“The rules… I think the rules are the problem,” she blurted out then shoved a piece of French bread in her mouth to shut it.
Maxine cocked her head and pursed her lips. “They weren’t outlined going in?”
“How can anything be outlined when you have your tongue shoved down someone’s throat after you behaved like a complete ass?”
Oh, Jesus. Had she just admitted that out loud?
“Ahhh,” Frankie cooed. “I bet it was angry sex.”
“What are you women, psychic?” Mel complained, her appetite taking a sudden turn for the better. She reached for a triangle of the Brie and stuffed it into her mouth.
“You act like you’re the only one who’s ever gone through this, Mel. I know it feels like that, but you’re one of millions, honey. Don’t go thinking you’ve got the market cornered.” Jasmine’s admonishment left Mel feeling less alone. “That’s why Maxine has all those support groups going on at Trophy. So you’ll be able to talk to others who have the same fears.”
“Damn, I’m good at this. I knew it was angry sex. So, tell us what the hell happened?” Frankie coaxed.
Mel relayed every tiny detail while consuming not one helping, but two of Jasmine’s Caesar salad. Clearly, one night stands left you starving.
“Anyway, that’s what happened, and I don’t want it to happen again.” Maybe that was a lie. Fine. It was a lie.
“I call bullshit!” Jasmine cried, pointing her finger at Mel. “You do so want it to happen again. What you’re afraid of is becoming too deeply attached to someone again. I just don’t get the impression you’re the kind of woman who can leave her emotions out of the bedroom, but I’ve been wrong before. Either way, remember this: just because you had sex doesn’t mean you have to wear his high school ring, Mel. If you’ve discovered that, own it, baby. You had sex. It was good. You want to do it again, but you don’t want anything more than that.”
Mel shook her head with a sigh. “But that isn’t exactly how I feel. The problem is, I don’t know how I feel. One minute I’m embarrassed that I behaved so out of character, the next I’m grinning from ear to ear because… Look, here’s what I’m really afraid of. I clearly don’t know the difference between infatuation and true love. Lately, when I think of Stan, I almost wonder if what I felt for him was just an intense crush that would have passed if I’d let it play out instead of signing on for life. I didn’t know it at the time, because I was so blown away by the great choreographer Stanislov Cherkasov paying me so much attention, but when I began to examine it more closely after our divorce, I found that none of the things I wanted most in a relationship are the things Stan gave me. It never, ever occurred to me to look elsewhere. I stayed because I took vows. Period. I think that’s just who I am.”
When she said those words, Mel realized, that was who she was. Her core was loyal, and she’d never break a promise if it killed her.
She let her head fall to her hands. “I was in awe of Stan, and I’m in lust with Drew. That can only lead to disaster if I’m not on the same page. Though, there is one thing I’m definitely sure of. I behaved like an idiot when all was said and done, and I stomped out of his apartment.”
Maxine sputtered on her wine. “Oh, I can identify with that. I was every kind of idiot come Sunday with Campbell. It happens to us all because most of us, Jasmine aside, hadn’t dated in forever. You don’t know the rules. You aren’t familiar with the lingo. It’s just as foreign as getting divorced.”
Frankie nodded her agreement while sipping her wine.
“So now the question is, what are you going to do about it?” Jasmine asked.
What was she going to do about it? “If you want honesty, sure, it would be great to do it again, but it’s pretty clear, I suck at leaving my emotions out of the bedroom. I don’t want to do the one-sided thing or go into it hoping I’ll be so magical I’ll change his mind and make him fall madly in love with me. I don’t even know that I want him or anyone to fall in love with me. I’m definitely honest enough with myself to know I’m not tough enough yet to be hurt again, and that’s exactly what will happen if this goes any further and his intentions end up different than mine turn out to be. Add in the complications of our working together and it’s just better to let it go.” Again, there was that twinge of sadness that had no business tweaking her heart.
Jasmine nodded, brushing her hair over her shoulder and popping another hunk of cheese in her mouth. “It’s like I said, maybe it is too soon for you, and maybe you’re right, maybe he does just want to have sex and nothing more. Though, the way he looked at you that night in the diner didn’t at all look like just lust, but you’ll never know unless you ask.”
“Couldn’t you ask him for me? I just don’t have the kind of Ring Dings you do,” Mel said on a nervous laugh. Jasmine’s confidence was daunting.
Of course, she was gorgeous and probably didn’t have to ask questions. One could assume, if they had eyes in their head, no one turned Jasmine down.
Jasmine’s eyebrow arched. “If only it was that easy, kiddo. You’re a big girl. You have to take charge. That’s if you really want to know the answer. I don’t think you do. I think you’d much rather hide from such an intense attraction because it scared you. You behaved in a way that was what you think is out of character for you. So leave it alone and let’s focus on something else.”
“Like?”
Jasmine shot Maxine a secretive glance. “I think Mel’s the perfect guinea pig, don’t you?”
Frankie clapped her hands. “Oh, she definitely is!”
“Mel,” a male voice called, followed by the click of something Mel couldn’t place. “If I were you, when you hear the words ‘guinea’ and ‘pig’ from these three mouths, hit the ground running.”
Jasmine’s face lit up at his entry. This must be Simon, Jasmine’s husband. He certainly was big enough to be an ex-pro football player.
Big, blond, and handsome, he had an impish quality to him that made him appear as if life was just one big ride on a tilt ’o wheel he had no intention of getting off.
Jasmine wrapped an arm around his waist and he tucked her to him possessively. She pinched his chin, giving it a kiss. “Oh, honey. You’d hit the ground just because you’re blind. Now stop scaring the newb. Mel? This is my mouthy husband, Simon. Simon? Hold out your hand to the lady.”
Simon took Mel’s hand with an uncanny sense of direction and gave her a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Now hurry,” he motioned with his cane over his shoulder, just missing Frankie’s head. “Run as fast as you can! I’ll cover you.”
Jasmine chuckled like he’d said the cleverest thing ever, her eyes filled with such obvious affection, it left Mel with an acute loneliness for all things couple-ish.
“Didn’t I tell you, this is girls’ lunch? What are you doing out of your man-cave?”
His blue eyes twinkled when he plopped a kiss on the top of Jasmine’s head. “Call it like it is, wife. It’s my cage. That’s where all wives lock up their poor, blind husbands,” he teased, making his way to the fridge using his cane as a guide.
Jasmine swung back to face Maxine, her eyes shiny with excitement. “So whaddya think? I think Mel’s the perfect candidate.”
Mel narrowed her eyes at the women. “For?”
“I’m telling you, Mel, get out while you can,” Simon called.
Jasmine chuckled. “Oh, hush, or I’m moving the bottle of Tums and switching it for some Ex-Lax.” She winked at Mel who instantly felt at ease with their banter. “Just ignore him. He might not be able to see, but he makes up for it in mouth. So, Max?”
Max put her chin in her hands and perused Mel. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Good, then it’s settled. Lemme get the laptop, and we’ll hook her up.” Jasmine floated out of the kitchen.
Frankie rubbed Mel’s shoulders and smiled. “I’m so excited, and remember, if this works out, it was my idea.”
Mel gave them a blank look. “Um
, guinea pig here. Can someone please explain the experiment to the test subject?”
Jasmine breezed back in with the laptop and popped it open, typing in a URL. The page that popped up instantly made Mel give them each a questioning glance. Whatever Trophy Match. com was, it couldn’t be good. “Is that what I think it is?”
Maxine’s eyes gleamed now, too. “Uh-huh. And you, my friend, are ripe for the picking!”
Mel let her head fall to her hands, still on the steering wheel of her father’s truck in the parking lot of Chester’s Bovine and Swine, careful not to muss her freshly styled hair. Because God forbid she should mess up her new hairdo banging her head against the car door.
She rolled down the window with the press of a button and took deep gulps of the cool autumn air.
A date.
She had a date.
At this particular moment in time, she wasn’t sure if a one-night stand with Drew had been easier. It had been sudden, and without warning, and there had certainly been less primping involved.
As far as she was concerned, Spanx were overrated, and her push-up bra was like a slingshot just waiting to unload her tightly bound breasts on some unsuspecting innocent.
Maxine had assured her that everything was on the up-and-up with this dating-site thing. The men were all carefully screened by retired therapists and psychologists, as were the women.
They went through rigorous testing and answered a million questions about everything from their hobbies to their sexual likes and dislikes. Everyone was screened and screened again. Maxine’s new site had everything but the goopy eHarmony-like commercial with a happily in love couple dancing around to Natalie Cole singing.
Businesswoman that Maxine was, a commercial with a happy-clappy couple like she and her husband, Campbell, probably wasn’t far down the pike.
And three weeks ago, when they’d suggested, nay, insisted Mel maybe find a different way to get her infatuation for Drew out of her system, she’d gone willingly like some lamb to slaughter.
Now this lamb had serious doubts she was going to find her mint jelly through this venue.
Hold up. Maxine had said not to go into it like her life depended on it. It was just dinner.
Maxine said. Maxine this. Maxine that.
Unfortunately Maxine, who had an answer for everything, was usually right. So, in light of that, here Mel was, meeting Ronson “Everyone Just Calls Me Ron” Benedetto. A six-foot, two-hundred-ten-pound blond Sicilian who liked spur-of-the-moment road trips, animals, and the show Chuck, and who was just looking for someone to maybe see a movie with. Nothing serious. And he danced. When she’d read that in his profile, she’d silently sent Drew a neener, neener, neener.
Ron was an X-ray tech who had a full-time job and bennies he was very proud of. At least according to the six or seven e-mails they’d shared since he’d been chosen as one of her likeliest matches.
His picture had been nice enough— though he was no Drew.
That’s because he’s Ron, Mel.
Right. She’d do well to remember that and knock off the comparisons. It had taken everything she had in her to avoid Drew at school and at the rec center when he picked up Myriam, whose ban from social events had been lifted.
So far, so good. The occasional glimpses she’d caught of him in the last couple of weeks were brief, making it clear to her, what she’d suspected his words meant all along were true. Drew had just wanted to have sex. Now that she’d discovered she wasn’t able to put sex in a compartment without involving the emotions tied to it, it was just as well she’d stomped out of his life.
Discovery be thy name.
A sharp knock on the passenger window of the truck made her jump, cracking her head against the door. She rubbed the spot as she looked out the window.
“Mel?”
Mel’s eyes went to the right side of the truck where a petite woman with pink foam curlers poking out from beneath her orange-and-brown-polka-dotted scarf stood, her purse hanging from the crook in her elbow. Mel pressed the button to put the window down.
“Yes?” She squinted into the darkness to see if the woman was a senior from the Village, but it wasn’t anyone she recognized.
“You’re Mel? The Mel who’s supposed to meet my Ronnie?”
Mel cocked her head. “Do you mean Ron Benedetto?”
She grinned, patting her square purse to her body. “That’s my boy. Well, c’mon then, he’s in there waiting.”
Awesome. Maxine didn’t have instructions on what to do if your date showed up with his mother, now did she? Mel hesitated, scanning the parking lot. There had to be an escape route. If she backed up carefully, yet with precise haste, she’d probably only take out Ron’s mother’s toes. Who needed toes in this day and age?
“Well, hurry up. He’s ordering pigs in a pig blanket for us— you know, those hot dogs wrapped in bacon— and they’ll get cold,” she chastised with a frown, pulling up the elastic waist on her jeans.
Bacon. Mel perked up. Everything was better with bacon.
But then she caught sight of Ron’s mother’s frown. Putting that much pressure on bacon was unfair.
Mel let a reluctant hand pop open the door, sliding out to put even more reluctant feet on the ground. Maxine would die for this. Painfully. Slowly.
“You pick out that dress?” Ron’s mother asked when she came around the front end of the truck to give Mel a critical eye.
Mel gave a quick glance to her red wrap dress with the black flecks and forced a smile to her lips as they began to walk toward Chester’s. “I did.”
“They have a different color?”
“I’m not sure, why?”
“Just think you’d look better in blue’s all.”
She’d have to remember that the next time she was due to date a man and his mother. Mel held the door to the restaurant open for Ron’s mother. The scent of brisket wafting to her nose might have been pleasant had it not been for the fact that she was sharing it with her date’s mother.
Trailing behind her full-on assault into the crowded room, Mel asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Florence, but you can call me Mother.”
No-nonsense woman that she was, “Mother” headed straight for a table in a small alcove that was empty but for the pitcher of iced tea and three place settings. Mel went to the back of the table, figuring she should probably at least sit near Ron when she told him she only swung one way and it wasn’t Flo’s before she left like she was on fire.
But Florence clucked her tongue in admonishment. “You’re here.”
She pointed to the solitary chair.
Ah. Isolate the enemy. Mel bit the inside of her cheek and took her seat. “So where’s Ron?”
“Oh, my poor baby. He was so nervous about meeting you. I bet he’s in the bathroom. You understand.” She lifted her flowered shirt and rubbed her midsection. “Upset tummy and all. First-date jitters.”
Mel clenched the edge of the table, summoning patience. “Do you always go on all of Ron’s dates with him?”
“Only with the girls he says he wants to marry.” She dug through her purse and pulled out a plastic accordion wallet, letting it drop to the floor. “Look, there’s my Ronnie at his fifth birthday party.” Florence pointed to one of probably fifty pictures of Ron at various stages of his life. “He was petrified of the clown—that’s why he’s crying. He’s still scared of ’em to this day, but he mostly doesn’t cry anymore.”
Where was a clown when you needed one? Mel smiled distractedly while trying to locate the bathrooms in search of Ron.
The waitress approached their table; her hat, a combination of a pig’s face and snout on a cow’s body, swallowed almost all of her forehead. “You ladies ready to order your entrée?”
Florence gave her a stern look that turned her eyes into beady dots in her head. “Not yet. My Ronnie’s still in the loo.”
“I’d love a glass of Chardonnay,” Mel said, forcing the plea
ding tone out of her voice.
“Wait!” Florence intervened, tugging on the waitress’s uniform.
“We got perfectly good iced tea here. A whole pitcher. That costs money.”
Mel sent her a conciliatory smile. “I don’t really care for iced tea.”
Or you. Or Ron, whom I haven’t even met. Or dating. Or Maxine—who I really hope likes dark trunks in big sedans. Oh, and cement shoes and water. Deep, deep water.
Mother’s face became disapproving, her lips pinched together.
“Me and my Ronnie don’t drink. Your profile said you weren’t a drinker either.”
“Oh, I’m not a drinker-drinker. What I mean is, I don’t plow through a twelve-pack every night. I just like the occasional glass of wine. Tonight seemed like a perfect reason to have one.” Mel turned back to the waitress. “So just one glass of Chardonnay, please.” Or an IV line and the whole stinkin’ bottle.
Florence snorted, shifting in her chair with a grunt. “Make sure you put that on her bill.”
Mel glanced at her watch. Whatever was troubling Ronnie’s tummy must be leaving quite an impression in the men’s room. He’d been in there for ten minutes. Five more, and she was out.
“Ms. Cherkasov?”
Her ears perked. She knew that voice. It was the voice that belonged to the feet that waltzed a waltz like a dream come true. That voice also had a father who looked like a dream come true, but only wanted to have sex— which wasn’t a dream come true— no matter how dreamy the sex was.
Nate. Shit. If Nate was here, she could only pray it was with someone else’s family.
Shifting in her chair, she turned to greet Nate and found Drew, Myriam, and two other people right behind him. That was it. She was giving up prayer for good. Along with dating.
She smiled regardless. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw Nate. Mel purposely focused all of her attention on him, ignoring Drew like she had for three weeks.
“Hey, Nate! You here for some cow?”
Waltz This Way (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 3) Page 15