Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4)

by R. C. Martin

  I haven’t seen her in a week, though we’ve corresponded a little since then. I meant to call her today, but that was before work got hectic. Tomorrow evening has been planned, our reservations set for eight-thirty, but she doesn’t know it yet. I think about calling her now, but the room is filled with too much noise, so I pull out my phone to send her a text.

  Me: Tomorrow night. 8:00. I’ll need your address, Miss Fitzpatrick.

  I don’t usually pick women up when I arrange to have dinner with them. It’s easier for us to meet where we intend to dine; then, at the end of the evening, or sometimes the next morning, the mess of having to arrange for one of us to get home isn’t an issue—our vehicles readily available. However, tomorrow night will be different. I can’t say for sure where we’ll end up after dinner. In fact, it’s probable that dinner will be all I manage to get, so long as Teddy sticks to her convictions.

  What intrigues me the most about the whole scenario is that I don’t seem to mind the wait.

  I’m enjoying this chase.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts when my phone buzzes in my hand. Teddy’s name appears on my screen and I’m quick to swipe my finger to reveal her reply.

  Teddy: 825 Heather Ridge Lane Apt. 26

  Teddy: Will you tell me where we’re going, Mr. St. Michaels?

  A small smile pulls at my lips and I take a tug of my beer before I type my reply.

  Me: I don’t think so.

  Teddy: How am I supposed to know what to wear?

  Me: You’re stunning, Teddy. Anything you wear will be fine.

  When she doesn’t respond right away, my small smile grows wider. I imagine the look on her face right now, and it makes me want to kiss her—long and hard. I make a mental note to make sure that happens the next time I see her.

  As I wait for her response, my eyes wander around the room. Then, when I catch a glimpse of a long, wavy, red ponytail, I sit up taller to get a better look. It only takes me a moment to identify the woman as the one who occupies my thoughts just now. I’d recognize her small frame anywhere. I watch her as she engages in conversation with her companion before she focuses her attention on her phone. I get a text alert a few seconds later, but I don’t bother looking at it.

  I wonder who she is with. Then I decide I don’t care, and I want to go say hello. Just when I get to my feet, I watch as the man across from her stands up, pointing to the bar. I realize this is my opening—but then before he goes, he grabs her face and kisses her. He says something that makes her laugh and then kisses her again before leaving her at the table.

  My eyes grow narrow as I stare at the back of her head. I sit back down, instantly pissed off. For the last six and three-quarter days, I’ve been saving myself for a fucking chance with a woman who is now kissing someone else? I have no idea what game she’s playing at, but I sure as fuck no longer want to play—not if she’s playing dirty. I shake my head, appalled that she had the audacity to tell me she was the one with trust issues; and yet, here I sit, watching her make-out with some other dude while texting me about our date tomorrow night.

  Fuck the date.

  I down the rest of my beer, shoving aside any and all thoughts of the plans I had for Teddy—forgetting the way she smells, the way she feels, the way she tastes, the way she looks sleeping in my bed. Instead, I look around the room, suddenly on the prowl. Only, the women who seemed attractive a few minutes ago don’t at all interest me now. That pisses me off even more, and I decide that with the day I’ve had—the day I continue to have—beer is no longer going to cut it.

  Knowing that if I order something stronger, I risk being too intoxicated to drive without lengthening my visit, I decide to leave. There’s no way in hell I want to stick around this place long enough for Teddy to spot me with her fucking blonde boy-toy. I settle my tab, grab my jacket, and get the hell out of there—not even bothering to give her a backwards glance.

  “Did he text you back?” Geoff asks as soon as he sits back down in the seat across from me.

  I look back down at my phone, knowing already that it hasn’t gone off in the last two minutes. Just as I suspected, I have no text alerts lighting up my screen.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  “I can’t believe I got you to send that,” he says with a proud grin.

  I shake my head and laugh at him, the adrenaline rush that coursed through me the second he sent his first text still lingering in my veins.

  “What if he doesn’t respond?” I murmur anxiously.

  Geoff lifts an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with mischief. “He’ll text you back, baby girl. I guarantee it.”

  I come out of Aunt Eddalyn’s office, my muscles tense and my mood shot to shit. Monday morning, I’ll be making a trip down to Denver to fire one of our own. In today’s economy, I hate to let anyone go; but that’s not reason enough to hang onto an employee who has become a liability to our good name. We’re a business with a reputation to uphold. Not to mention we need to be making money, not losing it.

  When I reach my office, I close myself inside, not wishing to be bothered. Apparently, that means nothing to the person who knocks not two minutes later.

  “What is it?” I call out from behind my desk. Logan opens the door, peeking her head inside. I look at her, waiting for her to speak.

  “Is now a bad time? I just wanted to show you what I came up with for the Mason Diner project. They’re ideas, mostly. You know what?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously. “I’ll just email them. You can let me know what you think when you get a chance. Monday is fine. I’m in no rush.”

  Her mention of Monday has me thinking about the vacancy that I’ll have to deal with next week, which reminds me that I never spoke to Logan about her pregnancy and what that means for her future here. As far as I know, she hasn’t even told anyone that she’s expecting. I decide now is as good a time as any to get to the bottom of the issue.

  “Wait, Logan. Come in. Shut the door behind you. I need to speak with you.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she says, doing as I ask.

  As she sits, I lean back in my chair, taking her all in. From the looks of her, she doesn’t appear knocked up; but the saltines she brings with her every morning hasn’t gone unnoticed.

  “So, has it been confirmed? Are you pregnant? You haven’t spoken about your condition since you freaked out in here a couple weeks ago.”

  “Oh,” she practically coos, her hands sliding over her flat stomach as a smile stretches across her face. “Well, I haven’t been to the doctor yet. I have an appointment next week, but I took, like, three tests. Roman and I are pretty sure we have a baby coming.”

  I nod slowly, trying to imagine what she’ll look like round with child. It’s not a sight I can say I’m looking forward to seeing. Children have a way of permanently changing a woman’s figure—the loss of hers will be a shame.

  “So what does this child mean? Your days here are numbered?”

  “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter, panic flashing in her pretty green eyes. “No. I have no intention of quitting. I mean, I’ll need a few weeks for maternity leave, but I don’t want to give up my career.”

  “You say that now. Am I to expect that you won’t change your mind? Because if there is even the slightest chance that you’ll be leaving, I’d like to be prepared. Besides, I see no point in continuing to mentor you if you plan on abandoning ship.”

  “Whoa!” she cries, holding her hands up, as if to silence me. “First of all—it’s like I said, I don’t plan on quitting. I love my job. I’ve worked really hard to get here. Just because I’m having a baby, that doesn’t mean that I won’t continue to work hard at what I love. Staying at Eddalyn’s was a decision I made—a decision I made with my husband—long before we even started trying to get pregnant.

  “Second, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but you certainly don’t have to take it out on me. What is happening in my personal life is none of your concern. The information I’ve given you is pr
ivileged. I haven’t told anyone in the office yet, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t either. I thought maybe you were asking out of friendly curiosity. Clearly, I was mistaken.

  “And third—if something is wrong, if there’s something that’s going on that has trigged your inner asshole, it’s just you and me in here. Just Jude. Just Logan. You can talk to me instead of bitching at me.”

  Her outburst is like a beacon, shedding light on what’s really bothering me—and the truth only irritates me even more.

  The fact that I have to fire someone on Monday is bothersome, but it’s business. I’m a good business man, and I know what needs to be done in this situation. I’m not emotionally attached to this particular individual. Not to mention, he brought this upon himself. This problem all on its own is not the reason why I’m so short tempered today.

  No, the reason why I’m so wound up is because I need a good fuck. Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem. Today, it is. Today, it’s a huge pain in my ass because the only woman I can think about is Teddy. And the worst part is—I know that even if I still planned on taking her out tonight—which I don’t—she wouldn’t let me fuck her, and yet that doesn’t seem to bother me or encourage me to seek out more willing company.

  For reasons I still cannot explain, she’s wormed her way into my head and I can’t get her out. After last night, after seeing her kiss that blonde guy, I shouldn’t still want her. For seven goddamn days, I chose her—seven days. It took her less than that to change her mind about choosing me. And she wonders why I’m not after love.

  “Judah?” Logan murmurs, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I draw in a deep breath, needing it to calm down. Logan is right. My mood has nothing to do with her, and she doesn’t deserve my wrath. Rather, I should let her go and then call Diana to see if she’d like to meet me for an eight-thirty reservation. I scrub my hand down my face with a sigh before I look to the innocent victim across from me.

  “I apologize. You are a decisive woman and I know this about you. I trust that you won’t change your mind about your commitment to your position here. That is all. You’re free to go.”

  She stares at me for a moment and then let’s out an irritated huff before she stands to make her exit. “You need a woman, Judah. And Lord help her, whoever she is.”

  I watch her leave, shaking my head as the door latches closed behind her.

  I need a woman, all right—preferably naked and on her knees.

  Judah never texted me back. I stayed up half the night waiting for him to reply, my restlessness all in vain. I read the message again now, trying to decide if my playfulness might have offended him in someway. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t find anything wrong with it.

  Me: I’ve got this really sexy, grey t-shirt about your size. Maybe I’ll just wear that…

  I groan, pressing my forehead against the top of my desk. Geoffrey insisted that I send it as my reply. Why I listened to a man two beers into the evening, I have no idea. Why Jude never messaged me back, I’m not quite sure. What I do know is that I haven’t heard a peep from him all day, which worries me.

  “Hey,” Geoffrey murmurs, reaching over the back of my chair to rub my shoulders. “We’re getting ready to head out. Still nothing?”

  I grunt my response, sitting up as I spin around to face him. Andy is standing to his left, eyeing me in concern. With a sigh, I stand, tossing my phone into my purse before hooking it over my arm. “He wouldn’t stand me up, right? I mean, it’s weird for him not to text me back—but he wouldn’t just blow me off. Right?”

  “The way he’s been doggedly chasing after you? No way,” Geoff insists, folding his arms across his chest. “Maybe something came up—an emergency or some shit.”

  “Yeah, maybe bullshit,” Andrew mutters. “If that dick stands you up, I’ll kick his ass.”

  His comment makes me laugh. Not because I don’t appreciate his offer, but because it’s the second time he’s told me he’d confront Judah in the last two weeks. In any case, the smile he brought to my face feels good, even if it only lasts for a moment.

  “I think you should enroll in karate or something,” I say with a smirk. “You and Steven could do it together—work out some of that aggression.”

  He only smiles in response before nodding toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I follow behind them, the knots in my stomach reminding me of my anxiety as I step out into summer’s warm, night air. According to last night’s short exchange, I should be expecting Judah to pick me up in just under an hour. I plan on heading straight home to change into the outfit I picked out last night—last night when I was too distracted to sleep.

  It’s entirely possible that I’m worrying for nothing; that Geoff is right and something just came up, preventing Jude from getting back to me. He may not have responded to my attempt at flirting with him, but he hasn’t canceled our evening, either. I should just go home and get ready. He’s waited seven days for me—he told me that he wasn’t asking me on a date so much as telling me that we had one. He won’t stand me up. He wouldn’t.

  At eight-thirty I start pacing. At nine, I pace while staring at my phone. At nine-fifteen, I take off my heels and curl up in my sitting room chair as I talk myself in and then out of calling him. At nine-thirty, I hit dial.

  “That rat bastard,” Geoffrey answers after the first ring. “He stood you up?”

  Hearing him say it out loud makes my heart hurt. I look up toward the ceiling, hoping it’ll keep my tears from spilling over onto my cheeks, and I draw in a shuddered breath. It’s all I can manage, afraid that if I try and speak, my humiliation will overwhelm me completely. I know if I start crying, I’ll sound like a pathetic, squeaky, little girl, and my pride wouldn’t survive that right now.

  “Give me an hour, Freckles. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, a single tear racing toward my chin.

  He hangs up and I turn off my phone, discarding it on my coffee table before I go to change my clothes. I wiggle into a pair of little, bright green, cotton shorts, tossing on a white, cotton camisole and a thin, yellow, CSU hoodie. I pull my hair back, piling it on top of my head, and then wash my face—scrubbing away any trace of date prep remaining. When I’m finished, I pull out my computer and bring up the photos I took from my hike with Geoff a couple weeks ago. I haven’t messed with them too much, and I need something to distract me for the next forty minutes.

  When there’s a knock at my door, I’m quick to set aside my laptop before I hurry to answer. As soon as I see my favorite blonde, I feel both relieved and sad—relieved that he’s here without me even having to express how much I need him right now; sad because tonight wasn’t supposed to go this way, and I can’t for the life of me explain what happened.

  “All right—wine, ice cream, Thor and Captain America,” he says, holding up the brown paper sack he’s got in his hand. “I didn’t know which Chris you’d prefer tonight.”

  “Hemsworth,” I mumble without hesitation.

  He nods and then takes a step toward me, opening up his arms. “Come ‘ere.” I shuffle my feet across the short distance that separates us and prop myself up against his chest. He holds me snuggly, resting his cheek on top of my head. “Did you try calling him?”

  “No,” I whisper, my eyes welling up again.

  “Yeah. I probably wouldn’t either.” He sighs, squeezing me tighter. “I’m sorry, Teddy. He’s an asshole.”

  “I don’t think I want to talk about it,” I say with a sniff.

  “All right.” He pulls away from me, then shuts us inside. “What’ll it be? Wine or ice cream?”

  “Mmm…ice cream.”

  “You got it. Pop in the movie,” he instructs, handing me the bag. “I’ll get us some spoons.”

  For the rest of the night, I stay glued to the couch with Geoff, consuming far too much ice cream, and swooning over the God of Thunder. Though, try as I might, I can’t stop my mind from wandering
toward thoughts of Judah. I have no idea what happened between yesterday and today. I can’t figure out if this was somehow my fault, or if he simply lost interest, or what.

  What we have is not a relationship, and I don’t know the man very well, but his sudden disappearance seems odd. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s possible that something bad might have happened to him. Since I have no way of actually knowing one way or the other—my phone off and Geoff restricting me from turning it back on—I spend half the night thinking that he’s an asshole; then the other half of the night, I wonder if I’m the asshole who hasn’t even tried checking in on him.

  Geoff leaves for home around one a.m., after I promise him that I’ll try and get some sleep. As soon as he’s out the door, I decide to check my phone. When I power it on and find not a single missed call or text, I still don’t know who the asshole is—him or me? Given the time, I force myself to go to sleep, convincing myself to save my hunt for a conclusion until the morning.

  Much like the previous night, I don’t sleep well. I toss and turn for hours, only managing two or three solid hours of rest. At seven, I’m up making coffee. I nurse my first cup as I try and decide whether or not I should call Jude. After two cups, I realize that I don’t think I could stand the rejection of being sent to voicemail. I can’t say for sure that’s what will happen, but there’s no guarantee that won’t happen, either. After my third cup, I’m feeling wired, and I come up with this completely crazy plan. I mull it over just long enough to anxiously gobble down a pop-tart, and then I hop in the shower.

  I don’t shampoo my hair, afraid that if I do, by the time I tame my waves, I’ll have lost all my nerve. After a speedy body wash, I hop out and style my hair in a thick twist at the crown of my head. I secure it with a couple hair ties and a dozen bobby pins before I hurry to my closet. I don a pair of skinny jeans and slip into a casual, silk top. It’s cream colored with capped sleeves and a really pretty red embroidery stitched pattern on the front and the back. I tuck my feet into my matching red Toms and then grab my purse, my phone, and Judah’s clothing. I’m in my car by eight fifteen, sure that if I don’t go now, I’ll never go. And if I never go, I’ll never know…