by Lily Maxton
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For Josh, always
Chapter One
I was a failure. Officially. The evidence couldn’t have been more obvious if it had punched me in the face—Friday night at a Halloween contest for pets. I didn’t even have a pet. I was here because my roommate had entered the contest, and I didn’t have anything better to do than tag along.
And if that red flag wasn’t enough, a dog had just stuck its slobbery nose up my backside. I shouldn’t have worn a flirty, short skirt; the hem lifted and air brushed the part of my leg where the upper thigh curved; maybe more important, I shouldn’t have worn a thong with the skirt. It wasn’t one of my brighter moments.
But what I’d been thinking was this: my boyfriend and I were supposed to go on our first real date in weeks, and even though it wasn’t the kind of thing I would normally do, I thought he’d appreciate both the skirt and the thong.
He’d canceled.
Now the only one appreciating it was the dog, whose moist breath I could feel against my bare ass.
This was why I avoided impulsive moments. Impulse and I just didn’t get along. And I didn’t even like wearing thongs. Whose idea was it to stick fabric between someone’s butt cheeks and call it underwear?
It was unnatural. And I was paying for the travesty.
I reached behind me, my hand landing not on the dog’s thick, furry skull but on some sort of plastic helmet. I gave it a fierce shove and the dog whined. Like I was being really cruel for dislodging its nose from my crotch. But my skirt didn’t fall to cover me. The hem had somehow gotten stuck in the top band of my underwear. How had the stupid mutt managed that?
I yanked the fabric back into its proper position and turned slowly, hoping that no one stood behind me, but half expecting the entire population of the park to be pointing and laughing. Was it too much to ask that the earth crack open and swallow me into its fiery depths before I died from mortification?
When I faced the park, there was no crowd gathered, but I didn’t manage to walk away unscathed. A small group of people were gathered around a nearby park bench, and a man jogged over from their direction. I glanced past him to the others, but they were deep in their own conversation and didn’t notice me.
He stopped in front of me and knelt to pick up the leash that trailed on the ground.
I stared down at his head. He looked young. He might have been attractive but it was difficult to tell at this angle. He had on dark jeans and a well-fitted black T-shirt.
Earth, now would be a good time.
“Sorry,” he said. “Vader got away from me.”
A German shepherd stood at my feet with a lopsided grin and tongue lolling out. He sported a Darth Vader helmet and cape and was wagging his tail as his wet doggy eyes stared up at me like he’d done something praiseworthy.
The creature was beyond evil. Horns and a pointy tail would have been a more accurate costume.
And then I looked back to the owner to observe him more closely. It was a mistake. Now that he was standing and I could see him straight on, I could tell that he was sort of cute. And that just made everything worse. His brown hair glinted with reddish highlights, ending past his ears with a curl. His face was longish with high cheekbones and a straight nose that had a slight bump on the bridge. Light blue eyes held mine steadily.
I looked down; that was a bigger mistake. My gaze fell on his mouth.
His lips. I swallowed. They were full, curved, sensual, and right now they were tilted in an apologetic smile.
Which meant, most likely, he’d glimpsed some or all of my butt, possibly even my lacy red thong.
Hot lips or not, my body heated with embarrassment that quickly morphed to anger. It was my coping mechanism for shame—probably not a good one. Even though it was warm for mid-October, I pulled my jacket tighter around my torso, my arms wrapping around my chest.
“Keep track of your stupid dog,” I snapped.
He patted the dog’s side like I might have hurt its feelings. “He just does that sometimes. I guess he thinks he’s being friendly.”
That was it then. He’d seen the whole thing—the whole thing. I actually felt vaguely nauseous.
Why was this happening to me? Why did it have to be a young, attractive male? The only young, attractive male who should have seen my thonged ass was my boyfriend. Not to be perverted or anything, but I’d rather have an old lady check out my butt than this guy.
“That’s great,” I said, taking refuge in sarcasm. “I hope lots of strange dogs want to be friends with you. You’ll see how fun it is to have their nose up your…” I didn’t finish that statement—the word got stuck in my throat and I could feel my face burn.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I noticed his lips were pressed together, like he was trying not to smile. Or laugh. “It’s not a big deal.”
I hadn’t realized my mortification was so hilarious. If looks could kill, the glare I shot him then would have made his face melt off his skull, like something from an Indiana Jones movie. At my level of pissed-off-ness it was hard to be clever. “That’s great,” I said. Again.
But at least I said it in a really seething way.
He actually did laugh then, a little huff of amusement that made me want to disappear off the face of the planet. He started to say something, but I brushed past him and he fell silent.
I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Of course, that meant turning my backside to him again. Surreptitiously, I ran my hands down my hips to make sure the skirt covered everything it was supposed to cover. And then, with long strides, I crossed the mulch path to find my roommate.
As I diverted from the trail, my flats crunched over fallen leaves, and I took cover behind an oak tree. I leaned against the trunk and looked up through withered branches that were barren and vulnerable without their autumn crown. The sky through the limbs was just starting to darken toward twilight.
“Oh my God,” I muttered, pressing my palms against my face. My skin felt overheated.
“Dani?”
It was my roommate’s voice. She veered toward me with a hefty costumed cat reclining in her arms. Her eyebrows were drawn together, forming wrinkles along her forehead. “You okay? Where did you run off to?”
I pushed away from the tree; the bark scratched against my hands. “I’m fine,” I said. “I wanted to get a better view of the sunset.”
There was a clearing in the park that pointed west, away from the trees and the farther-off concrete, metal, and glass of the city toward the open sky—the clearing where Darth Vader and Hot Lips had been waiting to ambush me. Every sunrise and sunset was a little bit different. I liked to think about what colors I would mix to come up with the perfect pinks, lavenders, oranges, and reds for each unique one.
“How was it?”
I lifted my shoulders. “Brief.” Mortifying, I added silently. I should have just stayed home in my frumpiest pair of flannel pajamas. Nothing awkward ever happened to people who stayed home in their frumpy pajamas.
“That’s too bad,” she said.
Alyssa had been an art m
ajor at the same college I’d attended. But she’d been more practical (one of the three words I would use to describe her most prominent traits if anyone asked, along with efficient and blunt) and done a concentration in graphic design. Now she had an entry-level job at a marketing firm. Graphic design was a lot more applicable than painting.
Not to say that I wasn’t practical. But I loved painting more than anything else—majoring in it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
“I might take off, if you don’t care.”
“Do you want a ride?” she asked.
“I’ll take the L.”
Alyssa lifted her flat-faced cat, Princess, who sported an expression like she’d just eaten a smorgasbord of mice and was thoroughly satisfied. On her head sat a fake gold tiara spotted with paste-on jewels; her front paws peeked out from puffed sleeves. “She won second place!”
“Yeah?” I said, noticing the second place ribbon they’d hung over her neck, like the kind students won at the science fair. “Congratulations. Who got first?”
She pointed across the park. “The tiger.”
I followed the direction of her gesture, where a big dog slept in the grass next to a wrought iron bench. Its owner had painted orange and black stripes all along its body and face. “Is that allowed?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. But I think Princess is much prettier, aren’t you, baby?” She nuzzled the cat’s face, and it responded with a deep-throated purr.
That was my cue to leave. I always thought it was a little weird when people cooed over their pets. At least Alyssa hadn’t started calling herself Princess’s mom. Yet.
“I’ll see you later.”
The ride on the train was a long one, the hum of distant conversations filling my ears. I managed to get a seat and kept my forehead pressed against the cool window as my eyes watched the reflection of the other riders in the glass. They all had places to be on a Friday night, most likely. Or people to be with.
I assumed most of them were going out. Not going home.
I wondered what Drew and I would be doing if he hadn’t canceled. Probably watching a movie or eating at one of the restaurants we liked. Drew and I had similar taste: in food, in movies, in music. He wasn’t as interested in art as I was, but it had never bothered me before. Everything else just fell into place naturally. Things were easy between us.
Or they had been. Drew’s father had given him a management job at SLQ, the actuarial consulting company he’d cofounded, right after college. Drew’s parents were divorced, and he’d never had much of a relationship with his father. So when his dad offered him the job, he accepted it as a chance to get closer to him.
Drew had started out near fifty hours a week, but he’d reassured me his hours would dwindle once he got the hang of things. But so far, his workload just kept increasing. And I saw less and less of him.
Which meant I was alone more and more.
Solitude didn’t bother me. Sometimes in college I’d holed up for days working on an art project, emerging from my den like a hibernating bear on the first day of spring only after the project was complete. But I’d had purpose then. It was more difficult to be alone when you felt aimless.
And when you didn’t know if the distance between you and your boyfriend was permanent or temporary.
Once I was back in the small apartment I shared with Alyssa—one bedroom, which was hers; I slept on the pull-out couch in the living room because I wasn’t paying rent—I flopped down in the recliner and flipped on the television. Mindless TV watching was a good distraction; one I’d been using a little too often of late.
Titanic was on. With commercials.
And even though I owned the DVD and knew watching any movie that long on network television was a waste of time, it was ridiculously easy to be drawn into the whirlwind romance. And the dresses. The dresses were gorgeous.
I would have watched all five hours of it, but at some point as the ship and its passengers met their icy fate, I fell asleep.
Alyssa must have switched off the TV when she came home because I woke up in the morning to a black screen and sunlight slanting through the window.
*
“How have you demonstrated your leadership in the past?”
What kind of question was that? They all asked it. I didn’t really see what leadership had to do with a secretarial position at an art gallery since the only thing I would be leading would be my eyeballs to read e-mails and sign for shipments.
I folded my hands in my lap, straightening in the chair that hugged a round white table. The truth was I didn’t have any leadership experience. I’d had exactly two extracurricular activities in college—the art club and a marketing internship. In art club, all we did was paint sets for the Theater Department. But even during the internship I hadn’t been in charge of anyone; I’d sat at my desk and added photos to the company’s website.
I smiled at the director in her crisp, button-down suit. Or tried to smile. Nerves made my stomach roil, so my curled lips must have looked more sickly than cheerful. “Whenever there were group projects for my college courses, I tended to take the leadership position,” I said after a deep breath and a quick survey of my scattered thoughts. “I felt that everyone was at their most efficient when there were clearly defined goals and a division of labor. Everything also tended to run more smoothly when I would set deadlines for everyone’s individual tasks. I like to think of leadership as being a motivator.”
Not bad. Complete bullshit. But not bad.
I just hoped Ms. Director (I’d already blanked on her name) couldn’t tell it was complete bullshit.
She nodded, her face smooth. The woman wasn’t going to give me a clue about what she thought of my answer. My palms felt clammy, so I rubbed them on my skirt and then balled my hands into fists and rested them on my knees.
“Why do you want this job, Ms. Meyer?”
Because I want a paycheck.
“I majored in art,” I said, “so working at a gallery like this one would be my dream.” Actually, at the moment, working anywhere I didn’t ask “Do you want fries with that?” sounded good enough. “I’m very meticulous and organized, so secretarial work is perfect for me. But just being a part of the community of art lovers here would be fulfilling. When my family and I would make trips to the city, we’d visit this gallery because it’s one of my favorites. It always has a great selection, and I love the architecture of the building.”
Bullshit, again. I didn’t like this gallery any better than any of the other ones I’d visited. In fact, the workers at this one seemed a little snobby. It wasn’t my first choice, but there was that saying about beggars I’d taken to heart.
Another stone-faced nod.
“Why do you want to work here?”
Hadn’t I already answered that? I plastered a smile on my face and talked about the great benefits. My interviewer kind of scared me. Her lips never broke into a smile, and her dark hair was pinned back so severely her forehead stretched to an unnatural angle. I’d thought art people were supposed to be whimsical. This one reminded me of the wicked witch.
She didn’t respond to my answer. She simply moved to the next question.
“Okay, Ms. Meyer, how would you rate me as an interviewer?”
My hand clenched in my skirt. Was this a trick question?
I’d hesitated too long. Her finely plucked eyebrow began a slow arch upward. I opened my mouth. “You asked good questions,” I finally said, lamely. “I’d give you a very high rating.”
*
“I don’t think it went well,” I told Drew, dropping the lemon wedge into a tall glass of iced tea. My tenth interview in the past few months, and it was another dead end.
We sat across from each other in a booth at a local café, where they managed to be a little more upscale than fast food by bringing the meal to your table when it was ready, even though you still ordered at the counter. They were known for their grilled sandwiches. Usually they ca
me with fries, but I’d ordered a side salad to make up for the surge of microwave TV dinners I’d been eating.
The walls in the café were painted a calming blue and decorated with vintage-style photos. Our booth had an Eiffel Tower shot.
A lunch date was all Drew had time for anymore.
His phone beeped. He checked it and then slid it back into his pocket before answering. “Did you really want to work as a secretary?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
“You’ll have to find something else.”
I nearly rolled my eyes. “I know. It’s not that easy.” Not everyone had a father who could place their son at a high-level job.
I didn’t say that. It sounded a little bitter. Okay, a lot bitter.
“Why don’t you apply at SLQ?” he asked. “I could put in a good word for you with human resources.”
I shook my head. “What would I do? I’m probably not even qualified for anything.”
“There are a few lower-level jobs. Some that require a high school diploma and no experience. You could see if one of those has an opening.”
“I’ll think about it.” I sighed. “I shouldn’t have majored in art—how does that translate to a career?”
“It doesn’t.” He grinned. “But you knew that; that’s not why you picked it.”
No, I picked it because I’d never felt as perfectly right as I did when I was in front of a canvas. But now my easel stood in the dark corner of a closet, behind the clothes in the back that I didn’t wear. Every time I reached for my paintbrushes a twisting, consuming fear clutched at my chest.
I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him I hadn’t painted a thing since graduation, but a shrill beep cut me off.
I watched Drew pull out his phone again, his fingers flying over the screen. I suddenly felt a gulf between us, starker and deeper than I’d realized. I remembered how it had been before—we’d started dating our senior year of college. Drew and I had sat next to each other in biology. I didn’t usually approach new people, but he’d started a conversation with me one day.
And though I had only a handful of friends, Drew had become one of them pretty quickly. We’d joked about our professor, who gave really long, dry lectures and whose specialty was a rare lizard in the Southwest. We’d talked about our favorite movies and music and discovered how much we had in common.