It’s true that I don’t know anything about architecture. But I am very, very good at acting confident when I don’t know what I’m talking about.
“Well,” I say, “Greek style always has those pillars. Whereas Federal style has more of a governmental appearance.”
“Governmental appearance.” Tim nods again. “I see. That makes sense “
I let out a breath, but when I look back at Tim, he’s trying not to laugh. “I took a few architecture classes in college. You don’t know anything about architecture, do you?”
“Uh…” My cheeks feel hot. “No. I don’t.” I avert my eyes to look out the passenger side window. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to tell me what you do for a living.” He glances at me. “But for the record, I was telling the truth. I’m really a high school computer teacher.”
I never doubted that for a second.
There’s a handicapped parking spot right in front of my building. It’s empty, and he pulls into the spot. Now that we’re so close, I’m shaking again. I can’t believe this is about to happen. God, it’s been ages. I can almost feel his hands running up my naked body…
He hauls himself out of the car and eyes the entrance. Something occurs to me too late. “There are a few steps to get in,” I say. “Is that all right?”
“It’s fine. I can manage.” Although he doesn’t seem thrilled.
But before we go upstairs, there’s something I need to do. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it to him. If he finds out what my nightly routine is, he’s going to think I’m out of my mind. But on the other hand, I have to do this. I can’t let them down by not showing up tonight.
“Can you give me a minute?” I say.
He frowns as I start to walk in the direction of the alley behind my building. He grips the handles of his crutches and does his best to keep up with me. “Hey, what the hell are you doing? You’re going to get yourself mugged back there.”
“No, it’ll be fine. You don’t need to come with me.”
“Yeah, I’m not leaving you alone in a dark alley.”
I stop walking and turn to look at him. I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that if some bad guy came out of nowhere, I don’t think he’d be able to do much to protect me. Unless he’s got a gun stashed away under his coat.
But even though I don’t say it, Tim gets the idea. “Don’t look at me that way,” he says. “These crutches could give somebody a concussion if I swing hard enough.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Theoretically,” he adds with a crooked grin.
He’s going to think I’m crazy. But what the hell. “Okay. But like I said, it’ll just be a minute.”
The tapping of Tim’s crutches sounds like gunshots against the pavement as he walks beside me. He looks a bit baffled, and I can’t blame him. This is something I’ve been doing for years now, and I can’t stop.
Given that I am a single woman without any prospects, I’ve always been concerned about evolving into a cat lady. The problem is, I love cats. When Polly and I were kids, we spent a good year wearing down my mother until she got us one. I wanted one at my apartment here, but I specifically chose a place that didn’t allow pets so I wouldn’t be tempted. I’m not turning into a cat lady. That is not a path I am going down.
But the path I’ve taken is just as weird. Possibly worse.
About half a dozen cats live in the alley behind my building. And every day, I lug around six cans of cat food in my purse so that I can feed them before I come home. I have been doing this every single night for two years. I’ve never missed a night.
Yes, it’s very odd. Tim is watching me, his mouth hanging open as I systematically pop the tabs and open the six cans of cat food in my purse and lay them down on the pavement.
“You’re feeding the cats?” he finally says.
“Well.” I shrug helplessly. “I don’t want them to go hungry. Look how skinny Duncan is.”
I almost clasp my hand over my mouth. I should definitely not have let on that I have named all the cats in the alley.
But instead of looking freaked out, a smile spreads across Tim’s lips. “You named the cats?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“All of them?”
I take a deep breath. “Duncan. Zoe. Alexander. Stripes. Kitcat. Lucy.”
“Wow.”
Alexander meanders over to my leg and rubs against me. Each of the cats has their own personality, and Alexander is the most affectionate. Sometimes petting Alexander is the only physical affection I get the whole month. “I know. It’s…”
“Really sweet.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t think it’s crazy?”
“Hey, I’m a guy who teaches at a school where I could get shot. I don’t think I’m in any position to judge crazy. But it’s definitely sweet. You’re a really nice person.”
Tim has no idea what sort of person I am. He has no idea that I just fired an old woman who bakes cookies for the whole office. He doesn’t know that I’m forcing my staff to come in on Christmas Day. That I threw a tantrum over a Christmas party. That I broke a bunch of ornaments on purpose. If he knew all the things I did today, he wouldn’t think I’m a nice person. I’m not a nice person.
But for now, I’ll let him think that. I’ll be Ebbie, the architect who feeds stray cats in an alley every night for the last two years.
He leans in again to kiss me. His balance isn’t the greatest, but fortunately we’re near the brick wall of the building. He lets go of one of the crutches and leans it against the wall, then uses that free hand to pull me closer to him. As he presses against me, he kisses me even more deeply than he did in the bar. My lips tingle. My whole body tingles. God, this man can kiss. If it’s any indication of what else he can do, I can’t wait to get upstairs.
“Ebbie,” he breathes.
“Let’s go,” I say.
He takes my hand for a second, but then he has to let go to reach for his crutch. I calculate by his strides how long it will take. How long to get into my building. To get up in the elevator. And for him to take all my clothes off.
Chapter 11
We can’t get enough of each other.
Tim throws his crutches next to my bed, and almost tackles me onto the covers. He can’t stop kissing me. I never want him to stop. But then his lips leave mine, and he’s still kissing me, but he’s going south.
Now this isn’t something I’ve experienced in a very, very long time.
Richard did it. Once. It certainly wasn’t his thing. I had to ask, which was super embarrassing. He made up excuses for a while, but eventually gave in. And as you would imagine, it wasn’t great.
Tim isn’t shy about it. He asks permission before he does everything, which I appreciate. As if I would say no. As if there was a point when his lips were on my belly button when I would actually tell him to stop. My panties are almost dripping when he takes them off. And then… oh my God. How does he know how to do this? Moreover, how does a guy who knows how to do this end up single?
He gets me right to the brink. Right where I’m sweating and squirming, then he keeps me there. I grasp at strands of his hair with my fingers and squeeze his head between my thighs. And then with one flick of his tongue, I’m totally gone.
I’ve never been a multiple orgasm kind of girl. But right after that first one, I climb on top of him. My hands are shaking as I put the condom on his dick, which is decidedly above average. Seconds after he plunges into me, I come again. And again.
At one point, I think I black out.
By eleven o’clock, I can barely move. I’m lying next to Tim in bed, his muscular arm around my body, holding me close. I’m sticky with sweat, but so is he. I get a sudden rush of an emotion that I have trouble identifying right away, because it’s been so long since I’ve felt it. I really like this guy. Really, really like him.
I know I said this was a one-time thing, but
I don’t think I can deal with that. I need to do this again. Soon.
“How are you so good at that?” I manage.
“I took a few night courses at the community college.”
I swat him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”
“I did. I almost got my doctorate, but I didn’t want to write a whole dissertation with my tongue.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
He grins at me. “I’m not that good.”
“Yes. You really are.”
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Well, first of all, I really love going down on girls. Really, really love it. But they don’t all scream the way you did. Sometimes two people just have chemistry. You know?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He squeezes me against him, and I nuzzle closer. It’s very quiet in my bedroom, and I’m lost in thought. I keep thinking how good that was, how I’ve never felt that good in my whole goddamn life. And how it would be criminal not to experience something like that ever again, now that I know it exists. I don’t have room in my life for a relationship, but that doesn’t mean I have to deprive myself of all the pleasures of life.
After a few minutes, it strikes me that he’s equally quiet. At first, I think he might have dozed off, but then I look at his face and see his eyes are open.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him.
“What am I thinking?” he repeats. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“I’m thinking it’s a damn shame that we’re never going to see each other again. A really damn shame.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“So….”
I want to take it back. I want to tell him that we can have that second date. Maybe a third. And maybe more after that.
But even if I did take it back, it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t want me—not really. He wants Ebbie. The girl he met in a bar who feeds stray cats and is a nice person. I’m not her.
But I don’t know. Maybe if I have a decent guy in my life, I could be better. This guy makes me want to be better.
No. I’m not going to change. It’s naïve to think otherwise.
“I think it’s for the best,” I say, even though it almost kills me.
Tim’s face falls. “Is there anything I can do? Any way I could possibly change your mind?”
I sit up in bed beside him. He struggles into a sitting position, propped up on my pillow. He has a really nice chest. Muscular with just the right amount of dark hair. “I’m sorry. And I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow, so…”
He winces. “Are you kicking me out?”
“Sort of. I’m sorry.”
Everything considered, he takes it well. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, then swings his legs carefully around the side of the bed. He lets out a long sigh, then grabs his jeans from the floor. His legs are skinny compared with his arms and chest and it’s a bit of a struggle for him to lace them through the baggy legs of his jeans. He doesn’t look at me while he’s doing it, and I wonder if he’s self-conscious.
When he’s done with that, he slides his shirt back on over his head in one easy motion. I grab my own robe from the dresser by my bed and throw it over my naked body.
Tim’s brows bunch together. He’s sitting at the edge of my bed but not making any move to reach for his crutches on the floor. “So this is it?”
I wring my hands together. I don’t want this to be it. “Tim…”
“Listen.” His blue eyes meet mine. “Why don’t you let me put my number in your phone? You don’t have to call me, but if you want to, you can. No pressure.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Okay?”
I can’t suppress a tiny smile. “Okay. You can put your number in my phone. And… maybe I’ll give you a call.”
No, not maybe. I’m going to call him. As I look at him sitting on my bed, my body still on fire from what he did to me, I know this can’t be over. I want this guy. Again. And not just for sex. I want to have dinner with him. I want to know what it’s like to date a nice guy for a change. Especially one who also happens to be incredibly hot.
And Tim knows I’m going to call him. That’s why he’s got the same dopey smile on his face that I probably have as I hand over my unlocked phone.
“No pressure,” he says as he punches in the numbers, “but I know a great Italian restaurant a few blocks away from here.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Best ziti you’ve ever tasted. I swear.”
“Well, I happen to really like ziti.”
“I thought you might.” He hands my phone back to me. “So, you know, give me a call.”
I look down at the screen, where he punched in his number. And he even put his name in. Tim. Tim Craft.
Tim Craft?
Oh no. No no no no…
I feel like I can’t breathe. This is not possible. The man I just had the best sex of my life with is not the son of the woman I fired today. He’s not the same guy who screamed at me on the phone only hours ago. That can’t be true.
Although that does explain why his voice sounded familiar when I first met him.
I stare down at the screen of my phone, hoping I read it wrong the first time. But the words haven’t changed.
Tim Craft.
Oh God.
He frowns at me. “Are you okay, Ebbie?”
“Um…” I clear my throat, hoping this is some kind of misunderstanding. But how can it be? “What were you doing at that bar earlier, by the way?”
He rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it’s complicated. Stupid story.”
“I’d like to hear. If it’s okay.”
“Uh, I guess.” He runs a hand through his hair again and grabs one of his crutches from the floor. “Well, my mom works for this advertising company over there. Well, she worked there. She got fired today.”
“Oh?” I say weakly.
Tim shakes his head. “Three days before Christmas. Can you believe that? Anyway, this bitchy boss of hers yelled at her and canned her in front of everyone. When my mother called me crying, I lost my temper and I actually called the boss to yell at her. Stupid, right? And pointless. Women like that—they thrive on making people upset. She’d probably got a sick thrill out of how upset I was. You could hear it in her voice.”
My knees tremble beneath me and I have to sink down against the bed. “That might not be true…”
“Trust me. You’re too nice. You don’t know what women like her are like.”
I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Tim.
“Anyway,” he sighs. “The reason I went over there is I was going to confront my mother’s boss. Not yell at her, but try to… I don’t know, appeal to her better nature? Maybe try to get my mother her job back.” He snorts. “But then I realized there was no chance. Obviously, a woman like that doesn’t have a shred of decency. And I thought maybe she’d…” He looks down at his legs. “I thought she’d just laugh at me.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Maybe she’s not as bad as you think.”
“No way. I’m telling you…” He stops talking mid-sentence. His eyes are pinned on something. I follow his gaze and realize what he’s looking at. Oh, great. The gig is up. “Ebbie?”
“Uh huh,” I manage.
“Why do you have a photograph of yourself with Marley Jacobs on your nightstand?” He looks so baffled, I want to throw my arms around him in the few seconds before he starts to hate me. “How do you even know Marley?”
“I…”
And now he’s looking at my robe. My personalized robe with my first name, Elizabeth, in script over the right breast. Why did I get a personalized robe? Who wears a personalized robe? What was I thinking? And now my personalized robe is giving me away.
“Elizabeth,” he reads slowly. “You’re not… are you…” He blinks up at me. “Elizabeth Scribner?”
“Um…” I squeeze my knees with my hands until I
feel pain. For a moment, I consider lying. But what’s the point of that? He’ll figure out the truth sooner or later. “Yes. I am.”
“Are you…” He’s still trying to wrap his head around it. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Tim.” My mouth feels really dry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“You’re out of your mind, you know that?” He grabs for his other crutch on the floor, but in his haste, he drops it again. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “You’re a psychopath.”
“I didn’t know it was you.” My voice is pleading. I’m not sure what the point is. Just as I predicted, he hates me now. But I at least don’t want him to think I’m some sort of manipulative bitch. “It’s not like I found you and tricked you. I’m as shocked as you are.”
“Yeah, Right.”
“It’s true!”
Tim struggles to his feet, gripping the handles of his crutches so hard that his knuckles turn white. “So what is your game here, Elizabeth? You fuck your former employee’s crippled son, and then what?”
“It wasn’t a game!” I cry. “I didn’t know until you put your name in my phone. I swear!”
“How is it possible you didn’t know?”
“Well, you didn’t know.”
Tim’s neck is bright red, but he doesn’t have an answer for that one. Maybe he actually believes me.
“It’s just a coincidence,” I insist. “A really, really horrible coincidence.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” He adjusts his grip on his crutches. “First girl in years that I…”
I know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s the first man I’ve met in a long time that I really liked. And now that’s down the toilet. Before it even began.
“What you did to my mom was really shitty,” he says.
I fold my arms across my chest as I remember the rage I felt when I found out the mistake Roberta had made. “I’m sorry I hurt her feelings, but I stand by my decision.”
“It was a bullshit decision. My mother is a smart woman and a great secretary.”
“Yeah?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Did you know your mother thought the shredder was the fax machine? Everything I gave her to fax in the last two months, she shredded. She has no clue how to use any sort of technology. How could I not fire her after that?”
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