by Gina Conkle
The contempt line slashed the skin beside his mouth. “I scared you off. Because of last night.”
“Scared me? No,” I said quietly. “You made me feel a lot of things. Fear wasn’t one of them.”
An unseen shutter went down over his hard shell eyes. “Honest Abbie.”
His lips parted as if he didn’t mean to say that aloud. After a heartbeat, Mark relaxed, shrugging off the interlude, heading to the door. I figured his conscience cleared after trying to talk sense into the naïve bookstore clerk. Life would go on. He must have a lot more practice at awkward good-byes. Me? I preferred to slink off alone and lick my wounds the short distance back to work, but I’m a terminal nice girl, and Mark had already decimated my boundaries.
I kept a wide berth between us as we left Coffee Barn. Coastal drizzle misted the asphalt. People stepped off the sidewalk, palms up testing the weather. I couldn’t help wondering what Mark would do with the rest of his non-working day. With the wind kicking up, any waves would be choppy. Bad for surfing. Live here long enough and you learn the basics. My lips clamped shut. I had no business asking him about what he’d do. Conversation would thread a connection I needed to cut.
Stopping outside Howell’s I stuck my hand out for a business-like handshake. “Well, thanks for lunch.”
Mark’s eyes matched moody skies. Sun-streaked brown hair fell around his tanned face. He took my hand and put the ripped napkin in my palm.
“What’s this?”
“My address.”
My head snapped up fast. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.
“Show up at seven tonight and I’ll give you twelve thousand four hundred thirty-one reasons to be there.” He dug keys out of his front pocket, his grin sliding sideways. “I’ll feed you, too.”
I gaped at him. He didn’t ask what time I was off work or if I already had plans.
His gaze raked me from head to toe. “Wear whatever you want, but no bra.”
Mark’s deep, intimate voice sent a zing of excitement from my head to the soft skin between my legs. Two moms passed by pushing strollers, their chatter faltering when he gave his no bra edict. Both feminine stares latched curiously on me before sliding to Mark as they rolled on by. Heat flamed my cheeks and scalp. He’d intentionally spoken loud enough for those women to hear.
Grinning ear to ear, Mark stepped off the curb, jangling his keys. “If you’re a good girl, I might let you go at midnight.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Jill said in a rush. “We got super busy but you need to see this.”
She waved me over to Reference Central. Howell’s tried to give patrons the library experience with dark paneling, lots of small tables and chairs scattered around the store, and a circular information desk called Reference Central in the middle of the store. I walked in a stupor, stuffing the napkin in my purse. My head was in the clouds but my body vibrated with want. Excitement shot through me. Mark didn’t speak in if you show up terms, rather when you show up. My passive agreement was a forgone conclusion. He was forceful without being domineering. He played me…probably knew my brain was yelling thank you for last night. The hormones dumping into my system were proof positive.
“What is it?” I stowed my purse under the counter, coaching myself to stay centered. I had a full day of work ahead.
“It’s your surfer. Mr. Mark Green.”
Bending over her shoulder, I braced a hand on the counter. There in full color Mark stared back at me, the corners of his mouth curving with a put on smile for the camera, his face hawkish and intense. What stole my breath was him in a slim-fitting, black tuxedo with one hand in his pocket. No shiny trim. No vest. A thin black bow tie broke the white V of his shirt. The plainness was devastating, a perfect foil for his sharp handsomeness.
“He’s so…” I let out a puff of air.
“Scrumptious? Yummy? A perfect male?” Jill’s Cheshire cat smile split from ear to ear. “And he just happens to be interested in you, my friend.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that.”
“Please,” she groaned. “You meet a guy last night and he shows up the next day at your place of employment instead of waiting three or four days to maybe text you.” Jill paused, her brows up in her hairline. “He’s hot for something.”
I chewed the corner of my mouth. She nailed it, but what he was hot for was a secret. Mine and Mark’s.
Studying the image on the screen, his hair was shorter but still too long and mussed for whatever refined event called for a tuxedo. Mark had probably shaved, showered, put on the tux, and finger-combed his hair as he went out the door. He was a wild creature in a field of tame men holding champagne flutes.
“Mark Green.” I repeated his name before diving into the caption. Jill didn’t have to know I learned Mark’s last name the same time she did.
The event was a Save the Ocean fundraiser dated fourteen months ago. I’d heard of it. The foundation had major pull in this area since Laguna Niguel lived and breathed by its beaches. Jill was more tuned in to those things.
What would happen if all those portly, middle-aged business types in the background knew what I knew about Mark?
“After you left I couldn’t stop thinking I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t place where. Then I remembered the Save the Ocean Foundation on the local news. It helped that he used his credit card, too,” Jill said, scanning the screen. “Not sure why you didn’t tell me you met him.”
I ignored her grumbled accusation and hunted for more information about Mr. Mark Green, but the text was mostly about the foundation’s work.
Jill scrolled through the post. “We had a stream of customers after you left, so this was my first chance to search for him. There’s more.” She peeked at me over her shoulder. “Want me to click one of those links?”
“Yes,” I said, jiggling the chair’s back rest.
“Romance in the Information Age,” she sighed. “Nothing like researching a man on the internet.”
Jill and I usually shared dating fiascos or the lack of good men when we got together during off hours. Just yesterday we’d both commiserated our current dry spell. I trusted her with a lot, but I couldn’t spill the beans on my new, seedy nighttime employment. Jill didn’t know Tara and those two worlds would never intersect.
The computer’s brightness reflected off Jill’s glasses. “I want details.”
“Later. I promise.”
Voices rose in the store, the volume and number increasing as people ducked in laughing about drizzling skies. Customers meandered past the desk rain drops beading on their nylon jackets. Their gazes sought eye contact with a casual Are you available to help? face.
“Welcome to Howell’s. We’ll be with you in just a moment,” I said, my head popping up.
Jill inhaled fast and the mouse clicked again. “We should do this later. The store’s getting busy.”
She’d clicked back to the blank search engine page.
“What’d you find?” Leaning closer, I planted my forearm on the laminate desktop.
“Why don’t you go help that lady, and I’ll shut this down.”
“Jill…” I commandeered the computer mouse and clicked the back arrow.
A mosaic of Mark pictures rendered on the screen. This time in some of them he was standing with a sophisticated woman with jet black hair. In one image, she shimmered in a silver spaghetti strap dress zig-zagging with tasteful sequins. A pair of silvery high heels peeked out under her hem. The whole ensemble must’ve equaled half my annual salary. In another picture, she pulled off a mint green suit.
“If I wore that, I’d look like a key-lime popsicle,” Jill murmured, poking a finger at the green suit image.
“Who is she?”
My breath shallowed. There were too many images of Mark in a tuxedo, Mark in a su
it, Mark in jeans and a T-shirt…most of them with her. In one picture his mouth brushed her ear intimately, crushing my ridiculous hope that she was his sister.
“Click that one.” I pointed at the picture of his lips on her ear. If I was going to squash any romantic hope, that was the one to do it.
The image rendered on the screen at the top of the online article, the woman’s name in bold font. Lacey Boudreaux, CIO of Nor Star Laser Technology. I went numb. So they had a work place romance. Great. Ms. Boudreaux was elegant, well-off, and accomplished.
Everything I was not.
I fixated on one picture in particular. The longer I stared, the harder it was to breathe. Lacey Boudreaux was a boulder crushing my chest. Everything about her was perfect. Her hair’s straight center part, every sleek strand pulled into a knot at the back of her neck. Glossy nude-shaded lips spread in a full, genuine smile. The only creases on her alabaster skin were the single lines at the corners of her eyes.
The picture showed Mark’s profile, his lips partially open as if speaking mid-sentence. Whatever Mark said made her glow. I’d only known him one night, but I knew he could do that to a woman.
Jill cleared her throat, her finger pointing at a line further down. “It says they’re engaged.”
I flinched. She didn’t mean to make things worse. The picture was more than enough for that. The image obliterated fledgling emotions for a man I barely knew. This was good. I didn’t want to be a sap, getting all gooey over a man who was no good. Was I a final fling before he got married? Men sewing their wild oats before wedlock was so clichéd. It was the last thing I wanted to believe about Mark, but overwhelming evidence stared me in the face.
My grandma once said all it takes is one bad decision with a man to leave a woman paying the price the rest of her life. I had twelve thousand four hundred thirty-one reasons to show up at his tonight and one big reason to never lay eyes on Mark again.
Talk about the worst odds.
CHAPTER TEN
Seven o’clock rolled around and Abbie didn’t show. My brain played different scenarios, my favorite being the painful she had second thoughts. Eight o’clock came and I vented my irritation by getting elbow deep in soapy water, scrubbing pots and pans. Was she in an accident? I had no way to reach Abbie other than calling the store. Would a phone call make a bona fide stalker? Four times I picked up the phone and four times I hung up, accepting the inevitable. She had second thoughts.
When nine o’clock came, it was time to clean up the spread I’d laid out. My table was loaded. Handmade spring rolls. Vegetable stir-fry seasoned with toasted sesame oil. Crisp coconut shrimp. Thin slices of Kobe beef…real Kobe beef that a friend hand delivered on his private jet from Hyogo Prefecture, not the Wagyu crap American restaurants try to pass off as Kobe beef at outrageous prices.
And beside her empty plate —a check made payable to Abbie for twelve thousand four hundred thirty-one dollars.
I picked it up ready to wad up proof of a foolish mistake. Instead I took it to my kitchen bulletin board and jammed a pin into the check. Fuck. I didn’t even know her last name and I was ready to rescue her. My record was O and two with women.
Last night was mission accomplished. Sex with a woman without losing it when I touched her throat. Abbie was sweet and trusting at all the right moments. She had no idea she’d saved me from falling down a rabbit hole. I should be okay with her not showing —as long as she was safe. If she had other things to do, fine. I did too…like take a hot shower and figure out how to stop thinking about her. We only had one night. What made Abbie so different?
I turned off the lights and headed to my room. Rain splattered the bedroom windows, a lonely sound. Standing in the dark, I gritted my teeth, willing the swollen ache in my chest to go away. Last night with Abbie felt like coming up for air. I was alive for the first time in eleven months. Feeling. Aroused. Connected to a woman. To her.
“Now you’re twice the fool.” I yanked off my shirt and flung it across the room into the hamper.
Lights glared on the street below my windows. Through the open metal blinds I saw a car drive at a snail’s pace, the brakes grinding badly when the car stopped suddenly in front of my house. A beat up tan four-door backed up, the brakes squeaking badly. Abbie.
I took off downstairs and ran out the front door bare foot. Headlights and rain poured over me. Abbie sat in her car, the motor running, holding up the torn napkin, trying to read it with a penlight. The lump in my chest cracked at the sight of her blonde head blurry on the other side of her windshield. It didn’t matter. I’d send her away. I wasn’t into girls playing hard to get games.
I knocked on her driver’s side window. She jumped like a scared rabbit, dropping her penlight.
I braced both hands on the car door. “You need new brakes.”
“Nice to see you too,” she said past the window whirring down. The glass stopped half way.
Mascara-smudged eyes stared hotly at me as cold droplets rolled my back. Sweet Abbie showed her claws ready to match my mood. Maybe I ought to cut her some slack and listen but listening when I’m pissed isn’t my strong suit.
“You know, one hour I can understand, but two? Why bother to show?”
She killed the engine and gave me a coy, “I have my reasons.”
Fat raindrops pinged her tin-can car. Abbie flicked off the car lights, a sure sign she planned to stay. I wanted to yank her close. She was safe and she’d come to me, but, my asshole roots run deep. I wasn’t letting her off the hook.
“Give me one good one.”
“For my tardiness? Or why I bothered to show?” She shot both questions at me, a sure sign both carried weight with her.
I planted both feet wider. “Let’s start with why you’re more than two hours late.”
“The other assistant manager came in late. She had a flat tire.” Abbie’s breath fogged a circle on the window, but her voice got me, the calm, sharp cadence of it. “I was the only one with keys to the store. I wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t.”
Stiffness melted from my shoulders. I respected her sense of responsibility, and her not taking my shit.
“For a man good with numbers, you missed an important one,” she went on. “A phone number where I could reach you. I sat at the Reference Desk waiting for my replacement. I would’ve called you know.”
I stood there, rain pelting my back, cooling my ire. Without a word, I opened the door, my blood pressure ebbing. A woman not showing up as planned was a sore spot with me. Sure, I barked at her about being late without listening first. I deserved her testiness, but there was something else. Abbie hesitated. A laundry basket of folded clothes sat in the passenger seat with the pants and shirt she’d worn earlier draped over one side. Her eyes narrowed on my bare feet and shirtless chest.
“Did I interrupt you in the middle of something?”
Water dripped in my widening eyes. When a woman asks that question in a scathing tone its jealousy. Running out as I did got her assuming the worst.
“Interrupt me?” My laugh had an edge. “Why don’t you come inside and see?”
She checked my dark front windows. I couldn’t get why she scowled at me or why she decided to come in when she was conflicted at being here in the first place. The car window whirred up again, and we dashed into my house.
I shut the door behind her and flipped on a row of light switches. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, dripping wet spots on a red waffle knit Henley shirt. Lips pursed, Abbie sized up my living room, empty except for three surfboards on beach towels, a spring suit for warm weather surfing, one board bag for travel, and pictures cluttering the mantle.
“No furniture,” she said, flashing attitude. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for Communist chic.”
“I like the simple life.”
Abbie made a beeline for the mantle, her tennis shoes squeaking on my
tile floor. “Family pictures. I wouldn’t have pegged you for those either.” She tossed the words at me, picking up one frame, examining it tersely before going onto another.
Tension knit my shoulders. Abbie pinballed from one seething state to another, a range of emotions bouncing off her, all lit with a harsh undercurrent as she scanned the photos. Four of the pictures were me with my mom, dad, and sister at high school and college graduation, one family Christmas gathering, and the other two were me at favorite surf spots.
“This is so…normal.” Her body rigid, there was a bite to Abbie. “Do they know about you?”
I sucked in a quick breath. What was I thinking? One night and we were cozy? I didn’t need this. I took the picture from out of her hands.
“Picture time is done. You can leave.”
“Why? Did my coming late upset plans with your fiancée?”
I averted my eyes, taking my time setting the frame back on the mantle. Abbie’s question sucker punched me. I didn’t have to explain. Revealing my past wasn’t a requirement. Good for her researching me. I was a virtual stranger who’d invited her to my house for what? More handcuffs? She was smart to check on me. I’d used my credit card to buy the cookbook. She’d probably looked me up on the internet.
Maybe I wanted her to.
Wiping a speck of dust off my college graduation picture, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Last night I wanted Abbie to open up to me and here I could barely do the same for her. My gaze latched onto the unbuttoned part of her shirt before drifting lower. Two small circles poked back at me, her nipples pencil eraser hard unfettered by a bra.
“You know about Lacey.” My voice was flat. The past was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
Abbie inhaled fast. “I need to leave.”
When I looked at her eyes, needle sharp pain reflected back at me. She blinked twice and sped to the front door. I’d caused the hurt, and it ripped me in two.
“Abbie…wait.”
She fumbled with her purse, and I ran to the kitchen for the check. Trotting back to the front door, I wanted to stroke the long snarled blonde hair falling down her back. Sniffling loudly, Abbie had her hand on the door knob.