Another Shot At Love

by Roy, Niecey

  “Thank you,” he said and brushed his lips against my cheek bone. “I hope you didn’t feel like I was keeping my divorce from you. I wasn’t really sure how to bring it up, and I really wasn’t sure what this is between us. But I really like you, Gen, and I love being around you. It’s nice.”

  I took a deep breath, and before I lost my nerve, I asked, “What exactly is ‘this’?”

  He was thoughtful, like he might be measuring his words before saying them out. “It’s great, whatever it is.”

  It really was great. But what did it mean? I understood now more than ever why he didn’t want to rush into a relationship, and three weeks would be rushing. But now that I’d met him, after spending time with him, the way I turned giddy inside just being near him, I didn’t want to give that up. I didn’t want to see other people, and the thought of him seeing anyone else put knots in my stomach. There was no way I could have this conversation with him, though. No way I would rush him; I didn’t want to ruin whatever it was we had.

  “Listen, this movie kind of sucks. What would you say to meeting up with Roxanna for drinks?” I held the remote up, ready to press play if he said he wanted to stay in.

  “I’m good with that. I’m not sure I can handle the anticipation of the first scary scene where you rip my hair out,” he teased and I attempted a glare, though it lost all its meaning served with a smile.

  “I’ll clean this up,” I said, gesturing to the popcorn bowl. “Could you go get my wallet off my dresser in my room? It’s purple. You won’t miss it.”

  He kissed my forehead before standing. “When you call Roxanna, tell her I said I’m going to block her number.”

  Laughing, I said, “She’ll love that.”

  “Her phone calls are strange,” he said. “Tell her I said that, too.”

  I carried the popcorn bowl and empty bottles to the kitchen, and when I returned, Matt was still gone. “Matt?” I called down the hall, but he didn’t answer.

  I found him in the spare room right across from the bathroom.

  To an outsider the room was probably too cluttered with canvases stacked or hanging on every wall. My two most recent paintings were propped up on easels, my workbench littered with paints and brushes, rags and palettes. My studio space had never been very tidy, which was something that had bothered my parents when I’d taken over the sun room in their home as my art studio. When I lived with Lexie in our three bedroom apartment after college, she hadn’t much minded because the spare bedroom was always closed; out of sight, out of mind.

  He wasn’t interested in the clutter. The painting he stood in front of was one I’d just completed; an impressionistic-style painting of the two of us sitting under the trees on Lover’s Leap. The memories of us lying side by side, looking up through the leaves at the blue sky, had kept me smiling for days. That night after he’d dropped me off at home I’d come straight to this room and started painting.

  The colors were vibrant, alive. Every stroke of the brush had reminded me of all the emotions I’d felt up there on the Leap with him. It was a reminder to me of how, even after being betrayed and hurt, my heart hadn’t stopped beating, hadn’t turned cold. As much as it liberated me in knowing I wasn’t damaged by the ruined relationship with Brent, it was still a reminder I could be vulnerable again—to Matt. I hadn’t meant for him to see this. I hadn’t meant for anyone to see it. Even so, looking at it put a smile on my lips.

  But Matt wasn’t smiling. His expression was blank as he stared at it. Without realizing it, I had let Matt in. He didn’t even know what knowing him meant to me, and I wanted him to know. I just wasn’t certain this was the right time to say it out loud.

  Instead, I took his hand and held it while his eyes drank in the painting. I didn’t know what it meant for him, but I knew now what it meant for me—I was falling for him. Helplessly, hopelessly, falling…and here he was beside me, emotionless. Matt wasn’t looking for what I felt for him—he’d made that clear. And yet there it was, displayed in so many colors.

  It was the scariest thing I’d had to do, stand there and wait for him to say something, anything. Unable to keep silent any longer, I started chattering. “I don’t have a really great place to paint. This room doesn’t have great lighting. But it works.” I pointed at the picture beside it to take the focus off of the painting of us. “My family went on vacation to Washington State when I was a junior in high school. It was great. Dad rented this huge RV and we drove all the way there and stopped just about everywhere on the way. It took us a good week to get there. I took a lot of pictures so the memory would stay fresh in my mind. I was just looking at the album a few weeks ago and needed to paint the lavender fields.”

  The vibrant blues and purples offset by splotches of yellow and white had swum through my mind until I’d transferred them to canvas. It would make a great gift to my parents on their anniversary; they were always looking through that photo album. Since graduating high school there hadn’t been time to take another vacation like that.

  “I really miss the gallery,” I said, picturing the place I’d fallen in love with, the color of the walls, the smell of the paints, the rush I got with each piece I sold. It hit me now how much I’d given up, and all because I’d been running from a man I should have just turned my back on. I’d let him have too much control and I’d made myself believe I was the strong one for leaving. “Before I left I was working up the courage to show my paintings to the gallery owner. Art is such a big part of who I am. I see everything in color.”

  He squeezed my hand and turned to me, his gaze smoldering. And then he closed the distance, cradling the back of my head with his hand. The moment his lips covered my mouth with his, my eyes drifted shut and happiness drifted in. His warm embrace held me close, so close I could feel his heart thudding against my chest. The scent of him consumed me, as it always did. I was lightheaded and feverish and weak in his arms.

  My head felt heavy. I was drunk on him; his scent, his touch, the feel of his lips. He was the one to break the kiss—I wouldn’t have been able to. He rested his forehead against mine and we stood like that until both our breathing calmed, until my heart had slowed to an almost normal rate.

  “I think I’m going to head out if you don’t mind,” Matt said, stepping away and I bit my lip when I felt it tremble. “It was a long day. I’m beat.”

  I nodded and blinked, pulling my lips up into a smile they didn’t feel. “Yeah, of course. I’m pretty tired too.” I turned and walked out of the room.

  The walk of shame—God, my chest was heavy.

  “Thanks for the take-out tonight.” I turned the lock and opened the door.

  “Thanks for having me,” he said, sounding so formal and distant, that I gritted my teeth in frustration. He kissed my cheek—my freakin’ cheek!—and then he was gone.

  I shut the door after him and leaned against it, closing my eyes against the hurt. My soul, all of my feelings, had been bared before him and his response was to kiss me breathless and then leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Roxanna lived in a sprawling Mediterranean home in a gated community on Hadley Lake. Her parents were divorced and her mom spent a lot of time traveling. So, really, Roxanna pretty much lived alone in the five-bedroom Better Homes and Gardens-worthy house with two Siamese cats, rent-free, and with no intention of ever moving. I didn’t blame her. When I’d moved out of the apartment Brent and I had shared, she’d offered a bedroom to me. I hadn’t felt right about living rent-free, though, and she never would have accepted a dime.

  Roxanna had always been lumped in with the privileged kids, but she was more than that, more than she let most people see. She’d earned a business degree at UCLA, with additional courses in restaurant management to please her father. As the eldest, taking over the restaurant business had always been expected of her. Right now, her dad only allowed her to drag her feet because he’d recently remarried and his new bride was half his age and more demanding than either of his
past two wives.

  She wasn’t in any hurry to step into her role at Moss Industries. She felt that joining him in business would be the same as forgiving him for leaving his family. And Roxanna had never gotten over coming home at thirteen years old to her dad’s luggage waiting beside the front door. He’d left to build his empire, sending large checks every month to make up for his absence. But it never had. Since he’d made his permanent residence in Las Vegas, Roxanna had been there only twice to visit him. He assumed it was because she was busy with school and work, but he was the one person in her life she was too scared to tell how she really felt.

  I drove my yellow Bug through the gates of the meticulously landscaped community and had to ease my foot off the gas a bit to make the corner, almost hitting a garbage can. I’m a good driver, but I was distracted. This whole thing with Matt was driving me crazy. I needed guidance.

  There was no doubting the attraction I felt for him. I wasn’t even shocked by it; he was gorgeous and funny and kind and just plain amazing. Something about getting lost in his hazel eyes left me weak-kneed. But it was more than just his looks; it was that soul beneath it all, the heart inside of him that made me happy just to be near him. Honestly, he was driving me crazy. I didn’t just like him…I really liked him.

  I squinted into the sunlight as I turned into Roxanna’s drive. Parked under the portico was a silver BMW. I swung around and parked in front of the steps instead.

  “Damn that Blake Mansfield,” I breathed.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Blake, but the guy had issues—he couldn’t figure out what he wanted in his relationship with Roxanna and they’d been dancing the same dance for years now. Their on-again, off-again relationship was dizzying. I didn’t get how she was okay with it, but she was. Leave it to Roxanna to get involved with a guy who harbored as many trust issues as she did. Behind the walls they’d both put up, I was certain they loved each other. At least, I was certain Roxanna loved him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. I wasn’t sure about Blake. They’d been more off-again than on-again in the last year, and I was growing suspicious of his intention.

  I was so distraught I hadn’t stopped to change out of my mismatched pjs—little black boxer shorts with red N’s for Nebraska all over them and an old pink tank top. Color coordinating had been the last thing on my mind. My hair was a mess, too. I’d thrown it up quickly, pinning it with clips and bobby pins. I hadn’t even bothered combing the knots out before bolting out my front door.

  I knocked with the heavy brass knocker. After the fifth knock and no answer, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed her landline, knowing she’d never pick up, but also knowing she’d hear my message. On the seventh ring, her voicemail finally picked up.

  “You’ve reached Roxie. Leave a message,” Roxanna’s recorded voice said.

  When the machine beeped, I said. “Open the front door! I know you’re home!”

  I hung up and waited.

  Roxanna answered the door a few minutes later wearing a kimono and looking groggy and annoyed. Her eyes were still heavily lidded with makeup from the night before. She blinked at me, taking in a full sweep of my appearance. “Wow, you look like shit.”

  “Thank you,” I said with an edge to my voice. My fingers went up to touch my chin where, upon awakening that morning, I’d spotted another large zit festering under the skin—a stress zit. Just perfect. I stepped past Roxanna and into the house and marched straight for the kitchen.

  The kitchen in Roxanna’s house was the size of my parents’ family room and had been designed for a chef, Roxanna’s father. He was an excellent cook, with family recipes handed down from his Italian ancestors. He’d even trained in Italy, which made me think of Matt’s sister, and then of course made me think of Matt. I groaned and threw the refrigerator door open, bending down for the soda I needed since I’d been too worked up to stop at a drive-thru for coffee on the way over.

  “Are you sick?” she asked and sat down at the breakfast bar, watching me rummage through the fridge. “You better not be sick; you know when I get the flu it puts me down for at least a week.”

  “No, I’m not sick; I’m stressed.” I popped the soda can open.

  “Are there any left in that pack?” She pointed to a pack of cigarettes on the counter behind me.

  I picked up the box and flipped the lid open. “Yeah, there’re a few in there.” I tossed the box to Roxanna, who missed the catch and dropped it. “You want a soda? Or some ice water or something?”

  “Ice water. Thanks.” She climbed from the stool slowly then bent to pick up the cigarettes. “My head’s killing me. I’m never doing another shot of Tequila again. ”

  I laughed. “Right. Like I haven’t heard that a million times before. But even for a hung-over mess, you still look great.”

  It was Roxanna’s gift to look flawless even after a night out partying. She was one of those irritating people who didn’t need makeup because she’d been born with a flawless complexion. She went heavy on the eye makeup when it suited her and could skip the foundation. A light spattering of freckles covered her nose and high on her cheeks; an odd combination, but quite stunning.

  “And you have blue paint on your cheek,” she pointed out.

  I reached up to touch my cheek. I’d spent the morning in a stress-painting session. “I think I need one of those cigarettes.”

  I didn’t smoke; I’d never gotten the hang of it. But sometimes if the mood was right—or wrong—and Roxanna was around, I’d smoke a cigarette with her.

  “Uh-oh.” She raised her brows as I set a glass of ice water down in front of her on the kitchen bar. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is serious. Shit has really hit the fan.” I didn’t even attempt to mask the desperation in my voice.

  Roxanna studied my face, probably reading my emotions to the T after years of practice and finesse. She set the pack of cigarettes on the counter and stood, placing her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t need a cigarette, sweetie. You need salon therapy.” She fingered the ends of my hair. “You promised Lexie to get this back to blonde. I bet someone at Tina’s can squeeze you in. She sent out a text blast about a cancellation. It’s fate. Let’s go fix your life at the salon.”

  “What about Blake?” I glanced in the direction of the hallway.

  Roxanna rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’s headed out of town for a couple of weeks to visit his mom in Portland. I’m sure I won’t hear from him for about a month.”

  I didn’t feel the need to add my two cents about that. She knew how I felt about Blake. I said, “All right. Let’s go fix my life.”

  The inside walls of Color Addicts was painted in shades of reds and pinks, with posters of models at hair shows, and celebs sporting the new trends of the season. With a whoosh of air, I collapsed into an empty stylist chair.

  Roxanna took the seat at the next station and announced, “Gen is having a crisis. We need your help.”

  Tina set a bottle of deep conditioner on her station counter and leaned against the wall. “What kind of crisis?”

  “Number one, she’s got this huge zit—” Roxanna began and I cleared my throat.

  “Rox, this is serious,” I reprimanded and my fingers went up to touch my zit.

  “Okay. Okay. Sorry,” she said and picked up the iced coffee we’d stopped for before coming to the salon. “You know I have a hard time concentrating with a hangover.”

  “Yes, well, I’d appreciate if you’d focus.”

  “Gen is having a meltdown,” Roxanna informed Tina and I glowered at her.

  “I do love a good meltdown,” Eddie said. He bore a strong resemblance to the young Antonio Sabato, Jr. and most women sighed in disappointment after realizing Eddie batted for the other team. The perturbed expression on his beautiful face was captivating. He really should have been a model, but hair was his calling—he was amazing at it.

  “First, do either one of you have time to fix Gen’s hair while we get sta
rted on fixing her life?” Roxanna asked. She pointed at my head. “Her roots are not only growing out, but Lexie has turned into bridezilla and insists Gen be blonde for the engagement party.”

  Eddie winced. “You really shouldn’t have waited so long to come in for a touchup, love.”

  I sighed. “Can you help me or not?”

  “Help you? I’m going to change your life, love.” Eddie patted the stylist seat at his station. “Come sit. Tina’s got a cut in a few minutes. Tell us about your crisis.”

  “So there’s this guy,” I began while Eddie mixed up the color for my hair. The story was long—I had to fill them in on all the details. I left nothing out, mostly because Roxanna didn’t allow that to happen. They heard it all, even about how Matt’s kisses made me lightheaded and how my knees went weak just being near him.

  “It’s romantic,” Tina said as she lopped off a large chunk of her client’s glorious black hair. Horrified, I watched another chunk follow the first piece to the gray cement floor. The woman losing hair by the second flipped through a People magazine, unconcerned.

  “Butterflies in the belly?” Eddie exhaled a deep breath and settled the cape around my shoulders, fastening it behind my neck. “Doesn’t sound like a crisis to me.”

  “It’s a huge crisis. I like him. A lot,” I stressed, looking at Eddie through the big mirror at his station, my eyes wide and panicked. “And he doesn’t want a relationship.”

  “Did you sleep with him last night?” Roxanna picked up a hair magazine and began flipping pages. “God, this headache is killing me. You have any aspirin here?”

  Eddie nodded over to the cash register counter. “In the top drawer.” He caught my eye in the mirror. “I want details of this passionate sex-isode.”