Never Have I Ever

by Blakely, Lauren

  I send it away. “There’s no one.”

  * * *

  That’s what I tell myself when Zach pops into my office a few days later.

  He’s no one to me.

  His voice rumbles. “Hey.”

  I glance up from my pink couch. He’s doing his standard Zach pose. Leaning against the doorframe, looking business-sexy.

  I grit my teeth. Must resist.

  “Hello.” My voice is ice.

  “So . . .” He cracks his knuckles, all casual and laid-back. “Are we supposed to do planning stuff?”

  I scoff at his description of my job. “I can handle it all.” As if I need his help. “The planning stuff.”

  He arches a brow. “Including the stag party?”

  I shoot him a glare. “First, we both know there’s no stag party during the engagement party weekend. Second, even if there were a stag party, I could handle that too.”

  He lifts a brow. “That so? Have you planned stag parties?”

  “I have. Sometimes my friend Jason helps me.”

  “Who’s Jason?” He straightens, the accordion of his body stretched out as if he’s trying to occupy more space. No more Leaning Tower of Zach. He’s over six feet, so he fills out the doorway quite nicely.

  Wait. I’m not noticing his peacock moves. I’m definitely not paying attention to the mmm, just right fit of his charcoal shirt and tailored slacks, and the tugability of his cranberry tie with the—I squint—what are those creatures? “Do you have hedgehogs on your tie?”

  He glances down, running his fingers along the silky material, then smiling like he just remembered. “Hey, look at that. I do.”

  “What’s with the cartoon-animal theme for most of your ties?”

  “You noticed?”

  I sigh heavily. “I’m not inventorying your ties. I don’t have a database of your neckwear and whether you have duckies or piglets or porcupines on them. But I did notice you had penguins the other week.”

  “Lucy picks out my ties. She likes to go tie shopping. She always has. She actually chooses most of my neckwear.”

  An image skips through my head, a picture of his clever little daughter scanning the displays at Bloomingdale’s or Barneys, determination in her blue eyes, Daddy’s little helper. My heart thumps from the cuteness overload. That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

  But I can’t tell him that.

  “That’s adorable,” I say, choosing a simpler compliment.

  But he doesn’t seem interested in my remark. “Who’s Jason?” he asks again.

  Oh, right. I didn’t answer. “A friend of mine. He does some work in the business.”

  “A wedding planner?”

  I shake my head. “No. Why do you want to know?”

  “Is he gay?”

  I laugh. “Why are you asking? He’s not gay. He’s super straight.”

  He draws air quotes. “And what is ‘super straight’?”

  “A ladies’ man. A player. You know the type.”

  “So he’s interested in you?”

  I stare at him, slack-jawed. “That’s your conclusion from me saying he’s a player?”

  “I assumed that was what you meant. Players make plays, ergo . . . I’m only being logical.”

  “You’re being illogical. He’s not interested in me, and I’m not interested in him, and men and women can be just friends. He’s a work colleague. He’s British, and he’s helping me scout out some venues in London so I can put together a lovely party.”

  Zach’s shoulders seem to relax. “Do you need me to do anything? You’re so great at the planning. I mean, of course you are,” he says, and I forgive him a little for the “planning stuff” remark. “I organized a golf outing with the guys. And I looked up a few pubs. But I’ve been crazy busy with this case. The defendant is threatening to take it to trial . . .”

  “A golf outing sounds great, and so do pubs. I’ve got the rest. Don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.” I study his face for a minute. Worry lines crease his forehead. “Is the case weighing on you?”

  He scratches his jaw. “Nah.”

  He’s lying. It bothers him. But he doesn’t seem to want to say why.

  He takes a deep breath and turns to the door, rapping on it as if he’s stalling. “So, we’re leaving in a few days.”

  “Yes. I’m going a day early.”

  “Same here. It’s easier for the kids. We’re on the six-thirty flight.”

  A grin attempts to take over my face. I fight it off. Valiantly. So damn valiantly. “Me too.”

  “Yeah? Same flight?”

  “Same flight. I’ll probably sleep the whole time.”

  “Lucy and Henry love red-eyes.”

  “They do?”

  He shrugs almost apologetically. “I take them on a lot of trips. They sleep like criminals on planes.”

  “The old adage about how a guilty man gets a full night’s rest?”

  He flashes his crooked grin. “They’re outlaws.”

  I return his smile, wishing briefly that we were sitting together on the plane.

  13

  Zach

  Lucy squeezes my hand. “Can I get a sundae with all the toppings? Do they have those on this flight?”

  “We sure do.” The flight attendant greets Lucy with a polished smile. “Especially for the best-behaved passengers.”

  Henry’s eyes light up, and the little ice cream lover jumps in. “I’m excellent on planes. What flavors do you have?”

  The flight attendant peers at the ceiling of the galley as if she’s only now learning of these flavors. “Let’s see. For the seasoned traveler, we have chocolate, vanilla, and guess what? We also have coconut.”

  Henry bounces on his toes. “I love coconut. Can I please get coconut with chocolate and caramel and nuts and whipped cream?”

  The woman laughs.

  I pat my son’s shoulder. “They probably don’t have all those toppings.”

  The flight attendant gestures to her setup in the galley. “Actually, we do. I would be more than happy to make sure you have a sundae with all your toppings, once you’ve had your dinner. If it’s okay with your father?”

  “I want two, pretty please,” Henry says.

  Lucy tugs on my hand. “A sundae with all the toppings is on my special summer list. But you’re already doing so many things on my list by taking me to London. If you want to give my sundae to Henry so he can have two, I’m okay with that, because you’re the most awesome dad.”

  I ruffle her hair. “Aren’t you magnanimous today?”

  “What’s ‘magnanimous’?” Henry asks.

  “Generous. It means generous. And we’ll figure out the sundae distribution later. Thanks so much,” I tell the attendant, as we settle into our seats. We’re in 3A, 3B, and 4A, so I point ahead to the fourth row. “Lucy, why don’t you take 4A so you can sit by yourself, and I’ll sit next to Henry.”

  “Oh my God,” Lucy shouts, “I don’t have to sit by myself. Piper’s here.”

  My heart jumps at the same time that the universe smirks and says, Good luck, sucker. Resist that.

  When Lucy reaches the fourth row, Piper raises her face from her book. She’s looking casual and fresh-faced in jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt.

  Is there anything better on a woman than a white V-neck T-shirt? Maybe a gray one, or pink, or black. Honestly, the color doesn’t matter. All V-neck T-shirts look fantastic on beautiful women. And with that, I realize I’m not just attracted to Piper. I think she’s stunning, and that is scary as hell.

  I focus on the shirt rather than my terrifying thoughts.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I deadpan.

  She smiles brightly. “I was supposed to be in economy premium. But Charlie Warbucks bumped me up.” She pats the seat next to her. “And I have been saving this seat for either one super cool seven-year-old or one super cool ten-year-old.”

  Lucy does
n’t give Henry a fighting chance. She plunks herself down next to Piper, and the two of them quickly fall into a round of Never Have I Ever about plane food. A smile tugs at my lips the whole time as they talk about different plane foods they’ve supposedly never had.

  As I settle Henry in next to me, I listen to their game.

  I’ve never eaten a five-layer cake on a plane.

  I’ve never drunk a chocolate milkshake on a plane.

  I’ve never consumed three dozen Cokes on a plane.

  For a moment, this whole scenario feels like it should remind me of Anna and Lucy, as if Piper could be some sort of replacement. But I’m not looking for a replacement, and there could never be one. More than that, Piper and Anna aren’t the least bit interchangeable. Anna was a great mom and loved reading to the kids and having long talks with them. But when Anna flew, she liked to listen to music or books rather than chat.

  Piper seems to like to just . . . talk.

  And I like the way that Piper and Lucy have a rhythm that is uniquely theirs, one that they’ve figured out on their own.

  I sneak another glance at them.

  But if I keep looking, I’m going to keep thinking too much about Piper, and I’m trying to get her out of my brain, even though she’s in my physical space.

  Good luck with that.

  I settle in with Henry, and we quickly get lost in a round of Minecraft on his phone. Perfect. All I have to do is build walls till we land.

  But one hour, a chicken risotto, and a sundae with the works later, my kid is zonking out hard. The sundae with all the fixings seems to have had the opposite effect—the sugar high crashed into a sugar low—and his eyelids flutter closed. Half-heartedly, Henry pushes the button to turn out the light and slumps against the armrest, stretching out his little legs in the capsule-like seat.

  With a yawn, Lucy taps my shoulder. “Can I switch seats with you? I’m tired too, and I don’t like the light on.”

  “I can turn it off,” Piper offers.

  But I don’t want her beholden to my kids’ rhythms. “I’ll switch.”

  Lucy and I change seats, and my little girl blows me a kiss then whispers, “Good night.”

  “Like criminals,” Piper whispers, nodding at the two monsters who are sliding into snooze land.

  “Guilty little scofflaws,” I say. She sets down her book on the armrest, and my eyes drift to the cover. “You like J.D. Robb?”

  “I like badass lady cops.”

  I laugh. “Of course you do.”

  “And why do you say that?”

  “I could see you as a badass cop.”

  Her brown eyes narrow, and her lips imitate a ruler. Her voice goes gruff, no-nonsense. “You’re under arrest for disturbing my peace.”

  I laugh at her police officer impression. “Are you going to lock me up?”

  She lifts her chin, keeping the tough demeanor. “You have the right to tell me why the hell you think I’d make a good cop.”

  I point at her. “For that right there. For your tough-as-nails approach.”

  She shoots me a doubtful glance. “I’m a softie.”

  I scowl. “You are not a softie.”

  “You’re not a softie either,” she counters.

  “Never claimed to be. So what’s the opposite of a softie?” I answer my own question. “A hard-ass, obviously.”

  Her eyes stray over her shoulder, as if she’s checking out her own rear. “That’s me. Spin class three times a week.”

  “Do you really go that often?” I ask, liking the image of her riding her butt off on a bike.

  “I do. I really do.”

  “You are definitely a hard-ass, tough-as-nails, badass cop.”

  She taps the cover of the book. “I am.”

  Is she giving me a hint?

  “If you want to go back to reading, I won’t be offended,” I say, since I did just horn in on her reading time. I glance around the first-class cabin. Nearly everyone is dozing off. The lights are low, and only a few reading lamps are still lit. “We don’t have to talk.”

  She tugs her blanket higher on her waist. “You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

  “I just didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

  “I don’t.” She cocks her head, peering at me. “But also, is obligation such a bad thing?”

  I shove a hand through my hair, unsure of what she’s getting at. “No, obligation is not a bad thing. I just . . .”

  The airplane hums in the silence I can’t think how to fill. We soar across the night sky, the ambient noise from the engines a low-key soundtrack.

  “Zach, did you feel obligated after the dinner? Because we talked so much that night? Is that why you kind of stopped talking to me?” she asks.

  Whoa. Way to hit the nail on the head, but not exactly.

  I meet her gaze head-on. “I didn’t feel obligated. Everything turned crazy busy. I’m sorry.” It’s not the whole truth—because I’m not dumb enough to admit I need space to resist my desire for her—but it’s true.

  “The trial? The case you mentioned?”

  “It’s not going to trial yet, but it turned messy. The soon-to-be ex keeps calling my client and trying to get her to back down with threats. I don’t want him talking to her at all. I want it to be just his attorney and me, but the ex is the ex for a reason, and the whole situation is way more shitty than I expected,” I say, thinking of the way Taylor’s husband decided to start playing hardball, and the way it reminds me of someone in my family.

  “That sucks,” she says sympathetically. “Do you think you can, I don’t know, tear him a new one?”

  I laugh at her crudeness. “I would really like to, Piper. I would absolutely love to.”

  Her eyes turn curious, as if she’s searching my face. “What drives you?”

  “To be a lawyer?”

  “Yes. I assume you have a pugilistic side. But what specifically drove you to be a divorce lawyer? You must have known what you wanted to do as soon as you finished law school because you were practicing right away. But it’s not as if you hate marriage, since you got married pretty young too, right?”

  There’s something refreshing about her frankness, her willingness to dive into life’s meatier topics. “I finished law school at twenty-four, married Anna a few months later.”

  “And you guys were happily married.”

  I nod. “We were.”

  “What’s the story, then, counselor? Why do you enjoy your job so much?”

  I exhale, looking away from Piper. The flight attendant checks on the passengers in the first row, then returns to the galley. Otherwise, the cabin is awash in the quiet of an overnight flight. I focus my attention back on my seatmate. No need to dance around the answer. When you’re suspended in the sky, moments like this are for honesty. “My parents divorced when I was ten. My father was a complete and absolute asshole to my mother during it.”

  She gasps quietly. “Oh God, really?”

  “He was a relentless son of a bitch. For no reason. There was no cheating on her part, nor his. She was simply unhappy because he worked all the time and was never involved in our lives. And when she left him, he let her have it. He punished her financially, taking a lien out against the house they owned, claiming his parents had given him the money for the down payment, then going after her income, claiming she earned more.”

  “Did she?”

  “She owned a boutique, and he worked for a bank as a manager. He said she had higher earning potential.”

  “Did you overhear all this when you were only a kid?”

  My jaw clenches. “Like I said, he was an asshole. He didn’t hide it from us. He just lit into her. He wanted her to pay for leaving him, and she did.”

  “How did she manage it all?”

  “She’s a tough woman. She rode it out. She knew she needed to leave the marriage—she wasn’t happy with him the last few years they were together, and who could blame her? He wasn’t there for her
then. He wasn’t there for us then either.”

  “And was that it? Was that what it took for you to know what you wanted to do?”

  I lean back in the seat, stretching out my legs, recalling my younger years. “I don’t think it was a light bulb moment, but over time, the roots grew deeper within me. And when I was in high school and started on the debate team, that’s when I knew. I had the power to stop that. I had the ability to fight with words and knowledge and my brain. I could use logic to prevent assholes from ganging up on someone. I wasn’t going to let that shit happen. Not if I could stop it. I didn’t want women like my mom to be without options.”

  “Do you only represent women?”

  I shake my head. “I have some male clients. But my business is word of mouth. Women tell their friends about me when their friends need a killer divorce attorney, so I represent a lot of women, because a lot of guys are assholes. They want to make their wives suffer. They want to punish them in a divorce. You might think I’m a shark, and the truth is, I am. But I’m a shark because I can’t stand people who take advantage of someone else who’s simply trying to have a better life, make a better choice.”

  She swallows and takes a deep breath. “Wow.”

  “Wow, what?”

  She shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. “I had no idea anyone could make being a divorce attorney seem noble.”

  I wave a hand, dismissing the idea. “Please. I’m not noble. I like the money the job brings.”

  “You can’t say that. You can’t say this thoughtful, wise, considerate thing, and then go back to being a dick.” She lifts a hand, pinches her thumb and forefinger together, moves them an inch from my lips, and then pretends to zip them closed.

  I laugh. “Fine. I have a tiny bit of nobility in me. Not much. But I meant everything I said. I’ll go to the mat for my clients because I don’t want to see them being punished for simply wanting to move on. If I can prevent it, if I can fight for them, I goddamn fucking will.”

  She shudders.

  “Did I scare you?”

  She leans closer and drops her voice. “No. It was kind of hot, truth be told. Your whole defender of those who need me speech.”