The phone rang seven times without an answer.
She tossed and turned for another five minutes, and dialed
again. The phone rang three times and then she heard Miles' voice, rough and deep. "Hello?"
"Hi," she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
"Shauna?"
"Are you alright?"
"Huh? Why do you ask?"
"Are you alone?"
"What? Why?"
"Your voice sounds funny."
"Shauna, it's two in the morning."
She chewed her lip. "Sorry."
"Why are you still up?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Scuffling noise squeaked and crackled over the receiver, then Miles cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
"I had a really great time yesterday..."
"That's good. I did, too."
"But?" she asked.
"But what?"
"There was a 'but' in your tone," she said, then deepened her voice in an attempt to imitate him.. "'I had a great time, but...' But what--but you didn't get to 'smash that'?"
She heard sheets rustling and a mattress creaking, like he was sitting up in bed. "Last night did finish pretty sudden, Shauna."
"I'm sorry, Miles, but as much as I wanted you to stay, I had to get my daughter. My mother agreed to watch her for the evening--not for all night."
Miles yawned loudly. "Well, I guess that's a good sign you don't punk your own mother."
Shauna relaxed a bit--at least Miles was willing to see beyond his own needs. "Believe me: she is not the kind to let herself be taken advantage of."
"So what led you to call me at this hour?" he asked.
Shauna didn't exactly know the reason, herself. "I...um...I've just been thinking about you a lot..."
"In what way?"
"Well, I miss you."
"You want me to come back over?"
She laughed, nervously. "No. I don't think we're ready for that, yet. We don't want to take things too fast, y'know?"
"Okay. No pressure"
"Don't you miss me?"
"Yeah," he said, like it was a no-brainer. "I wasn't ready to say goodbye when we did."
"Sounds like you were sleeping okay, though."
"I was. Oh no!"
"What?"
"You don't do this all the time, do you? Tell me you're not one of those girls who get jealous when a guy enjoys himself in any way, including sleeping."
"I'm not codependent," she said, defensively. "But it is important for me to feel secure."
He sighed. "And what would make you feel secure?"
"Well, right now, I guess it would help if we defined our relationship."
"Defined?"
"You know: establish boundaries. Or at least shared our expectations with each other."
"I don't know about boundaries," he said, sounding more awake by the moment. "But I was just hoping to enjoy getting to know you."
H.R. Kitte-Rojas Shauna shifted the phone from her left ear to her right. "You did more than just get to know me tonight, Miles."
"Was it a bad thing?"
She flopped backwards on her bed, buffeted by contradictory feelings. "Look, okay...let me ask you a question: When we go out, would you rather we meet each other at the place we're going to, or drive there together?"
He was silent for a long moment. "I guess I'd prefer we drive together."
Shauna smiled. "See, that's the kind of thing I want to get straight."
"Which would you rather?" he asked.
"Drive together," she said, marveling at how dense guys could be sometimes. "Now, where do you live?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your home. Your address; house; apartment; residence. Where is it?"
"Why?"
"You know mine. I want to know yours."
"You're kinda bossy all the sudden."
"Is there a reason you don't want me to know?"
"You just said we shouldn't go too fast," he said.
"You sound like you're hiding something, Miles."
He sighed heavily and told her the neighborhood he lived in. Finding a pen and paper, she pressed him for his address, and jotted it down.
"You gonna send me a Christmas card?" he asked.
She chuckled. "Now, on to defining: Are you dating other girls?"
Another long silence. "Yeah."
She felt a pang in her stomach. "How many?"
"Just one besides you."
"Thanks for being honest," she said.
"Mmm-hmm. What about you: dating anyone else?"
She thought of Clarence, and wasn't sure how to define that relationship. "Guys come up to me, but I'm not in anything serious."
"Mine's not serious," he said.
"We'll have to discuss this further at a later date," she said. "Okay."
"Do you smoke? Drink? Do drugs?"
He make a scoffing noise in the phone. "Jeez. Is this a job interview? I drink sometimes. Socially. That's it. You?"
"I have a drink once in a blue moon," she said. "But smoking or drugs, never."
"That's good."
"Do you consider yourself a leader or a follower?"
He chuckled. "This is a job interview, ain't it?"
"You can think of it that way. And the position you're applying for is my man." She grinned, wondering if she'd dare to be so forward in person.
"That depends on what you mean," he said. "I'm not in a supervisory position, so occupationally I guess I'm a follower. I'd rather be a leader...but then, who doesn't?"
The answer was deeper than she expected, but Shauna liked it. Occupationally, she had just become a leader. But personally she liked being part of a team. And she didn't necessarily want to be in control of the team. In her new position as supervisor, trying to get her reps to do the right thing was so difficult she wasn't sure it was worth the drama. But she liked helping Donna achieve department goals.
So they were opposites in that way, her and Miles. But opposites that might fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces--if she could trust him.
"Is there any way we can continue this discussion later?" Miles asked.
"Why?"
"Well, I'd really like to get back to sleep."
"I'm sorry," she said. "Do you have plans for tomorrow?"
"Sleeping in," he said.
17
Shauna arrived at Miles' house at noon the next day, deciding that should be plenty of time for him to sleep in but be up and about by now. With her purse over one shoulder, and the bag full of supplies in her other hand, she rang his doorbell, studying the old faded paint and lack of decor. The peephole darkened and her heart sped up. How would he react to a surprise visit?
The door swung open and Miles stood before her in sweatpants and a Dilbert T-shirt, with a half-eaten Pop-Tart in one hand. When he recognized her, his eyebrows arched and he pulled the door tight behind him so that his body blocked the opening. "Shauna?"
"Hi," she said. "Surprise!" "Yeah. Surprise is right. What brings you over?" He stepped onto the porch in his bare feet and closed the door behind him.
She shook the bag. "I knew you haven't been changing your bandages, so I brought over what I need to do it for you."
He frowned, blushing. "That's really nice of you..."
She felt panic mix with anger. What was he trying to hide? "Do you have company over?"
"No."
"It's considered polite to invite someone in when they come to visit," she said.
He appeared somewhat panicked, himself. "I wasn't expecting you," Miles said. "The house, um, the house..."
"If you've got something more important to do..." She let the anger shape her tone of voice.
Miles flinched at her angry words, then, sighing, bumped the door open and backed through it. "Come on in."
Shauna stepped inside and understood why he would be reluctant to let anyone through the door--the place was a mess. Structurally it was sound, and there was no food, dirty dishes or dirty laund
ry left out, but junk was strewn everywhere and dust covered almost all the furniture.
"I don't have company very often," he said, blushing. "Sorry I haven't cleaned up."
"The place could use a woman's touch," she mumbled, struggling to keep her criticism polite.
He seemed to like the comment, as some of the tension let go of his body language.
"Take me to your cleanest sink," she said.
Miles hesitated for a moment, then led her into the kitchen. She pulled at his shirt and, getting the message, he helped her remove it.
When he stood bare-chested before her, she unconsciously touched him on the slab of one square pectoral muscle, caressing lightly down to his flat six-pack. He had a great body--not huge or cut, just lean and hard and full of determined energy.
She dropped his shirt on the kitchen counter and turned on the water. "What's with Dilbert?"
"Huh? Oh, my shirt." He watched her with a strange expression.
"And the shirt you wore the other day," she said, testing the water temperature with one hand. "Safe to assume you like the comic strip?"
"He's a riot," Miles said. "His desk calendars make great gifts, by the way."
She grimaced at his lame attempt to be humorous and wet the bandages so she could remove them without ripping the wounds open in the process. It was a slow, laborious task and his closeness still had a powerful effect on her.
Once the bandages were completely off, she cleaned around the wounds, careful not to dislodge the thick scabs.
"Come on," she said, once finished, and tugged him toward an uncluttered chair in the living room.
He made a grab for his shirt but she had already pulled him too far away. "Where's Katina?"
She indicated he should sit on the chair. "Celeste has her for the day."
He sat, eyebrows knitting as if someone were playing a joke on him. "Celeste? Your friend the she-shark?"
She sat on the arm of the chair and opened the bag. "She owes us one after what she did."
"Tah-rue," he said, with a crooked grin.
She applied hydrogen peroxide to the gaps and cracks in the scabs. He flinched ever-so-slightly. Tiny little foaming action framed his scabs. "She's a good friend. Just presumptive sometimes."
"What exactly did she presume?" He asked, his eyes piercing into hers.
She tried to pierce him right back. "She's worried your intentions might not be honorable."
He tilted his head slightly, squinting as if mulling this over. She put the peroxide away, then, using a cotton ball, began dabbing iodine up and down the length of his arms. "It's scabbing up nicely," she said.
"So it's not your own idea to second-guess me every time the subject of sex comes up," he said. "She's been planting doubts about me."
"We've both had our hearts broken," Shauna said, sounding more defensive than she wanted to. "Players are everywhere. It may be all fun and games to them, but real women with real feelings get hurt."
Miles was silent for another long moment, watching her dab the iodine. Then he glanced around the house and nodded. "That's why you wanted to surprise me at home--to see if I was 'playing' with somebody else."
He had missed a lot of nuance in her strategy, but was on the right track. Not that she wanted to admit as much. "I was hoping it would be a pleasant surprise."
"It was," he said. "But it's embarrassing the house is such a dump."
"More ice broken," she said, flashing a grin.
He smiled, somewhat sheepishly. "How long does she have Katina?"
"Oh, for a while." Actually, Celeste had agreed to keep her until the following morning, if necessary, but playing it coy left more options open as the day developed. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Well, since we've got more ice broken, it would be nice if we could spend some time together."
She felt the overpowering urge to smirk. "You want to extend my house call?"
"If you don't have other plans."
She succumbed to the urge and smirked like crazy. "We'll see."
With the iodine applied, she began taping new gauze bandages to his arms.
He stared at her hands as she worked, as if the movement of her fingers were hypnotic.
"What?" she finally asked.
"What, what?" he replied.
"What are you staring at?"
"Your hands."
"Why?"
"They're beautiful."
"Oh, thank-you. You really think so?"
He nodded.
She paused to glance at her hands. "You don't think they're pudgy?"
He scoffed. "You mean because they're not skeletal? Your hands are a work of art."
"Thank you," she said, again.
"They're so feminine. I could watch them for hours. Well, for minutes anyway. My attention span ain't what it used to be."
Her face heated, but she let her fingers play over his skin just a little bit more than before. Just a little bit more than necessary. "I've never had a man compliment my hands before."
"Really? Well, I'm proud to be the first. How 'bout your booty?"
She snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes. "You definitely would not be the first to compliment that."
"Hmm. I didn't think so. But no harm in making sure. I guess your...um, breasts are over-complimented, too."
She twisted her lips and nodded.
"Same with your eyes?"
"Yes, but not nearly as often."
"Your eyes are gorgeous. How 'bout your lips?"
"Yes."
"Legs?"
She shrugged. "My legs are too chubby."
"No way," he said, scornful.
"They're huge, Miles!"
"No--you don't get compliments on them because only the most highly trained, disciplined specialists can rip our eyes away from what's right above them. And speaking of that: Hips?"
"Those would fall under 'booty'," she said, with a disapproving tone.
"They're related, but not exactly the same. Some women have great buns, but no hips. And vice-versa. You are off the chain in both categories."
"Thanks," she said, dubiously.
"Nose?"
"No."
"You've got a very cute nose."
"You don't think it's too wide?"
"No. It fit's your face. I've come to love your nose."
She snickered, but her face heated.
"Neck?"
"No."
"Very graceful neck. Voice?"
"Yes."
"Damn."
"You've got a nice voice," she said.
"Really? Thanks. You are the first to say that."
"You're welcome. I've liked it since that first phone conversation."
"So it was mutual." With a playful twinkle in his eye, he asked, "What else would you like to be first at? Not my booty, of course, but feel free to compliment it anyway."
She snorted again. Now finished with the bandaging, she stood, shaking her head. "You're a real clown, Miles."
Miles tested her bandaging by flexing his arms. Shauna stooped to pick up a contraption off the couch cushion, holding it up to eye level, trying to make sense of all the gears, motors and wires. "What is this?"
Miles looked up from his arms. "It's gonna be a radio-controlled helicopter, when I'm finished."
"You're building it from scratch? Why not just buy one?"
He rose from his seat, and stood beside her, pointing to components of the apparatus. "You can't buy one like this one's gonna be. It'll have counter-rotating main rotors, so no tail rotor is necessary. These gears here keep the main rotors spinning in opposite directions at a calibrated rate."
"Seems like a lot of work for a toy."
He shrugged. "I guess so. But a functional prototype could be of interest to the military. Tail rotors are the Achilles' heel for helicopters."
She set it back down. He strode past her , squatted, and pulled another toy off the floor. This one actually resembled a helicopter, but a wrecked one.
> "This one's gasoline powered. No tail rotor here, either--I tried to vent the exhaust out sideways to counteract the torque of the main rotor."
"Looks like you crashed it."
He smiled sheepishly again. "I used a single-piston internal combustion engine. I think the force of the exhaust wasn't consistent enough, or commensurate with the rotor's torque through cycles of acceleration and deceleration. Real helicopters almost all use turbine engines, and I think the exhaust might be easier to manipulate...but finding a turbine engine small enough for a scale model..."
"I thought you were interested in air brakes for choo-chootrains. Not helicopter rotors."
Blushing, Miles pointed to a pile of pipes, valves and metal canisters on the floor in the corner. "There's my simplified air brake system...some day."
Shaking her head, Shauna stepped closer to the wall to look at something. Mounted crookedly to the dark green wall with diagonal strips of clear tape was an electrical engineering degree. She did a double take, then read every word on the certificate. "You're an electrical engineer, Miles?"
He answered her from the kitchen, mouth half full of the remains of his Pop-Tart. "Yeah. I really should have went with mechanical engineering, but the dean of that college was a prick. And my guidance counselor said there'd be a bigger demand for electronics gurus."
She shook her head and blinked her eyes. "No. I mean, you've got an engineering degree and you're climbing through attics for Avcom?"
"I know, right? You hungry? Did you have breakfast?"
She tapped palm to forehead. "Oh. What am I thinking? I brought us lunch."
He stared after her as she went outside. When she returned with her full Tupperware containers, he stood in the same spot, still staring.
"You have a microwave?" she asked.
He said nothing--just watched her with an expression of wonderment.
"A store-bought, fully functional microwave," she corrected herself. "Not some half-finished nuclear toaster oven you're building from scratch."
He pointed to his microwave, frowning. "Right there, hater."
She grinned, took her lasagna dish over and popped it in.
Once the table was cleared off, and utensils set, they sat down together to eat.
"Why are you acting so funny?" she finally asked.
"You cooked for me," he said, simply.
"Other girls don't do this for you?"
"Not this way. No."
"You like it?"
"You really are a giving person," he said, in a soft voice, as if speaking to nobody in particular.
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