Flirting with Disaster (11 page)

"I'm sure he's jealous. What are you driving today?"

"Why do you ask?" He knew I didn't care about cars at all.
 

"Just trying to figure out how long it will take you to get to 101 East End Road in Ocean Crest, New Jersey."
 

I heard him mutter under his breath and guessed, by the electronic sounds I heard, he was feeding the address to his GPS. I was right since after a longer beep, he announced, "See you in about ninety minutes."
 

That sounded about right. It had taken me an hour longer to get here from Manhattan, but Brad saw the speed limit as a personal challenge so ninety minutes it would be.
 

It was actually a bit longer because being a true sweetheart, Brad had stopped at my favorite Thai restaurant on the way and ordered enough food for three days. Watching him walk into my place with the take out bags made me all teary eyed. He hugged me, picking me up from the floor and twirling me around as if I was feather light. His loving smile was a welcome relief from the hateful stares I'd met all week.

"So this is where you grew up?" he asked after putting me down.
 

I gave him the grand tour and we sat and shared the food. He told me about his most recent business ventures and his latest conquests.
 

Brad had the Midas touch. The only thing he sucked at was settling down in a steady relationship. No matter how crazy in love he professed to be, he would always stray, get caught and dumped, starting on a new cycle until he tried again.
 

We drank a bit too much, took a walk on the beach and when we returned to my place, decided, because he had no place special to be, he would stay around for a few days.
 

Since I had trashed the inflatable bed, we shared my bed. As we laid in bed side by side, he marveled at the incredible silence.
 

"How much does DCD want for the building?" he asked.
 

I guess I must have mumbled the price in my sleep because when I woke the next morning, I found him at the kitchen table, phone on speaker, asking his attorney to make an offer on it and, if it was accepted, to create a new corporate structure.
 

"Of course, I have a name for it. Corporate Incubus." His lawyer roared with laughter.
 

"And may I ask what kind of business you're getting into this time?" the attorney asked.
 

"It will be a Business Incubator," Brad said winking at me.

And then I got it. Brad was an absolute genius and he was going to work his magic in Ocean Crest.
 

It wasn't my business what was going on between them, but I drove by anyway. I wanted to know if Brad was still there. I didn't even know why. At first, I played with the idea of knocking, playing stupid, and seeing if he wanted to talk about the job he'd mentioned. I knew better. I wouldn't be cordial. I was more likely to be hostile. Maybe rip his head off...and why? Over a woman who’s destroyed our town, tore my father's livelihood, and doesn't care about Ocean Crest anyway? It was time to move on.

As I passed her house, I noticed the red paint on her car door. Somebody had tagged it with the word Bitch. I knew it would only take a little spray paint graffiti remover. Goof Off or Motsenbockers should do the job. I learned that early on when some girl I broke up with left a message spray painted across my truck years ago.

I could easily remove it, fix it for her, but there was a piece of me that felt it was justified. After all, she was a bitch, well, this current rendition. I shook my head. I'd do it overnight. I didn't need her to know I was the one to clean it up for her. She had enough on her plate. She didn't need this too.

As I turned the corner, I saw them walking down the block. It was late, why were they still out? I glanced at my watch out of habit. It was after nine. She was having too much fun, and standing too close to another man. My jaw tensed. My teeth clenched. I hated the man without really knowing him. They were laughing, and looked intimate. When Barbara looked up and noticed my truck, there was a moment of anxiety. Shit. I slowed down.
 

She politely waved, but it was awkward. Neither of us knew what to do. They were holding hands, but she quickly pulled her hand away on seeing me. I nodded, barely making the motion, and headed down the road.
 

I glanced into my rear view mirror, trying to make out what was going on between them. She didn't turn around or glance over her shoulder. She ignored the fact I was there. She couldn’t have cared less. Why did it bother me so much? So, she had a rich lover boy and “forgot” to mention that part to me. It stung more than I wanted to admit.
 

I decided to leave the paint on her car for another day. That was her problem, not mine. I had my own life to live, and things to do. She could wait.

I cruised down the strip and pulled over on seeing Tony's squad car. We shared a few laughs, but he got a call. Some kids were having a bonfire on the beach. He needed to see if there was underage drinking, as someone had reported.
 

I headed home, not much more to do, and settled in front of the television with a beer. I should give Joanne a call. She was always lathering it on, looking for a repeat performance. She knew I was a no strings guy, and it would only be one night. I reached for my phone, and then put it down.
 

She wasn't what I wanted or who. I was so damn frustrated. Why did this woman have a hold over me? She was the enemy, here to tear us apart. She should’ve been the last thing I was thinking about. The harder I tried to push her out of my mind, the stronger she came back, taunting me. I couldn't escape the vision of our one-night stand.

Bang! Crash! There was a loud noise outside that startled me awake. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. I checked the clock over the television. It was just past midnight. It only happened once or twice, but there was scampering. I heard the sound of kids running, shoes stomping on the street. Through the window, I saw a bunch of kids with a bat. I shook my head. They were out slamming trashcans and mailboxes. I could have chased them, but I'd be a hypocrite. I played my own share of mailbox baseball growing up. Tony drove, and I'd slam a mailbox with a bat as I leaned out the passenger side of his car. I let the kids get far enough away and yelled after them. They wanted the chase. I remember my own heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings as we got caught in the act. My dad was less than thrilled when they were able to name me and came knocking at the door.

I was up now. I might as well take the paint off of her car and leave a note on Brad’s windshield with my garage’s address in case he wanted me to look at his car. If he didn’t then he’d have to drive back to Manhattan at snail’s space. They'd be asleep by now, or well, in bed. I parked a few houses down and walked over with the paint remover and a rag to buff it off. The lights were off. It was a quick enough job. I was there and gone in no time.
 

My phone rang, just as I was leaving. I looked at the caller ID. This wasn't good. Nobody called this late. "Ryder Bishop," I answered and then listened. "I'll be right there, thanks for calling." It was my father. He'd gone into the hospital with chest pains. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't show my pain. I'd show up, be reminded of the times we visited my mother in the hospital, but I'd hold my anguish for later.
 

"They're keeping me overnight for observation," he said as I walked into his curtained off area of the emergency room. "I'm okay. It was just a little scare."
 

I quizzed him. "Have you been taking your blood pressure meds? Eating okay? What does the doctor think set you off?"
 

"It's all fine, nothing major. I'm under extra stress, but it will all work out." He tried to appease me, but I knew he was just as scared as I was.

There was no hiding the truth. I knew what his source of stress was, or rather who it was. I sat in the chair beside his bed as we waited for him to be transferred to a regular room. The armchair in there was a little more comfortable, but nothing to write home about. For the rest of the night, it would be my roost. I wasn't leaving his side, not until I knew he was okay. I should call my brother and tell him the news, but decided to hold off. Why worry him if everything was fine come tomorrow.

"Go home," my father said. "Get a good night's sleep. That chair won't do you any favors."
 

"I'm fine. Get some rest," I said, and closed my eyes.
 

The alarm on his monitor woke me. It blared and bleated, trying to get the nurse's attention. "What's going on?" I jumped up and headed for the door to call out for them, but before I could get there, the nurse was already on her way in.

She shook her head. "Happens all the time," she said. He'd pulled off his oxygen meter in his sleep, setting off the alarm.
 

"Thanks." I was relieved it was nothing major. I rubbed my tired eyes.

"Sure," she said, and then stuck around another moment longer. "If you want some company later, my break is in twenty minutes. I can bring you coffee, or you could head to the cafeteria and take a break."
 

"Coffee actually sounds good. I think it's going to be a long night." I accepted her offer and told her I'd see her again shortly.
 

After brainstorming the Corporate Incubus project with Brad for a couple of hours, I drove to the factory and he went to the furniture store to try out one of the few beds they could deliver by the end of the day.
 

The plan was for Brad to return to Manhattan the next day, visit a few business incubator structures with his favorite architect and come up with an innovative concept that would work with the building.
 

My house would be his home base until he found someone to run it and return to the West Coast where he had his usual hunting grounds.

I parked my car in the usual space but back to front to allow everyone looking out from the factory to read the tag I was driving around with. A few smirks welcomed my arrival on the floor of the work shop but no one said the word out loud.
 

Entering Dylan Bishop's office, I found the man at his desk with his head in his hands.

"Mr. Bishop," I said and waited for him to raise his head but he didn't. Maybe he'd been crying and didn't want me to see. My heart went out to him. "I may have some good news."
 

He raised his head. His eyes were dry but he was deathly pale. "Are you going to order new equipment and restart production?" he asked. The sarcasm in his voice cut like a knife.

"Well, no--"

"Then go away and leave me alone," he growled.

I retreated and went to the second floor in search of a more detailed blueprint of the structure. I found it in the archive room which Dylan Bishop promised to clear out. Today was probably not the day to remind him.

While I was up there my boss called to let me know Brad's offer had been accepted and the place had to be cleared of all the equipment before the end of the month. I assured him it would be no problem because all orders would be ready to ship before then and drove away in search of a place to make a copy of the documents for Brad to take with him.

Making it back home early, I found Brad outside in one of the garden chairs with his computer.

"This town is getting very interesting," he said raising his sunglasses to look at me.

"How so?" I asked suddenly worried someone had been horribly rude to him and he had changed his mind about our project.

"First because they have interesting ways of customizing cars," he answered pointing to my tagged convertible. I shrugged. I had been called worse. "Second because the handymen are incredibly handsome."

Heat came to my cheeks.
 

"That's what I thought." Brad laughed. "Tell me more about him."
 

"There's not much to tell."
 

My best poker face didn't fool him for a second so he teased me. "You know, when he found me tinkering with my engine, he was all over me."

My turn to laugh. "You mean he was all over your car. How could he resist? It's probably the first Aston Martin to ever drive through this town."
 

"You could play along and let me have some illusions for thirty seconds?" Brad said feigning despair. He ruffled my hair and added. "Oh, honey, I know he doesn't bat for my team, and I know something else too."

"And what is that?"

"He's into you 'cause when he realized I spent the night with you, he was out of here like a bat out of hell."

I frowned and put myself in Ryder's shoes for a second: two crumpled pillows, a new toothbrush in the bathroom. No one could blame him for jumping to the wrong conclusion, especially since Brad didn't send out any gay vibes at all.
 

So I caved in and while we warmed up the left overs for our dinner, I told Brad about Ryder. I admitted the weird sensation I felt in my chest every time I thought about him and how we never had a chance to begin because of my closing the factory.
 

Brad made understanding noises and after we were done, took me for a walk on the beach. We sat in the sand and I was grateful for his silent support.
 

"It sucks being on the giving side of unrequited love," he said pulling me up and rubbing my arms to warm me. At the end of the day, the temperatures were still dropping fast. "Are you going to be all right if I go?"

I promised I would be and we walked home hand in hand, him cheering me up with the tales of his latest seduction failure.
 

As we passed the dune, and walked down the block I noticed Ryder's truck driving back. He slowed. Letting go of Brad's hand I waved. I wanted to say something but I had no idea what, so I let it go.