That Wild Player, page 18
“You don’t want me to stay?” I asked, stunned.
She looked back at me, her gaze absolutely guileless. “Why would I?” When I continued to stare, she added, “I’m exhausted, my ankle hurts and I really want to get some sleep, CJ. Hope you don’t mind that I can’t see you out. Don’t forget to take those flowers and chocolate, too. Bye!” She even waved. Waved!
Then she pulled all the sheets up to her chin and rolled over, closing her eyes.
I was this close to staying and talking, but then my gaze landed on her boot, and I swallowed a sigh and left—without taking the flowers or the chocolate, since they were for her. What other option did I have?
But today’s another day. And Michelle isn’t exhausted or sleepy. And I’m armed with three different types of over-the-counter painkillers, just in case. I’m going to help her get ready for work, then give her ride to Sweet Darlings. We can talk on the way over.
When I pull into her driveway, I see an Accord pulling in as well. The door opens, and Derek unfolds from the car. What the hell? He doesn’t drive an Accord. The man’s obsessed with fancy cars—and the proud owner of a silver Aston Martin convertible that he’s plastered all over his Instagram feed. But then I notice the Aston Martin over in Matt’s driveway.
Derek is dressed for work in a button-down shirt and slacks, sans tie and jacket. It’s too damn hot, and Alexandra doesn’t care about being overly formal in any case.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in a neutral voice.
“Dropping off Michelle’s car,” Derek says. “Jan asked me to.”
“Ah,” I say. That’s nice. Casual. Friendly. “I don’t give a shit” dripping from that single syllable. Except I’m annoyed Jan didn’t ask me. Actually, Michelle should’ve asked me. I’m a great driver. Far better than Derek. “You can give me the fob and go now.”
“I promised Jan I’d drive Michelle to work.”
I give him a dark look. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Didn’t you hear? She hurt her an—”
“Yeah, I know that, but why does it have to be you who drives her to work?” I wave him away. “I can do it.”
He shoots me a skeptical look. “You sure?”
I’m so sure, I could punch you in the face for asking. I give him a thin smile. “I’ve got the time. Besides, I need to talk to her about the marketing campaign. I thought you knew. She’s my liaison.”
Derek shrugs. “All right, if you’re sure.” He walks over the lawn to his Aston Martin and drives off.
I approach the townhouse, inhaling deeply, forcibly relaxing my facial muscles. No need to go in there with a scowl. I’m here to have a rational discussion with Michelle, not fight.
I knock, then try the door. It’s unlocked, so I walk inside.
“Thanks, Derek. You’re a lifesaver!” Michelle calls out from upstairs.
“Derek couldn’t make it,” I call out. I go to the kitchen, start the coffeemaker, then head upstairs. Based on how she struggled last night, she’s going to need help coming down the staircase.
Michelle is as well put together—as usual—in an emerald-green dress. Her gorgeous face is perfectly made up, her eyes huge and clear. A rose gold pendant shaped like an anchor rests half an inch above her cleavage, drawing my gaze to the smooth, creamy flesh I was licking and kissing last night. The memory makes me both hot and slightly annoyed. She should’ve let me stay so I could’ve helped her get up, wash and everything else.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Where’s Derek?”
My molars grind together. “He went to work.”
She frowns. “He was supposed to give me a ride.” She reaches into her purse and fishes out her phone. “Let me text Jan and see what’s going on.”
Frickin’ Jan. Matt’s fiancée or not, she’s just irritating…and doing her best to sabotage me. “Why did she ask Derek, of all people?”
“She and Sammi had to go in early today, and Matt had a conference call at seven. Otherwise they would’ve dropped me off.” Michelle crosses her arms. “So what are you doing here?”
“Driving you to work, in a couple of minutes.” When she opens her mouth, I lift a finger. “We need to discuss the marketing campaign. You’re still my liaison.”
Her eyes narrow to slits, and she studies me for a while before shrugging and dropping the phone back in her purse. Yes. “You couldn’t find what you were looking for in the documentations and manuals I sent you?”
“Nope.” I give her an innocent smile. The fact is, I’ve never opened the damned attachments. “And you seem pretty busy during business hours, so…”
“Fine. We can chat on the way.” She shoots me a professional smile, which somehow is worse than no smile at all.
I gather up her purse and crutches, and she puts an arm around me. She smells slightly different in the morning, the scents of shampoo and soap stronger and fresher. I like it. Well, I like all her scents.
“Ready?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I help her hop down the stairs. Flush against me, her body feels so soft and breakable. Maybe I should consider buying a huge lot and build a sprawling one-story house. No stairs. No danger of falling. Problem solved.
Michelle lets out a sudden huff.
I stop and search her face for any signs of pain. “You sure you aren’t bruised or anything? It’s worse the next day.”
“That’s what painkillers are for. My doctor gave me plenty.”
I itch to start the talk I’ve been wanting to have since Saturday, when I told her it’s just sex and hurt her feelings. On the other hand, if I start now, she’s going to bail. First, coffee. Then get her into my car. Then we can begin.
“I smell coffee,” she says, surprised.
“I started a fresh pot.”
“You didn’t have to. I don’t have time to drink it. As it is, I barely have enough time to make it to work.”
I check the clock. “You still have time.”
“I move too slow now.” She looks at her boot balefully.
We finally get to the bottom of the stairs. “Then drink it in the car.” I go for a travel mug and pour some coffee into it, then grab a granola bar from the pantry. “Here.”
She stares at the offerings like they’re poisoned, then finally says, “Put the granola bar in my purse.”
I shove it into her purse and lock the door while she makes her way slowly to my car. I help her in, then settle behind the steering wheel.
Finally.
“Here.” I hand her the coffee, then start driving toward Sweet Darlings. “You’re a hard woman to talk to.”
She takes a few sips, then says, “So. What’s the problem with the campaign?”
“The campaign’s fine. I want to talk about what I said on Saturday.”
She stares straight out the window. “You made your position very clear. No need to explain further. And if you don’t have any problem with the campaign, I’m going to take a nap.”
“You’re in a snit.”
She chortles softly. “I’m not in habit of discussing my life with a vibrator.”
“Jesus, will you stop?”
“Nope. Besides, just to clarify my position—you were right.”
“About what? I’m right about a ton of things.”
“That this is just sex. The whole thing you said about your parents and commitment.”
Uh… What the hell? If anybody else said this, I’d assume she was being sarcastic or bitchy. But Michelle’s scarily calm, like one of those placid, unfathomable Scottish lakes with a monster lurking underneath. “What about your parents and that whole life you said you want for yourself?”
She snorts, then laughs dryly. “It’s all a lie. They stayed together for over twenty years despite not loving each other and being miserable to maintain a façade. A façade!” She exhales roughly. If we weren’t in a car, she’d be pacing. “So, like I said, you’re right. Congratulations. I should’ve met you years ago. Then I would’ve seen the light a lot sooner.”
I should be happy. She’s agreeing with me. She isn’t angry about what I said, and it’s nothing personal. But it doesn’t really feel like a victory.
“And…now I can move on,” she adds, gesturing at the horizon full of cars and buildings.
“Move on? How?”
“Well for one, I quit my part-time gig.”
I blink. “You did? But you liked it,” I say, before remembering that I wanted her to quit the damn job, and that it was one of the reasons we argued on Saturday.
“Did I?”
“Didn’t you?” I don’t know why else someone would get a part-time gig when they have a well-paying full-time job already.
“I only got it to prove I could make more money and save for my wedding. But since I’m not going to bother, who cares? I’ll spend the money I saved on the cruise.”
“What cruise?”
“I won a cruise for two in a company raffle for charity. I’m going with Derek.”
Fucking Derek. Again? “Why would you go with him?”
“Jan and Sammi can’t go, not when they have weddings to plan. And Derek’s fun…sweet. He’s perfect.”
“He’s a player, and he can be a dick,” I say, although both are untrue. Derek doesn’t play around any more than most guys his age, and he’s scrupulous with women, refusing to play games with them or lead anyone on. If he likes you, you know it. If he doesn’t, you know that too.
But I don’t care if I have to assassinate his character. Not when Michelle’s planning to take him on a freaking cruise. And share a cabin. Cruise cabins are tiny. I doubt the raffle prize is a suite with two bedrooms. Or a chaperone.
“Might be a dick to some people, but he’s always been a total gentleman with me, so…” Michelle shrugs.
“You know, I can probably get the cabin upgraded,” I say.
“I’m sure you own a yacht.”
“I know someone I can rent one from, if that’s how you prefer to spend your vacation.”
“It’s okay. You’re a single-purpose person in my life.”
Where the hell is this conversation going? Michelle isn’t making any sense. But then, she hasn’t finished her coffee, so maybe…
“Do you know what else is single-purpose?”
I think about it for a moment. “Hospital gloves?”
“A vibrator.”
I would be spitting coffee if I were drinking any.
Michelle continues, “Do people go out in public with their vibrators? No. Do people ask their vibrators to upgrade their travel? No.”
“I’m not a sex toy.”
“I’m making an analogy so you can understand it more easily.”
Right. An analogy just for my benefit. “If I’m a vibrator, what does that make you?”
“An anatomically correct, inflatable doll.” The answer rolls from her lips smoothly.
I gape at her. She’s insane. No amount of coffee can fix this. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head yesterday? Did the doctor check?”
She ignores me. “I don’t want to project what I want onto other people anymore. Don’t want to deceive myself. I’ve done it too many times. Like with my parents. Totally projected what I wanted on to them. Otherwise I would’ve noticed they weren’t really happy together. There were signs—Mom was always working, and Dad was always away in the evenings with his PI stuff. And my exes…who I had zero chemistry with… I wanted us to be compatible. Remember my OrGin status?”
“Yeah…”
“That happened because I thought they could help me build the life I want. Wanted. So I stayed in unsatisfying relationships. I don’t want to do that with you. I’ve decided to accept things the way they are and not project or change anything.”
“What if I say I don’t want it that way?”
“You’re the one who said it was just sex.”
“I know, but what if that’s not really what I want?”
She stares at me for so long that I feel like her gaze is physically boring into my face. Suddenly, she looks away. “Well, if you don’t want to have sex with me, then…” She shrugs, clearing her throat.
She’s being deliberately obtuse. I know it. This is revenge for what I said. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What’s the problem, then? Why are you waffling?”
I can’t find a ready answer, although I know instinctively that this is crucial. I won’t get another chance. “Three strikes, you’re out” is bullshit when it comes to women. Sometimes one strike is all it takes for the game to come to a screeching halt, and you go home without a trophy.
When I don’t say anything, Michelle nods. “Thought so.”
I pull up in front of Sweet Darlings, Inc. She gathers her things. “Stop by at nine if you want.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I don’t want a repeat of last night.
She shrugs. “Then…don’t.”
She walks away. I don’t move.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Michelle
Jan and Sammi show up on my floor again when it’s time to go home. I give them a look. “Is Tim okay with you leaving on time?”
“Yup. He told us to take off early. Well, ‘early’…because we came in early.”
“What happened?”
Sammi launches into a long and involved explanation about boxes and environment and coding and bugs. I understand maybe ten percent. It’s amazing—the words are definitely English, but become nonsense when she strings them into technical sentences.
When we get home, Sammi and Jan decide we should have Thai, which is fine by me. “Where are Luke and Matt?”
“Matt’s working late,” Jan says. “He has a call with the San Mateo office then another with Hong Kong.”
“And Luke’s behind in his writing, so he’s out working at a café.” Sammi looks just a tad baleful, but she knows the importance of deadlines better than anyone. Her team is the most deadline-driven of all at Sweet Darlings.
After Jan orders from our favorite Thai takeout place, we start talking about the details of her wedding. She’s still undecided on wedding favors.
“I thought you liked those sugared almonds,” I say. “The ones in pink and blue boxes, the with white lace wrapping?”
“I did, until they started to feel too traditional.”
“What’s wrong with traditional?” Sammi asks.
“Matt and I didn’t meet traditionally.”
Sammi rolls her eyes. “You want white chocolate figurines in the shape of a topless dancing man?”
I giggle. “I didn’t think he ever danced in the living room for our viewing pleasure…did he?”
“Nope. Too bad, too. His uncle certainly had no problem,” Sammi says with a shudder.
“Why don’t you try small something shaped like sunflowers?” I say. “They’ll look totally cute, especially if you choose a wrapping paper with patterns that mean something to you.”
“Yeah…like cherries.” Sammi grins.
Jan groans, but she can’t stop herself from flushing. “Not cherries.”
“Fine. Cards with a bright red V in the center.”
“No, no, no.” Jan turns to me. “Do you mind if I take a look at some of the pictures you’ve scrapped? Get some ideas for favors?”
“Hmm?”
“Your Dream Wedding album.”
“Oh, that. Uh…”
Jan hurriedly adds, “I’m not trying to copy you or anything. I just want some ideas.”
“You know I’m not worried about stuff like that.” I wave my hand. “I can’t, because I don’t have the album anymore.”
“Where is it?”
“Some landfill, probably.”
Sammi and Jan’s jaws drop in unison. It’s almost comical. “What?”
“Some. Land. Fill,” I repeat.
Sammi recovers first. “Did you throw it away?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“You put so much work into it. How about Michelle’s Dream Life?” Jan asks.
“With Michelle’s Dream Wedding I and II. They went together.”
“So you’re really through?” Sammi says. “You aren’t going to regret it?”
“Nope,” I say with a smile.
“But…”
Their stunned expressions are funny but also a little irritating. “Why can’t I change my mind about my future? You changed yours.” I look at Sammi. “You went from David to Luke. And Jan, you went from one-night stand only to marriage.”
“Right… I mean, of course you can. It just feels so sudden,” Jan says.
“I just realized both albums were kind of…childish and ridiculous. Like Santa or the Tooth Fairy, except they were worse, because at least Santa and the Tooth Fairy actually brought me stuff.”
Jan starts to open her mouth, but the doorbell rings with the arrival of our food. And I’m glad, because I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We eat, and I steer the conversation back to her wedding favors.
Nine o’clock comes and goes. Nothing from CJ. I tell myself I’m fine with that, even as the shock and outrage on his face earlier plays in my head over and over again in an endless loop.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Michelle
I’m surprised to see CJ again in the morning. He looks disgustingly well rested. Maybe he got some extra sleep last night.
“Jan or Sammi can drive me to work today,” I say.
“No, they can’t.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing. They just have to work or something. They were worried about giving you a ride, but I told them I could do it. For free.”
Traitors. Don’t women have something like “bros before hos”? I’m sure there’s something, even though I can’t think of it with my caffeine-deprived brain. Wordlessly, he makes coffee, places a granola bar in my purse and helps me to his car. He moves around with economy and confidence, like he’s used to being in my space and driving me to work is the most natural thing in the world.
I sip the coffee out of the travel mug as he pulls into traffic.
