Finding Mr. Right Now

by Meg Benjamin

  “No finesse,” he panted after a long moment. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Who needs finesse when you’ve got heat?”

  “Heat.” He sighed. “Heat is right. That we’ve got.”

  He turned on his side, pulling her with him, one hand rubbing along her back in lazy circles. She draped one leg across his hip, dropping her head to his shoulder.

  “That was…good,” she whispered. “Really, really good.” She dropped back a bit to stare at his face. “And if you point out that was a stupid thing to say, I’m going to hurt you.”

  He flashed her a quick grin, his eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Particularly not that.”

  He tangled his fingers in her hair, bringing her head back to his shoulder again.

  She let the drowsiness take her then, cuddling close against him, her muscles feeling as if they’d been turned to syrup. His arms came around her loosely, his forehead resting against her hair, his lips whispering along her temple. The lantern light cast shadows on the ceiling, leaving the length of the wagon in darkness. Her limbs felt so heavy she could hardly lift them, as if they were weighted. She closed her eyes, snuggling into the curve of his throat and shoulder.

  “Monica?” he murmured.

  Reluctantly, she forced herself back to semi-consciousness. “Hmmm?”

  “What I was talking about before. You know, after this is all over.”

  She sighed, feeling that pleasant lethargy begin to leave her body. Reality. So not what she wanted to talk about right now. “After this is all over. Right.”

  “I wasn’t really thinking of Fairstein.” He ran his hand along her back, lightly.

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  “I was more thinking about, well, us. This.”

  Her eyes popped open. What the hell? Weren’t guys supposed to avoid these conversations like the plague? “You were?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to, well, go on with…this. Whatever this is. When we’re back in L.A. I mean, I’d like to go on seeing you. Would that be okay with you?” His forehead furrowed as he watched her. “Or do you have someone waiting for you?”

  Someone waiting. She hadn’t had anyone waiting on her for a long while. Maybe not since she’d let Fairstein Productions take over her life. Actually, she couldn’t remember when she’d had anything waiting except work. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t have anybody. What about you?”

  He blew out a long breath. “No. All I’ve got is a condo in Venice beach that I use for sleep. Between episodes.” His voice sounded bleak in the dimness—a lot like hers, now that she thought about it. “So do you want to get together when we get back?”

  Amazingly enough, he seemed to be afraid she’d say no. Silly man. “Um…sure.” She grinned against his shoulder. “I’d like that.”

  He blew out a breath. “Good. Great. That’s settled.”

  He lay back again, looping his arms around her shoulders to hold her tight.

  Sometime after midnight, Paul opened his eyes. He could hear the gentle patter of rain on the aspen outside and the slight ping of drops on the tin roof of the wagon. It was possible that Monica would want to go back to the resort tonight. Given that Glenn might call her at first light, she’d need to be in her room when he did.

  He sighed. Someday he swore he’d get to spend an entire night with her. Maybe when they got back to LA, they could take some time off to be together. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that with anyone. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to do that with anyone. Maybe never. Monica was…different.

  She felt warm and soft in his arms. There were few things he wanted less than to leave the protection of the wagon for the chilly rain outside. Maybe just a few more minutes…

  A couple of hours later, he woke up for good.

  “Monica,” he whispered.

  She turned in his arms, muttering. Clearly, she didn’t want to get up any more than he did.

  “Monica.” He raised his voice slightly.

  After a moment, she stared up at him with drowsy eyes. “Hmmm?”

  “Would you like me to take you back to your room?” he said reluctantly. “It might be a little easier to explain. Or we could stay here and wing it.”

  She glanced around the wagon for a moment, as if she was trying to remember just where they were. “Damn,” she mumbled finally. “I guess I’d better go back.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to. Like I said, we could stay here and then go back tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s already tomorrow morning.” She yawned, pushing herself up. “And we do have to. Or anyway, I have to. Realistically, that is.”

  He brushed the hair back from her forehead gently. “I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t either. But my guess is Glenn won’t be any happier tomorrow, I mean today, than he was last night, and I’d rather not give him any more reasons to snarl at me.” She bent to the floor, picking up her underwear.

  Paul sighed, reaching for his jeans. “Have I mentioned you’re too good for that job?”

  “Yeah, you did. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s my job right now and I need to do it.” She stood up, pulling her shirt down over her jeans.

  “Let’s go for it then.” He picked up his duffle from the floor and headed toward the door at the end.

  “Paul?”

  He paused, turning back toward her.

  She reached up with both hands, pulling his mouth down to hers for a long, warm kiss, nibbling on his lower lip in a way that he felt all the way to the base of his spine. “Thank you. This evening was wonderful. I’ll never look at covered wagons the same way again.”

  He slid his hands along her sides, molding the lush curves of her body. “My pleasure. Really. Definitely.”

  Only a few of the lanterns beside the path were still lit, but the moonlight was bright enough to help them see where they were walking. Fortunately, the rainstorm had passed, but the wet gravel made for slow going. He held her hand, guiding her along the path until they stepped out into the brighter pool area.

  Lights still burned in the bathhouse and around the grotto, but everything else looked dark and empty. An early morning wind rattled the aspen leaves and somewhere nearby something small rustled through the undergrowth. Paul turned quickly, checking for faces in the shadows. He had the sudden feeling of eyes burning into his back. Drama. Knock it off.

  Monica leaned against him quickly. “Is someone here?” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “Lots of someones. There’s a campground over on the other side of the pools. But I doubt anybody’s awake there.”

  “Oh. My car’s in the lot behind the bath house.”

  He nodded. The chill still moved up and down his spine. Whispering still seemed appropriate. “Let’s go.”

  They walked quickly along the side of the pool, careful not to slip on the wet stones. Only a few cars were still left in the lot, with Monica’s SUV at the far side. Paul took the keys from her hand, pressing the automatic lock then sliding into the driver’s seat as she opened the other side.

  “Why are we being so quiet?” she murmured.

  “Sleeping campers.”

  “Right.”

  He turned the ignition, then slipped the car into gear, careful to turn on only the parking lights. He hadn’t exactly been lying. There were sleeping campers around in the tent sites and the other wagons. But it wasn’t the campers that made him edgy.

  For reasons he couldn’t entirely define, he was glad they hadn’t waited until daylight to leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  After she got back to the hotel, Monica managed to sleep until almost six thirty, which meant she’d managed to get around four hours of sleep total. Could be worse. At least she’d had an enjoyable reason for being awake.

  Thinking about Paul made her smile that kind of faint secret smile she’d always found annoying when she’d seen it on other
women. Apparently they were a couple. Or they would be, anyway, once they got back home. Right now they were Secret Lovers, which was almost as much fun, given the lack of anything else mysterious in her life.

  New corner, Monica. New possibilities. Maybe a new beginning.

  She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed her blazer. So far, Glenn hadn’t called her, but she figured that situation wouldn’t last long. They were too close to being finished, although they still didn’t have much of an ending. On the other hand, when Ronnie cut Paul on the episode they were filming this evening, it would set up a great finale with Brendan versus Billy Joe, aka good versus evil.

  She’d managed to grab a cup of coffee at the resort café before Glenn’s call came. She glanced at her watch. Seven. Right on schedule.

  “Hi Glenn,” she said.

  “Where’s Ronnie?” he barked, loud enough so that she held the phone a little farther from her ear.

  “Why?” She frowned. “I haven’t seen her yet today. Isn’t she in her room?”

  “She’s not answering her phone. Get up there and find her.” Glenn sounded like he’d already had way too much coffee this morning.

  “Okay, okay, I’m on my way,” she soothed, trotting toward the elevators.

  Ronnie’s room was across the hall from hers and slightly separated from the other rooms on the floor, but Monica knocked gently anyway. No point in waking up everybody else if she didn’t have to.

  When there was no answer, she knocked again, harder this time. Ronnie was usually an early-to-bed-early-to-rise type, but she might have been more tired than usual after the activities at the hot springs.

  As Monica raised her hand to knock a third time, the elevator pinged behind her. She turned to see Ronnie herself totter grimly through the elevator doors on her platforms, then sidle down the hall. She still wore the white capris and striped boat-neck tunic she’d worn to the hot springs the night before, only they both looked worse for wear. One shoulder of the tunic was missing a couple of buttons. The scarf she’d worn in her hair was now looped around her neck and tied with a bad version of a Boy Scout knot. Her hair stood out from her scalp in an angry blonde cloud.

  If it had been a picture, the caption would have been One rough night.

  “Hi,” Monica said tentatively.

  Ronnie regarded her stonily, then shrugged. “Hi.”

  “Are you…okay?” The word seemed inadequate to describe Ronnie’s current state, but Monica couldn’t think of anything else that didn’t sound like an accusation.

  Ronnie shrugged again. “Sure.”

  “Well…good.” She stepped back from the door. “Glenn was looking for you. I’ll tell him you’re back.”

  Ronnie’s eyes widened. She gripped Monica’s wrist quickly. “No. I mean, you can’t. Don’t tell him I was out. Tell him…”

  “Tell him?” Monica prompted.

  “Just…tell him I was asleep. Tell him I slept in your room last night. Okay?”

  Monica shook her head. “That won’t work, Ronnie. I already told him I didn’t know where you were. Look, are you sure you’re all right? Did something happen?”

  Ronnie’s shoulders slumped as she slid her keycard through the lock. “Just…it wasn’t a great evening, that’s all. I fell asleep. Then I woke up late. But I’m here now. Everything’s fine.”

  Monica thought she looked pretty far from fine. On the other hand, she didn’t look like she wanted to talk about it. “Okay. Would you like some breakfast?”

  Ronnie shook her head. “I need to wash my hair. And take a nap.”

  “All right.” Monica tried to figure out what came next. “I’ll tell Glenn you don’t feel well.”

  “That’s right. I don’t.” Ronnie stared down at the stubbornly red light on her door lock.

  Monica took the keycard from her fingers and ran it through again. Still red.

  “Crap,” Ronnie said between her teeth. She kicked the door. “Crap, crap, crap. I must have picked up somebody else’s key.”

  “Somebody else’s…” Monica stared down at the keycard in her hand. Something approaching enlightenment dawned. “Oh.”

  Ronnie leaned her forehead against the door, closing her eyes. “Crap,” she said again. She looked like a survivor of the ultimate lousy date.

  Monica wrapped her arm around Ronnie’s shoulders. “Come on. You can sleep in my room and wash your hair in my shower. I’ll see about getting you a new keycard.”

  “Or I could just get the old one back,” Ronnie mumbled.

  “You could. But it might be easier to get a new one instead.” She reversed course, steering Ronnie across the hall to her own room.

  “Okay.” Ronnie gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “Whatever.”

  Ten minutes later Ronnie was asleep in her bed, and Monica was trying to talk the desk clerk into giving her another key.

  “Usually the person who lost the key has to come down and ask for a new one herself,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, well, this person is asleep and she’ll need to be able to get into her room when she wakes up. I’m the associate producer and the person who lost the key is Ms. Valero, so it’s not like we’re total strangers here.” She worked on keeping her temper.

  “Still…” The clerk regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” Monica huffed. “Just give me the key. I’ll sign a statement indemnifying you or something if that’s what it takes.”

  She took the keycard from his obviously reluctant fingers and started back across the lobby, but paused in the doorway. Billy Joe was working his way across the space between the buildings, squinting at the sunlight. He looked like he’d spent the night in somebody’s backseat—advanced five o’clock shadow, bed hair and the same outfit he’d worn last night.

  “Morning,” Monica said carefully.

  He glanced at her a little blearily. “Yeah.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He shrugged. “My keycard doesn’t work. I need to get it fixed.”

  “It doesn’t work?”

  “Yeah, I keep getting a red light.” He squinted back at the Bachelor House. “Couldn’t get back in after breakfast.”

  Monica sighed. “Okay, here’s the thing. There’s probably nothing wrong with your keycard. Maybe it’s not your keycard.”

  “Huh?”

  She reached into her pocket, pulling out the card she’d taken from Ronnie. “This is probably your keycard. Give me that one, and go back and try this one.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell do you have my room key? You started picking pockets or something?”

  She gave him a very hard, very bright smile. “I have your key because I took it away from Ronnie about a half hour ago when it wouldn’t work in her lock. I’m assuming the one you’ve got there will.”

  Billy Joe’s expression became blank, then his lips moved into a thoroughly unattractive smirk as he took the keycard from her fingers. “She walked off with my key, right? Good thing I found you before Donovan heard about it.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” she said between her teeth. “Now you can go back to your room and get cleaned up.”

  “Right.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, then turned on his heel, heading back toward the Bachelor House.

  After a moment, Monica went back up the stairs to the fourth floor and unlocked her door. Ronnie was curled up in the bed, her hair defiantly unwashed and still bushing around her head.

  “Ronnie,” she called softly. “I’ve got your key.”

  Ronnie muttered something that sounded like “great” and turned her face to the wall.

  Monica stood watching her for a moment, then headed back out the door. Chances were good Ronnie had been up to the same thing she’d been up to herself last night. Only in Ronnie’s case, it had apparently been with Billy Joe Mapes.

  Also apparently, Billy Joe Mapes wasn’t nearly the stud he thought he was, judging by Ronnie’s disgruntled reacti
on to her date.

  By six that evening, Paul had pulled on the tuxedo the show had provided for what he devoutly hoped was the last time. After Ronnie cut him, he figured he’d be free to hang out with Monica openly, particularly since Ronnie didn’t seem even slightly upset about their relationship.

  Still, he’d have to go through the whole post-cut interview crap, where he and Ronnie would both pretend to have been interested in each other at some point. And he’d have to claim he was still looking for true love. But once that was over and he’d moved out of the Bachelor House, he intended to spend as much of his time with Monica as her job and Glenn would allow.

  Maybe he was looking for true love after all. Or maybe he’d already found it.

  In the deck chair beside him, Brendan ran a finger along the inside of his collar again. His forehead was slightly damp with anxiety. Paul sighed. Brendan always worked up a case of flop sweat before the cut ceremony. He wished he could put the poor guy out of his misery, but any move to explain the real facts of life would only make Brendan question the possibility that he and Ronnie really would hook up permanently, the only thing he seemed to be able to focus on at the moment.

  Billy Joe, on the other hand, looked more like a man-whore than ever. Paul wondered if he’d actually found a Spandex tuxedo. It certainly looked tighter than Paul’s or Brendan’s. His dark hair shined, as did his teeth. He had a gold watch that wasn’t really a Rolex but might pass for one on camera. All in all, he looked like he belonged in Palm Beach, sucking up to aging female tourists.

  Ronnie was going through the usual interview, talking about how exciting the last month had been, how much she’d enjoyed herself, how hard it was going to be to let someone go home tonight because they’d all become so close.

  Paul didn’t believe a word of it. Ronnie sounded like a robocall, her lips flexing upward occasionally in something that was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace. She sounded exhausted and she looked pissed.

  Finally Glenn called cut and muttered something to Monica, who put down her clipboard and headed for Ronnie’s side.