by July Dawson
At the time, they absorbed my pep talk without reacting. I went into the Navy. And then, one after another, my brothers graduated high school and enlisted. I felt more responsible for them now than when we were kids who lived in the same house.
I was pretty impressed with how we'd all turned out, too.
13
Naomi
After lunch, we headed back to Joe’s house for coffee and cake. Tough, grizzled Joe had been cultivating an interest in baking, thanks to the Great British Bake-Off, and I had to hide my smile behind my cup as he talked about it. There’s nothing quite like a tough military man who has a hobby.
Rob raised his cup in Joe's general direction. "This is so delightfully edible after the coffee I've had lately. Thanks."
I couldn't think of a playfully withering comeback for Rob, so I took a sip of coffee and pretended I hadn't heard him.
"You two are a cute match," Joe said.
I swallowed wrong and, as I tried to choke back a cough, covered my mouth with my sleeve.
Rob leaned towards Joe confidentially. "Now you're in for it."
"We're not together," I said. "I'm helping Rob out while he can't drive."
"Turns out that's one of the few things we have in common."
Joe's eyes flickered between us. "I don't know. Most people I know who talk like that are married, or headed there."
"That's depressing," I said.
"What?" Rob asked. "Marrying me would be depressing? Being married to me would be awesome."
"He obviously likes you," Joe said to me, his voice low and confidential, as if Rob wasn’t just on the end of the couch. "Or he wouldn't be so obnoxious."
"I know," I said. Of course, he'd liked me ten years before, too. But he hadn't liked me enough to do something about it. And then he'd frozen me out completely, just when I'd given in to wanting him. That night at prom, I’d felt so alone in the midst of my friends, trying to laugh and chat with them, even though Rob and Kate were smiling at each other as they spun around the country club dance floor. I went to bed as soon as I got home, pulling the comforter over my full tulle skirt. The bobby pins in my updo bit into my scalp, so I'd pulled them out one at a time, finally giving in to angry tears. Bobby pin. Sob. Bobby pin.
I wouldn't make that mistake again.
“We should get going,” Rob said, setting his coffee cup on the edge of the table. “Naomi and I have a hot date tonight.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
"This is strictly business, Naomi. We have a tasting. Caterer for the fundraiser."
"Oh.” I felt a jolt of surprise I tried not to show. I had thought that Rob was talking a big game, but would get bored before the fundraiser happened. "You were serious."
"Of course I was," he said.
"Well, I found a caterer who was willing to work with us--"
"A caterer for a barbecue," he said. "A caterer who works out of a food truck."
"Food trucks are so fun," I said. "That's the kind of event I'm going for. Fun."
"Black tie can be fun,” he promised.
Joe looked back and forth between us, grinning like he knew something that we didn’t.
Half an hour later, we pulled up to the valet parking at the hotel.
Rob held out his hand as I pulled my overnight bag out of the trunk. "Let me take that."
"I'll take it, sir," the bellhop offered, emerging from the hotel doors beside the valet.
"It's all right," Rob said. "I was hoping to look gallant."
"You look broken," I said, nodding to his wrist as I threw the strap of the bag over my shoulder. “I can carry my toothbrush myself."
Rob shouldered his own garment bag as I handed the key uncertainly to the valet. I hadn't used valet parking before. As I walked towards the hotel, Rob stopped to snag a ticket from the grinning valet. Oops. I thought my city driving was just fine, despite whatever Rob had to say, but I probably shouldn't expect to get a long-term gig as a chauffeur.
"I have a hot date for us tonight," Rob said as they entered the marble lobby. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he strode across the floor, a tiny smile playing around his lips although he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I followed him, half-exasperated, half-wild-with-curiosity.
When we took the elevator up to our floor and I slipped the key card into the door, I discovered a luxurious hotel suite. The floor was a warm red hardwood except for the plush white rug around the bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the street below, hung with white curtains. Two white-and-blue wing chairs waited temptingly in front of the fireplace.
"I might break our hot date to soak in this tub," I murmured, stopping in the doorway to the bathroom, which was the size of my bedroom at home. Fresh flowers graced the long marble countertop, white lilies that swayed slightly as I walked past them, releasing a sweet floral scent. On the edge of the tub was a tray that held a tall glass bottle of bubble bath, a package of gold-wrapped chocolates, a Kindle in a hot pink case, a cream-colored card with a phone number written across it. Beneath the number, it said, call for tea service.
I turned the Kindle on. There were several books loaded on it already. A mix of romances and the classics; he'd remembered my soft spot for old school Sherlock Holmes.
Oh, Rob. What the hell was he trying to do?
Feeling overwhelmed, I moved the tray far from the tub to make sure the Kindle was safe and then began to run the water. The shower had two separate silver shower heads mounted on the cream-and-gold tile. A shower built for two. The image of Rob rose in my mind: water streaming through his dark hair, down his handsome face, droplets beading across that broad, muscular chest and tight abdomen. I felt a rush of desire, so ill-advised and so strong all at once that I bit down fiercely on her lip.
"Get it together, Naomi," I encouraged myself, stepping into the steaming-hot shower. I was so easy. Bought by a Kindle and a nice set of abs? I would not be some conquest for Robert Delaney. I couldn’t let myself get attached all over again, and then be broken-hearted when he went back to California. I would never hear from him again. I could imagine how it would all play out as easily as I could imagine the rough-hewn planes of Rob's naked body.
When I had showered, I leaned forward against the marble counter, carefully applying eyeliner and eyeshadow. I straightened up, trying to see a difference. Fluorescent lights like this always made me look my worst, bringing out every faint line and freckle, and I was no great hand at makeup artistry, either. My eyes still looked too large and dark-shadowed, my mouth wide and mobile, my nose tilted. When I was in second grade, I'd punched a boy who kept calling me Froggy. That had guaranteed the nickname stuck.
I reluctantly shook out my favorite summer dress, a short-sleeved navy wrap dress that wasn’t my favorite anymore. I would look shabby because I was next to Rob and pathetic because I had tried.
When I crossed the marble lobby floor a few minutes later, he was leaning against the windows at the front of the hotel, looking out. Soft spring rain pinged against the window and sidewalk. He looked like an Abercrombie model with his pose, one leanly muscled arm above his head. He wore jeans and a gray button-down shirt, the casual outfit emphasizing his broad shoulders and the narrow waist above that perfectly adorable ass.
I hesitated behind him, drinking him in. He was so handsome and so unattainable and so infuriating that it hurt to look at him, but I couldn’t look away. I cleared my throat. "Too bad it's raining."
"I like the rain—" he broke off when he turned to face me. His eyes lit up in a way that made my heart lift, despite my best intentions to play cool with him.
A small smile rose to his lips. "You look gorgeous, you know."
"You're copying. I said it to you the other day."
Rob offered me his good arm. "The valet's bringing the car around. You ready for dinner?"
"Starved," I said, but hesitated. Was I really supposed to tuck my arm into Rob's as if we were a couple? Did that violate the friendship agreement I’d asked him for?
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I glanced up at him, at his teasing eyes above that strong jaw and bitable pink lip. Oh, forget him. It was just an arm. I would show him that I couldn’t be rattled that easily.
As I turned to go, sighing, I slipped my fingers into the crook of his elbow, feeling the strength of his forearm through the crisp fabric. This close, I could feel the heat of his body, smell that now-familiar minty soap.
"Me too," he whispered huskily. I jerked my gaze up to his. He was looking down at me lustfully, those deep blue eyes smoldering.
He let me pull him towards the glass doors. I said, "I should wear this dress more often.”
"Yes, yes, you certainly should."
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of an office park. "Park there," Rob said, nodding at a spot in front of The Sweet Table Catering Company.
When we walked into the office building's empty lobby and stopped at the elevator, I stopped to glance at the white letters on the directory. The catering office was on the fourth floor. Rob held the elevator doors open for me until I stepped in and pressed the button for the fourth, then reached over my head and pressed the button for eighth, the top story.
The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, and we stared out at a dark, industrial hallway until it closed again. I tried to wait patiently as the elevator rose smoothly towards the top of the building. "It's strange being someplace like this after hours."
“Trust me,” he said.
On the eighth floor, Rob led me down the hall to a door propped open with a brick doorstop. I hesitated, and Rob turned to face me, raising his eyebrows curiously. There was a challenge in his faint smile.
"You know, I've been to the movies. This is where people always end up trapped outside together overnight..." I said.
"We have cell phones," Rob promised, holding a hand out commandingly to usher me through. "No one is getting trapped anywhere."
"I feel trapped," I murmured, but without rancor.
When I stepped out the metal fire door, I stepped into a sweeping view of the lights of Boston. From where we stood, I could also see a small garden of potted trees and bushes, strung with white lights, and a table for two covered in a long tablecloth with silver chargers and crystal glasses. It was beautiful. It was romantic.
But what I said to Rob was, "This is a lot."
"Yeah, well," he said. "That's what I do. It’s the fun of being a billionaire. Come sit down. We're going to have our tasting with a view."
I sat down on the edge of a gilt-painted wooden chair, still craning my neck to check out the view. "Oh, I can see the Charles from here. It's so pretty with the moonlight reflecting from the water."
"It's quite the view," Rob agreed, although he was looking at me.
I pressed a hand to my fluttering heart as two ninja-waiters melted out of the shadows and placed large white bowls in front of us. In the center of my bowl was a carefully molded square of red-and-white lobster meat adorned with a dollop of sour cream. "Here we have a creamy langoustine soup," one waiter said, pouring from a miniature pitcher, "Adapted from an old Icelandic recipe, the lobster is flavored with mild curry and cream for a simple presentation."
"Simple," I said. "Right."
"It's been too long since I had lobster bisque," Rob said. "There are some things that just aren't the same outside New England."
I dipped my spoon in and tried to smile. Rob had put so much effort – or at least, so much money – into this. I couldn't make sense of what we were doing. Was he angling for a fling, something to relieve his boredom? Well, as much as I wanted his body, I was not a fling. I dropped my spoon into the bowl with a clang, and then looked up in surprise at the sound, worried about how my irritation had telegraphed.
Rob was watching me curiously.
"Sorry," I said. "Kind of a klutz."
"That's not what I remember, watching you swim."
"Mm." Then he must not have seen all the times I'd tripped on dry land, as much of a fish as I'd been in the pool.
"Let's try the next course," he said, nodding to the waiters.
They cleared the soup and returned, a minute later, with long wooden boards adorned with small glass cups of sauces and an assortment of raw seafood.
"This is a ceviche of oysters and citrus served in a radicchio cup," the waiter said, pointing at a pile of glistening chopped white seafood on a dark green leaf; "Tuna tartare on a baguette," shiny-wet pink fish flesh on toast; "And a carpaccio, that is to say, raw salmon pounded thin, and served with a lemon-dill sauce. These would all be served as passed appetizers--"
I felt my stomach turn as the waiter went on. I tried to pep-talk myself. I had never liked seafood, but sitting across the table was a Navy SEAL who had probably eaten some things far more adventurous than raw salmon. I could try it. Rob was going to think I was a barbarian if I didn't manage to chew, swallow and smile.
I settled on the carpaccio first. I speared delicate pink flesh that shredded under my fork, and I had to take my butter knife to push it onto the fork. It had a slick texture that I couldn't reconcile with food.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"What makes you think there's anything wrong?" I asked, wary at how well he could read me. "What could possibly be wrong on a warm spring night like this?"
His blue eyes were warm with concern. "You've barely eaten. You don't like the food?"
"It's lovely. I'm sure it's very good." I leaned across the table, apologetic, but deciding to be perfectly honest. "I don't much care for seafood, to be honest."
"Oh," Rob said. "That would be a problem."
"It's great for the fundraiser," I said hastily. "I think you're right. It'll be a more high-end dinner, better for donors. It's brilliant."
Rob smiled wryly as he raised his wine glass to his lips. "You make me nervous when you're so... nice."
"I thought I made you nervous because I was so mean all the time."
"Maybe you just make me nervous." His cocky grin suggested that was not the case. "Maybe it's not nerves that I feel."
"Rob--"
He raised conciliatory hands. "I'm sorry that you don't like seafood. And that the night hasn't gone quite the way I planned. Let me try again."
"The night's been beautiful," I said. “It’s perfect. It’s just… not me.”
“Ridiculous, Naomi Anne Papadopolous. You are both beautiful and perfect.”
“Ha,” I said.
But no matter what I said, I wondered if he could tell how those words made me feel.
14
Rob
I took her to my favorite burger joint when I was in college, a hole-in-the-wall place that stayed open late near BU. "Stay in the car," I told her when we parked. I had a far more romantic setting in mind, even if we were just going to chow down on the best Cajun-spice-dusted fries. "I don't want you to be scared off by the looks of the place."
"If you don't want me to see the dining room of the place we're ordering from," she said, "Because that's scary, forget the kitchen, I'm not so sure about this."
"I know it's not your style, but try trusting me," I said. "Could be fun."
"I trust you," she said, unconvincingly. Even when it was just a burger, she couldn't cede control.
While I waited for our order, I texted with Liam, getting the details of Liam's arriving flight that weekend. Even though Liam was a pilot, he was taking a normal commercial flight back east. He had to take a flight into Boston instead of the closer T.F. Green Airport in Rhode Island, though, so I would have to break it to Naomi that she would once again be confined to a car with me. I was never very comfortable on long car rides – too much leg, too much shoulder – but I liked being stuck in the car with her, nothing to do but to talk, to catch the flash of her bright smile when she gave in and laughed.
There was something, too, about the fact she had almost been my girl once. The way Naomi had brushed against my shoulder as we passed each other on the pool, smiling good luck. Back then I’d imagined lon
g swims on the weekends with her, lying on a blanket on the grass of the beach, kissing the gritty sand off her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her under my palms.
The thought that I'd hurt her made me ache. I didn't deserve a second chance. But this time, with Naomi, I wanted more than what I deserved. It made me spin back and forth between how I should handle the obvious, sheer lust between us.
"Your food, sir," the server called, putting a paper bag on the countertop.
"Thanks," I said, snagging the warm bag. The moon was small and pale above as I crossed the parking lot, the night damp-tinged even though the clouds had passed.
I swung myself into the passenger seat, settling the bag of grease in my lap. "I've got a favorite spot we can head to. Almost as scenic as that rooftop."
"That's great," Naomi said, her voice quavering but under control. "I think we've got a problem, though."
"No problem, man," a voice said from the back of the car. From the edge of my vision, I caught the glint of a gun barrel. "We're just going for a little drive to the ATM."
"All right.” I felt my heart rate drop–the bizarre reaction to stress that most SEALs developed–as time felt like it slowed. I nodded at Naomi, giving her an encouraging look.
Her hands trembled on the wheel. I had to keep her and the situation calm until there was a better chance to take out the risk. "Just drive. It's going to be all right."
Naomi nodded at me, her large hazel eyes damp with tears. I felt my guts twist, and I forced the emotion away. I could make this guy pay, later, but for now I needed to stay cool. Protect Naomi. That was all that mattered.
"There's an ATM two blocks away," the man said. "Go straight."
Naomi pulled away from the curb. She almost rolled through the stoplight ahead without seeing it, and as we began to pull through the intersection I said gently, "Brake. Red light."
She slammed on the brakes, throwing us all forward into their seatbelts. The man in the backseat muttered a curse.
I would have liked to curse too. I practiced tight personal security, as a multimillionaire and as a Navy SEAL, but I hadn't seen this coming. And ATM machines? Talk about small potatoes. Or was this just the start? Where the fuck had this guy come from?