by J. Kenner
"I know how tight your schedule is. And I'm more than capable of eating wedding cake and sitting with my friends all by myself."
"And you want to do your best," her father said, passing Alan a glass of port. "We're very proud of you." He gave Shelby and her mother a drink, too, and they all toasted Alan's success.
"What about you, sugar?" her dad asked. "When will we see you make partner?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I know Frank's rooting for me, but the partners won't offer me even a junior partnership until I've handled a larger corporate account." She already did consulting work for a number of small corporations, often with only one or two employees. It was great training, but if she wanted to be a partner, she needed the experience she'd get from a long-term project doing in-depth consulting with a large local or nationwide company.
Since she did want to be a partner, that was something she talked with Frank about on a regular basis. And she knew he was keeping his eyes open, watching the client list with an eye to assigning her a partnership-track project. "The company's doing a lot of outreach right now, so new clients are flooding in. I'm crossing my fingers I get a new assignment soon."
"You could always teach," Alan said later, after they'd said goodbye to her parents and were back in Shelby's living room. "We could work side by side. And someday we could host faculty parties like your parents."
She looked up at him, surprised. She'd always assumed they were on the same wavelength about the future, but just as they'd never talked about being exclusive, they'd also never talked about settling down.
"I don't think I want to teach," she said, sidestepping that particular elephant in the room. "I like getting my hands dirty."
"Do you? Well, maybe we can get dirty together." He pulled her into his arms, and she waited for a sensual tingle that flat-out didn't come. "We could sweep the kitchen. Wash the dishes. Or we could get dirty in other, more interesting ways."
He brushed a kiss over her lips, but she pulled back, smiling in a way that she hoped didn't look forced. "Could I take a rain check? I'm really tired, and my head's been hurting ever since I drank that port."
Most of all, I don't want to sleep with you.
The bare truth washed over her, both scaring and saddening her. Because this was Alan. Her perfect guy. The guy who satisfied all of her checkboxes. And he was talking sex and suggesting a home together.
She should be turning cartwheels.
But she wasn't.
Her whole life, she'd known how she wanted her future to look. So why was it that lately her vision had skewed?
Chapter Nine
"Turn on 96.3," Hannah said, shoving through Shelby's front door with both hands full of dresses on hangers and a duffel bag swung over each shoulder. "Your boyfriend's on the air."
"He does weekdays, and he's not my boyfriend," Shelby said, taking a handful of dresses and spreading them over the back of the couch. "I only need to borrow one. For that matter, I'm sure I already own something that's just fine for a wedding."
"A, I'm sure you don't. And B, he's subbing for Wayne Dorsey."
"Who is...?"
"On vacation, apparently. And the Saturday morning DJ."
Since Shelby had made no move to tune in, Hannah plugged her own phone into Shelby's small set of speakers and opened up the streaming app. The one that Shelby had very sternly talked herself out of downloading last night after a long hot shower and two glasses of Chardonnay.
There was a crackle of static, and then the last verse of The Rolling Stones' (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction filled the room.
Hannah tilted her head toward the speakers. "Got something to confess?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Shelby said.
"Mmm." Hannah pulled out a long, slinky red dress and held it up in front of Shelby.
"I'm not wearing red to a wedding."
Hannah made a face. "Good point. But it's loose on me. You should try it on."
Shelby tilted her head. "I don't want to climb in and out of your wardrobe. I only need one dress. And why do you have so many cocktail and evening dresses anyway? I know you aren't off doing weekly galas because half of these still have tags."
Hannah lifted her chin, looking a little defensive. "I found a few online discount stores I really like. Besides, if I weren't a mobile closet, you'd be out of luck."
"That one," Shelby said, deciding it was time to change the subject. The dress was cerulean blue, with a halter-style top, a full skirt, and a built-in petticoat.
"Good choice," Hannah said. "I'm impressed."
"Just because I dress professionally at work doesn't mean I want to wear sackcloth to a wedding."
"I know." Hannah winked. "It's just so much fun to tease you."
She passed Shelby the dress just as the song ended, and Shelby's breath caught in her throat as Nolan's voice filtered out from the speakers. "But I tried," he said, his voice singsong. "And in the end, I got bupkis. So I ask you folks, is she playing hard to get? Or am I just hardheaded? We'll do a little psychoanalysis of me, Nolan Wood standing in for Wayne Dorsey on Sunny-side Saturday, right after this message from our sponsor."
Hannah crossed her arms and stared Shelby down as an ad for a local pet store started.
"Fine," Shelby said when Hannah's stare started to get creepy. "He came over yesterday."
"And?"
"And nothing," Shelby admitted. "I told him I had a date and sent him away." She cringed a little, then confessed. "He came by the day before, and I pretended I wasn't home."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Sadly, no. Apparently, at heart, I'm an eleven-year-old girl."
"Well, thirteen, maybe. Tops." Hannah exhaled, the sound weirdly maternal. Then she sat on the edge of the couch, crunching at least five dress skirts in the process. "Okay, let's analyze this. Do you like him?"
"Yeah," Shelby said honestly. "We had a lot of fun. He's a genuinely nice guy." Who did genuinely nice things to her body--but sex did not a relationship make. And she had a future planned with Alan, even if none of it was official yet.
"Okay. Check in the like column. Was the sex good?"
"Hannah!"
"Right. Check in the mind-blowing column."
Shelby rolled her eyes but, since Hannah wasn't wrong, didn't argue.
"Do you want to see him again?"
"No." The answer came out firm--mostly because Shelby forced it out from between her lips that way.
Hannah leaned back. "Do we need to try that one again?"
Before Shelby could answer, Nolan's voice filled the room again, its low timbre seeming to rumble through all the sweet spots in her body. "Oh, yeah, baby. I should get shut out more often, because the phone lines are lighting up. Forget solar. We can power this town through my humiliation alone. Okay, caller one. What do you say? Should I just put my tail between my legs and walk away?"
"Yes," the very female voice said. "She's obviously a psycho-bitch not to want you."
Shelby's jaw dropped open.
"Just call me. I'll make it totally worth your while. Five-one-two, five--"
"Aaaannnnd thank you for that kind invitation, caller. We'll hear another opinion right after this musical look by the Chairmen of the Board into my broken psyche."
As his voice faded out, the classic Gimme Just a Little More Time filled the room.
"Not a bad idea," Hannah said. "Give the guy a chance."
"Hannah--"
"Look, I know you have a plan, and I know the idea of that" -she pointed toward the speakers with her eyes wide- "can be a little scary. I mean, the man's a bundle of slightly vulgar imagery, right?"
"He's a perfectly nice guy," Shelby said, then groaned when Hannah raised her brows. "I didn't mean--"
"Yes, you did. That's my point. He is a perfectly nice guy. Just because he's a little outside your box doesn't mean he's going to end up like your cousin or your uncle."
"Those are only the ones you know about," S
helby said. "Don't you get it? Nobody in my family until my parents even went to college. Real estate ownership is not a thing with them. And they wouldn't know a college fund if it bit them in the butt."
She drew in a breath. "They're all nice enough, I guess. But we spent some time when I was growing up with my cousins, and we had nothing to talk about. All they did was watch television. And not even dramas or comedies. Nothing that we could actually talk about. No discussing themes or characters or even amusing commercials. They just watched shopping networks and ordered things then complained about having no money. Or they watched game shows and complained that they never won anything. And none of them seemed to care. They didn't want to get a better job or read a classic or, well, anything."
She sat back, exhausted from the passion of her words, and a little surprised that all of that had spilled out of her.
Hannah was leaning forward, her elbows on her thighs and her chin resting on her fists. "I totally get that," she said seriously. "My mom and I had a horrible time after my dad was killed, and her sister told her to just get on welfare. But she didn't. She scraped and clawed and ended up back in school. She worked as a teacher and learned how to pinch pennies so that she could put me through college."
"You do get it," Shelby said, relieved. She'd known that Hannah's policeman father was killed in the line of duty when she was a toddler, but she hadn't realized how hard her mother had scrambled.
"Yeah. And so do you. You know about college funds. And you understand mortgages. And you're ambitious. But what does this have to do with Nolan?"
Shelby stood, trying to put her thoughts into words. "See, this is why one-night stands are a bad idea. They never just go away after one night."
"That doesn't make them a bad idea," Hannah retorted. "It just means they're poorly named."
Despite herself, Shelby laughed. "It's just that Nolan doesn't fit, you know? I mean, he's all bawdy jokes and crazy pranks. But Alan's working for tenure and already thinking about a family."
"Hmm," Hannah said, and in the silence that followed, Shelby realized the song had ended and another one was coming to a close. Before Hannah continued, Nolan's voice filled the room again. "It's nine-fifty-eight, and that gives me just enough time to toss in a mention of my favorite bar, The Fix on Sixth. Trust me, peeps, you want to check this place out. Amazing food, fabulous drinks, and starting this Wednesday, a bi-weekly calendar contest for all you guys out there. And I don't mean for you to gawk at, I mean for you to get up on that stage, strut your stuff, and try to get yourself set up as Mr. January, because The Fix is filling up a calendar with a whole year full of men. Visit the website or drop by for details on how to enter."
"Ohhhh," the female voice crooned. "Twelve hunky men. I'll definitely have to ... come ... watch the contest."
"You do that, baby," Nolan said, as Shelby rolled her eyes and pointed at Hannah with an I told you so expression.
"We're at the top of the hour. And you know what that means--time for me to stop being Wayne. But if you haven't had your fill, tune in every weekday morning from six to ten for Mornings with Wood. I'm Nolan Wood, and you're listening to Sunny-side Saturdays."
"Enough of that," Hannah said, going to her phone and turning it off. "And before you say anything, it's his job. His schtick."
"I'm not so sure of that," Shelby said, smiling at the memory of some of Nolan's quips. But the truth was, if it wasn't for the fact that she wanted to win an argument, she wouldn't even be arguing the point. It was fun to talk to Nolan, no doubt about it. But that didn't mean he was the kind of guy she wanted to hitch her star to.
"I know what you're thinking," Hannah said.
"Bullshit."
"You're all the way down the road with this guy. Can't you just have fun with him? Why do you have to commit? Just date. Until Alan puts a ring on your finger, you need to explore what else is out there."
"I'll think about it," she said. "But it's probably a moot point. Despite his playlist, after yesterday, I doubt I'm ever going to see him again."
* * *
Manny Ortega owed Nolan big-time.
First, instead of spending Saturday evening at The Fix with his buddies, he was in the ballroom at the Four Seasons hotel on the shores of Lady Bird Lake, the portion of the Colorado River that ran through downtown Austin. Second, he was wearing a damn tuxedo, and it was killing him to not tug at the collar. And third, Lauren and her politi-dweeb husband were on the premises.
Seriously, someone should just kill him now.
The only reason he was at the wedding of Brian Ross and Celia James was because Brian's father owned at least a dozen restaurants in the Austin area, not to mention three South Austin office complexes. His company was one of the most prolific advertisers on KIKX, and Manny considered Jonathon Ross to be just one step short of God. Which made his son Brian some sort of demi-god. Which apparently meant that Nolan--as a local celebrity--had to make an appearance and kiss his ass.
Not that Nolan really minded--he understood the way the business worked, and without sponsors, he was without work. And he was a big fan of the steady paycheck and the wonders that it could buy, food and shelter being tops of the list.
He just wished that the happy couple were people he'd met even once before. And he definitely wished that Lauren and Senator Studmuffin would accidentally fall in the river.
He'd skipped the actual nuptials, figuring that neither bride nor groom nor their assorted relatives would notice his absence. And he'd offered his congratulations to the happy couple not long after the reception began, telling Brian how much he admired his father and complimenting the bride on her beautiful gown. She looked vaguely familiar, but since he was certain he'd never slept with her, he didn't waste too much time trying to place her.
Now, he was making the circuit--seeing and being seen until it was safe to cut and run.
When he saw the senator, he ducked around a partition that separated the main area from a makeshift cloakroom, and found himself face-to-face with Lauren.
Yup. An all around stellar evening.
"Nolan," she said, in a voice that dripped distaste. Honestly, how they'd shared a house for six months was one of the questions of the universe. "I didn't expect to see you here. Isn't there a monster truck rally tonight? Or a geek conference?"
"That was our problem, Lauren. You never even looked at me."
"The hell I didn't. The problem was that I did look, and I didn't respect what I saw. No ambition. I mean, minimum wage at some podunk radio station. We could have moved to LA."
"Not interested," he said. Once upon a time, he might have liked to be a big city DJ, but after he realized how much reading and paperwork the job actually entailed, the bloom on that dream faded. More than that, though, he loved Austin. He loved the people he worked with and the audience he'd built. He'd worked his ass off, and if Lauren couldn't see that--well, honestly, he didn't really give a fuck if she couldn't see that.
Except he did. Or, at least, he had.
Now, he realized, it wasn't Lauren's respect he wanted. It was another woman's. A woman who looked just as sexy in grandma-pumps and a shirt buttoned up to her collar as she did in fuck-me heels and a skin-tight dress. A woman he wished was by his side right then so he didn't have to suffer through this damn wedding by himself. No, he corrected, he wished that she wanted to be by his side. Too bad that wish wouldn't be coming true. After all, she'd made it pretty damn clear that despite the chemistry between them, she was putting the kibosh on any more explosions.
And, hell, he should be fine with that. Wasn't Lauren the reason he didn't date, unless you counted fucking, which he didn't. Dating was a relationship--a train in forward motion. A process of learning the subtle ins and outs of a woman and seeing if you fit together.
He wanted to walk that path with Shelby, and the fact that he couldn't seem to rip that desire out of his head preyed on him, especially since she was so very clearly uninterested.
"You kno
w what?" Lauren said, her sharp voice jarring him from more pleasant thoughts, "I stand corrected. You do have ambition. But the things you aspire to simply don't interest me. Call me crazy, but it's never been my dream to come up with the perfect fart joke. Or to make fun of my own sex life. Then again," she added with a tight smile, "I guess yours probably is something to laugh about. At least, that's the way I remember it."
"Dammit, Lauren--"
"Down, boy," she said. "We're just talking. That's all you were doing on your radio show the other day, right? Teeth marks? Chilly vibes?" She leaned forward. "And you're right, Nolan, sweetie. Because I'm married to a senator now. I can bite your head off if I want. And all you'll be able to do about it is fire off a lame joke about your limp dick."
She patted him on the cheek, her painted lips pulled into a tight smile, then turned her back and walked away, wiggling her very toned ass in her very high heels.
"Bitch." He didn't mean to speak aloud, but he couldn't hold it in, and a woman coming around the partition with a ticket to claim her checked purse frowned at him with distaste.
"Sorry," he muttered, feeling lower than a gutter. He went the opposite direction, sidling around the partition and ending up in some sort of darkened staging area that the hotel staff seemed to be using for dirty dishes. He drew a breath, gathering himself before he went out to say his final goodbyes, then realized he wasn't alone.
"I'm sorry," Shelby said. She reached for him, appeared to think better of it, and dropped her hand. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
"No problem," he said, the words coming out harsher than he'd intended. "Why wouldn't you be here to put a fucking cherry on my fucking perfect day?" He drew a breath, then shook his head, irritated with himself. "Sorry to have invaded your hideaway. I'll get going."
"Wait." This time when she reached for him, she held on, her hand warm and soft and very strong. He lifted his head prepared to tell her that he'd had a shit day and wasn't in the mood for games, but if she thought he'd ruined her perfect little life, too, then he'd be happy to introduce her to Lauren and they could swear some sort of blood oath and promise each other lifelong fealty.