Borrowing Trouble

by Mae Wood

  And, my boyfriend’s back.

  I shifted in my seat. “Carlos, you know him. Accounting is on the same floor as HR, right? What’s your opinion?”

  Deflect and distract. Deflect and distract.

  “Trip, I hate to say, it but I agree with Marisa on this one. He’s a good guy. Attractive, and his story is credible. To be honest, I’ve been worried about something like this since I got wind of the calendar. I had to pull down one of the calendars when I heard it was hung in the women’s bathroom on the seventh floor.”

  “Fine. Go try this case. Win it, okay?” He nodded and stood from the table.

  Okay, no pressure there.

  “Carlos, thanks for joining me. Marisa, thanks for walking over. I think this has been very productive. Carlos, let’s touch base next week to talk about the costs of some of the training Marisa suggested. Marisa, do you have a moment to speak with me?”

  “Of course.” Carlos and I shook hands and he took his leave. Trip stepped within inches of me. I could feel his heat and my body began to hum from his proximity.

  “You never answered my question.”

  I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “About whether every woman in that courtroom will be thinking about licking the plaintiff.”

  I blushed and whispered my confession. “There is only one body I want my tongue on.” He gingerly ushered me closer towards the table where I knew we couldn’t be seen from the doorway of his office. “No nooner,” I hissed.

  Trip laughed. “Oh, no. I understand the rules. But you need to understand that you cannot talk about tongues on bodies without creating quite the hardship.” He placed my hand on the front of his trousers. My panties dampened in response to him.

  “Do you want to run home?” I softly inquired, feeling badly for giving him a raging hard on in the middle of the workday and also feeling very turned on myself.

  “I can’t. I’ve got a call in ten minutes. Make it up to me tonight?”

  I nodded. “Your place or mine?”

  “This week, yours.”

  ***

  I walked into River City Coffee at nine o’clock on the nose Tuesday morning. Erica was perusing the handwritten menu that hung above the counter.

  “Like you need a menu.”

  “Changing my ways. No tea today. I’m thinking something large and chocolaty that I can’t properly pronounce.”

  “By all means,” I swept an arm toward the barista. “Large skim decaf latte for me and whatever this lovely lady wants.”

  “Something large and chocolaty that I can’t properly pronounce. Surprise me.”

  “Truly, no herbal tea?”

  “I’m not working today, so I don’t need to try to keep my normal Zen-like state.”

  I chuckled.

  Erica. Zen-like.

  We chatted about the Sunday night dinner where the boys had spent all night talking about some war game they play on their iPhones. And by boys, we meant our significant others.

  “And it looks like I have some competition. Miri parked herself in Trip’s lap all dinner.”

  “Oh, I noticed. Did you notice that she was wearing lipgloss? And by lipgloss, that’s what she calls her cherry Chapstick. You’ve got to step up your game.”

  “I know. It’s not like he’s bought me a house. She’s going down.” I smiled, wanting to dish, but also not wanting to share my happiness when Erica and Josh’s relationship was struggling.

  “Come on. Don’t make me arm wrestle you.”

  “You’d lose.”

  “Whatever. Just tell me.”

  “So, we’re having a trial run at living together this week.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “We’re staying at my place.”

  “You guys are so weird. Love isn’t a series of deliberate moves like in a chess game.”

  “I know. But I’m not ready to jump into something serious.”

  “Oh, that ship has sailed,” she replied, waving me off. “Has he proposed yet?”

  My eyes grew wide. “We’ve only know each other for a few months,” I stammered.

  “Are you going to answer my question? Because I’m pretty sure he’s going to. He’s nuts about you and you, my sweet friend, are in so deep that even your amazing denial mechanism can’t cope with it.”

  “My denial mechanism?”

  “You are a wonder. You really should teach classes. So, have you accepted the fact that you’re irrevocably in love with him?”

  I pursed my lips and nodded.

  “Told him?”

  “Yes.”

  “He said the same to you?”

  I nodded, thinking back to the very non-family friendly way those words had first escaped his mouth. “Yup.”

  “So, Miri would love to be a flower girl.”

  “Way too early to have this conversation,” I cautioned her, taking a sip of coffee.

  “But since you haven’t denied it, I’m taking that as a yes, you’ve talked about it.” Erica clapped her hands and stomped her feet in a little victory dance.

  “In not so many words. Chill out.”

  “So, this summer? Miri really would look lovely as a flower girl.”

  “Really, chill. We’re so in lust that I don’t think either of us are thinking straight.”

  “Oh, that’s the best. I remember those days. Josh and I were having sex like all the time. All. The. Time. One time, we even —”

  I shoved my fingers into my ears and loudly chanted “please stop, please stop, please stop” until Erica’s talking converted to tears of laughter.

  “Fine, you want to know what the boys did at Whole Foods?”

  “Our boys?”

  I nodded. “Yup. Saturday we went to Whole Foods and Trip was getting a little handsy in the cheese department when Josh saw us and shouted ‘get a room.’ ”

  “That’s my husband,” Erica beamed.

  “Well, then they had this weird thing they did where they started referencing sex like twenty-year-old frat boys. Josh talked about how his jaw was sore, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, it probably is.”

  “Erica! This is a family establishment.”

  She shrugged. “Just being honest. We have a lot of making up to do.”

  “Y’all working through it?”

  “Let’s just say that when he’s in town, I’ve been putting him to work.”

  I rolled my eyes at her, knowing good and well she was not in the mood for a heart to heart talk, and so we chatted happily until I looked at my watch and realized I needed to get back to the office. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got a client lunch and actually need to do some work.”

  “A real client lunch or is this code for ‘I’m meeting my boyfriend for some afternoon delight’?”

  I stood up from our table and picked up my empty cup. “To be honest, I’m not sure. Yesterday we had an honest-to-God business meeting. He didn’t exactly circulate an agenda for today, so I have no clue.”

  “Boom chicka baw baw,” sang Erica, mimicking bad porn music. I shook my head and I walked back to my office on autopilot, quickly managing the thirty emails that had shown up during my mid-morning coffee break. I settled back into my desk and cranked away. Outlook pinged me when it was time to head to Branco.

  Which Trip will I get at lunch today? Last night he was intense. This morning he was cuddly, but I left for the office just after sunrise, so who knows. Guess it’s time to find out.

  I stopped off in the bathroom to check my appearance. I swiped on fresh lipstick, ran a brush through my hair, and turned in the full-length mirror to make sure nothing had gone wrong with my navy shift dress and brown faux-crocodile pumps.

  Yup. Nothing tragic and nothing overtly sexy. Just a normal day at the office. When I’m having lunch with my boyfriend who adores me.

  I smiled to myself in the mirror, noting how my eyes crinkled in the corners with happiness.

  I t
old Jane I was headed over to Branco. As I walked out the lobby doors, I saw Trip’s car idling at the curb. He rolled down the passenger side window. “Offer you a ride?”

  I opened the door and hopped into the car. “Going off campus?” He nodded and pulled the car into traffic. “So, is this business or pleasure?”

  “Today you are simply my beautiful girlfriend who I’m taking across state lines for immoral purposes.”

  “Oh! So, Mann Act violation? Excellent.”

  He laughed. “I cannot believe you know the name of that law. Is that still even a law?”

  “I don’t know. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a nerd.”

  “In the best possible way. No, I thought I’d swap out cars for this weekend. We’ll ride to the benefit with my parents and George will drive. I didn’t think you’d want to be in the middle of the backseat of my dad’s car crammed between me and my father.”

  “You got that right. No Brannon sandwich for me.” The words fell from my lips and I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, that sounds terrible. That wasn’t what I meant. Ewww.” I was red from embarrassment from head to toe.

  Trip chuckled. “No, I know you’re more of an open-faced sandwich kind of girl.”

  “Definitely. So, no immoral purposes to our lunch?”

  “None intended on my part, but apparently you’ve got sex on the brain.”

  “Sorry,” I demurred.

  “Don’t apologize. I like how you think.” He winked at me. “So, I think I told you that I keep a few cars in a garage in Southaven, just over the state line. It’s not like a collection, so don't go getting your hopes up. I just didn’t have room at the house because of my bicycle stuff.”

  “And now my car.”

  “And now your car,” he affirmed. “What do you want for lunch?”

  “I need to be back in about an hour and a half, so it can’t be long. We can stop someplace like Newk’s for sandwiches and salads, or we can fix sandwiches at home.”

  “Open-faced sandwiches?”

  I nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Oh, hell yes.” His right hand found my thigh and began to explore.

  “Trip,” I plead. “I only have so much self-control. It’s the middle of the day and we’re in traffic.”

  “Someone is hot to trot today. I thought I would have worked it out of your system last night.”

  “I doubt that is even possible.”

  “Excellent. Okay, we’ll mind our manners, switch out cars and then head home for lunch. One question for you, Miss Tanner. When you said home for lunch, just whose kitchen did you envision us fixing open-faced sandwiches in?”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “Yours. You win.”

  “Best thing I’ve heard all day.” We lapsed into an easy banter as Trip filled me in on a century ride in Kentucky he and the guys were doing in a couple weekends.

  “Well, that’s good because with this trial, I’m going to be pretty MIA from now until it’s done.”

  “What do you mean MIA? It’s all local, so you’ll be here.”

  “Yes, I’ll physically be here, but I’ll be working, sleeping and sneaking in runs.”

  “So no chance for one last St. George visit before winter sets in?”

  “Probably not. But don’t let my schedule hold you back.”

  “And you won’t come to Kentucky with me for the race?”

  “And do what? I can’t cycle a hundred miles. Am I supposed to stand at the finish line to hold a sign?” The look he gave me was telling. He really did expect me to be there, standing at the finish line. “I mean, if it’s really that important to you, I’ll do it.” We pulled up to a warehouse and he placed the car in park.

  “Sometimes I just feel like I’m the one putting in all the effort.” He climbed out of the car, leaving me dumbfounded in my seat.

  Oh, shit. He’s right. When have I done anything for him? It’s been all about me. He’s constantly putting me first. I’ve got to fix this. How do I fix this?

  I climbed out of his small silver convertible and walked through the open door Trip had disappeared into. The fluorescent lights were warming up, so the large space was still dim. “Trip?” I called. My voice echoed in the metal building.

  “Hey, I’m here.” He walked out behind a boat.

  “A boat?”

  “That’s my dad’s fishing boat. Most of the things in here are his.”

  “And your mom doesn’t let him drive much anymore, right?”

  Trip nodded. “Yes, I know it seems crazy to keep all this, but that’s my dad.”

  “Is that a dune buggy?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me why. I’ve never even seen it run. It’s been here my whole life.” The space was as large as a couple basketball courts and was littered with man toys. The dune buggy, at least three boats I could see, including a paddle boat, what I was pretty sure was an ultralight, a smattering of motorcycles, a few Vespas, probably left over from Trip’s brief ownership of a Vespa dealership, and rows upon rows of cars. Some vintage, some new.

  Well, hello, Jimmy. Next time on Hoarders: Buried Alive, Billionaire Transportation Freak Edition.

  “So what’s yours?”

  “That Lexus,” he said, pointing to a standard black sedan. “That Midget,” he said, pointing to an old MG convertible in British racing green, “a couple Vespas and the Rover.” A large silver Land Rover was parked near an overhead door. “We’re taking the Rover. It’s got a third row, so I’ll sit in the way back. You and Mom can have the middle and Dad can sit up front with George.”

  “And we’ll leave the Mercedes here?”

  “Unless you want to drive it.”

  “No thanks. I like my little Audi.”

  “You want the MG?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been looking at it.”

  “Oh, no. It’s so cute and I’m not driving what is clearly a collector’s item.”

  “And you’d be right about that. First car I bought myself. I don’t even want to know how much money I’ve spent keeping it running. It’s as old as I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Same vintage. But you’re welcome to it.”

  “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Okay. Whatever you want, Marisa.”

  What about what you want?

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Good. You want the MG? Let me find the keys.”

  “No, screw the test run. You still looking for a roommate?”

  “Is it the MG that did it?”

  “No, it’s not the MG.” I knew he was teasing me. “Come on, let’s get home so I can make us sandwiches.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I skipped out of work early, around four o’clock. I went to my condo and packed. Packed for the rest of the week. My favorite lotion. Extra elastics for my ponytails. My lavender bathrobe. Three work dresses. Shoes. Running clothes and socks. A suit just in case I had a last-minute court appearance. And my make-up. When I was done my bedroom and bathroom looked like a bomb had gone off and my suitcase was threatening to explode.

  As I looked at the suitcase, sitting on top of my bed, I got nervous. Really nervous.

  Am I having a panic attack? This is what I want so why am I freaking out? He’s not going to cheat on me. He’s not going to leave me. He’s not going to do anything bad to me ever. Or Bitsy would kill him. I faintly smiled and got my head on straight. I took some deep cleansing breaths and grabbed my phone.

  “Hey, chicka” I said when Erica answered.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, I left work early to pack things to kind of move into to Trip’s house.”

  “Well, that must have been some lunch date. Good for you. What caused you to change your mind?”

  “Well, I realized there was no good reason not to do it. But now I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Better now than in a year when you’re standing there on your dad’s arm in a long
white dress.”

  “Please.”

  “No, really. So this isn’t about you and Trip, right? You know that. You guys have been inseparable for months now. This is about you. Trip isn’t Paul. And it’s probably a little about me and Josh, too.”

  “And it’s also about his ex-girlfriend. They lived together for a few months.”

  “When did that end?”

  “A year ago.”

  “So you’ve both got baggage. Welcome to the real world. Did you really think the guy you’d end up with would be some sort of virgin who had only lived with his parents before you?”

  “No, and I know it’s silly. And we talked about it. It’s not like I’m selling my place or redecorating his. His house makes more sense because it’s bigger than my condo and he has a garage for his bikes. Not like my running shoes take up a lot of space no matter where we are.”

  “And you’ll be pissed at yourself forever if you don’t give this a go.”

  “I know that. That’s part of why I’m doing it.”

  “I hope you’re doing it because you want to.”

  “I’m doing it because I want to and he wants me to and I want to make him happy because he makes me happy.”

  “After that little spiel, if you aren’t rocking a ring by the end of the year, I’m going to be shocked. Now, go on and live your life. Just make sure he gives you the best closet in the house. Josh has the closet in the guest room. Best decision I ever made. The walk-in master is all mine.”

  “You are Machiavellian. I love how I tell you this big life news and your advice is about closet space.”

  “Give me a call in ten years and tell me I’m wrong. Okay, I’ve got to run. Homework and dinner are calling my name.”

  “Bye.” I ended the call and felt a million times better.

  Now that’s how I should be for Trip. Fuck it. I’ll make Kentucky work.

  I pulled up into Trip’s garage just before six o’clock. I carried my suitcase upstairs and settled into the walk-in closet, shoving Trip’s suits and shirts to make room for my clothes and dresses.

  Be bold.

  I pushed his boxers and undershirts to the side of a dresser drawer and placed my panties and bras in next to his things.

  Breathe.