of death?” He blew out a breath and dropped his hands when she stopped flailing. “I pulled it off last night. You didn’t know.” His lips quirked¸ though his gaze remained on the bed. “Told you I had good reason to fear becoming addicted to sex. I can’t get enough of you.”
“Yeah well, don’t get too used to it because—”
He looked up, heartbreaking hope on his face. “Because?” he repeated.
“Because I have no intention of sticking around.” She said it fast and clean, ripping the bandage off the wound. And watched shock fissure that hope right down the middle until his expression blanked out.
“Got it. Message received.” He moved across the bed, swung his legs over the side.
“A virgin,” she whispered, her vision blurring on his muscled back. That single word was the culmination of all her nameless fears. That he would want too much. That she would. That somehow they’d have a dual hallucination that they could develop actual feelings for each other in four freaking days. “How? Why? You were in a long-term relationship—”
“It’s a painfully simple story. I didn’t know Roch didn’t want intimacy beyond kissing and that kind of thing until we’d been together for months. I was already living here then. Taking care of her.” He pushed his hand through his messy dark hair, standing it up in all directions. “All I’ve ever done is take care of people.”
Now it’s your turn. Someone should want to take care of you—and not with money.
Kim shut her eyes and forced the unbidden thought away. “I deflowered a virgin. A twenty-five-year-old fucking virgin.”
He didn’t reply for the longest time. “I’d say that’s redundant but I’m guessing you’re using the word fucking as an adjective.”
Somehow she smiled. Her oddball Michael was back.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. I should’ve been honest about everything but I was concerned you’d take off.”
“That’s the point of telling the truth. Giving someone the option to make their own choice based on the facts.” She sighed heavily. “Two lies in two days, Michael. You ever hear about the three strikes rule? You’re about to be out of the game.”
“No more lies. No more strikes.” He glanced back, his expression so sincere it actually hurt her chest. “I promise.”
“I’m not sure that’s good enough. Or if it even matters.” She crawled forward and slid her arms around him, holstering his torso in case he decided to make a run for it before she’d said her piece. “Pretending I’m someone I’m not will only hurt us both. I’m not the woman you think I am.”
“And obviously I’m not the man.”
Her throat tightened, threatening to close up entirely if she didn’t spit the words out quick. “Is this where I’m supposed to rom-com it up and say we should get to know the people we really are?”
“No.” He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Say you don’t hate me for lying to you. And mean it. Please.” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t stand it if I hurt you.”
“My guess is we’re running neck and neck on hurt levels at the moment.”
“Kim.”
She brushed a kiss over his scruffy jaw. Friends only. That’s all they could be. “I’m not hurt. I’ve told a mistruth a time or two myself, for what I thought were good reasons. Though these were whoppers. And your good reasons only involved sex.”
“Sex with you is worth a lot of lies.” At her censuring look, he nodded. “Yeah. They were.”
She sighed. “I’ll get over wanting to slug you eventually. So no hard feelings.”
“Thank you. Now say you’re not going to go.”
Closing her eyes, she kissed him again. Softer now. Apology and acceptance both. She wasn’t going to lie to him and she wasn’t going to stay. Better just to kiss him, chalk it up to an experience she wasn’t likely to soon forget and move on.
The phone rang and he slid away to answer it, his hand fumbling for hers. She let him link their fingers and listened while he talked to someone, possibly one of his sisters. He asked her questions about an upcoming graduation party—who graduated in November?—and chided her about remembering to send him the bill for something.
Her gaze wandered around the opulent room, landing on the ornate four-poster bed frame before darting to the plush carpeting and antique armoire and bed set. Tangled around them were what had to be eight-hundred-thread-count sheets. She didn’t fit in his world just like he didn’t fit in hers.
When he released her to reach for the pad of paper on the nightstand, she climbed off the bed and went downstairs to get dressed.
She didn’t want to walk out and leave him that way, but staying any longer would send the wrong message. They weren’t dating. They weren’t exactly friends either.
It would be better all the way around if she just let herself out.
She found her panties behind a sofa cushion and pulled them on before unearthing her jeans. Dammit, her hands were shaking. She had to get out of there before she weakened and went back upstairs to, God help her, talk. She’d actually wanted to do that a little while ago. As if discussing this craziness could help them—help her—get a handle on what was happening. The only way to handle it was to walk away. Otherwise one or both of them would end up even more disappointed.
A virgin. God. She’d never get over that one.
She dream walked through the rest of the day. A dream like the one she’d had that morning, more traumatic than a simple reverie. Everywhere she looked she saw his face. Frank Sinatra was playing in the coffee shop. Even in the freaking sanctuary. She ran into the bathroom, leaving the register unmanned—a huge no-no—to avoid hearing Ol’ Blue Eyes croon about witchcraft. She felt too acquainted with spells herself at the moment.
Maybe that was the explanation. She’d been spelled. Transfixed somehow. There was no way a kid virgin who worked for her younger brother could’ve embedded himself inside her so fast. It didn’t work that way. Not for her. Not anymore.
She was no longer the girl who fell without a safety net. She didn’t need one. Her safety net was that she didn’t fall at all.
And then her car threatened not to start after lunch. She slammed a hand on the wheel and blew out a breath. Freaking fantastic. This sucker was getting traded in by the end of the year.
After doing some quick math in her head, she swiftly moved on from that idea. Okay, maybe not.
She actually debated calling another shop then decided she wasn’t that much of a coward. Yet. Surely she could avoid him.
At least in reality if not in her own head.
Michael went to work because he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t sit at home thinking about what had happened and besides, he had a job to do. It was snowing again, which meant a long morning of fender benders and minor vehicle issues. Him and Bob and a couple of the other guys were so busy that half the day had passed before he had another chance to think of Kim.
And then he had no choice, when she showed up in front of him.
She didn’t see him right away because she was chatting with the other guys, offering them soup in a thermos and wrapped sandwiches. Michael continued filling out the inventory report he’d stopped and started ten times already, not joining in on the laughter and joking around as he normally would have. He caught Bob shooting him a few strange looks, probably wondering why he’d turned uncharacteristically silent, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Kim had dealt with him enough for one day. He wouldn’t make it uncomfortable for her to visit her brother’s shop.
He didn’t join the conversation until he caught snippets a
bout “still has a sluggish start” and “maybe time to trade the old junker in”. His gaze zeroed in on her where she stood in one of the bays next to a vintage Mustang, her hip pressed against the driver’s door while she talked to Brad. Her brother had half his upper body under the hood of the ’Stang and he seemed to laugh every other minute. Come to think of it, he’d been laughing a lot for the last few days. He was pretty much the only one who was, since everyone else kept bitching about the snow and the cold and how many days until spring.
Michael set down his pen, waiting for an opening into her conversation. He tried to be patient but the next time she said “running rough” he gave up on subtlety.
“What’s wrong with the car?” he asked, wiping his hands on the rag at his hip more for something to do than out of genuine need. She set all of his nerves on edge, especially when she raised those butter caramel eyes and pinned him in her stare. “I overheard something about it starting sluggish?”
“It’s running okay, I guess, it’s just not as smooth as it was back—”
“Back when you bought it?” Brad teased, grabbing a wrench and slipping back under the hood.
“Wise ass. No, even last month.”
“You think I didn’t fix it right?” Michael hated the accusation in his tone. “I’m happy to give it another look.”
“Maybe you missed something.” She lifted a shoulder. “It happens.”
She sounded entirely too blasé. He wished he could be that relaxed but after her second disappearing act that morning, adding this to the mix was too much. “It shouldn’t happen. If you bring in a car for service, afterward it needs to run better than it did before it broke down. That’s how you keep customers.”
Brad poked his head out from under the hood. “You do realize she’s not going anywhere else to get serviced, right?”
Yet again his cheeks heated. Christ. Somehow he needed to get that under control. “That’s not the point. Every customer deserves special treatment.”
Kim lifted a brow. “Way to brownnose the boss.”
“That’s not why—I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, and it’s about to pay off. Well, in exceptional roast beef if nothing else.” Brad grinned and exchanged his wrench for a smaller one. “What do you say about coming over for dinner? Sara would love to have you. You know I’ve been threatening to have you over for a while,” he added over Michael’s halfhearted protests. “Tonight’s as good a night as any.”
“No, it absolutely is not. Tonight you’re going to tell me about…” She glanced at Michael and pursed her lips before returning her gaze to her brother. “You know, the thing. The thing I’ve been waiting to hear about for days. If you make me wait any longer, I may kill you.”
Brad laughed and reached for his own rag. Michael had long ago shoved his back in his waistband and tucked his hands in his back pockets instead. At least that way he couldn’t fist and unfist his hands while he tried to play it cool in front of Kim.
Lost cause all the way around.
“No one said you had to wait any longer. Michael can hear our news. You know shop family is family.”
“Listen, I appreciate the invitation—”
“No, real family comes first when you’re about to upend my world and act like it’s all going to be roses for me like it is for you.” The instant the words were out, she shut her eyes and shook her head. “No. That came out wrong. God, I’m sorry.” She huffed out a breath and flicked a glance at Michael. “If he wants you at dinner, come to dinner.”
“That easy, huh?” Michael asked quietly.
“That easy.” She tore her gaze from his and focused on her brother. “You know I’m happy for you, whatever it is. I adore you both, you know that.”
“I do.” Brad grinned and ruffled Kim’s hair as if she were the kid sibling rather than the other way around. “You’re just pulling a Kim. Same thing since childhood, Kiminator. Always had to try to steal my thunder and make it your show.”
Michael watched her stagger under the blow, though she didn’t react visibly. How still she became said it all. Even her breathing slowed.
“Yeah. That’s me. Thunder stealer.”
It didn’t matter that Michael didn’t know what they were talking about. All he knew was that he had to staunch the bleeding.
He took a step forward and she shot him a sharp, incredulous look. “Michael,” she said in an undertone, some kind of warning he didn’t understand and didn’t care to obey. She wasn’t involved with him, fine, but that didn’t mean he’d stand idly by and let anyone hurt her—even her brother.
Brad, however, appeared oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “So it’s settled. Michael will stop over for dinner and take a look at your car if you’ll give him another shot under your hood.”
“Sure.” Michael wasn’t touching that one with an eight-inch pole. She’d made her opinion on that score brutally clear that morning when she’d walked out of his place without a goodbye.
“Sure? Just sure, all sweet and natural.” She shook her head. “Fine. Look under my car hood,” she enunciated so distinctly that Michael couldn’t hold back a grin. “And that’s all,” she mouthed as she passed him, brushing against him in a manner similar to that first night after Rand’s class.
Only a handful of nights ago. How did lives change in so few hours when so many weeks and months went by with no change at all?
That same question played on a continuous loop in his head throughout the afternoon. It echoed in his thoughts while he dressed in casual trousers and a shirt and tie then ventured out to the local liquor store to buy yet another bottle of wine. He deliberately bought the one he’d purchased yesterday, hoping she’d recognize the flavor. If that triggered any other memories, even better.
He grimaced, reliving that morning yet again. Preferably she’d get so wrapped up in the good stuff—the very good stuff—she’d forget his lies.
Sometimes all a guy had was hope.
He rang the bell and stepped back to study the wide front porch covered in a fresh layer of new snow. It was a cozy place, so much different than Roch’s. He still didn’t fully think of it as his own, though Roch had been gone a while. He’d tried to make it as homey as possible, bringing in another shelter cat to join Roch’s Moose, and adding mementoes and other things that reminded him of his family, but there was only so much he could do. Museum-sized houses were hard to make homes.
And then there was the fact he lived alone. He’d grown up sardine-crammed into an apartment that would’ve fit four comfortably. Eleven and then ten living there after his dad died made the place almost uninhabitable yet somehow they’d made do. Going from there to Roch’s had been a wonderful respite—at first. Then the noises of the house settling had started to get to him. He’d had the fire running all the time back then, even in summer, just to have some sound. Roch’s collection of classic music had helped too. He’d learned to appreciate Elvis and Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank.
He shifted on the mat as footsteps approached on the other side of the door. Yeah, Frank would always hold a special spot in his heart.
A willowy brunette with long, swingy hair opened the door and beamed. “Hi there, Michael, is it? I’m Sara, Brad’s—” She broke off and shrugged, her smile widening. “Well then. Come in please.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Sara.” He held out a hand and she pulled him into a hug, causing him to laugh. “I can see all of the great things I’ve heard about you are true.”
“Clearly that payoff plan I instituted to get them to lie is working.” She grinned and accepted the wine he held out. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s no trouble.”
Heels clicked sharply on the hallway floor. “Oh, Sar, stop groping the guy. He’ll get confused about what kind of place this is.” Tossing the hair Kim had left down in glossy dark waves, she sailed past them and stopped outside of a sunken living room. “Evening, Michael. We’re in the dining room.”
“You know Kim too, right?” Sara asked once Kim had gone. “Brad said he thought you were acquainted.”
“Yes, we know each other.” He cleared his throat and tried to shake the image of Kim in a backless white dress from his mind. What the hell kind of bra did she wear in a dress like that?
None, you idiot. She’s half-naked under there.
Had she not remembered he was coming over? Or better, had she dressed that way purposefully to make him want her? If so, she needn’t have bothered. Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her—first by the side of the road then in Rand’s class—he hadn’t been able to keep her from his thoughts. She blurred out the edges of everything around her until she became all that mattered.
“Michael?” Sara asked, touching his arm.
“Yes, sorry. Did you say something?”
“I asked if you would like a drink. Brad’s making cocktails.”
Michael considered for half a minute then decided what the hell. When in Fairdale… “Sure. I don’t drink enough to know what to ask for but tell him to make me one of whatever he’s having.”
“Oh, he doesn’t drink cocktails either. He’s having a beer. The cocktails are for Kim.”
“I’ll have a beer too.” He leaned toward Sara and murmured close to her ear as they walked into the living room. “Will the cocktails sweeten her up?”
Even as he asked the question, he felt a little guilty, but it was fun to share the private joke with Sara. He didn’t begrudge Kim being annoyed with him. After his lies, he deserved that. But he also thought he deserved for her to listen to him long enough to have a real conversation about what had happened. He’d wanted to apologize further, to ask her if it was possible for them to try to just…be together for a little while before they went their separate ways. Not necessarily as a couple if that freaked her out too much. Just friends who were a bit closer than that. He liked her and he wasn’t ready for her to leave his life yet.
Sara laughed and linked her arm with his. “The way Brad makes them, they’d sweeten up Hannibal Lecter.”
“Huh, maybe I should’ve tried one then.”