California Girls

by Susan Mallery

  She stepped back and stared at him. “Please tell me you brought condoms.”

  His slow, sexy grin had her quivering. “I did, indeed.”

  It took only seconds to get to Daniel’s room, then they were pulling off clothes, even as they kissed and touched each other. When they were naked, he explored her everywhere, first with his hands and then with his mouth. He kissed the very heart of her, loving her until she cried out her release. Then he entered her and she came again, surging against him as he climaxed inside of her.

  When they were done and lying together on tangled sheets, she raised herself up on one elbow.

  “I had no clue about how you felt about me.”

  “I didn’t want you to know.”

  “But you were so stealthy. You were—” She hesitated, then decided to dodge the L word. It wasn’t as if he’d said it, and she didn’t want to assume. “You were crazy about me and never hinted. I feel dumb.”

  “Don’t.” He stroked her bare arm, shifting slightly to tease her nipple. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. Better to be the friend than rejected.”

  He’d been afraid she would reject him? Seriously? She straddled him.

  “Still worried about rejection?”

  He smiled. “It’s less on my mind.” He squeezed her butt before reaching for another condom. “You’re okay with being on top?”

  “Yes. Or my side or any way you’d like.” Knowing how he felt about her made her feel safe and free and sexy.

  “Interesting. I wouldn’t have guessed you were the adventurous type.”

  “I’m not. I mean I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “Okay, we are not going to talk about my sex life in detail. It’s too weird. I’ll just say with you, it’s different. I want to play.”

  He looked into her eyes and smiled. “I want to play, too.”

  * * *

  Finola wasn’t sure that an upscale Beverly Hills bar was any more interesting than an upscale bar in the valley, but this was LA where things like location really mattered. So she fought Saturday evening traffic over the pass and guided her car to the valet. After taking the claim ticket, she squared her shoulders and walked inside.

  For reasons still not clear to her, she’d agreed to meet a man for drinks. Rochelle’s insistence and her own misery had combined to convince her she had to do something. Maybe an hour or two with an adoring man would be just the thing she needed. The problem was the second she’d agreed to the invitation, she’d been filled with regret, but there was no going back now.

  Chip Knipstein was a sportscaster for the local news. He was barely thirty, incredibly good-looking and ambitious. The LA market wasn’t big enough for him. It was commonly known he wanted to make the jump to a national show on ESPN and she’d heard rumors it was going to happen.

  According to Rochelle, Chip had left more than one message on her phone, asking her out for dinner or drinks or a weekend in Maui—whichever she wanted. She’d met him only a handful of times, but he’d seemed innocuous enough and he photographed well, so she’d agreed to drinks.

  She spotted him at a small corner table. He stood up, all six-feet-two of him, and smiled as she approached.

  “Finola,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You are even more beautiful tonight than usual. Something I didn’t think was possible. Thanks for joining me.”

  He gestured to the chair opposite his. There was a glass of white wine waiting there.

  “I took the liberty of ordering,” he said. “You seemed like the white wine type.”

  She was less interested in the drink than getting the evening over with. Why had she thought this was a good idea? But before she could say that white wine was fine, she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to drink anything that had been left on a table. That Chip could have put in some kind of date rape drug.

  As soon as the thought formed, she dismissed it as ridiculous. Really? Sportscaster Chip drugging her? Only she couldn’t shake the thought, which increased her growing need to bolt.

  She told herself to suck it up and act normal. She could get through a few hours. Women went out on dates all the time—except she hadn’t been on a first date in over eight years and back then she’d been much more focused on her career than getting “the guy,” so she’d never been one for the whole flirting-call-me-let’s-go-out circus. She was woefully unprepared for how the dating world had changed and now she had to deal with whether or not to trust the drink in front of her. Ack! When had life gotten so complicated?

  A question she knew the answer to, but asking it wasn’t going to help her one bit.

  “White wine gives me a headache,” she lied, looking regretful.

  Chip immediately flagged a server. “No problem. I’ll know for next time.”

  She forced a smile, thinking she would rather prep for a colonoscopy than go on another date.

  He handed back the white wine, ordered red, then leaned closer. “Did you hear that Steve and his wife are expecting twins? That’s got to be great for them, and terrifying.”

  Steve was the local evening weather guy. “I hadn’t heard. Thanks for telling me. I’ll be sure to send them something.”

  At least one marriage was working, she thought, trying not to feel bitter.

  “Everything okay?” Chip asked.

  She held in a sigh. “Sorry. I’m struggling a little here. I feel so awkward.”

  His expression was serious. “Is it because I’m so good-looking?”

  The unexpected question surprised her. She burst out laughing. “No, it’s not that.”

  “Hey, you could have at least thought about it for a moment.” His voice was teasing. “I’m genuinely crushed.”

  “You’ll get over it.”

  “Not without years of therapy.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “My heart is shattered.”

  “No one believes you.”

  He smiled at her. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I know you’re going through some stuff. It takes a while to get back out there. I’m glad you agreed to meet me, so I’m going to mentally give myself high fives all night, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m going to spend the next ten or so minutes talking about myself so you can figure out how uncomfortable you are and if you want to stay or bolt. Then we’ll assess and take it from there.”

  The server appeared with her wine. Finola took her glass and stared at Chip.

  “I don’t think you’ve been married before,” she said slowly. “So this incredible insight into the separated woman’s psyche must come from practice.”

  “Years of it.”

  “You like women who are newly separated or divorced.”

  “Guilty,” he said cheerfully. “It’s the sex. Revenge sex is very in right now and I’m happy to be the means of making that happen. So if you want to get back at Nigel, let me be clear. I’m all in.” He leaned close. “I mean that in every sense of the words, for as long as you want, Finola.”

  She tried not to laugh. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled.”

  “I’d say impressed, but it’s not up to me. Oh, and just so you know, I don’t overlap. It’s one woman at a time for me. Nothing serious, of course, but I am monogamous.”

  “For both minutes?” she asked drily.

  He winced. “I’m more of a twenty-minute guy.”

  “That’s what they all say.” She sipped her wine. “Now tell me about yourself.”

  Chip talked about growing up in San Bernardino and how he had always been interested in sports. She nodded at what she hoped were all the right places even as her mind began to wander.

  Chip was a nice enough guy. He was more fun than she’d expected and plenty good-looking, but she didn’t want to be here. Nothing about this felt right. In her heart, she wanted to be with Nigel and in her gut, she felt like she was cheating. Ev
en her head, which was starting to believe her marriage was at the bleeding-out stage, wasn’t the least bit intrigued by Chip.

  She’d rather be home watching TV or reading or doing anything that wasn’t having a drink with a man. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t interested.

  She interrupted him midsentence. “Chip, I’m sorry but I can’t do this.”

  “I understand. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

  She didn’t, but Rochelle did, which was enough. She nodded.

  They both stood. Chip tossed a couple of bills on the table, then escorted her outside. He handed her ticket to the valet, then returned to her side, where he put a hand on the small of her back and leaned close.

  “Let me know when you’re ready for revenge sex,” he murmured. “No strings. Just me making you happy while you punish the bastard who cheated on you. You’ll like it, Finola. I promise.”

  She got in her car and waved, then merged into traffic to start the journey home. At the first stoplight, she felt tears on her cheek.

  She was sure he’d meant his words to be sexy or even tempting, but to her they felt like a slap across her face. Worse, his words shamed her, because this was what her life had become.

  The magic of Ali’s weekend with Daniel lasted right up until they got back to his place and walked into the house. Daniel set both their bags on the living room floor and looked at her, as if asking what happened next.

  They’d had an amazing time at the hotel. They’d ordered in dinner, sipping champagne and enjoying their meal while dressed in fluffy robes. Later, they’d made love again, this time in the big bed in the master, where they’d spent the night. Every time Ali had woken up, she’d felt Daniel pressed up against her, his arm around her waist.

  Sunday morning they’d slept late, then gone on a leisurely bike ride before heading to brunch, followed by the drive home. She’d loved every second with him, but was also still trying to take it all in. Six weeks ago, she’d thought he didn’t like her very much. Now they were involved and he’d made it clear he’d had a thing for her from the start. She needed a second to catch her breath.

  “It’s whatever you want,” he told her when they got home. “We had a great weekend, but that doesn’t have to lead to something else. We can go back to what we had before. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m not going to push.”

  “Thank you. It’s just everything happened so fast.”

  Emotions darkened his eyes, but they were gone so quickly, she wasn’t sure what she’d seen. Maybe disappointment, maybe something else.

  He started toward the stairs that would take him to his room on the second floor. With each step he moved farther and farther away from her.

  “Wait!” she called. He stopped and turned back to her.

  She thought about all she’d been through. All the times she hadn’t asked for what she wanted, hadn’t risked not going along. She thought of the way Glen had treated her, of how she’d been left to deal with everything while he’d just disappeared. Only Daniel had stood with her, shouldering the burden. She thought of how he’d invited her into his house and kept her safe and how he’d held her all night long. She thought of the wedding cake she’d had to pay for. Spice cake instead of chocolate, because she’d always been afraid to ask for what she wanted. No, not ask—to demand it. Because sometimes it took a demand for the world to pay attention.

  She walked up to him. “I want us to be together. I want us to start dating and I want it to be exclusive. I want us to be lovers and boyfriend and girlfriend and I want to learn how to ride a motorcycle for real.”

  His gaze was steady, even as one corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s very direct.”

  “It is.”

  “And specific.”

  “I want what I want.” Some of her courage faded. “What do you want?”

  He cupped her face in his hand. “You, Ali. I’ve always wanted you.” He brushed her mouth with his. “Want to move your things upstairs?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “In a little bit. First I think we should have sex.”

  He grinned. “You do, huh?”

  “Yes. Right now.” She looked around. “On the kitchen table.”

  He chuckled. “It’s gonna be cold.”

  “I trust you to keep me warm.”

  She trusted him with a whole lot more than that, but keeping her warm was a great place to start.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zennie didn’t like being pregnant. There—she’d said it. Okay, not out loud, but she’d thought it. Actually, being pregnant was fine, it was the hormones that were going to do her in.

  She felt fragile. She’d never felt fragile in her life. She was emotional spun glass, with tears always ready to rise to the surface and a heart that felt broken. She’d cried twice the previous day. Twice! Who did that? Gina and she still weren’t speaking, which was hard, but so was everything else in her life. Deciding what T-shirt to wear to help out her mom on a Sunday afternoon seemed impossible. Commercials made her weepy. She wanted to hold kittens and save whales and have someone big and strong hold her tight and promise everything would fine.

  Not anything she wanted to dwell on, she told herself as she drove to her mom’s place to help with yet more sorting. Zennie hoped they wouldn’t find anything emotionally significant because she didn’t want to have a meltdown in front of anyone. Bad enough to sob at home.

  When she got to the house, she found her mom was out and only Finola was at home.

  “Mom’s off with her theater friends and Ali’s not coming,” she said by way of greeting. “She went up to Santa Barbara for the weekend. Probably for the best. Getting away would make things easier.”

  “What things?” Zennie asked.

  Finola surprised her by smiling. “Thank you for not remembering. I have felt like I go from bitch to bigger bitch lately. It’s good to know you can be thoughtless, too.”

  A normal sister kind of comment that would have been fine any other time in her life, but not right now, Zennie thought, tears filling her eyes.

  “How was I thoughtless?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  Finola stared at her. “What’s wrong with you? Are you crying? You never cry.”

  “It’s the hormones,” Zennie said, wiping her cheek. “I’m a mess. I’ve gone through more boxes of tissues in the past three days than in my entire life. I hate it.”

  Finola surprised her by pulling her close. “You are a mess. I kind of like it.”

  The hug felt good. Zennie hung on longer than she would have before, and Finola didn’t let her go until she was ready. When they stepped back, Zennie promised herself she was going to power through.

  “The hormones are supposed to get better in a few weeks,” she said. “They’re what cause morning sickness. It’s the surges or some such crap. So far my stomach’s a rock, but I’m crying twenty times a day. It’s humiliating.” She tried to shake it off. “So what did I forget?”

  “Yesterday was Ali’s wedding day.”

  Zennie collapsed on the sofa and covered her face. “I’m the worst sister ever.”

  “You and me both. Only Mom remembered. I thought about sending flowers, but seriously, what would the card say? Sorry you got dumped and now it’s your wedding day? Maybe we should just take her to dinner later this week.”

  Zennie nodded. “Poor Ali. She has to feel terrible. She’s all alone, living in pain, knowing Glen walked out on her. I can’t believe I forgot her wedding day.”

  Finola eyed her. “Yes, it was awful. Now let it go.”

  “How can I?”

  “I liked you a lot better when you were stuck-up and sanctimonious. I’m just saying.” Finola motioned for her to stand. “Are you going to be like this when we go to the gala together? I’d really rather not have you so
bbing every five seconds. People will start to talk.”

  Zennie followed her sister into the dining room. The table and chairs would be easy to get rid of, but the massive hutch was another issue. The upper cabinets were all filled with dishes and glasses and serving pieces, while the cabinets and drawers below overflowed with crap from their lives.

  “I won’t cry at the gala,” Zennie said. “I’ll take a supplement.”

  Finola stared at her. “They make supplements for that sort of thing?”

  Zennie rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m pregnant. I can’t take anything. I can barely drink almond milk without worrying I’m damaging the fetus. It’s hell. If the baby were mine, I think I could relax a little, but it’s not mine and yet I’m completely responsible. Every decision I make has to be considered with the baby in mind.”

  Finola grinned. “You’re regretting the pregnancy.”

  “I’m not and don’t sound so gleeful. It’s just a little harder than I thought. The crying and my boobs hurting and Bernie monitoring every single thing I eat or breathe. We’ve had the most perfect surfing weather and I can’t go. It’s hideous. But once I stop crying, I’ll be fine.”

  “You want coffee.”

  Zennie groaned. “Yes, and a glass of wine and I don’t usually care if I drink. But yes, wine and sushi. I want to go in a sauna. I want to run until I’m so exhausted I barf. I want to not be careful.” She looked at Finola. “It’s only been a few weeks. I have months to go.”

  “It will get easier.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because the human spirit is amazingly resilient. This will become your new normal and you’ll move on. Look at me. I still can’t decide if I would sell a kidney to get Nigel back or if I want him dead, and last night I met a man for drinks.”

  Zennie stared at her. “You didn’t. How was it?”

  “Awful. He offered to sleep with me, either for revenge or to clean out the plumbing. He was pretty open to either.”