Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  It’s what she would do if she were trying to gain a man’s attention—be present, around. It’s how she’d grabbed Jason’s attention. Affection had soon followed.

  Not that she wanted Elliott’s affections per se.

  The image of his lips joined the memory of his breath, warming and tickling her skin. She rubbed her neck. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed there, tickled there. He would kiss her all over. Soft, wet kisses meant to convince, meant to seduce.

  But no.

  Not alright. She wanted to see him. But she had to have another reason to. Just in case this was all in her head. “What’s a good excuse?” she asked her cat.

  Sampson had no answer. But her brain was working on one. If Elliott was the person who’d laid five not good enough B minuses on her, then she could—should—find out why. And why not? Why weren’t her papers good enough?

  If he didn’t find her tomorrow, she’d go find him and ask him. Simple. She’d look great doing it, too. Less make-up, but new hair, styled to her taste. If it wasn’t too cold out, her long skirt, slit in back for her calves to peek out.

  Brooke clapped her hands together, sending water droplets onto Sampson. He leapt up and ran out. She owed him a treat for that one, if not for being the only breathing creature she could bring herself to talk to about Elliott.

  Once toweled off and snuggled into bed, she reached for her last novel. Sampson circled her spare pillow then lay down. “All men should give books instead of flowers,” she said, stroking behind his ears. By the sound of his purr, he agreed and forgave her previous insult. Of course, if a girl found the right man, she might not need love stories. She might find them in a pair of strong arms before drifting off to sleep. Pages unread.

  Millie sharpened her gaze, making Brooke fidget. “Are you alright today? You seem, what’s the word? Agitated.”

  “I’m fine. Perfect.” Brooke flung a hand through the air and stilled her foot. “Just a lot on my mind. Work stuff.”

  She was so behind on orders, she’d be swamped all weekend, but Millie didn’t need to know that. Might make her ask why. And she was a terrible liar. Millie would know she was lying. She glanced past her friend’s shoulder one more time.

  Where was he?

  “Brooke?”

  “Uh-huh?” Her foot twittered back to life.

  “Brooke, did you hear a word I just said?”

  “Yes,” Brooke forced a smile and her attention back to Millie. “I heard you. You are planning a dinner party.”

  “So, you’re in, then?” Millie’s eyes lit.

  Brooke refused to frown, though. Or wonder why. “Sure. I love dinner parties.” The entrance door moved in her peripheral line of sight. Brooke counted to three, then looked. “How formal are you going?”

  “How formal?”

  Any sign of Elliott? Nope. “Yeah, I mean, will it be black tie? Or will there be dancing? A band?” Unless he was hiding behind a stack watching her. Watching her watching for him. The idea made her itch. She looked at Millie, who looked perplexed.

  “A dinner party has a band and black tie?”

  “Yes. If you want it to. Depends on the occasion.” Brooke had a hard time believing Millie, for all her airs on fashion and celebrity, had never been to a dinner party. “You’ve never….” A navy coat caught her eye.

  “I suppose I’ve been to one. They were larger, and for charity, or art, or some other equally tiring need for more donations, but I figured regular people—dinner parties, went differently. More backyard barbeque style. No?”

  Brooke shrugged. Simultaneously, she tracked the navy jacket’s owner’s back, willing him to turn ever so slightly to the right and kept her eyes forward, leveled on Millie’s chin. “No. That’s not technically a dinner party. That’s more for family, neighbors. Us regular people reserve dinner parties for anniversaries, engagements, that kind of thing.” She sent Millie a smile.

  Millie’s cheeks tinged. She tapped her forehead. “In a former life, Brooke, we would be getting massages and pedicures over mojitos right now.”

  Brooke chuckled. Her belly hummed and she knew it before he turned full around, scanned the room and locked onto her face. Elliott.

  Millie recognized the instant Brooke switched off. The moment was fleeting but the change was evident. Millie almost turned around to see what caused Brooke’s freckled cheeks’ sudden flush. Deep down, she already knew. College boy. Mr. Elliott screw her plans up. From the mall. Crap.

  Brooke had that look all over again to her from that day, too. Millie’s heart sank. Couldn’t Brooke see a guy like him would only hurt her? Millie’d bet her fake Coach on it. But she couldn’t see a way to stop it.

  So she kept rambling. Not that Brooke noticed.

  The thing about making Brooke over last night: Millie had felt like Kiki again. The rush of finding the perfect dress. The simpatico between a hairdresser and a client. Secrets and lies and gossip, miles from Rodeo Drive. She’d been Kiki. Fabulous. Savvy. She’d accomplished something. Brooke had looked breathtaking. If she didn’t get Brooke and Jason back in love—no. She wouldn’t even acknowledge the possibility.

  Millie adjusted in her seat, leaning in an attempt to regain Brooke’s attention. Brooke should be sitting here thanking her for an amazing makeover. Or asking where she’d managed to find a black Prada dress in the middle of fashion forsaken Reno, NV. This town’s mall was the seventh circle of designer hell.

  Did Brooke thank her? Nope. Not once. She’d hardly managed small talk. Her hair wasn’t even styled right. Brooke should be ruffled from seeing Jason last night, old feelings resurfacing, bringing the past back. Hoping for a future with him.

  Millie should have one bracelet on its way out. With one more, finely executed run-in, this time including sides of booze and romance, she’d clinch the deal. This time, with AJ in tow to help her pheromone Jason up. AJ was a seasoned enough cupid to master a good love potion. Millie’d only give him the runs.

  Millie looked over her shoulder. There Elliott was. She groaned. Forget it. Brooke hadn’t a clue that she sat gaping. The get-under-the-covers schmuck was spoiling her mission. Yep.

  Damn it.

  In her former life, she’d have had ammunition. Kiki would have had weapons ready. Anything from a wicked glance beneath artful lashes to a commanding comment to Brooke.

  She missed being Kiki. She wanted her back. She had to stop this. Now. Before some…some—whatever this was—got out of hand and destroyed Brooke’s match. Brooke would be left heartbroken. And Millie’d be stuck as a cupid for who knew how many more years, with some other partner. No AJ.

  Millie needed AJ. She couldn’t ever technically have him but at least AJ would get her back to Kiki. At least he made this sentence bearable. She needed to get back to Kiki.

  Searching her arsenal, only one idea stepped up. Create a distraction. Millie drew her index finger to the edge of her paper cup, cracked the lid open and winced. This actually might feel good. Icy champagne down a billionaire’s trunks kind of good. All she had to push was one little inch and--.

  The paper cup toppled. The lid waffled like a quarter. Warm, milky liquid pooled and sloshed onto starry-eyed Brooke Munkle’s lap. Giving a small cry, Brooke stood.

  “Oh crap! I’m such a klutz.” Millie joined her. “I am so sorry. Here, let me get some napkins.”

  She hurried to the counter for fistfuls of brown paper and returned right in time to stop Elliott from donning his cape and saving Brooke’s honor. Great. Maybe not such a brilliant plan. She didn’t think the commotion would force him over. But there he was. Alert, alert. Damage control. Fast.

  “Hey there,” Elliott said to no one in particular.

  “Hi. Evan, was it?” Millie shoved past him. “Excuse me, I just need to clean up my clumsy mess.”

  He grinned but he didn’t move.

  “That’s quite a mess,” Elliott said, his gaze zeroed in on Brooke, who giggled, high pitched.

&nb
sp; Brooke’s face was scarlet. “I’m all wet. I mean…I…I…”

  All wet? No, no, no, no. Millie stepped between them and mopped, dabbing paper all up her friend and down the table. “It’s my fault. I’m clumsy.”

  Her mind clashed with implications. He was looking at Brooke in one of those “only you” kind of ways and her friend, sheltered and vulnerable as all get out, was slurping it up.

  How was she going to get rid of this guy and steer Brooke’s mind back to what really mattered…Jason? Think, Millie, think! What would Kiki do? Kiki would show some cleavage, some leg, expose Elliott as an immature jerk. Unfortunately, Millie’s B-cups didn’t drop jaws and these legs wouldn’t last three strides on a New York runway.

  She looked like the jerk. Not that anyone was noticing.

  “There,” Millie said. “All dried up. I promise I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

  Brooke stepped back and tucked her hair behind one ear. “No. I’m fine. It’s fine. Nothing a little spot treatment won’t fix.”

  Elliott chuckled. What was funny? Millie’s ears burned so bad, steam might start shooting out. A total loss. Brooke stood there, grinning, toying with her sweater. Elliott shifted his weight, glanced from Millie to Brooke, mostly to Brooke. Was he waiting for some kind of invitation?

  A small panic gripped Millie. Not this. If she was wrong about Jason—no, she wouldn’t even consider it. She’d seen the picture. Besides, guys like this weren’t the fall in love type. She knew men, and Mr. Fling here was not true love material.

  “Do you need a refill, Brooke?” Millie asked, grappling. “Looks like I do now.” Laugh. Neither cared if she was in the room, let alone fighting to fill the silence, lest he say the right thing and Brooke’s panties flew off right there in the middle of the cafe.

  “How are the books?” Elliott asked, moving a file of papers on his hip.

  “Good. Thanks.” Could Brooke get any redder?

  Christ. Millie exhaled as loudly as she could. What books? And why were they talking about books like they were puppies?

  Brooke pointed at the file Elliott held. “Shope’s?”

  Millie knitted her brow tighter. What was she missing here? How did they know each other again? Class?

  Elliott nodded, rolled his eyes. “Yeah. In fact, I’d better get to his office now or I’ll have to drag this stuff home with me.”

  Brooke’s shoulders drew back. “Oh, sure. Of course.”

  “See you around, I guess,” he said, and gave Millie a cursory nod before leaving.

  Brooke slid into her seat, her finger worried at her lower lip.

  “Wasn’t that the guy we saw last night?” Millie splayed her fingers on the table. It was sticky. “Evan or Egon or something?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “That guy, last night? When we saw Jason?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, that’s Elliott. He’s my history class’s teaching assistant.”

  “Teaching assistant?” Millie said a little too loudly. Teaching assistant? Well, praise Jesus! Could that explain it? Brooke was a consummate teacher’s pet if Millie’d ever teased one. No wonder she was all ga-ga around the guy. Sure, he was blatantly attracted to Brooke. What guy wouldn’t be though after the wonders the makeover had done? Plus, Millie’d managed some wardrobe upgrade to boot.

  “…grades the papers for Shope. He’s the one I told you Shope is always talking about but never actually shows his face?”

  Uh-oh. “Never shows his face?”

  “Yeah. He isn’t in the class itself, just gets the blame for….” Brooke paused, whirling her hand as untying the words from her tongue. “Anyhow, that’s who he is. That’s how I know him.”

  “I see.” Bullshit.

  “Yes. So.” Brooke’s chair raked the floor. “I’d better get to class.”

  Millie knees weakened a bit. Better to stay seated. “What about your clothes? You’ve got coffee all over them.”

  Brooke waved. “Oh well. I can’t miss class. Made it this far without missing one. Why start now? You know? Besides, it’s good for business. Or it will be. Once we get past all the gore.”

  She was stammering. Millie schooled her features, on fire or not, and let her friend go. Part of her wanted to follow Brooke just for the satisfaction of confirming that she was flat out lying, was in fact skipping class and following Elliott instead. Liar, liar, panties on fire.

  What good would it do?

  Liar or not, Brooke Munkle was about to follow that damned guy back to Shope’s office and make a fool of herself. But, hey, who was Millie to stop her? Let her go. How much harm could a little boy-toy self esteem treat do anyway?

  Millie had history on her side, years of love and marriage at her fingertips, embers ready and waiting to be rekindled. Plus, she knew how to fight dirty. She had AJ and wasn’t afraid to use him. One little shot of AJ’s love bomb, and Jason and Brooke would be putty in her cupid’s hands.

  Elliott who?

  Brooke’s back disappeared from her view. Millie crossed her arms and set her jaw. Let the game begin. Collecting her things, she shoved a buck in the tip jar, waved at the pregnant waitress and plotted all the way home. First things first, get Elliott’s file and find the dirt.

  Everybody had dirt.

  Chapter Eight

  Brooke’s belly bundled in nerves as she strode purposefully across campus. She wouldn’t think about why because she already knew why. She was going to Shope’s office to talk to Elliott. Probably not her brightest idea in recent history. The word foolish came to mind. But she’d come decided today that she would see him even if he didn’t show at the bookstore. Skipping a seventy-five-dollars-a-credit, plus four not-so-cheap books, history class, it had better be worth it.

  She had practiced what to say all morning, about her grades. In her head, he hadn’t shown. She’d found him. And now, she wanted more. She also imagined each answer, each look. Reality couldn’t compare. Her stomach knotted and her mouth watered. She could almost see his surprise, he’d take off his glasses, ask her why his opinion mattered. She’d tell him it didn’t matter.

  Because it didn’t.

  He’d ask about last night. Then what? She didn’t know.

  A gust of wind pushed the scent of latte up to her nostrils. Her clothes were stiff and sticky. Sweating didn’t help. She should turn the other way and go to class. Certainly her ego’s bruises weren’t worth missing class, missing attendance points. Better yet, she should turn around and go back to Millie, tell her about the whole debaucle, about this childish mission and all these dumb butterflies. Millie would talk sense into her.

  Instead, Brooke kept walking, cooling and warming. Imagining.

  He wanted her to come. Hadn’t she seen the challenge in his eyes back there in the bookstore?

  A student held the building’s front door wider for her to pass. Warmer air settled around her, and she wanted her jacket off. But then her coffee would show. He’d already seen it. Still. Not good. Not sexy. Not that she necessarily aimed for feeling sexy, per se. Better to be taken seriously.

  Her grade was what mattered. An explanation. Insight as to why she hadn’t gotten this stuff right yet, mattered. His opinion mattered.

  Ugh. She hated that it mattered. She hated more what a flimsy excuse it was just to see him and how much what he might do next mattered. A rickety elevator chimed in the hall. Brooke took the stairs down. Each step seemed louder, her movements noisier, the hallway she treaded down, too quiet.

  He’d probably heard her. Too late to turn back now. He’d look and see her retreating if she chickened out now. Why did this feel like a game of chicken anyway? He was just a guy grading papers. True, a guy who happened to have hit on her in an unusual and pretty gallant way. A guy who left her dumbstruck. A guy nonetheless. One opinion among many. Her own was all that really mattered.

  Yeah, right.

  Brooke forced herself to get on with it. Class was already in session. Showing up late would feel worse than missing
it altogether. Only three more doors, all closed and dark anyway. What if she forgot how to talk? What if he wasn’t there?

  She held her breath and bit her trembling lip. On a slow exhale, she stopped outside Shope’s closed door. She knocked. The loud tick of a clock somewhere nearby announced each passing second. No answer.

  He wasn’t there?

  Brooke shifted a leg out and knocked again. She put a smile on. Nothing.

  All that preparation and he wasn’t even there. She would have laughed if not for the heavy disappointment.

  Warm breath grazed the back of her neck. “There’s no one in there,” Elliott said behind her.

  She didn’t startle. A delicious shiver ran through her instead. She swallowed. All her carefully rehearsed words left the building. What was she thinking coming here again?

  “Aren’t you hot?” Elliott brushed a wisp of hair at her neck, sending another, stronger shiver through her.

  “No.” Try roasting, sweating, shaking. “Why?” She forced her eyes to stay open and commanded her brain to straighten up. Grade, remember? Answers.

  He reached around her, slid a key into the lock. The key turned. She turned. Faced him.

  She wished he had smiled. She might have been able to think, to de-stupefy herself and stop wondering, was he happy to see her?

  He did look pleased and utterly sensual. One eyebrow up, his lids lowered. Stubble along his jaw framed his mouth. Full lips. Still no smile. Stepping back helped. Her heel met the door but she was able to steady her chin and breathe a little. Silly jacket made her hotter by the second. She fumbled with the top button.

  “You’re cheeks are red,” he said. His hand threatened to caress one but faltered mid-air.

  Brooke shrugged, mouth dry.

  He gestured toward the door, making her realize he’d opened it. Her face bloomed anew as she entered the darkness. Elliott clicked a light on at the desk. “Please. Sit down,” he said, but didn’t sit himself.

  Smoothing her hair from her forehead, Brooke picked the chair nearest to the door and tried to compose herself. Why was she here again? Oh, yes. Her grade. “I have a question to ask you.”