by Desiree Holt
“Holy shit.” Her brain cells scrambled to fall into place. “Are you married?”
He still didn’t look at her. “Not exactly.”
“What does not exactly mean?” she demanded. “You are, or you’re not.”
The pounding on the door began again.
“Not yet, but—”
“Then what was this all about? The phone calls. The coffee dates. The big plans.”
Now he looked up, his face contorted in distress. “It’s just, when I heard your voice and then saw you, I had to—I mean, I wanted—”
“Never mind.” She hopped off the desk and yanked open the door. “He’s all yours,” she told the angry woman standing there. “I wish you well of him.”
Charlie saw her coming, stood up, and threw some bills on the table. He didn’t say anything, just took her arm and led her to the door.
“No questions,” she told him.
He nodded and opened the car door.
Shit!
Chapter Two
Spring
April
They were sitting in a coffee shop, fresh cups of java and mouthwatering brownies on the table. Jill pored over her iPad as Charlie pretended to text but watched her from the corner of one eye. She was into the fourth month of her plan and no further along toward her goal than she’d been on New Year’s Day when she’d hatched it. None of the recommendations had worked out so far, but she still had several to go. Along with some alternates, just in case.
“Maybe you should forget about holidays and focus on something else,” Charlie said, a slight sarcastic edge to his tone.
Jill looked up at him, expecting to see irritation or even censure on his face. But his expression was carefully blank. Unreadable. He lifted his coffee, taking a swallow and watching her over the rim of the cup. He’d said very little about her three disasters. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it hung there in the air, invisible.
“As a matter of fact,” she told him, setting down the iPad, “there aren’t any exciting holidays in April anyway. Just a lot of rain.”
“So you’re, what? Looking for a weatherman?”
“Meteorologist,” she corrected between gritted teeth. “That’s what they’re called. And as a matter of fact, yes. Mitzi’s boyfriend knows the really cute one on Channel 6, so she’s setting me up with him.”
Charlie choked on his coffee, setting the cup down and blotting up the spillover.
“You know I was kidding, right?” he asked, still wiping at his T-shirt.
Jill glared at him. “Well, I’m not. He’s perfect for April. And he plays in a band called—get this—Rainy Day Blues.”
“Jesus, Jill.” He shook his head. “Are you sure this is all worth it? Maybe you should try a different tack. Or maybe just cancel the whole thing and let nature take its course.”
“I tried that more than once, remember? Can you spell disaster? Besides, everything is paid for, and I don’t want to lose the money.”
He curved his fingers around her wrist, a gentle touch that sent unexpected sparks flying through her.
This is stupid. I’m reacting to any man because the last three were such washouts.
But his touch was also reassuring and settling. And when she looked up at him again, he was smiling.
“You know I’m here for you, no matter what. Right?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “And you’ll never know how much it means to me.” She tilted her head. “Maybe when we get this taken care of we can put together a project to find the right woman for you.”
That might even be fun. Who wouldn’t like a guy six feet tall, lean and muscular, with shaggy blond hair, eyes as dark as espresso, even a tiny dimple at one corner of his mouth. Charlie was a real hottie. Too bad he was her best friend.
He put up his hands in a signal for stop. “No thanks, kitten. I can only live through one of these. I can handle my own love life.”
She frowned. “And do you have one? You spend so much time with me, when do you have time for yourself?” She realized she had no idea what kind of woman Charlie dated. What he did with his spare time when he wasn’t hanging around her. What appealed to him. For a very brief moment, she chastised herself for being so selfish in their relationship. Then she squelched the feeling. She had important things to do. When she got herself settled, she could focus on Charlie.
The dimple flashed as he grinned. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m doing just fine.”
She might have accepted his words at face value except she heard a faint undertone of…something.
Charlie’s a big boy. He can handle himself. You have to focus on your own situation.
“Would you like to come to the tasting with me next month? The caterer has put together a list of yummy foods to choose from.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing that with your fiancé? I mean, when you decide on one.”
“Of course, of course.” She took another sip of her coffee. Why was she so jittery today? “I just want to be prepared. To narrow the choices.”
“Uh huh. Jill, if the right guy comes along, he won’t care if you get married at Christmas or on Halloween. Or what you eat at the wedding.”
“Well, I care,” she snapped. “And I’m done discussing it.”
“So tell me about this guy and his band. And when are we going to see him?”
“I told you. It’s a blues band. They only play on weekends because of his job at Channel 6.” She tapped her iPad and turned it to face him. “Here’s his picture. Isn’t he cute?”
Charlie laughed. “Jill, guys don’t call other guys cute.” He studied the picture. “He’s not bad. How is he as a drummer, since that seems to be the main requirement?”
“He’s great. Mitzi gave me some CDs to listen to. We’ve talked on the phone, and we’re meeting Saturday for breakfast.”
“A meal, huh?” He chuckled. “The first three guys only got coffee.”
“He suggested it,” she sniffed. “Shows he has manners and knows how to treat a woman.”
“We’ll see.” He pushed away from the table. “Ready to leave? You said you wanted to watch the game tonight.”
“I do.” Baseball had always been one of her passions. It was one of the things that connected the two of them. “It’s your turn to buy the pizza.”
“Okay. Let’s hope April’s guy is a winner and doesn’t rain all over your parade.”
A week later, Jill thought about Charlie’s words because it wasn’t rain pouring over her but a deluge, helped along by bolts of lightning and loud thunder. Inside and out. She sat in the restaurant, huddled in the back booth where she and Sid Roland had eaten breakfast at the start of a wonderful morning, and stared at the table until Charlie slid into the booth across from her. He’d come running the moment she called.
He reached across the table and took both of her hands in his, the touch warming her, even though he was the one who’d gotten wet.
“Hey, kitten,” he said in a soft voice. “Look at me. You okay?”
“Yeah.” No, she was miserable. “Thanks for coming.”
“Hey.” He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “That’s what wingmen are for. Right?
She nodded. Had she ever had a friend this wonderful?
“So, you want to tell me what happened? This one didn’t even get past the first meet and greet. Did he smell bad?” he teased. “Forget to cut his hair? Was he not really a drummer?”
Jill stared at their hands. “No, he was just as cute as his pictures. And he looked delectable. Truly. And smelled really good.”
“So then what was the problem?”
“You aren’t going to believe me when I tell you.”
He squeezed her hands, a gesture that comforted her and gave her the courage to tell him.
“He’s gay,” she blurted out.
“What?” Charlie nearly shouted the word before lowering his voice.
“Uh huh. But for whatever reason he’s been fighting it f
or a long time.”
“Whatever reason is right. He’s lucky that today he can embrace it and live with the partner of his choice.”
He released her hands and sat back as the waitress approached with a pot of coffee and a cup for Charlie. He shook his head when she offered him a menu so she filled their cups and moved away.
“Apparently not with his family. He said they’re very straitlaced and won’t even discuss his sexual preferences with him. He thought maybe getting married would fix the situation.”
“How? You can’t just snap your fingers and change your sexual preferences.”
Jill had thought the same thing. But the answer was just as devastating.
“He figured if we got married, it would square him with his family—which is uber-wealthy, by the way—and he could sneak around with his boyfriend and no one would know.”
“Shit, Jill. And what were you supposed to do while you guys were playing Let’s Pretend?”
“Oh, I would be free to see whoever I wanted. As long as no one found out about it, obviously. And to ice the cake, he said he’d pay me back all the money I’d put out for the wedding.”
Charlie barked a laugh. “Money takes care of everything, right?” He took a swallow of coffee. “So what did you tell him? Besides to fuck off, which I’m sure was your first reaction.”
“I told him to grow a pair of real ones, man up, and spit in his family’s eyes. His life was his own. Then I told him to get the hell away from me and forget my name.”
The waitress dropped the check on the table, and Charlie picked it up. Jill grabbed for it, but he held it out of reach.
“Uh-uh-uh. My treat. Call it emergency medicine. And from here, we’re going to see the sappy movie of your choice and make ourselves sick on buttered popcorn.”
Tears burned behind her eyelids. How did she get so lucky as to meet this person ten years ago? His friendship had never faltered. Not once.
“I’d hate to punish you that way.”
“Are you kidding? You live to torture me with chick flicks. Come on.” He stood up and reached out a hand to her. “We can write off April. Tomorrow you can start on May.”
****
May
“A florist?” Charlie choked on his soft drink and looked across the table at Jill. “May’s target is a freaking florist?”
Jill made a face at him. “Don’t be such a macho snob. You should see this florist. He could out alpha football players.”
“And he sells flowers for a living?”
“Damn, Charlie.” She chewed on a straw. “When did you become such a snob? There’s nothing wrong with what he does. Anyway, April showers bring May flowers. Remember that poem?”
“Ha, ha, ha.” He took another slug of his drink. “So tell me about this prospect. What kind of band does he play in?”
“Top 40.” She pulled up the picture of the band that she’d pulled from the ad for the club where they appeared and turned her iPad around. “See?” She pointed. “There he is.”
Charlie leaned forward and studied the picture. “Jeez. They wear matching outfits? What is this, the forties?”
She yanked the tablet back toward her, his attitude irritating her. “That’s what Top 40 bands do, you idiot. It’s like a stage costume. I can’t believe you don’t know this.”
“Oh. So how many Top 40 bands have you and I gone to see? Together or with others?” She flipped the cover closed on her tablet. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on.” He closed his fingers gently around her wrist. “I’m sorry, kitten. I know this is serous business to you, and I promised to be here for you.” He signaled the waitress to bring them refills. “Tell me about this guy. What’s his name? Is he a strong drummer? Does he set the beat for the band the way you like?”
Jill forced herself to relax a little. Charlie was just being Charlie. She really needed him as her safety net. And also to point out if she was making a really bad choice.
“His name is Eric Hagel. He’s been playing drums for fifteen years. He’s thirty-nine years old, and he started in a garage band in high school.” She brought up his picture again.
“Nice looking dude.” He grinned. “If you can get past the outfit.”
“Charlie.” She swatted at him. “We’ve talked on the phone four times, and I went by to see him twice at the florist shop.” She grinned. “It’s a great place. And he gave me a dozen roses.”
“Bully for him.” Charlie practically mumbled the words.
“What did you say?” Jill prompted.
“I said I’m glad for him. I’ll have to go by and order some flowers from him.”
“For all those women I never hear about?”
He took the fresh drink from the waitress. “We’re talking about you, not me. So. Any sparks when you saw him? Any sizzle?”
Not much, but she wasn’t about to tell him. Besides, sparks were highly overrated. She’d had those before, and she’d just gotten burned. Badly.
“The only sizzle I want will come from steaks on the grill,” she snapped. “And from listening to my drummer.”
Charlie gave her a skeptical look. “If you say so. I hope this one works, because you’re already at the halfway mark, you know.”
Jill tried to ignore the headache gestating behind her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“So what’s next? The usual visit to the club to see him in his natural environment?”
She nodded. “This Friday night. You up for it?”
“Of course. We’re a team, right?”
A wave of warmth surged through her. Charlie was her rock. Her foundation. The person who gave her the courage to proceed with what her friends called her insane plan. She was more grateful to him than she could ever tell him.
“Okay, then. I’ll pick you up at, what did you say, ten o’clock?”
“Yes. We should get there in time for the third set. Thanks again.”
The small club was packed by the time they got there, extra chairs jammed at each table. The postage-sized dance floor was filled with couples moving in the few inches of space each occupied. The sound of the band’s music filled the air, underscored by the heavy, steady beat of the drums. Eric was engrossed in the number when Jill and Charlie took their seats, but when the song ended he looked out into the crowd, obviously searching for her. She gave a tentative wave, and he smiled back, accenting his greeting with a little rimshot.
As the band swung into its next number, Charlie rose from his chair and held out a hand. “How about a dance? It’s a shame to let all this good music go to waste.”
Jill hesitated a moment, realizing she had never danced with him before.
He bent down and put his mouth close to her ear so she could hear him. “It’s just a dance. Come on. Let’s see if Prospect Number Five can really carry a beat.”
There was barely room to shuffle in place, but Jill couldn’t deny she enjoyed letting the music flow through her. A ribbon of sexual arousal wiggled through her, but she chalked it up to anticipation for what she expected to be the best part of the evening. It certainly couldn’t be Charlie, right? Of course not. She deliberately pushed the ridiculous thought from her mind.
Eric had told her to wait for him at her table while he packed up his equipment and checked out with the band leader. She really hoped this time they’d get to the good stuff in the sex department. She was so frustrated she might have to resort to her battery-operated boyfriend for some relief if tonight turned out to be another dud.
The club emptied at last, and Eric finally jumped down from the stage. Jill introduced him to Charlie, and the two men sized each other up like junkyard dogs, finally shaking hands.
“The chauffeur, right?” Eric asked.
“The friend,” Charlie corrected. He looked at Jill. “You good to go, then?”
“She’s fine,” Eric answered for her, bending to brush his lips over hers. A very light kiss. “I’ll get her home in the morning s
afe and sound.”
“You have your cell?” Charlie asked.
“In my purse,” she assured him.
“I’ll walk out to the parking lot with you.” Charlie fell into step beside them. “Like any good wingman should do.”
“I’m in the back,” Eric told him. “Come on, sweet thing. Let’s boogie.”
Charlie looked as if he might say something, then nodded and headed toward his own car. Jill had no idea why it bothered her that he’d left so easily. She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on gorgeous guy and the hours ahead of them.
In the car, Eric slid the key into the ignition, but before cranking the engine, he reached over and pulled her to him.
“A taste,” he said. “Just a little taste to keep me going.”
Cupping her head to steady it, he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue sliding easily over her lips before thrusting inside. With his other hand, he yanked up her sweater and shoved his fingers into a cup of her bra, nearly tearing it. Suddenly, this was no tender or even sensual kiss but a full-out grope session.
Jill froze, the taste of alcohol sharp and bitter. Earlier, when he gave her the light kiss, she thought she'd smelled it but chalked it up to her imagination. Probably still hanging in the air from all the drinks served during the evening. But this was unmistakable, and she struggled to pull back from him.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accused.
He gripped her shoulders and tugged her back to him. “Only one or two. It relaxes me when we’re playing. This is a bar, for god’s sake, Jill.”
“I didn’t have a drink,” she pointed out. “I wanted to wait until we got to your place so I could enjoy every minute.”
He tightened his fingers on her. “I said it was just a couple. Now come here and give me that sexy mouth again.”
But by now, the odor of alcohol was so overpowering she wanted to cover her nose. Then she realized, as she looked into his eyes, that while he was able to navigate okay, Eric was actually drunk. Or pretty close to it.
“How many drinks is a few?” she asked.
“A couple. Maybe three or four. What the hell is this, an inquisition?” He tried to drag her head closer again, but she pushed against him with all her strength.