by Julia London
“Nothing.”
“It’s clearly something.”
He shrugged, tried to keep the smile from his face. “I was just thinking of the time we were in Aruba, and you dove off the boat—”
“Shut up!” she exclaimed, turning red. “You’re not supposed to remember that.”
“Oh, I remember,” he said, nodding. “A full moon rising is hard to—”
“I can’t help that a rogue wave took one-half of my bathing suit away.”
“A rogue wave? Like a tsunami, or what?”
“A wave. I told you it was a wave.”
“I think it was just sloppy diving,” he said with a grin.
She gave a snort of laughter and didn’t try to deny it.
“That was some fine rope work out there,” he said.
She paused in the drinking of a long draw of water. “Are you kidding? I almost killed myself?”
“Maybe so—but you looked good doing it.”
“Hey, Austin Powers!” a woman called, and when Michael glanced over his shoulder, he saw Jill, jogging by on her way to the tuck-and-roll clinic. “Where’s your groovy sidekick?” she asked, and then laughed loudly, as if that was the funniest thing that had ever been uttered by a human being.
Unfortunately, so did Leah.
Michael sighed wearily.
Leah screwed the lid on the bottle and looked at him with sparkling blue eyes. “So, Austin . . . I had a call last night,” she said, pushing her hair off her shoulder. “Imagine, Mini-Me calling me out of the clear blue.”
“Imagine,” Michael said with a wry smile.
“All right, so maybe you aren’t as delusional as I thought,” she said. “Maybe you really were a spy—oops, I mean operations officer.”
“Senior operations officer,” he corrected her with a bow of his head. “So you believe me?”
She shrugged. “I can’t help but believe you—I can’t for the life of me imagine why three grown men would make up such a stupid lie.”
Michael grinned broadly. He had just cleared the first major hurdle. “That is about the best news I’ve heard in years.”
“But now you’ve got that little secret off your chest, we can put the whole thing behind us, right?” she said, sweeping one arm behind her. “We’ll just be civil, like we said. Right?”
No, not right, not even remotely right, but he thought the better of making his case at the moment and merely nodded. “If that’s how you want it. Civil.”
Her smile faded. “That’s not how I want it. But that’s how I can live with it,” she said softly.
That stung, and Michael didn’t know what to say to it.
“I better get back to work,” Leah said, and ducked out of the tent before he could think what to say.
He watched her walk away, her hips swinging just the way he remembered them. He had a peculiar discomfort in his chest, like he needed a drink, or a smoke—and he didn’t smoke.
Jesus, this wasn’t him, this guy who wanted to smoke or squeeze the life out of something. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had gotten away from him as fast as Leah had just done. But he damn sure could remember what it felt like when a female was repulsed by him, and he didn’t like the feeling that gave him in the least.
Leah’s aversion to him was enough to make most grown men bow out, to turn around and walk the other way. But it was having a curious effect on him. He was now more determined than ever to win her over—he just needed a better angle. Plan A, in which he had envisioned telling her the truth and watching his second chance at happiness fall into his lap, had been a total bust.
Therefore, it was time to move to Plan B. He’d have to get right on that and come up with a plan.
But luck was with Michael, because he inadvertently got a Plan A-and-a-half later that afternoon, an hour or so after the women were released for the day. He’d stayed behind to talk to the guys about some budget problems that were cropping up, and they hung out for a while, running through some contingency plans. When Michael left, the guys were still talking about something the women had done that day that baffled them, but personally, he didn’t want to rehash it—he had other things on his mind.
As he walked out to his car he noticed that, along with the autos of a few production staff stragglers, Leah’s clunky old Escort was still at the far end of the lot. The hood was up, and beneath the hood, bent at the waist, wearing a denim skirt and a small T-shirt that didn’t quite cover her belly, was Leah.
Michael stopped, glanced heavenward, and grinned at the opportunity that had just been handed to him on a silver platter.
He strolled up to her car, unnoticed by her, primarily because she was talking on her cell phone and poking around under the hood. “Stupid-ass car,” she muttered, and bent her head at a funny angle, trying to see something beneath a couple of cables. “Okay, I see the thingie you’re talking about. I think,” she said, and paused, listening to the person on the other end. After a moment, she said, “I hope you are right, because, dude, there is no way I can afford the cab fare home—huh? The what? Hey, wait,” she said, and grabbed something deep in the bowels of the engine and made a strange grunting noise. “I wonder if it’s this thing?”
“Maybe I can help,” Michael said.
She came up so fast at the sound of his voice that she banged her head on the open hood with a thump. “Shit!” she hissed, and emerged from beneath the hood, one hand on the top of her head where she had banged herself, the other still holding the phone. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him. “Oh. Michael,” she said, her voice gone flat, and repeated into the cell phone, “Michael. Just a guy I used to know.”
Ouch. “Looks like you could use some help.”
“No, I’m—huh? No, Brad, it’s too much of an imposition,” she said to the phone, dragging her fingers through her hair. “He’s too busy and too . . .” —she glanced at Michael from the corner of her eye, her gaze flicking the full length of him— “nicelydressed,” she muttered softly.
Michael ignored her and moved so he could see under the hood. He could smell a mix of sweet soap and perfume as he stood beside her, and wished to heaven that his body wouldn’t react so quickly to just a scent. “I can take a look,” he said, and leaned over the engine, bracing his hands against the frame of the car.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to help.”
Leah sighed. “Okay, he’s looking,” she said into her phone.
Michael had no idea who this guy Brad was, but he wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. Fortunately, he instantly spotted Leah’s problem—a battery cable was loose. A good guy would fix it in about a nanosecond and send her on her way. Too bad for Leah, because he wasn’t a good guy—he damn sure wasn’t going to fix her car and send her off to Brad. So he didn’t say a word, just poked around, inspecting the most obvious parts, and then finally straightened up and sighed deeply.
Leah was standing completely still, like a statue, staring at him and holding the phone to her ear.
“You have a problem,” he lied solemnly.
“He says I have a problem,” Leah quickly repeated, her eyes widening with terror. “Okay,” she said, nodding in response to whatever Brad had said. “Just a second.” She lowered the cell a minute. “What is it?”
He made a grim face and looked down at his hands. “Do you have something I could wipe my hands with?”
Leah instantly dipped down and retrieved the backpack she had left leaning up against the tire of her car. She dug inside, pulled out a bandana, and thrust it at him.
Michael took the bandana and methodically wiped his hands. Leah’s gaze never left him, watching him closely, as if she expected him to total the car on the spot. Which, if it were up to him, he’d do in a moment. Leah deserved to be driving something better than this piece of shit. “It’s the distributor cap.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding.
“It’s cracked.” He winced sympathetically.
/> Leah frowned and looked at her car. “It is? I could have sworn I just had that checked.”
“Had what checked?”
“You know,” she said, waving her hand. “Caps and all that stuff—oh,” she added, obviously getting another message from Brad. Her brows dipped into a V. She squinted at the engine, then at Michael. “But I thought you checked that sort of thing—oh. Oh,” she said again, her frown turning into a painful wince as Brad obviously explained to her what it meant if her distributor cap was cracked. “Oh. My. God! You have got to be kidding!” she cried into the phone and threw her head back, eyes closed, one palm pressed against her forehead. She groaned, “This is the worst news ever.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” Michael offered.
Leah instantly straightened and shook her head. “No, no, that’s okay. Brad will come and . . .” Her face fell. “Oh,” she said softly. “Right, right, I forgot. No, it’s okay. Really. Not a problem. I’ll get home. You go do your thing and good luck. Okay, later,” she said, and clicked off her phone. She tossed it into her backpack, then stood with her hands on her hips, frowning at Michael.
“Problem?” he asked, trying to hide the delight in his voice.
“Brad has a meeting with his agent he can’t miss.”
“That means you’re stuck with me. Good news.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Hey, girl, I already said I’d give you a ride. You don’t need to try and flatter me.”
“I’m not trying to— Oh!” she cried with frustration and glared at her car. “Stupid, stupid car!” she exclaimed and then glanced at Michael again. Then she suddenly whirled around, scanning the cars that were left. “Isn’t there anyone else here?” she cried. “One of the girls, maybe? All I need is a ride to a bus stop—”
“Okay, now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Michael said. “Leah, it’s just a ride. That’s it. I will take you where you need to go, and you can call someone to come haul this away while you’re working.”
“But how will I get to work?” she asked the sky, arms fully extended. Before Michael could open his mouth to offer, Leah lifted a finger. “Ha! I’ll call Trudy. She owes me.”
“Okay, great. That’s settled. Shall we proceed with said ride and get it over with?” She slanted a look at him. He shrugged. “Just following your lead.”
Leah actually smiled a little. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.”
“I’m just over there,” he said, and pointed to his bronze T-bird convertible.
Leah turned to look where he pointed, and her shoulders instantly sagged. “You drive a T-bird?” she exclaimed. “I want a T-bird. I have wanted the blue T-bird for at least a hundred years. How is it fair that you have that car and I don’t?”
“Come check it out.”
Clearly defeated, she nodded. Michael picked up her backpack, but she instantly took it from him, her fingers brushing his, and shoved the pack over her shoulder. She pivoted away from him and locked the driver’s door.
“Your passenger window is down,” he pointed out.
“It’s broken.”
He didn’t see any point in locking the one good door, but he said nothing.
They walked across the lot together—a good two feet between them that felt like an ocean—to the passenger side of his car. He’d left the top down, so Leah leaned over the door like she was leaning over the ledge of a cliff and looked inside the interior. “Wow,” she said reverently. “It’s even nicer than I thought.”
“You’ll love the way it rides,” he said, and opened the passenger door for her. Leah slipped into the seat, one leg after the other, pushed her backpack to the floor between her feet, and yanked at her skirt before folding her hands primly in her lap.
That simple gesture reminded him of another moment so long ago; the day she had found out she’d been given a part in the play, Marty’s Sister’s Lover. She’d sat on his couch, her smile brilliant, her hands clasped together in her lap so tightly that he’d had the sense she was trying to contain her absolute glee at having won the part.
“You’re excited,” he’d said.
“I’ve never been this excited in my life. Well . . . except for Saturday night,” she’d added with a salacious little wink.
With that memory in his mind’s eye, Michael shut the passenger door and strode around to the driver’s side.
He started the ignition; 4 Doors Around, the music on his MP3 started up, and he reached to turn it down.
“Hey!” Leah cried, stopping him with a hand to his wrist. Michael froze, looked at the slender hand on his wrist. “Is that 4 Doors Around?”
“Yeah—you know them?”
“Know them? I love them,” she said, looking at him. “How did you know?”
Her question confused him for a moment, but then he realized she thought he’d played it for her. He resisted the urge to take full credit for doing exactly that—but there had been enough lies between them. “I didn’t,” he answered honestly. “I just happen to like them, too.”
“Oh.” She actually looked disappointed. Her hand slid away from his wrist, back to her lap. “That’s really . . . another very weird coincidence.”
“Not so weird,” he said quietly. “We always liked the same music, remember?”
Leah looked straight ahead.
“Ramona Priest. Radioslave. Borrowed Time,” he reminded her.
“The soundtrack to The September Affair,” she added so softly he could barely hear her.
“Excuse me?”
“You remember? The movie you slept through?”
“Like I could ever forget that,” he said with a chuckle. “You played it nonstop for weeks to punish me.”
“I did not,” she said, lifting her head and smiling at him. “It was just a couple of days. You’re exaggerating.”
“I don’t exaggerate. It was at least a week,” Michael said, and smiled as he reached across the console, absently stroked the back of her hand with his finger. “Do you still like martinis?”
Leah’s smile faded. “Michael . . .”
He removed his hand. “Civil. I swear to God, civil. But where’s the harm in a drink?” he asked quickly before she could refuse him. “That’s what civil acquaintances do. They have drinks, they talk, they catch up with each other.”
“Except that we’re not exactly civil acquaintances,” she reminded him.
“We’re more than that,” he said, feeling, strangely, a little desperate.
She shrugged.
“Come on, Leah. You’re just as curious about me as I am about you, and don’t try to deny it. It’s written all over your face.” He waited, hoping his ploy would work.
For some reason, of all the things he’d said, that made Leah smile. “Okay, I won’t deny it. But just so we’re clear here, Lucy is far more curious about you than I am, and I have a duty to report.”
“Oh my God. Good ol’ Lucy, huh?”
“Yes, Lucy,” she responded, her voice full of warning.
He remembered Leah’s best friend, a brash and funny redhead who was totally into Leah’s business. Neck deep. Michael chuckled and shook his head. “I swear I can’t win. So how is the old girl?”
“About to get married, if you can believe it,” Leah said with a funny shake of her head. “I never thought I’d see the day Lucy got married.”
“Christ, me either,” Michael agreed as he backed out of his spot. “I always had her pegged for the man-eating type.”
“She is the man-eating type. So where are we going? No place too dressy, okay? I don’t want to sit there feeling more like a geek than I already do.”
Thank you God. That was one small victory that had him feeling just one step away from dancing on the hood of his car. But Michael played it cool as he put the car in drive. “There’s a great place on Montana Avenue—very casual, very laid back,” he said, and pointed the car in that direction.
Chapter Ten
LEAH had always suspecte
d she had an unnatural tolerance for suffering. One need only look at her history to see it—foregoing the education her parents would have given her and struggling to put herself through school. Collapsing completely when Michael had dumped her. Subjecting herself to auditions over and over again, only to be told she was too fat or too tall or too blond. And now, hurtling up the 405 with the one man on Planet Earth she never wanted to see or speak to again.
But dammit, he was so good-looking and so earnest, and he smelled so good, just like she remembered, that it had been impossible to say no. But she was on to him—whatever he thought would come out of it, it would be nothing.
They chatted—civilly—about the film as they drove, and while Leah was managing to answer his questions—yes, she did scale the wall today, and no they hadn’t started blocking the three battle scenes—all she could think of was how crazy she was, how absolutely stupid to think anything good could come of this, and how Lucy was going to absolutely howl when she told her. Only Lucy would be howling with laughter. Leah just hoped she would be able to howl along with her.
And what the hell was he doing in a T-bird, the car she was supposed to have? She couldn’t help but imagine that if they had managed to stay together back then, she’d be living in some great place in Brentwood, driving the T-bird, owning tons of great shoes, and hosting dinner parties for big-cheese studio execs.
But they hadn’t managed to stay together, which made this ride even more insane.
Then again, just to play devil’s advocate—and because she was into suffering, remember—could it really hurt so much to have a chat for old times’ sake? Because really, once her mind and heart had gotten over the shock of seeing him again and had absorbed the fact that she really was talking to him after all these years, and that he had the T-bird and she didn’t, it didn’t hurt as bad as it had way back then. Now, it was more of a dull, vague ache than the open, gaping wound like the days and weeks and months after he dumped her.
At the great place Michael knew, they sat outside on cushy chairs and ordered martinis. The conversation was a little stilted at first—he asked about her family, she said they were fine. Then without thinking, she asked about his family, and there was an awkward silence.