by Liv Rancourt
“He is your brother. Why aren’t you on his side?”
Maeve stepped out of the bathroom, her chin raised as if she was looking to take a punch. “You’d just love to make this all Cherry’s fault.”
“What are you talking about?” The floor did one of those shifting things that meant either they’d had an earthquake or Danielle was really, really mad. “It’s no one’s fault.”
The words came out in a hollow squawk, relatively benign compared with the tirade in her head. In the kitchen, the old plastic portable phone rang, which meant someone was downstairs buzzing the doorbell. With lips so thin they were almost invisible, Maeve crossed the room and answered it. “Okay, we’ll be right down.”
Without a word, she flicked off the bathroom light and grabbed her purse. Danielle hesitated, almost giving in to the temptation to pull off the stupid vest and tight boots and settle down to finish the rest of her cocktail. Maeve was out of sight by the time Danielle closed and locked the front door, which was a relief. She wouldn’t have to get into the elevator.
With her best friend.
Who had apparently gone crazy in her old age.
Chapter Eight
Husky basketball fans took their games seriously. Out of the crowd of fifteen thousand, half wore purple and gold UW gear. Everyone else dressed for Saturday night, and the date clothes Maeve insisted on fit right in. Danielle stayed close to Christopher, who looked fantastic in skinny jeans, a dark grey turtleneck, and a long black leather coat. He offered to buy her a beer and she turned him down, hesitant to mix alcohol with the witches’ brew of leftover anger and nervousness agitating her gut.
Focusing on Christopher allowed Danielle to pretty much ignore Maeve. Although she couldn’t quite focus on Christopher, because her internal monologue was too loud. She’d pissed Maeve off by standing up for Ryan, and she’d pissed Ryan off, in part because of Maeve. Despite all kinds of gymnastics, she’d landed in the exact situation she’d tried to avoid.
Damn.
Christopher shot her a quizzical glance. “You okay over there?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Danielle straightened up and rubbed her palms on her thighs. One problem at a time. Playing along with Christopher would help her salvage things with Maeve. She’d just have to deal with Ryan later.
She gave Christopher a smile that had its roots in the warm Southern Californian sun, as pretty and superficial as possible. He held her elbow loosely and guided her to their seats.
For the first half, Christopher sat with his elbows on his knees, dividing his attention between the game and Danielle. She divided her time between chatting with him and noticing details: the slight gap between his two front teeth and the light sprinkling of salt in the dark curls at his temples. When he smiled broadly enough, creases formed around the corners of his mouth, setting it off like quotation marks. The effect was more distinguished than Ryan’s boyish dimples.
Not that she was going to spend all night comparing Christopher to Ryan.
The second half Christopher leaned back, draping an arm along her chair, almost but not quite resting his hand on her shoulder. She responded by canting forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her knuckles, as if the back and forth action on the court required her absolute attention. Then Maeve asked if she wanted a soda, giving Danielle the most normal smile in the world. The ‘be nice to Christopher’ strategy appeared to be working. Danielle relaxed into her seat, brushing his shoulder on the way by.
The score was basically tied, though Christopher seemed fairly confident the Huskies would win. “They’re getting all the rebounds,” he said after a particularly bad miss by one of the UW players. His delivery was intimate, humming against the sensitive skin below her ear, even though the subject was basketball and they were sitting in a crowd of thousands.
“Wouldn’t it be better if they just scored more points?” Basketball had always been a mysteriously frenetic activity, and while Danielle hated showing off her ignorance, she had to ask. It would give him a chance to be the expert.
He smiled big enough to show off his quotation creases. “Eventually their shots will start falling. As long as they keep the score close, they’ll be okay.”
“If you say so.”
“You watch.”
He gave a cocky chuckle, and she could feel his eyes on her. “What?” she asked.
“Just checking you out.” His eyes were dark, almost black, rimmed with the kind of long lashes most women would kill for. For a second, she pictured the two of them in bed together, tangled in sheets, cocoa-colored limbs wrapped around strawberries and eggshell skin.
She didn’t want a jaguar, she wanted a wolf.
But the wolf was off-limits. At least she had some experience taming a jungle cat. “The game’ll be over soon.” Her smile might have been a touch plastic, but she layered on as much invitation as possible.
“There’s five minutes left on the clock, but it’ll take most of a half an hour for them to finish.” He tightened his arm around her. “I was thinking we could go out for drinks later.”
She shoots; she scores. “That’d be great.”
By the final buzzer, his arm lay more heavily across her shoulders and his fingers teased through the ends of her hair. He helped her with her coat, running his thumbs along the edge of her collar as he adjusted it. For half a second she thought he might try and kiss her, then Maeve tossed a wadded-up napkin at them.
“Watch out for that guy,” she said, standing at the end of their row of seats arm-in-arm with Jason. “He’s a tricky one.”
“Watch out yourself,” Christopher said, laughing. “And be good to my friend.”
“I’m always good,” Maeve said, tossing her head back, her lip curled in half a sneer while Jason nuzzled at her neck. There was some general discussion about where they should go next. Maeve and Jason wanted a dance club, while Christopher and Danielle were hoping for something quieter.
Quiet won, mainly because Danielle pointed out that Maeve and Jason could grope each other anywhere, while she and Christopher wouldn’t be able to talk in a dance club. She couldn’t help but notice the way every woman they passed on their way out of the stadium checked Christopher out. Some tagged her with snotty looks, too, and she rebuffed them by standing straighter and holding Christopher’s arm more securely.
Deal with it, ladies.
Once they were tucked into a corner table at Delphina’s, she and Christopher talked real estate while Maeve and Jason stepped outside to smoke cigarettes and make out. The wall sconces weren’t any brighter than candlelight, the table was covered with white linen, and the red wine was a much better quality than what she and Maeve usually drank. Wine lubricated the conversation and when Christopher made a point by patting her hand, then wrapping his fingers through hers, Danielle knew they were headed for a goodnight kiss.
She was right.
Maeve and Jason gave up on the quiet atmosphere and grabbed a cab, leaving Christopher and Danielle tucked in their cozy booth.
She liked the rumble of his voice and the spicy scent of his aftershave, similar to something Braden would have worn. When he draped an arm around her shoulders, she relaxed into it, and when he brushed her lips with his, she kissed him back, tasting red wine and seduction.
Wrong.
The word was as clear as if someone had said it aloud. She broke the kiss and pushed away, covering her mouth with her hand and fixing her gaze on the table after catching a glimpse of the surprise on his face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond for so long Danielle was forced to meet his gaze. Surprise had been replaced by amusement, with an underlying note of calculation.
“I mean, I like you and … it’s just…” She lurched through an undertow of embarrassment and gave herself a solid mental smack for using one guy to deal with another. He didn’t look resentful, which was a relief, because he had more reason
to be angry with her than either Ryan or Maeve.
“There’s someone back in L.A.?” he said, filling in the blank.
Braden’s cocky smirk flashed through her mind. “No.”
“Someone here, then.”
She could lie and make up some lame excuse, or she could tell him the truth. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Interesting.” He shifted away, still letting his arm rest against her shoulders. “It can’t be too serious, or you wouldn’t have gone out with me.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s all right.” He reached over and petted the shoulder of her fur vest. “I’m up for the competition.”
Her answering grin felt forced, like her big front teeth were trying to bust out through her lips.
His eyes tracked the movement of her mouth. “Go out with both of us until you decide which one you like better.”
“The thing is, though, I’m not even really dating him,” she said, then swallowed hard when she realized how lame she sounded. The whole story came out, in bursts of words punctuated by awkward giggles. Christopher listened, prompting her occasionally. By the end, his arm had shifted until he was barely touching her.
“You got it bad for this guy,” he said.
“Yeah.” She reached over and patted his hand. “I just can’t do anything about it.”
“Well, I can’t help you there. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve met him before. He goes out with Drunk Girl – at least he used to go out with her, from what you‘re telling me.”
“Oh my God, you gave Cherry that nickname?”
“Yeah, she’s Drunk Girl. Jase and I see her and Maeve out in the clubs all the time. Usually by the end of the night, Maeve’s hooked up with some dude and Drunk Girl’s on the phone sobbing, waiting for your boyfriend to come haul her home.” He didn’t look angry, more bemused by how crazy people could be. “I talked to him a couple times, because it was better than listening to Jason whine about how he didn’t hook up with Maeve again.”
“That sounds bad in many, many ways.”
Christopher chuckled and ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Well, you let me know how things go. I’m not the pushy type, but I’m not going to give up, either.”
She pulled his hand away from her face. “You’re a good guy, Christopher.”
He smiled, showing her the full force of his handsome charm. “You’re all right too, Danielle. For a cougar.”
She choked on a laugh, and he scooted to the end of the booth.
“You know I’m only here until February, right? The least you could do is let me pick up the tab,” she said.
“Oh hell no. You might be a client someday. I’ll expense it.”
He was a smart man, too. When the house was ready to put on the market, he’d be her first call.
“Did you kiss him?” Maeve pounced before Danielle even woke up.
Danielle still wore her new black leggings, though she’d changed her fur vest and silk top for an old tee shirt. Blinking back sleep, she sat up, crossing her legs Indian style and pulling the comforter tight across her lap. “Did you kiss him?”
“I asked you first.”
Danielle’s bed was the futon couch and she shifted over slightly, inviting Maeve to sit. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Maeve squeaked. “Yes? No? Tongue?” Maeve’s tongue waggled as she dropped onto the futon and tucked some of the comforter around her feet.
“No,” Danielle giggled, determined to keep the details to herself. “We didn’t get very far.”
Maeve ran the knuckles of her index fingers under her lashes to wipe away yesterday’s mascara. “Why? Wasn’t he hot enough for you? Because girlfriend, that’s about as good as it gets.”
“Oh yeah. I just like to take my time.” Because at thirty-three, I’ve got all the time in the world.
Maeve huffed. “Didn’t used to be a tease.”
“Didn’t used to be a lightweight, either. People change.” Danielle nudged Maeve’s foot with her own. “What about you? Is Jason a good kisser?” The easiest way to sidestep a discussion was to make it all about Maeve. “He looked pretty interested.”
“Interested in himself. I swear, he would have been better off kissing a mirror.”
They both laughed, flopping back against the pillows, upper arms touching. “Hey, I’m sorry I got angry last night,” Danielle said.
Maeve was quiet for a long while. “Me too. It’s just that, if Ryan and Cherry break up, I’m going to lose a friend.”
Dude, they broke up a month ago and you’re still friends. Because Danielle didn’t want to fight again, she kept her snark to herself. Maeve didn’t want friends and brothers mixing, and Danielle knew from personal experience how hard it was to control feelings. They did what they wanted to do, and if Maeve was scared or unreasonable or just plain crazy, telling her to change would do very little good.
“Those pictures are kind of hurtful, don’t you think?” Danielle said.
Maeve paused even longer. “Yeah, I guess. He’s had it coming, though.”
Danielle sunk lower, her head resting on Maeve’s shoulder and her hand on her friend’s thigh. There were many responses she could make. “Don’t be stupid” led her list of possibilities. Maeve’s cell phone chirped before she chose one.
“Who the hell’s calling me already?” Maeve asked herself, rolling off the couch. By the time she dug the phone up, the call had gone to voicemail.
Danielle rested her head back, eyes closed, while Maeve fussed with the phone. Sleep swelled up around her, sucking her down until Maeve’s squeal sprung her from her doze. “Oh my God, will you listen to this?”
“What?”
Maeve pressed the phone to Danielle’s ear. The message was from a man. Hey, babe, remember me? I’m the guy from last night. You know, the one with the magic tongue. Wanna do it again?
“Wow. That’s … icky.” Danielle could barely get the words out without laughing.
“But he was pretty.”
“Somehow I can only picture him with finger pistols.”
Maeve doubled over and came up firing, making guns with her hands and aiming them at Danielle. She tripped over the hardwoods and threw herself down on the futon couch. “What. A. Loser.”
The women slumped together, their equilibrium restored. “Your friend Waldo’s not that bad,” Danielle said after a while, her eyes sliding shut as she pulled the quilt up to her chin.
“Totally brilliant. I’ll fix Waldo up with Jason.” Maeve crawled off the couch, moving with the agility of a born predator. “Except, I have to go out with Jason at least one more time.”
Danielle propped an eye open in a display of tired skepticism. “You do?”
“Yeah, so we can double date at the New Year’s Eve party.”
Maeve’s enthusiasm forced both of Danielle’s eyes open. “New Year’s… What?”
“Party. Every year Cherry and I host a party, and this year you can host with us.”
“Sure. In a month or so.” Sleep curled around Danielle, gently tugging her down. “It’ll be fabulous.”
Danielle slept until the smell of bacon got too strong to ignore.
When Ryan let himself into the house Wednesday night, Danielle popped out of the dining room with a smile brighter than the overhead light.
“Guess what!” She’d taken off her sweatshirt and he got an eyeful of all kinds of bouncing under her lace-trimmed tee shirt.
“What?”
She made it across the room in about four steps, then grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the dining room. “You gotta see this.”
She dropped into a chair and tilted the laptop screen, giving him a look at a stainless steel range.
Just because he wanted to, he put a hand on her shoulder and tilted his head closer. He took a deep breath, recognizing the spicy scent of her hair products. “Aveda.”
She rocked around to stare at him. “Seriously?”
“What? Cherry went through a phase
.”
Something flashed in Dani’s eyes, compassion or even pity, and she didn’t have to say anything. She’d seen the Facebook pictures. Time to talk about something else. Anything else.
He took another step back, slipping out of his jacket and tossing it on a pile of papers. “Found something you like?” He pointed at the laptop.
“Oh, yeah.” Her bright smile came back. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” Anything to keep from talking about Cherry and those goddamned pictures.
“I just bought this off of Craigslist, and the guy said I can come over any time this evening and pick it up. Could I borrow your truck?”
He scratched the back of his head because pumping his fist would make him look like a dork. The opportunity was too good to pass up. “You going to lift an oven by yourself?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll help me.”
“Or I will,” he said, shrugging back into his jacket. “C’mon. We can stop at Dick’s for burgers on the way back.”
An hour later they were parked at Dick’s Drive-Inn, burgers in their hands and a gently-used stainless steel oven in the bed of his truck. The walk-up service windows glowed with bright white light, and the orange fluorescent Dick’s sign shone down from the roof. The air was heavy with grease laid over a foundation of old cigarettes and damp pavement.
Ryan played it as cool as he knew how. They worked easily together on the house, but for anything else the next move had to come from her. “This week I’ll finish the cabinet boxes for the kitchen,” he said, wiping his French fried fingers with a napkin. “I’ll put the walls back together and clean up a couple other details. Then I’ll have to take a break until you get the roof and windows taken care of.”
Her smile drifted away, likely because he mentioned big-ticket items and not because he wouldn’t be around until she got them done.
“What about the bathrooms?” The droop in her voice had hope pinging around in his head like a drunken Tinkerbell from the old Disney movie.
She might miss him after all.
“Yeah, you’re right. I can start in on those while you figure the roof thing out,” he said, gripping his cool with both hands.