The question was why Bettina should care.
Why, why, why? He sounded like Lola. Maybe he’d never really searched for answers. Sex between them before Rafe had been good, sex before marriage even better. She’d played a few of his games, though she’d never totally gotten into them. She was nothing like Lola.
“Well, you can pick him up in the morning and take him to football camp.” Her voice droned instructions in his ear.
Normally Rafe would have been with him tonight, but he’d wanted to go out with his friends. There was always an excuse to spend less than Gray’s allotted time every other weekend. He’d always hoped this was the weekend they’d make a breakthrough. It hadn’t happened yet.
“Yes, Bettina.” He no longer cared what he was agreeing to.
“Fine. Don’t wake me up when you get here in the morning.”
There was blessed silence in the car. Ten minutes ago, there’d been Lola, her sweet scent, her sexy sounds. Her questions.
She made him think, made him remember, made him ask. How had things gone so wrong with his marriage, with Rafe? Sure, Bettina lost her sex drive after childbirth. But they’d been civil to each other. They’d cared for Rafe. They’d been good parents together. She didn’t like his traveling, of course. Then she’d truly gotten a bug up her butt during one of his London trips.
Bettina always picked him up from the airport, a habit they’d started early and never broken. He’d had a long flight from London, and he’d stood out in the diesel fumes and the noise and the crush of travelers for over an hour waiting for her. His cell phone had run out of juice in London and he’d forgotten his charger, but he’d sent her an email before he left. At SFO, he’d managed to find a pay phone, called a couple of times, left messages. She hadn’t answered. He’d gotten worried. She could have had an accident. What if she’d had Rafe with her? His panic had risen. He’d taken a cab home, only to find her watching the evening news. When he asked where the hell she’d been, she’d said that if he couldn’t bother to answer his phone while he was away, then she couldn’t bother to pick him up. She hadn’t believed that he’d forgotten his charger. Even when he’d shown it to her upstairs in the bedside drawer, she’d accused him of leaving it behind on purpose.
The London trip was the moment her anger with his traveling had boiled over. It was the first time she accused him of screwing other women while he was away. After that, it had only been a matter of time, eighteen months to be exact. Life fell apart, and his son stopped loving him.
Now, as CEO, he traveled far less. It was too late. He was still trying to pick up the pieces. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to.
But tonight with Lola had reminded him how things were supposed to be, how much better they could be.
14
DAMMIT, GRAY HAD CLAMMED UP AGAIN. AFTER THAT FABULOUS sex, he’d shut her out. As if the fact that he’d revealed too much to her had sent him running.
Lola rolled her eyes. Men. She’d never understand them. She knew what Charlotte would say. Just stop trying to understand them and go with the flow. Enjoy. Of course, Charlotte was right. This wasn’t a relationship, the sex was fabulous, and that’s really all that mattered. She shouldn’t want anything more. That made her too dependent on him, and of course, dependence led to disaster.
On the console between the seats, her phone chirped at her. There was a new voicemail. Dammit, she should have checked before driving off. It had to be one of the twins. She hadn’t wanted to take the phone with her on Gray’s little joy ride.
Few cars passed her on the road as she headed down the hill, and no one was behind her. All right, she’d have to be illegal for three seconds while she hit the voicemail key, then tapped in her pin. With that done, the car’s Bluetooth took over, and the woman’s electronic voice told her she had one message. It started playing automatically.
“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.”
Lola almost slammed on the brakes, and her senses heightened with an adrenaline rush. The voice was deep, then it was high, childlike, then feminine, a man, then a woman.
“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.”
The initial loudness of the voice had scared the crap out of her, but her pulse was returning to normal and she punched the Off button on the Bluetooth, shutting the message down in mid Bitch. The words had been almost unreal, different tones as if several people were shouting. Then again it could have been one person changing his or her voice.
Dead flowers. Now a message. Maybe it wasn’t some girl the twins had harassed. And George definitely knew her cell number. Could he be that upset because she’d turned him down?
The light ahead turned yellow and she almost punched the gas to make it through, thought better at the last minute and slammed on the brakes. Her purse flew to the floor on the passenger side. The phone went somewhere under the seat. Dammit. She felt blindly with her hand until the light turned green again. Headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. She had to move.
Later that night, when the boys were in bed, she closed her bedroom door and listened again. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought someone might have been giggling in the background. There was no caller ID. Whoever had left the message had blocked their number.
All right. Maybe it was George, maybe it wasn’t. If she wanted to know, she was going to have to buck up and ask him.
* * *
LOLA WALKED ONTO THE FIELD THE NEXT DAY WEARING WHITE shorts that made Gray ache to lick her tanned thighs. Her tank top was tight across her breasts. He salivated for a taste of the slight swell of flesh above the scooped neckline. A gold ring graced the middle toe of her right foot and a silver chain circled her left ankle.
He noticed everything from the swish of her long black hair to the white polka dots on her black flip-flops.
She made him instantly hard. She drove him totally crazy. The similarities between his feelings now and his feelings at sixteen struck him. He was obsessive, addicted. And he liked it. He wanted more. Perhaps that was why he’d told Lola about his affair with the projectionist. Because she made him feel those same intense emotions, gave him those same crazy thoughts. The more he thought of it, the more he knew that was the answer. No one but Lola had made him feel that way since he was sixteen.
She was early. Usually she waited at the curb outside with all the other parents, but this time she’d parked up in the lot and walked down. She’d come for him. To see him. Maybe to touch him. And God help him, he wanted it. But Rafe would be coming out of the locker rooms at any moment, and while he wasn’t ashamed of the things he did with Lola, he didn’t want to put her in the middle. Rafe was already pissed off as it was.
The locker-room door opened with a whoosh, banged against the wall, and the cacophony of sixteen teenage voices and thirty-two pounding feet rolled across the field like a tidal wave hitting shore.
Lola stopped. Gray turned. Not sixteen. Probably only half his team. Boys made a lot of noise. Whatever she’d wanted to say to him would have to wait.
Rafe, half a head taller than the rest, was running, his muscles bunching, flexing. Gray hadn’t seen him this excited since . . . months, maybe even years, maybe before the divorce. The ever-present sadness closed around his heart like a fist, yet there was also a kernel of hope. Sure it was the car, the expedition, the ability to drive away, freedom at the wheel of a car. But it was also a chance for them to bond.
His son slid to a stop on the green, leaving a divot he packed back down with the toe of his athletic shoe. “Are you ready, Dad?”
Dad. It had never sounded so good. Rafe rarely used the title, or if he did, it was accompanied by a sarcastic intonation.
He wanted to look at Lola, smile, drink her in, but he couldn’t afford the luxury right now. Instead he turned his back on her and curled his arm around his son’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”
Rafe shrugged him off. “Yeah.”
A second wave of players crashed through the doors onto the field, heading for the parkin
g lot or the curbside amid a chorus of Bye and See ya later. In the two weeks since football camp had started, relationships had sprouted, friends made, a semblance of cohesion established.
“Hey, Aunt Lola.”
It was Rafe who turned to the voice—Gray wasn’t sure whether it belonged to Harry or William—then pivoted in Lola’s direction.
There was something assessing in his gaze, from bottom to top, then top to bottom. “She’s too old to dress like that,” he muttered.
The twins were frolicking around her, which was kind of an odd sight since frolic was not a word Gray would ever have applied to those two.
“Dress like what?” he asked neutrally.
The twins grabbed her hands and pulled her in the direction of the parking lot on the hill. They bubbled with uncharacteristic excitement. Lola cast one last look at him, nothing more than a quick glance over her shoulder.
“Toe rings,” Rafe said, “and anklets and short-shorts. Only sluts are supposed to wear anklets.”
Gray’s heart did a slow roll in his chest. “What did I tell you about that word?”
Rafe turned on him, his eyes dark. “I didn’t call her a slut. I just said that’s what kids say about wearing anklets.”
What was wrong with Rafe? Okay, fine, he was pissed at his old man for never being around when he was younger. But where was this disrespect coming from? What was up with this denigration of women? Gray enjoyed kinky sex games, a good spanking, a little bondage, but he always respected any woman who chose to play. And Lola was not a slut in the crude sense of the word.
“A lady’s choice of jewelry doesn’t say anything about her character, Rafe. Don’t make snap judgments, not about the girls at school or women in general.”
“I’m just saying what other kids say.”
“You don’t need to follow the crowd.”
“Fine.” Rafe shot a last look at the retreating figures. “Can we go now? Doesn’t it take forever to negotiate a car deal?”
Yes, it did. Probably the most they’d get accomplished today was choosing the make and model. Tomorrow would come the wheeling and dealing.
Three hours later, he wasn’t sure they’d even get as far as making the right choice. They disagreed on everything.
“A Volvo is an old-man car, Dad. The other kids will just make fun of me. Mom thinks I shouldn’t have to drive the same kind of car she drives. Since it’s going to be in the driveway, she thinks I should have something that makes the house look upscale.”
Fuck what Bettina wanted. Gray didn’t say it, and he resisted closing his eyes, sighing, or putting his hand to his forehead. “Volvos are upscale, and they’ve got a great safety record.”
“It’s boring.”
Everything that wasn’t a Mustang or a four-wheel-drive pickup was boring. They’d been to seven lots, and all the cars were either too old, too many miles, uncool, old man, girlie, or unacceptable for some other unexplainable reason. God forbid if he suggested a minivan. Funny how Bettina had used some of the same words, almost like Rafe was quoting her.
“The Volvo is a great deal and the miles are low.” The gas mileage wasn’t bad, and the price was right, though he fully intended to deal down a bit.
“But, Dad—”
“I’ve seen plenty of kids your age driving Volvos.”
“Yeah”—Rafe’s voice rose—“and they’re uncool because they’re driving their old man’s car.”
“You’ve been driving your mother’s car, and that was fine.”
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t you get that’s why I need my own car? Because I was driving Mommy’s car,” he mimicked with derision, as if someone had actually used the taunt on him. “And she needs to do her own thing, not be tied to what I have to do.”
Gray had had enough. He’d already heard Bettina’s arguments. He’d agreed to buy a car. “This is the best deal.” He spread his hands. “This is the one we’re getting.”
Rafe crossed his arms mutinously. “I’m not driving it.”
He loved his son. He had never hit him. He never would. But saying that Rafe tried his patience was stating it mildly. What he really wanted to ask was Why are you acting like such an asshole? But he would not ask. His son wasn’t an asshole. Gray was simply a shitty parent. Didn’t the child’s behavior always reflect on the parent?
The lot was by no means packed with car buyers, but he was aware of a few turned heads. A young couple, their child opening and closing the doors on different models of minivans, a matronly woman inspecting SUVs, the over-fifty salesman Gray had put on hold while he and Rafe decided—or argued. Activity stopped, voices fell. All that was left was the whoosh of traffic out on the freeway and Rafe’s anger carrying across the lot.
“Look, Rafe, we need to compromise here.”
“You’re not compromising, you’re dictating. Like you always dictated to Mom.”
Gray shoved his hands in his pockets to avoid clenching his fists. “You’re right. I’m opposed to a sporty car or a fifty-thousand-dollar pickup truck. But we’ve seen a helluva lot of cars today that suit the purpose. Tell me which one appealed to you the most and we’ll go back and look at it. If you want to drive out of a here with a car today, then you have to compromise.”
Life was full of compromises. Unless you were Bill Gates or Warren Buffett, you couldn’t have everything you wanted.
He waited. Rafe shuffled his feet, grimaced, turned, shoved his hand through his hair, turned back. Then finally he said, “All right, the Subaru.”
Gray didn’t hesitate. “That’s a good choice, son.” The miles on it had been reasonable and the service record up-to-date. “It’s actually kinda cool with the four-wheel drive.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Rafe muttered.
“And you can take it through the mountains without using chains unless the snow is really deep.” The price had been good as well.
In the end, they were able to complete the deal, and Rafe pulled his new used car into his mom’s driveway a little before dinnertime. Though it was Gray’s weekend, Rafe wanted to show off for Bettina.
Rafe rang the bell as if he didn’t have a key, and when Bettina answered, he grabbed her hand, pulling her down the front walk. “What do you think, Mom?” He actually sounded enthusiastic. And slightly nervous.
They were like any other normal family in a tree-lined neighborhood, the sun still bright and hot, a leaf blower breaking the quiet four houses down, a lawn mower blaring, a dad washing the car, three kids on bicycles. It had been his neighborhood five years ago. Then he’d been the dad mowing the lawn and washing the cars. When he wasn’t traveling. Sometimes the grass had been inches thick and clogged the mower. But he’d done his part.
“Well, now,” Bettina said, crossing her arms. She wore flowered capri pants and a white sleeveless top. She was so buttoned-up compared to Lola.
“It’s got four-wheel drive, and I could even take it through the mountains without using chains.” Gray smiled at the almost word-for-word repetition of his own sales pitch. Rafe rushed on. “It’s not an old-man car or girlie. I think it looks good. Don’t you?” He waited with a childlike need for approval.
Bettina looked it over, pursed her lips, opened the door, glanced at the instrument panel. “It seems very nice, dear.”
“And it’s got seat warmers. I can drive you in it sometime if you like.” Rafe was almost pathetically eager for her approval.
Finally Bettina reached out to him, ruffling his hair. He didn’t pull away from her. “I’m so glad your father finally saw reason and got you something you actually like.”
Gray flattened his lips. She just couldn’t resist a dig. He waited for Rafe to say they’d argued for three hours about what to buy, but his son said, “I told Dad I thought it was a pretty good deal with low miles and everything.”
If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought Rafe was defending him. It was more likely, though, that he wanted to take credit for the purchase. “Rafe made a fin
e choice.”
“Well.” Bettina gave a brittle smile. “That sounds just great, Rafe. Why don’t you take it over to show your friends? I’m sure your dad won’t mind giving up a couple of hours of his time with you.” She backed up to the front path as if afraid Rafe might run over her toes.
When Rafe shot him a hopeful look, Gray held himself in check and nodded his assent, though he wanted to slam Bettina down. “Why don’t you pick up a pizza for us on the way home?” Pulling out his wallet, he handed Rafe a twenty.
“Sure, Dad.” Then he hopped in his cool Subaru, backed out, looking carefully both ways, and waved in the rearview mirror.
Gray would never truly understand teenagers, despite having been one himself. One minute, his son was pissed as hell, then bam, he was happy and excited, as if there’d never been an argument.
“Well, at least you weren’t cheap,” Bettina said.
He’d been reasonable. He couldn’t say the same about Bettina, but he’d had enough arguments for one day. “Could you call the insurance company on Monday and get the car added to the policy?”
Bettina pursed her lips. “I’m busy. Can’t you do it?”
He boiled over. “You wanted him to have a car. I got him a car. What more do you want?”
“I want a little consideration for my time. I’m not at your beck and call.”
“I have plenty of consideration for your time, but you chose to be a stay-at-home mom so you could take care of Rafe. So please”—fucking—“take care of the insurance.” He stepped back because being too close made him want to lash out.
She followed, off the front path onto the driveway. “My being a stay-at-home mom doesn’t mean you get to foist all your parental duties on me.”
The argument was so old and tired and worn out. “What is your problem, Bettina?”
She glared at him. “Just because you’ve got a new girlfriend—”
So she did know. And she wanted to grind him down. But he wasn’t about to let her steer the fight to his private life. “This is about work, not a woman. I will be at work on Monday, and it would be extremely helpful if you would take care of the insurance half of this transaction for your son.” He’d done his half today by purchasing the car.
The Naughty Corner Page 13