Start Me Up

by J. Kenner

  "They have an app," Celia explained.

  "Who?" Shelby asked.

  "The show streams live in audio," she continued, not answering Shel. "Sometimes there's even video," she added, as if they were just discussing the weather.

  "It's really funny," Kayla added, her tone apologetic as the last strains of Heart's Crazy On You faded out. "I mean, he's good on the air, and it's not like he ever calls you by name."

  Oh, God. Shelby trepidation ramped up until it hovered somewhere near terrified. And when Hannah pushed one of the guest chairs up behind her, she sat without question.

  "Aaaand we're back!" Nolan's voice filled the room, and even though Shelby was already five thousand percent sure that she wasn't going to like what he was going to say, she couldn't deny the effect that smooth, sensual voice was having on her body--or the decadent memories that rushed to fill her mind.

  Casually, she crossed her legs, then clasped her hands on her knees as she breathed deliberately through her nose.

  "We've got time for one more request. Remember, folks, after one night, I can't say if she rocked my world, but she definitely rocked me. So that's our theme. So you say it, and if I play it, you get two tickets to the upcoming Pink Chameleon concert in San Antonio--all because I'm in one hell of a good mood today."

  "Ooooh, Nolan. Tell me more!"

  "Ah-ah-ah. Believe me. It's way too hard to describe how I feel. But then again, maybe that's why we call the show Mornings with Wood. Hey, there, caller. What's your name?"

  He was talking about her. The simple reality slammed into her mind as Nolan went back and forth with some guy named Tommy. He was actually talking about her. On the radio.

  Not only that, but he was talking about her and about hard-ons on the freaking radio.

  "The bastard," she said as she snatched up Celia's phone. "I can just push this little phone icon to call into the show?" she asked, inspecting the screen.

  "Are you nuts?" Hannah said. "What are you going to say?"

  "I'm going to tell him to stop." Had she told him it was okay to do this? Last night, when she'd joked about their sex being too hot for the radio, had he really thought she meant that this--this--was okay?

  "You can't call in," Leslie said. "Someone will recognize your voice."

  "Shit." She tossed the phone back on the desk, the cringed at Celia's perturbed, "Hey!"

  "Sorry." She drew in a breath and tried to calm herself, but that really wasn't happening. "It doesn't matter if I call in. Everyone already knows. What the hell is he doing? Everyone in that whole damn bar knows it's me."

  "No, no," Ria said. "Just us, and we wouldn't tell a soul."

  "You never go to The Fix," Hannah added. "No one knows your name."

  "And even if the staff knew, they wouldn't say," Leslie assured her.

  Shelby looked to Kayla, who shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I doubt anybody knows."

  "I could call the studio," Shelby said. "I mean, the office. So I'm not on the air."

  Hannah leaned against the side of the desk. "If you really want to talk to him about this, then call him at home."

  Shelby licked her lips. "I don't have his number."

  She watched as the five women exchanged pointed glances.

  "Well," Hannah said slowly, "then my guess is that this is just a riff on his part. Tomorrow, he'll be on to something else, and no one will even remember today."

  "Oh." Shelby said, and despite the fact that she'd already told herself that this thing with Nolan was a non-starter ... and despite the fact that his ridiculous on-air announcement really capped that sentiment ... the stark realization that she'd had a one-night stand without even realizing it hit her hard.

  A one-night stand with a man who'd made her feel things she didn't know she could feel, and want things she didn't know she could want. Who'd had her begging and laughing. Who'd hands-down shared the best sexual experience of her life. And then he'd gone and used their sexual exploits as fodder for his radio program. The whole thing made her queasy. "This is a nightmare," she whispered. "I mean, it's a nightmare of absolute epic proportions."

  "Oh, hell," Leslie said, glancing at her watch. "I've got an interview in ten minutes. Honey, it'll be fine." She gave Shelby a squeeze on the shoulder as she headed toward the door.

  Shelby bent to put her head between her knees as Celia paused the program. "Oh, God. What if Alan hears? What if my parents hear? What if Frank hears?"

  "Hears what?" The familiar deep voice of her boss came from behind her, and she almost jumped to her feet, but was forced to keep her head down by Hannah's firm hand on her back.

  "That she has some sort of horrible intestinal bug," Hannah said. "Her doctor says it's not contagious, so she came in. But the cramps and the, you know, bathroom runs..." She trailed off, her voice reflecting disgust and sympathy. "I told her she should call in, but she's so damn responsible."

  "Well, for heaven's sake, Shelby. Do you really feel that bad?"

  "Yes, sir," she said, which wasn't exactly a lie.

  "You're not working retail, you know. You're a professional. You can make your own schedule. Have your assistant move your appointments and go home."

  "Right. I should. I will. Thank you."

  She kept her head down until she heard the door latch behind her, then rose up. "You are an incredible liar. And I'm still completely screwed."

  "No, you're not," Hannah said firmly.

  "Unless she's talking about last night," Kayla said, and they all burst into laughter. Even Shelby, who figured that this must be some form of gallows humor. Because, really, this situation was so not good.

  So. Absolutely. Freaking. Totally. Not. Good.

  The radio. He talked about her--he talked about her and sex--on his radio program.

  That simple truth ran through her head over and over as she headed home, as she made herself a pot of coffee and some slice-and-bake cookies, and as she settled on her couch to watch mindless television.

  After a few hours, though, she clicked off the TV, realizing that mindless television was too mindless to block out the murderous--and unfortunately still lustful--thoughts of Nolan. After all, this very couch had been the background of what was now a ridiculously pleasant memory. At least it had been until his stupid radio stunt had tainted it.

  "Well, hell," she muttered, then picked up The Man Who Knew Infinity, a biography of a self-taught mathematical genius that she'd started a few nights before. If anything could take her mind off Nolan, it was math, and after half an hour, that theory proved to be true. She'd become completely absorbed in the beauty of the story--so much so that she jumped when she heard the sharp knock at her door.

  "Shelby? It's Nolan."

  She froze. Just completely froze right there on her couch. Then she realized that the blinds were drawn, and there was no way he could see her. So she carefully put her book down and moved to stand next to the door.

  She wasn't sure why she did that--she had no intention of talking to him or opening the door, mostly because she didn't know what she wanted to say. He'd left her no room for planning or rehearsal. But, strangely, she'd been drawn closer. And so now she stood just inches away, her palm pressed lightly to the wood.

  "Hello? Well, shit. Your car's here, Shelby. I don't have your number, so I couldn't call, but I know you're there. Except maybe she's not," he added, his voice changing slightly, as if he was a voice actor playing two roles. "Maybe she's taking a walk or going on a bike ride. Or maybe she's with a friend. Hell, maybe she's in some other man's bed, in which case, I just might have to kill him. Shelby."

  Her name, accompanied by the sharp ring of her doorbell made her jump and clap her hand over her mouth.

  "I have your travelers mug. If you don't open the door, I'm holding it for ransom!" A pause, then the second voice, "She's not there, you idiot. Leave the mug, and go."

  She put her hand on the knob, and almost--almost--turned it. But then she chickened out and simply stood there a
nd listened to the lid of her mailbox squeaking. The clatter of the mug hitting bottom. The patter of his footsteps on the stairs.

  And when, finally, she heard the purr of his Audi's engine pulling away, she sank to the ground, leaned her back against the door, and sobbed as the tears she'd been holding back all day flooded out in earnest.

  Chapter Eight

  Nolan should never have told Connor any of it. But, dammit, he'd never been this flummoxed by a woman. "We went out," he'd said to his friend that morning, before the show got underway. "We had a great time. And now, crickets. I even left my card inside the coffee mug I returned. But no email, no text, no call, no anything."

  "Baffling," Connor had said dryly.

  "What?"

  "Oh, come on, Nolan. Have so many women been chasing you that you forgot that some women aren't celebrity chasers? Maybe she didn't want her life blasted across the airwaves."

  "My entire life is a goddamn morning show," Nolan had said. "It's just a routine. And she was anonymous."

  "But it's not her routine," Connor had replied. "And it wasn't anonymous to her."

  "Oh, fuck you," Nolan had retorted, because he hated when his friend was right. But he didn't riff on the date at all. Instead, he played Simon & Garfunkel's The Sound of Silence without commentary. Just because.

  By the time the show ended, he wanted to bang his head against a wall. He'd been off the entire morning, his energy sucked down a well drilled by Connor's words.

  The worst of it was that he was filling in tomorrow because Wayne, the usual Saturday morning host, was on vacation. Which meant he had one more day of fumbling like an idiot on the airwaves instead of chilling and getting his mojo back.

  Well, hell.

  He considered getting a second opinion from Amanda, but he didn't need it. Connor was right. Nolan had been living in his little bubble of bliss, and--just like he did with everything--he blew it out across the airwaves.

  But, goddammit, he wanted to see her again. Which meant that somehow, he had to make this right.

  He waited until five-thirty, hoping she'd be home from work, then drove to her house. Once again, her car was in the drive. And, once again, he climbed the steps. Two quick knocks, and then he waited on the porch, shifting his weight from foot to foot even as he told himself that he was wasting his time, because she wasn't going to open the damn door.

  But then he felt the vibrations on the porch as someone inside the house hurried across the living room for the door. He heard her call, "You're early! Hang on!" And he held his breath as the latch clicked and she pulled the door open.

  "You said six--oh! Nolan."

  He saw her move to shut the door, and took a step forward. "I'm sorry. Please, don't slam the door."

  "I wasn't going to," she said, but she stood in the doorway and blocked the entrance, so she clearly had no intention of letting him in, either.

  "You look nice," he said, which was true. But she also looked different enough that if he'd seen her on the street, he might not have recognized her. She wore a tailored gray suit and a white button-down shirt. Her shoes had closed toes, low-heels, and resembled something his mom might wear to church. She was wearing stockings, but he had a feeling they were of the pantyhose variety, and that there was no sexy garter hidden under the trim skirt.

  Inexplicably, just the sight of her in that buttoned-up outfit made him want to pull her close and kiss her hard.

  "What do you want, Nolan?"

  "What? Oh, I told you. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blasted all that about us on the radio. I was--it's just that I don't have much of a filter when I'm doing my show. That's the schtick that keeps the ratings up. But I should have considered your feelings."

  "That's a really nice apology," she said. "Thank you."

  "Yeah?" He grinned. That had been remarkably easy. "Listen, I'm about to go get a bite. Want to join me?"

  "Oh." She licked lips that he desperately wanted to kiss. Maybe they could order in...

  "Um," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I really can't." She looked up, her expression pleading. "I had a great time on Wednesday. Really. And I really do accept your apology. But that girl from Wednesday--she wasn't really me."

  "Aliens? Pod people? Clones?"

  She rolled her eyes. "I was wasted."

  He stepped forward, and since she held her ground and continued to block the entrance, they were only inches from each other. Awareness crackled between them, and from the cornered, desperate look in her eye, he was certain he wasn't the only one who felt it. "You weren't wasted," he said simply. "We worked pretty damn hard to establish that."

  "I was overwhelmed," she amended.

  "I have that effect."

  "Look, Nolan. Please, just go."

  "Come on, Shelby. We had a good time together. Let's grab some dinner and just talk this time."

  "I--I--"

  "What?"

  "I'm seeing someone," she blurted. "His name's Alan. He's a professor."

  "Oh." For a moment, he couldn't think of anything to say, and he realized that her little confession hit him harder than he'd like.

  "I know I shouldn't have--I mean, at the bar--but I really was wasted at first. And I really did have a good time with you, but I never meant to start something, and I didn't think that you did either, and--" She cut herself off abruptly, as if she'd simply run out of words.

  Nolan considered making it easy on her and simply walking away. Except that wouldn't be easy on him. And maybe he was making excuses, but he'd held her in his arms. He'd felt her body tremble around his. Maybe she did have a boyfriend, but she wanted Nolan. He was certain of it.

  So he stayed, and he looked pointedly at her left hand, and then back up at her eyes. "I don't see a ring. And I don't see your guy."

  "I--well, no. So?"

  He lifted his brows and flashed a wide, wicked grin. "All's fair in love and war."

  "This isn't about love or war."

  "All's fair in sex and sin. Better?"

  Her lips twitched, but she got herself under control and shook her head. "Listen, Nolan. We're not really ... compatible."

  He reached out, then twirled a strand of her hair around his finger before gently tracing her jawline. "Aren't we?" She trembled under his touch, and a sweet shot of victory raced through his veins.

  She drew a noisy breath. "I'll admit a bit of a weakness for you, but that's only because I don't really date that much and you--"

  "Fascinated you? Titillated you? Aroused you?"

  "Unnerved me," she said firmly.

  "Yeah?" He flashed his best seductive smile. "I'm happy to unnerve you again."

  "Please. I have a date, and you need to go."

  A date? He turned, then saw a Lexus turn onto her street.

  "Please," she said, a note of panic in her voice.

  "All right," he said, then paused at her steps to turn back. "But just so you know, Ben Franklin is my personal hero."

  Her brow furrowed as she shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

  "If at first you don't succeed..." He trailed off with a shrug. "Call it fair warning."

  She rolled her eyes. "Benjamin Franklin never said that."

  Nolan frowned, then pointed at her. "Maybe not," he conceded. "But he should have."

  * * *

  Shelby stood by the front door of her parents' house, her hand clasped in Alan's as they said goodnight to the small group of faculty members who'd come over for the evening.

  "This man is going places." The dean clapped his hand on Alan's shoulder as he smiled at Shelby. "He's a good one."

  "I know," she said, forcing a smile. Usually she loved faculty dinners at her parents' house, but tonight had bordered on painful. It was Nolan's fault, of course. His promise--no, threat--that he wasn't going away. And, honestly, she didn't need that kind of complication in her well-ordered life.

  She sighed as she closed the door behind the last guest, feeling
like a walking, talking lesson in not breaking your own rules.

  "Something wrong?" Alan asked, as he stroked her cheek, his brown eyes dark with worry.

  "I'll second Alan's question," her mother said. "You were very quiet tonight." She was a tall woman with the build of a ballerina. She tended to wear her hair up except when she was home alone, and the style only made the resemblance more apparent. Now, she pulled out the pins and let her dark hair fall around her shoulders. It was the only feature they had in common, and Shelby was grateful to have inherited her mom's lovely hair.

  "It's nothing," she assured them, leaning up against her father's broad chest and relaxing into his hug. "Just some stuff going on at work."

  "Trouble?" her mother asked. "Because you need to keep in mind that corporate policy and rules are in place for a reason. Just like the rules of academia. You follow them, you climb the ladder, and once you're at the top, the view is much clearer. Right now, your view is blocked by everyone else trying to climb up with you."

  "I know, Mom." She appreciated her parent's work ethic and their tenacity. But the advice really didn't apply. Not that she intended to share the real issue with her mother. Not ever. But certainly not with Alan around. "It's just a snafu with an audit," she lied. "The client didn't turn over some information and he's made his life horribly messy--and mine along with it."

  That was true enough. But as she already had a plan for dealing with the Thompson audit, that wasn't what was weighing on her mind.

  "You'll work it out," Alan said, tilting her chin up and stealing a kiss. "You're too good not to."

  "Thanks." She relaxed against his long, lean body, breathing deep and remembering that this was exactly what she wanted. A man to support and understand her. A home where real problems were handled, not joked about, and things were discussed in private, not on the damn airwaves.

  "Hey," Alan said, loosening her arms. "Love the affection, but I'm also a fan of breathing."

  "Sorry," she said, forcing a smile. "I got carried away." Wasn't that the truth?

  "You're sure you're not upset with me?" Alan asked, as they all made their way to the kitchen-dining area, where Shelby loaded the dishwasher as Alan cleared.

  "You mean about tomorrow? Don't be silly."

  Alan had learned only that morning that the department expected him to give a speech next week to visiting faculty from three foreign universities. And even though they were supposed to go to Celia's wedding together on Saturday, she'd assured him that she had no problems going alone if he needed to use that time to prepare for such a big opportunity.