I knew something was there, and I’m glad he practically confirmed my suspicions by admitting that he noticed too. But I don’t know anything. I shake my head. “No idea. But I’m pretty sure there’s something happening.” I consider offering to find out and let him know, but decide against it. It’s not my business and it’s not his. I won’t be a spy for him no matter how much he gets my motor going.
And my motor is purring along just fine, despite a year of failed starts.
He just nods and takes a deep breath before turning to look at me. The pale blue of his eyes startles me, and I wonder when, if ever, I won’t be a little stunned when that soul-seeing gaze turns to me.
“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he rasps.
If coffee is code for sex, then hell yes. And the low level fire in his eyes tells me that he’s offering a lot more than caffeine. I want to take it, I really do. But want and can are two different things. I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sort of seeing someone.”
The corners of his eyes tilt with humor. “It doesn’t have to be anything except coffee.”
“I know that, Gabe.” My voice comes out low, husky. “But it probably will be. Andy’s a good guy.” I shrug and look away. “It’s not serious, and we’ve only had two dates in the past three months. But I at least owe him a face-to-face before I have coffee with a man I’d sleep with at the drop of a hat.”
“The drop of a hat, huh?” He takes a step closer and slides his hand through my hair and to the back of my neck. My face tilts up automatically and his lips almost touch mine. “Then go see Andy, moon goddess. Because I don’t know if I can make it, seeing you and talking to you until this blows over, without touching. Sam won’t come to his senses or die soon enough. And I’m going to have to touch you again.” His warm breath washes over my lips and I breathe deeply, taking him in. His voice lowers to a barely discernible whisper. “I want to hear you ask so nicely again. It can’t possibly be as sweet as I remember.”
His lips brush mine, and I lean forward with a moan, desperate for the kiss he never gave me. But he yanks away and has rounded the corner of the house into the garage before I realize what happened.
Chapter 7
Sierra, Brad, and Dan are incredibly close mouthed when I go back inside and I begin to suspect they had ulterior motives for calling me over. Matchmakers. Even in a crisis, they’re trying to set me up. So I head home. It’s not even lunchtime yet, and Dad and the girls won’t be home until late this evening. I wander around the house for a while, wondering what to do, Gabe’s parting words whispering through my mind.
“Go see Andy, moon goddess.”
God, what a cheesy nickname. And damned if it doesn’t make my heart thump. I eventually end up in the kitchen and pour myself a glass of sweet tea. I sit in the dining room and, instead of drinking my tea, let my head fall onto the table with a painful thud.
Dammit.
A whole year’s gone by and I’ve dated Ryan Howell and Andy Bradshaw, both of whom have little hearts drawn around their heads in my high school yearbook. Teenage dreams do come true, and turns out…they kind of suck as far as dreams go. Hell, I even slept with Ryan. It was decent…I guess. Nowhere near as memorable as my night with Gabe. In fact, the memories of Ryan are fuzzy and indistinct while I can still smell Gabe’s cologne mingled with sweat and sex. Maybe that’s why Ryan and I parted ways…because I have standards now, and he was incapable of meeting them.
And Andy…he’s an amazing man. Tall and handsome, he coaches his son’s little league team, helps old ladies cross the street, says his prayers at night, and can recite the Boy Scout motto.
And he would never dream of telling a woman he wants to fuck her like a savage. That’s probably going to be a problem if we make it long enough for physical intimacy. I pick my head up and let it fall back to the table several times, trying to knock some sense into myself.
One does not simply toss a good man like Andy Bradshaw to the side for a night of hot, sweaty, raw, probably very dirty sex with a man like Gabe.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding. Plenty of women would, myself included. Andy and I aren’t going anywhere, and I know it. Am I seriously going to turn down Gabe to continue a relationship I’m not even moderately invested in? A relationship that I know just two dates in is not going anywhere? Hell no.
I pick up my phone and consider calling Andy. I know he doesn’t have his son this weekend, because we talked about getting together to celebrate the end of my classes. No plans materialized though, and I’m glad. I’d have to cancel them. I stare at the phone and realize I’d rather text him. I’d like to keep the uncomfortable conversations to a minimum.
Can you come over?
I chew my thumbnail and tap my foot while I wait for him to respond. It occurs to me after I hear the buzz of an incoming text that he might think I’m asking for a mid-day booty call.
Sure. Be there in 15. Want me to bring lunch?
I am the worst sort of woman in the world. He’s such a nice guy, dropping everything—probably nothing at all—to come over just because I asked—and he probably thinks he’s getting some.
No, too early. Just come by. Need to talk.
He responds, but I only halfway look at it. I spend fifteen minutes picking up, wiping away imaginary dust, and pacing, calling myself every bad name in the book.
Speaking of book, what book? I mean, when someone says “I did everything in the book,” what book, exactly, are they talking about? I get off on a tangent as an avoidance tool sometimes and have to jerk myself back to reality. There’s probably medication for that.
The doorbell rings and I jump out of my nervous thoughts, my heart pounding. I consider not answering it until I hear Andy call through the door.
“Luna? You there?”
Shit, shit, shit.
I shake my hands out to keep them from trembling and open the door. I am such a bad person. He’s standing on my top step, a yellow rose from his rosebush—that he prunes himself—between two fingers, holding it out to me. His amber eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles and he tips up the brim of his Crimson Tide baseball hat. He’s got dimples—god damn dimples—when he smiles that straight, even white smile, and it makes me want to hit something.
He’d make such a wonderful husband. Hardworking and honest…and way too good for me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m not evil and the whole “I’m not worthy” mindset has never been mine. But Andy is a genuinely kind, straight-up kind of guy. He’s a goody-two-shoes, and I’m a bit of a hard ass. I’d end up walking all over him the way Sierra does Brad, and after being on the receiving end of that for a decade, I’m not willing to do it to anyone. Even though I’d be a much better person about it than my ex.
Proof positive: I send a text and he comes running. If he sent me a text asking me to come over with no explanation, I’d grill him until he caved. He’s too nice. I don’t need someone nice. I need someone…I don’t know what I need.
“Come in,” I murmur, stepping back without taking the rose. His smile fades as he walks in, and he turns when I close the door.
Before I can say anything he bites out, “You’re dumping me, aren’t you?”
I sigh. “I don’t know if I’d call it that, Andy. We’ve only been out twice.”
“Yeah.” He looks down at his shoes, frowning. “Any reason why? Someone else or just not interested?”
“There’s someone else.”
“Huh.” He looks back up at me with a sad smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Well, I guess that’s better than being dumped for being boring.”
I forgot that’s what his ex-wife told him when she left. That he was too boring. I hate the bitch for that. Andy doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone that’s just as good-hearted as he is. I make a mental note to look around church this Sunday for singles. “Andy, you’re not boring. You’re a good man, and you deserve a woman that wouldn’t even consider looking at someone else when they’re wi
th you.” I spread my hands in apology. “And that’s not me. I’m sorry. But there’s no need to drag this out and hurt both of us more in the end.”
“I understand.” He nods and tilts his hat back down. “Here.” He holds the rose out. “I picked this for you. Even if you don’t want to see me anymore, that doesn’t change. It’s still yours.”
God dammit, Andy.
“Thank you.” I take the rose and smile up at him. “Yellow is for friendship. Friends?”
“No, Luna. I don’t think so.” He shakes his head and I blink at him, surprised. “I know you think I’m a pushover, and I might be. I prefer to think of myself as agreeable. But I’m not enough of a jackass to think we can be friends.” His voice doesn’t change, remains the soft, gentle tones of the man I’ve known most of my life.
“Oh. Um…” I struggle to find something to say.
“Bye, Luna. See you around.” He strides out the door, closing it with the softest of snicks behind him. Most men on the planet would have slammed it.
I stumble into the kitchen a little shocked and run water in a glass for the rose. I put it on the window above the sink and stare at it for a minute. I did the right thing with Andy, Gabe or no Gabe. It wouldn’t have gone anywhere. After a few more dates I would have been sick of him not having an opinion or preference about anything and probably would have ended up dumping him anyway, long after it was too late for no one to get hurt.
I feel bad enough about dumping Andy, I’m not going to add to my self-recrimination by calling Gabe immediately. Nope. Not going to pull that business card out and call the number on the back. Also not going to text Sierra or Dan about him. Not going to do any of that.
I’m going to save face and send a text to the number on the back of the card and hope it’s not a cell phone so I can maintain some semblance of self-respect. After all, I still have to contact him to return the pearls and cash.
I walk calmly to my bedroom, refusing to give in to the urge to run. Very gingerly, I pick through my purse until I find the plain white card with black writing on it. I take my time, looking at the front carefully, since I didn’t last night. The font is bold, masculine. There’s no flair to the letters, just simple, strong type.
Gabriel J. O’Malley
CEO, Green Wind Energies
Two phone numbers and a fax number are printed beneath it. I didn’t realize until now that he’s any more than a nightclub owner. But I’m extremely impressed, and very intimidated.
GWE is sweeping the state, buying land that’s been deemed otherwise useless, and planting windmills like they’re dandelions. There are theories that within a few years the entire state will be self-reliant through renewable energy thanks to them. And Gabe runs it. Owns it? I don’t know.
Other energy companies have thrown curve ball after curve ball in repeated attempts to stop it, but every time there’s a smidgen of information on the situation, it’s that GWE has successfully bypassed or met yet another ridiculous restriction or requirement. They’ve been trying to snowball dirty energy, and it’s become obvious in the past couple of years that they’re going to succeed. How have I not noticed his name associated with this?
And according to my biology professor, they’ll cover the nation within two decades. Meaning that Gabriel O’Malley might be rich now, but in a few years he’ll be filthy, stinking rich and will have become that way through green energy.
A well-meaning shark, but a shark just the same.
But his money is neither here nor there. I suffer no delusions that he’ll fall madly in love with me, adopt my children, beat my ex’s ass, and ride me off into the sunset on his valiant steed.
He wants the same thing from me that I want from him, and I flip the card over. I’m not going to ask for it, and won’t even hint that I want another hit off that particular pipe. But I am going to give his money and jewelry back and let the cards fall where they will. I send the text.
How about that coffee?
So I’m a shameless hussy. Who cares?
* * * *
Dad brings the girls home after six, already fed and covered in something sticky. I’m pretty sure that means they had all the suckers they can eat. They trudge through the door half asleep, little feet shuffling, souvenir stuffed animals dragging behind them.
Once they’ve both had their showers, I tuck two very weary little girls into bed even though it’s still about a half hour before their usual bedtime. They’re both asleep before I turn the lights off. Once I close the door, I meander into the kitchen to ask Dad how their day was.
He’s standing at the sink, staring at the yellow rose in the window. Dad’s a nice dresser, usually wearing slacks and a button-up shirt to class, and a suit and tie for Sunday service. But when it comes to fun weekends, he never minded rolling his sleeves up and helping me—and my girls—bury treasure or plant tulips. He was both mother and father to me from the day I was born, and as I stand looking at him I realize, not for the first time, how much love a chronic bachelor had to have to take an unwanted newborn.
With sentimental tears in my eyes I approach him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face against his shoulder. It does this occasionally: hits me that my own mother didn’t want me, but that my father is such a wonderful man that he wouldn’t let her toss me aside.
“What’s this about, squirt?” he asks, turning to return my hug.
I giggle against his shoulder. He’s called me “squirt” most of my life, and the word never fails to elicit a laugh. I shrug and reply, “Just felt like hugging my favorite dad.”
“Yeah, buddy,” he jokes, wrapping an arm around me and kissing the top of my head. “Take that, all of Eluned’s other dads.”
I smile into the soft cotton of his shirt and close my eyes, inhaling the smell of Dad. I worry about him constantly, that I’m going to lose him before I’m ready. But is any little girl, no matter how old, ever ready to lose her dad?
“Have I ever told you,” I whisper, leaning back to look up at him, “that if someone lined up all the men in the world and told me to choose one to be my father, I would pick you.”
He stares at me for just a moment, then wraps both arms around me in a tight hug. Dad doesn’t like sentimentality. Wonder where I got it.
“Pretty sure that’s exactly what happened,” he mutters. I swear there’s a tremble in his voice but I pretend not to hear it. He wouldn’t appreciate it. So we stand there for a few minutes, just being morons and hugging for no reason other than we love each other. He finally pulls away and glances back at the flower. “Bill Bradshaw called me.”
I tense and pull away. Bill Bradshaw is Andy’s father, and chairman of the school board. Dad has tenure, but Bill could make his life difficult. “Oh yeah?” I try to sound nonchalant, but come off as pissy.
“Yep. Said Andy was a single man again.”
Oh the joys of small town life. Good thing I didn’t have sex with him. We weren’t even seriously dating. God knows how much drama there would be if we’d been together even as long as I saw Ryan, which was only about five months.
“Dad, Andy…”
“I’m glad,” he cuts in, and I lift an eyebrow, trying to give him the questioning, expectant look Gabe does. But my eyebrows don’t work that way, and I probably end up looking like I’m squinting. “Andy is all right, don’t get me wrong. But he doesn’t deserve you.”
I feel a smile start and gradually stretch my lips until I’m outright grinning at him. “Name one man that does deserve me, Daddy.”
He smiles back and laughs. “Not a single one, squirt. Not a single one.”
My phone chimes a text message and I jump, startled. It’s been hours since I sent the text to Gabe, and I eventually began to assume he either wasn’t going to respond, or I’d sent a text to a landline. But this text could be anyone…Sierra, Dan, Brad…God, it could be Andy. I tug the phone out of my pocket and stare down at the screen. The number isn’t listed in my contacts, but I really do
n’t need it to be. It’s him, the same number I sent the text to earlier.
“Excuse me, Dad.” He pats my back as I walk away.
I wait until I’m in my bedroom to open the text.
Do you work tonight?
It’s a booty call, and I am such a slut, because I’m going to take it.
No.
Another chime.
Give me your address. I’ll come get you.
I hesitate. I don’t work tomorrow either, but Dad had the girls all day. If I spend the night out, I’ll have to be home early in the morning. I won’t miss Sunday with my girls.
Have to be back in the a.m.
The reply comes back almost immediately.
You’ll be home before sunrise.
I text the address to him as I bounce up and down on the bed. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what to tell Dad. He won’t care that I’m going out for a booty call, as long as I’m back tomorrow. Dad’s a free spirit, entirely open about sex, but content to live conservatively and quietly. He’s a study in contradictions. He’ll be more concerned about my feelings, and whether or not it relates to Andy.
Even if he was a judgmental stick in the mud, I’m still thirty-one years old. I can do what I want as long as my children are taken care of and no one gets put out. But, lucky me, my dad is the king of awesome dads everywhere.
I scratch my leg and try to figure out how best to convince him that I’m not upset about breaking off a non-relationship. My fingertips bump over stubble and I panic.
Shit, I’ve got to shave and shower, and he said he’ll be here in…I check my phone…forty-five minutes. That was ten minutes ago. Dammit.
No time to worry about easing Dad into it, I run into the kitchen where he’s rinsing out a glass. “Going out with a friend, Daddy. I’ll be home in the morning. Can’t talk, gotta shower.”
I run back to my bedroom, leaving him standing at the kitchen sink looking bemused. Dad understands. I knew he would…he’s a man-whore himself, even if he is exceedingly discreet.
Luna Exposed Page 9