He crossed his arms over his chest, hitching his jaw at her with a grunt. “So now I’m the date guinea pig?”
Mel smiled, liking the turn this had unexpectedly taken. All of a sudden, she felt in control. And it was good. “That does have a certain ring to it. Besides, you were the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer, knowing full well I’m emotionally a shit wreck and probably not ready to date. I did tell you that. Yet, you persisted. Now that I’ve called your bluff, are you chickening out?” she challenged, feeling the stirrings of the Mel who’d once floored judges by trading her off the dance floor sunny disposition for a blistering hot temptress in the tango.
Ah, yes, she knew this costume, and as she tried it back on for size again, it was a little tight in some places, but it still fit. Maybe some of her rhinestones had fallen off, but she still had it, if she was judging his reaction correctly.
The small tic in his jaw twitched, delighting her enough to make her grin. “Chickening out? The. Hell. I’ll tell you this. It’ll be the best date you’ve ever been on. I’ll make you eat those words.”
Tipping her head back, she flashed him a look of cynicism by giving him her best haughty, yet come-hither, glance. “Well, seeing as I haven’t been on any dates almost ever—you won’t have much expectation to live up to.”
“I guess we’ll see about that, Ms. Cherkasov,” he gritted, clearly realizing she’d thrown down an imaginary gauntlet and had all but dared him to show her a good time.
Mel climbed into the truck, ignoring her aching thighs, flashing him another flirty, slow smile. She turned the key in the ignition and pressed the button to the driver’s side window down.
“Fine. Daisy’s. Friday at seven. Bring your best game.” She flicked her fingers at him as though she was dismissing the very notion, calling upon the thousands of times she’d had to give Neil a dramatic, choreographed shove.
Drew frowned again. It was obvious he was now unclear who’d won the first round of this battle she’d secretly created. His face hardened, turning all those muscles in his jaw into clenched bits of flesh.
“You’re on, lady. Friday at seven.” He turned away from the truck with a scowl, taking big strides in the other direction of the diner’s parking lot, the dark night swallowing him up.
Mel’s hands shook as she backed the truck up and she was able to drop the performance of a lifetime. She came down hard; unaware her body had been so coiled in tension.
But then, as she drove back to the Village, she remembered Drew’s handsome face and how he’d fought to hide his uncertainty at her acceptance, and it made her giggle. Her total one-eighty had taken him by surprise. Good.
If Drew McPhee wanted a date, then by all that was holy, he was going to get a date.
With the Mel who, at one time in her life, on a dance floor anyway, had been as confident as any man-eater.
Insecurity be damned. She was going to don her inner spray tan and sparkly rhinestones and wash Drew and his nuclear brand of sexy right out of her hair.
Mel breezed into her father’s house, dropping her dinner and her purse on the table with a careless clunk.
“Hey, how was your day, Swedish meatball?” her dad called from the kitchen, his large frame covered in his favorite flannel bathrobe.
He was scooping ice cream into a bowl while Jake sat at his feet.
“Guess what?” she asked, reaching for Weezer’s leash and patting her thigh to encourage him to come. He lumbered toward her, his soulfully droopy eyes held a smile always reserved only for her. She leaned down to drop a kiss on his massive head.
Joe’s head popped around the corner of the kitchen. “What?”
“I’m going on a date.” She threw the words out like she was a bullet aiming for a target. “I figured I’d better tell you before Myriam Hernandez tells all the seniors and brands me the Village whore.”
Joe’s nod was slow, when he pushed a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, his eyes hesitant. “Okay. That’s nice. I’m glad you’re gettin’ out.”
Mel arched her eyebrow in surprise, irritated that he wasn’t prodding her for more information. Now that she’d consented to her obsession’s request for a date, she wanted everyone to bear witness to her moving forward. Maybe she’d buy a billboard with the slogan “Mel’s Moving Forward” for all to see.
“Don’t you want to know with who?”
“You sure make it sound like I should…”
“Drew McPhee.” Yeah. That’s who.
“Who’s he?”
“He’s Myriam Hernandez’s nephew,” she virtually spat as though saying it out loud was a contemptuous act of heinousness.
Joe held up his spoon. “Question?”
Latching Weezer’s leash to his collar with a huff, she said, “Fine.”
“Why does this date sound more like an upcoming boxing match? Don’t dates make girls all happy and glowing? Or nervous and silly?”
“I suppose some dates do. This one is a test.”
“A test? What kind of a test?”
“The kind where I prove to myself the man who asked me out is no big deal, and I move on to all these shiny things everyone says I’m supposed to find.”
“Shiny things?”
“Yeah, you know all this self-discovery you and Maxine and clan preach.”
“Seems to me, you’re going in with the wrong attitude, ladybug. You got some chip on your shoulder.”
“The point is I’m going. Isn’t that what you want me to do? Get out? Meet people?”
Her father looked down at her legs. “You gonna shave your legs before you get out and meet people? I won’t have them calling you ‘Clan of the Cave Bear.’ It’ll besmirch your mother’s fine name.”
Mel stuck her tongue out at him. “No. On behalf of all women who want to be loved for who they are on the inside, I’m revolting against shaving my legs. I’m an as-is package.”
“So, do you even like the young man who’s asked you out? Even a little?”
“He’s a jerk.”
Her father blinked. “Which is a perfect reason to go on a date with him.”
“Exactly. I’m pretty good at picking jerks. Just look at Stan and how starry-eyed and stupid I was over him. I’ve decided the best defense against picking another jerk is a good offense. Sort of like exposure therapy. You know, like on that show Obsessed where the therapist makes you sit with whatever your obsession is and wait until your anxiety levels lessen?” So, she’d sit with Drew until her need to do things she couldn’t even pronounce passed.
“This isn’t exactly the same thing as washing your hands or turning on and off light switches, Mel.”
“It’s an obsession just the same. A good-looking man compliments me and all of a sudden, I’m breaking out the latest issue of Modern Bride.”
Joe chucked her under the chin and chuckled. “Why would you go out with someone you know isn’t good for you?”
“Because I need to get him out of my system.” Out, out, out.
Joe grumbled. “He’s been in your system? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
Mel shook her finger at him. “I just mean he’s all I’ve thought of since I met him, and it’s ridiculous. It’s like Stan all over again.”
Her father’s broad shoulders lifted in defeat. “Is he another touchy twinkle toes? Myriam never said her nephew danced.”
“No, he’s not a dancer, Dad. He’s the handyman at the school. I just mean I’m pretty sure I’ve managed to make him into something he’s not. Just like Stan. He’s cute. So what? Is that a reason to spend all my free time thinking about him? I’ve been down that road before. I’m not devoting all of me to someone who isn’t going to do the same in return. I decided if I give him what he wants by going out with him, I’ll find out he’s not such a superstar after all. I know the signs now. Well, I know most of them.”
“But you already said he’s a jerk. How much more proof do you need?”
Mel flapped a hand at h
er dad. “I just meant his attitude about his son dancing was sort of jerk-ish. That’s why I called him a jerk. I don’t know if he’s a jerk-jerk. Okay, so he picks Myriam up and carts her all over town, and he’s got a pretty solid relationship with his son, but that doesn’t mean he’s intimate-relationship worthy. How could I know that when I haven’t even gone out with him? The only thing I do know is he can’t possibly live up to the rock star I’ve turned him into in my head.” The rock star that was a sexual terminator in bed.
She clenched her teeth. Damn. Him.
“Is it any wonder men are from Mars and women are from Venus, peanut butter cup?”
Mel gave Weezer’s leash a tug toward the door. “Never mind, Dad. You can’t possibly understand. You had Mom. She was awesome. Your marriage was awesome. You picked right the first time.”
“Yep. It was mostly awesome. But it wasn’t awesome all the time, Mellie. We had some rough patches, too. That’s what marriage is about. Highs and lows and ridin’ ’em out.”
“Well, you didn’t ride the rough patches out with another woman, now did you?”
Joe chucked her under the chin. “Don’t be bitter, kiddo. It’s ugly on such a pretty girl.”
“Am I being touchy and negative?”
He pointed to the ceiling. “And reaching a whole new level while you do it.”
“Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Maybe sorry is what you have to be so safe is something you value.”
Drew McPhee was anything but safe. He was a big, yellow hazmat sign to not only her libido but her penchant for choosing a man who would swallow her whole. Mel stood on her toes and gave her dad a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m just a mess of jumbled emotions I have to sort through on my own. I’m sure I’m going about it all wrong, too. Go to bed, Dad. I’m going to walk Weez and hit the sack, too. Promise.”
“You know I’m here if you need to talk. Even if I don’t know what in the hell you’re saying.”
She chuckled, opening the front door. “I do, Daddy, and I appreciate it. Night now.”
Mel trudged out into the cool night, pulling Weezer along behind her. They walked in companionable silence for a time, her kicking the fallen leaves along the sidewalk and Weezer trotting happily beside her.
“We got trouble, Weez. I’ve made a date with the devil.”
Weezer stopped, staring up at her with a snort.
She gave his enormous head a loving scratch. “Okay, so maybe he’s not the devil, but he can’t be as incredible as I’ve made him in my mind. I’m setting myself up for a fall. I’ve done it before…”
And she didn’t ever want to do it again. The next serious relationship she went into wasn’t going to involve any kind of hero-worship, and it certainly wasn’t going to be based on the kind of lust she felt for Drew. That was all this was, her long-neglected hormones reacting to a man that was decidedly attractive.
That had no substance. Sex was easy.
Mel winced at her attitude. Not only was she defensive but she was behaving as if one date would determine the rest of her life.
Weezer woofed up at her.
“Fine. Maybe I am defensive, but I have to be careful, pal. I’m too easily swept off my feet, and I don’t like where the sweeping left me. I’m just being cautious. I mean what if Drew and I ended up getting involved, and he did the same thing to us that Stan did? Do you really want to live with Jake for the rest of your life?”
Weezer whimpered, placing a bear-sized paw on her foot.
“Exactly my point. I feel better already. So I go on this date, Drew blows it by picking his nose or forgets to trim his nostril hairs and I get so turned off I want to yark. End date and all of my erotic dreams about him. Who has erotic dreams about a guy who picks his nose? Stan had this horrible habit of cleaning his ears at the table, then inspecting the Q-tip. It was disgusting. Had I investigated instead of running off to a chapel with him because he said I was a great dancer, I might have known that.”
Weezer moaned, driving his head against her hip.
“TMI, Weez? Sorry. Forget I ever said the word ‘erotic.’ It’ll all be over after Friday and we can forget I ever even mentioned it. He’ll be toast by Saturday.”
Steering Weezer back toward her father’s, she nodded her head, reassuring herself. Yes, by Saturday morning, Drew and his scandalous body and good looks would be toast.
End of.
“So guess who’s got a date?”
Myriam snorted. “Your mother? That’s a good sign, dating outside your marriage. Means the Irishman’s on his way out the door.”
His mother guffawed but frowned in her sister’s general direction in honor of his father.
Drew chuckled in her ear as she stood at his mother’s sink, rinsing the dishes. “No. Me.”
His aunt swatted his arm. “You nabbed Mel, you middle-aged dog?”
Drew pretended to be hurt. “I don’t think I like the surprise in your voice, Aunt Myriam. Didn’t you think I was capable of nabbing Mel?”
“Who’s Mel? Is she the Mel, Myriam? The ‘finally dragging my son out of his six-year dating dry spell’ Mel?” his mother asked, a look of mock surprise on her face.
“Hey! I’ve dated. Not in serial fashion, but there’ve been dates.”
His mother waved a chubby finger under his nose. “Making a date with that poor Lisa Masters, then chickening out at the last minute is not dating. It’s waffling.”
Myriam clucked. “She’s that Mel, Selena. The one I been tellin’ ya our Drew here’s got the naughty thoughts about. She teaches dance classes at the Village. The one who was married to the rusty pecker on TV.”
“Whoa.” Drew held up his hands in innocence. “Who said anything about naughty thoughts?”
“Your eyeballs did. They were all over her when she was dancin’ with that Neil,” Myriam accused playfully, turning the water off and facing him, a spatula in hand.
His mother pinched his cheek with damp fingers. “She’s so pretty,” she crowed approvingly.
“And cranky,” he added, giving his mother a kiss on her cheek.
“She’s been hurt. You remember that kind of hurt, don’t you, son?” his mother searched his eyes, looking for the signs all the traces of hurt were gone.
He remembered. “I remember. I’ll tread lightly.”
Though, after Mel’s sudden about-face tonight, he wondered who should have the lighter tread. She’d all but challenged him to make this date the best date ever in some sort of weird duel.
Myriam shook her head of gray curls. “I’d be cranky if my husband told me we were getting divorced on the television, too.”
“Your husband was too smart for that, Myriam. He took the easy way out and died instead,” William McPhee said with a cackle, sticking his nose back in the newspaper and ducking when his wife shot a damp towel in his direction.
“Speaking of taking the easy way out—that ex-wife of yours called. She wants Nate this weekend. I told her we have family plans, but she said the courts say she can have Natty.”
Drew’s mother made a face of disapproval, her rounded cheeks flushed with indignation when she brushed her hands off on her stained apron.
There was no love lost between his mother and Sherry, his ex-wife.
The only time his mother even attempted to hide her fury was when she was around Nate, and she did it because Drew demanded she do it.
Sherry was a crappy mother, but he wouldn’t allow those words to come out of anyone’s mouth in front of Nate. Regardless of Sherry’s love affair with a bottle of booze and some pills, one that kept her from giving Nate the mother he deserved, Drew wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her.
“She does have that right, Mom.”
He hated it as much as his mother and the rest of his family. He worried every second Nate was with her.
Not quite the way he had when Nate was younger and didn’t know how to fend for himself, but worry he did.
; “What kind of judge gives a booze hound like her visitation rights?” his mother hissed in a whisper. “She doesn’t care about Natty. She cares about Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo.”
Drew put a finger to his mouth. “Shhh. Nate will hear you, Mom. I don’t like it any better than you do, but it’s court mandated. She’s supposed to have him every weekend. Let’s just be glad she’s usually too busy with a bottle in some bar to be sober enough to remember.”
His mother scrunched her face in residual anger over the judge’s ruling. “You just remember what I told you, Drew. If she ever hurts my Nate because she’s had too much to drink, I’ll kill her myself.”
William was instantly on his feet at the mention of Drew’s ex-wife.
He reached out for his wife, placing an arm around her waist to soothe her. “Now, Selena. Let’s not invite the bad in by saying it out loud. She’ll probably forget she called when Nate calls her back. Or she won’t answer the phone at all like she always does.” His father winked at him. “So tell us about your girl, Drew.”
The light Irish brogue his father had retained after living in America for over seventy-two of his seventy-four years was always a balm to Drew’s ears. “She’s a dance instructor at Nate’s school.”
“A dance instructor you were rude to when you found out she had to teach Nate to ballroom dance,” his aunt accused.
He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Okay. I was a little rude.”
Myriam planted a hand on her rounded hip “That’s not what Dean Keller’s Uncle Hiram said. He said you yelled like some kinda caveman.”
“I was caught off guard. I thought I was sending Nate to learn—not dance. But I must not have been that much of a caveman because she agreed to go out with me.” So there.
Although, he still was unclear about why Mel had agreed to go out with him in the first place. Her acquiescence had been anything but sweet. It had been more like determined. As if going out with him was like facing her worst fear head on.
Waltz This Way (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 3) Page 12