If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  “Tell me again what a tease I am,” he whispered, kissing her gently on the nose.

  “Whoa.” It took every ounce of energy within her not to pant all over him. He was driving her wild.

  “Worth the wait?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Hell yes.” She smiled, placing her hands at the base of his neck.

  “When can I see you again?”

  “Do we have to go over this again?” Whitney tugged gingerly on his collar, pulling him in for another peck on the lips. “You can see me now. Watching you shoot that gun was a freaking aphrodisiac.”

  He smiled. “Again, tempting . . . but not yet.”

  Still holding on to his collar, she threw her head back in frustration. “You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?”

  Suddenly serious, Wes smoothed her hair down and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Not at all.”

  “Then what is it?” Didn’t he want her as badly as she wanted him?

  “Maybe I like keeping you in suspense.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “And it gives us something to look forward to”—he trapped his lower lip beneath his teeth—“next month in Los Angeles.”

  Whitney’s stomach did a gigantic flip-flop. “You’re gonna do it?”

  Wes nodded slowly. “I have to see you again. It’s not a choice. It has to happen.”

  He pressed his lips to the exposed skin of her neck, sucking gently as his fingers weaved through her hair.

  Pure. Torture.

  “My hotel isn’t far away. Pleee-eease reconsider.”

  Wes said nothing but continued to lick, kiss, and suck at her sensitive skin. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into his car and straddle him right that second, but maybe he was on to something in delaying their gratification. The anticipation of seeing him again, of waiting until the next time they could be intimate, was intoxicating in and of itself.

  “Believe me, beautiful. When I get to L.A., I look forward to seeing you more than anything. Anything at all. And I promise you, just like before, it’ll be worth the wait.”

  Whitney scoffed playfully, climbing into the SUV, planning her cold shower back at the hotel. She wondered how she could possibly last a month without having Wes in her bed. She wanted that cowboy more than she wanted just about anything else. But he was determined to drive her wild by making her wait. He was such a freaking tease, a hot, sexy-while-firing-a-gun tease.

  Even before she stepped out of his car and he kissed her good night, she was counting down the days until the semifinals. When she’d reached her hotel room and stripped herself of her clothes, heading for the bathroom, she finally figured out the exact time she’d have to wait. It was twenty-two days until she’d see her sexy cowboy again. Just twenty-two days.

  Who was she kidding? That would be over three weeks of agony. Her mind raced with thoughts of Wes above her, below her, behind her. On the bed, in the bathtub, on the freaking floor . . .

  “To hell with the shower,” she said, closing the glass door and marching toward her suitcase. “I need my vibrator.”

  SAN FRANCISCO

  The evening air blew through Whitney’s bedraggled curls as she leaned against the railing of the San Francisco ferry. In just a few minutes, she’d arrive in Oakland to see her mother. It had been way too long, and after the Nolan debacle, combined with her undeniable attraction to both Wes and Charlie, there was no one she needed more. If Whitney was honest, Mama didn’t always provide the answers or the guidance she needed, but it didn’t stop her from craving the comforts of home.

  Her mother was a complex individual, one drawn to all the wrong men, Whitney’s father included. Over the years, Whitney had watched as her mother immersed herself in relationship after failed relationship, hoping that “this time” things would work out and she’d live her life happily coupled with another person. But, unfortunately, she was single, yet again, still living in Oakland, working as a secretary for a boss she despised.

  In many ways, Rosa Bartolina was Whitney’s model for how she did not want to live, although she’d never breathe a word of that to another living soul, fearing that if she said the words aloud, she would be disrespecting her mother, the woman who’d sacrificed everything to give her the best possible life. And she’d succeeded. Regardless of her sacrifices, however, Rosa’s vulnerability in relationships rubbed Whitney the wrong way from a young age. It all started with Lyle, the man she dated after Whitney’s father relocated to the East Coast. Whitney was in kindergarten, and had watched as her mother bent over backward to please the man who couldn’t be pleased. She may have been young, but even as a child, her gut told her this man was toxic. He drank too much, yelled at her mother after too many beers, and did nothing to engage with Whitney or her baby sister. Watching Rosa attempt to make this miserable man happy confused Whitney, especially since Mama didn’t appear content when he was near.

  This cycle repeated again and again through Whitney’s formative years. Mama dated, and was even engaged to, several men who couldn’t be bothered to meet her needs or those of her daughters. In Whitney’s opinion, one was more selfish than the next, and it shaped her views of relationships. Not only did Whitney have no desire to settle down, but her expectations of men were high. She would not participate in the bullshit that Rosa Bartolina had allowed in her life. She’d never actually call her mother a doormat, but she had no intention of being one herself.

  After a short cab ride, Whitney found herself at the door of Rosa’s tiny two-bedroom apartment in Adams Point. The thick aroma of the new Ethiopian restaurant downstairs tickled her senses and made her stomach growl.

  “My baby,” her mother said, opening the thick door and wrapping her arms around Whitney. The familiar scent of Chanel N°5 lingered on her mother’s skin. For as long as she could remember, that had been her mother’s scent. Whitney’s father had given it to her for their first Christmas together, and she’d scraped money together to replace that original bottle year after year. Once Whitney was on her own and living independently, she’d taken over the tradition and gifted her mother a bottle of Chanel every Christmas. Mama smelled like home. Whitney breathed in deeply as her mother pulled her close. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Mama,” Whitney said as they pulled away. Her mother’s hands gripped her shoulders. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You’re too thin. Have you been eating?”

  “Have I been eating?” Whitney patted her belly. “You don’t know the half of it. I’ve been eating my way across the country.”

  Rosa scowled, her tan forehead, worn like leather, wrinkled. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a bun, and reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She waved away Whitney’s statement. “That’s not eating. You’re sampling, dolcezza. You need a home-cooked meal—a real one.”

  Whitney sighed, loving when her mother called her sweetheart in Italian, and knowing there was nothing like Mama’s cooking. “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Come, sit.” Rosa took Whitney’s bags and leaned them against the wall, ushering her into the sitting room. “I’ll brew some tea.”

  Whitney sat on the frayed cloth of the sofa, wishing Mama would allow her to purchase a new one. It was the same sofa she’d spilled orange Fanta on when she was nine. The same sofa she’d been on when she made out with her first love, Chad Lowenstein, and the same sofa she and Rozzie had used to make blanket forts. She smiled to herself as she ran her fingers along the soft cloth. Maybe Mama was on to something, keeping this thing around all these years. So many memories were captured within its woven fabric.

  Mama joined Whitney on the couch, handing her a steaming cup of green tea. Whitney thanked her before blowing lightly on the tea, taking a quick sip, and placing it on the coffee table.

  “So tell me about this tour. Such an opportunity for my girl.”

  “It’s been a whirlwind, that’s for sure. But we have some re
al talent. I think Saul will be pleased. And I’ve been thinking . . . and I want you to hear me out before you argue with me . . .”

  Rosa’s smile fell. She cleared her throat and placed her hands in her lap. “All right.”

  “If I get us to third in our time slot, I’ll get a huge bonus. Thirty grand.”

  “Oh my,” Mama said, her eyes wide. “That’s . . . that’s incredible.”

  Whitney was certain her mother had never earned that amount in one year, let alone as a one-time bonus payment. This money could do so many things.

  “I know, and I want to give it to you.”

  “No, absolutely not.” She closed her eyes tight and shook her hands back and forth. “I’m fine, Whitney.”

  “Mama, just listen.”

  “No.” Rosa shook her head, her eyes still pressed tight.

  So proud. So very proud.

  “You’ve worked so hard, for so long. Let me help you. Let me take some weight off your shoulders.”

  Whitney didn’t want to mention her mother’s debts, but they both knew the weight of those bills was crushing Mama. Her credit card bills had never been lower than several thousand dollars. She was barely making ends meet and had been paying only her minimum due for years.

  “I could never.” Rosa opened her eyes, wet with tears. “I won’t take a handout from my daughter.”

  “It’s not a handout, Mama, it’s a gift.” Whitney took her mother’s hands in her own. “Please think about it. Think of what you could do if you didn’t have so many bills every month. You could finally visit your cousins in Italy.”

  Rosa waved Whitney off. “Ed won’t go overseas.”

  Whitney sighed, wishing her mother hadn’t mentioned Ed, her latest deadbeat boyfriend. “I’m not talking about Ed, I’m talking about you. You can go to Italy, or to Jersey to visit Nona, or New York, or wherever. I just saw the country, Mama, and I gotta tell you, there’s so much to see and I want you to see it.”

  Rosa sighed. “And Nolan, how is he?”

  Way to switch topics, Mama. How long did that take, two minutes?

  Rosa was a strong woman, but when she was finished with a topic of conversation, Whitney knew not to push, as much as it infuriated her. She paused, took a sip of her tea, and pondered how to answer her mother’s question. Whitney had always been honest with her mother about Nolan’s antics and her struggles in the relationship. Mama admittedly had a soft spot for the charismatic actor and always urged Whitney to accept him, flaws and all.

  Whitney pursed her lips. “That’s another topic you won’t enjoy.”

  “Oh no . . . he’s such a good boy. What happened?”

  “We’re over, Mama. I hit a wall.” Whitney wanted to avoid her mother’s eyes, but she stayed strong, maintaining eye contact. She needed Mama to know she couldn’t be convinced, yet again, to give things another try. He’d pushed her too far.

  Rosa placed her cup on the table and angled her body toward Whitney. “What happened, baby?”

  “He cheated. Again. But this time, there were two women and he humiliated me.”

  Rosa sighed. “He’s a man. They can’t control themselves.”

  Whitney recoiled slightly, her eyes wide. “Wow, is that seriously all you can think of to say?” She didn’t expect her mother to jump for joy at her announcement of leaving Nolan once and for all, but the lack of support was still a surprise.

  Rosa shrugged. “It’s in their nature. Men will be men.”

  Whitney paused before reacting. She disagreed vehemently with Mama, but she didn’t want to sour their short visit. She had one night to stay with her before flying out of San Francisco in the morning. She cleared her throat, attempting to be diplomatic. “Perhaps I’ll find one who can control his . . . manliness.”

  Mama scoffed, “Good luck with that.”

  “I met someone, Mama. Two someones, actually.” She swallowed hard, thinking of her pull toward Wes and Charlie.

  Mama smiled. “Two, huh? Tell me.”

  Whitney filled her mother in on everything that had taken place since she first left for Nashville earlier that month. Mama nodded along, smiling and laughing while discussing Charlie, and seeming impressed with mention of Wes’s strong and stoic nature.

  “It seems to me you have three distinct paths, dolcezza.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Nolan, as much as you try to fight it, I don’t think you’re done. When you’re with him, you’re passionate, volatile. You remind me of how your father and I were. We were so in love.” Rosa stared off into space with a dazed look upon her aged face. Whitney sighed, knowing her mother had never fully recovered from the demise of that relationship.

  “Then, this Charlie—he sounds a lot like your sister. Fun, carefree, the life of the party.”

  “He is.” Whitney smiled, remembering Charlie’s jokes in the Chicago bar.

  “But this Wes—his path is different. I’ve never heard you mention anyone like him before, so settled, mature. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re even attracted to him.”

  “What does that mean?” I can’t fall for someone mature, settled, or strong? What the hell?

  “Don’t misunderstand me.” Mama placed her hand, speckled with new liver spots, on Whitney’s knee. “You’ve always been the strong one, the settled one.”

  Settled? Elle is settled, not me. I don’t have a husband, a child, or even a mortgage.

  “Mama, I’m thirty-four and single. I’m far from settled.”

  Mama shrugged. “I see you differently than you see yourself.”

  Whitney pondered that statement, and for the first time in, perhaps, ever, she asked her to elaborate. “How do you see me?”

  Mama exhaled. “I have two very different daughters. One driven, successful, and full of life, the other wistful and creative, but lost . . . like her mother. And I love them equally. But let’s just say I never worry about my Whitney.” She stroked Whitney’s hair and Whitney eased into Mama’s familiar touch. “My Whitney doesn’t take crap from anyone, not even her mother.”

  Whitney tipped her head to the side with a half smile, knowing there were many times she’d reluctantly kept her mouth shut when dealing with her mother’s decisions. “That’s what you think.”

  Mama laughed, continuing to thread her fingers through Whitney’s curls. “All I’m saying is, you have three different paths, my darling, and each of these men represents something different. It’s up to you to figure out what you want.”

  “And what if I don’t know?”

  “Then try them all,” she giggled.

  “My, aren’t we saucy today?” Whitney laughed along with her mother, surprised at Rosa Bartolina’s sudden carefree approach to dating.

  “One will speak to you. I know my girl. You won’t let the right man slip through your fingers. You’d rather be single than be with the wrong one.”

  “True,” Whitney agreed.

  “It’s something I’ve always admired, quite frankly.”

  Whitney couldn’t believe her ears. Her mother had never said anything like this to her. Not ever. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Mama said before taking a sip of tea. “So you just let me know when you’ve chosen your path, dolcezza. I know you’ll choose correctly, even if it’s not my Nolan.”

  “At least one of us does,” Whitney joked, swatting her mother playfully on the arm. “And stop calling him that. I know you love him, but give it a rest, Mama. Seriously.” Frustration began to brew within her. She didn’t want her mother to root for the man who cheated on her. Of all people, her mother should be the one demanding she close the door on that chapter of her life. She needed Mama to have her back.

  Mama’s eyes grew serious, as if she could read Whitney’s thoughts. “There is nothing I want more than your happiness. Nothing at all.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Whitney nodded, hearing the words that she was waiting for. “Thank you.”

  The moment Whitney returned
to her Los Angeles apartment, she dropped her bags at the door and flung herself on her flawlessly made bed in a choreographed belly flop. With her arms and legs extended, she sunk her forehead into the delicate fabric of her duvet.

  “I’ve missed you,” she muttered into her memory foam mattress, savoring how she sank in perfectly, unlike the unforgiving hotel beds she’d occupied during the month of June. She shuddered, remembering the God-awful springs that dug into her back in Portland and the flat pillows of San Francisco that gave her a raging headache for twenty-four hours and had her craving home more than ever before. Traveling from city to city was exciting at first, but she was ready for the comforts of home.

  Her phone pinged just as she found herself succumbing to her bed’s seduction of comfort. Whitney glanced at Charlie’s text, a small smile perking at the corner of her mouth.

  Just landed @LAX. Wanna pick me up?

  Charlie was in L.A.? The semifinals didn’t start for two more weeks. She was confused, but excited to see him. Despite having no desire whatsoever to leave the nest-like comfort of her bed, she was pleased that he thought of her upon arriving in Los Angeles. She took a moment before responding.

  Take a cab. 320 Midway Drive. Apt 12. Not far.

  Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip and she waited for his reply. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss Charlie. Their night in Chicago was weeks prior and despite Wes’s pull on her being like nothing she’d ever experienced, she wasn’t ready to let go of her attraction to the British jokester with the hottest accent she’d ever heard. She was a grown woman and not committed to either man. As long as she was being safe in the bedroom, there was no room for complaint from either of them, especially since she and Wes had only shared a kiss. Just one kiss that made her horny as hell. There was no way she’d turn down another tumble in the sack with Charlie. No way in hell. But when he didn’t respond after several minutes, she rolled over, tossing the phone to the end of the bed.