Authors: Tamara Larson
“Well, that’s what I get for showing my concern. I suppose you would have preferred to tell her yourself then?”
“No, I don’t think she actually had to know that part.”
“Perhaps, but she started it.” Clay’s voice rose until he sounded like a petulant nine-year-old. “She kept going on and on about the cute cop that had come in and swept you off your feet that morning. I couldn’t have her thinking that she actually knew more about your love-life than me, could I?”
Jessie sighed. Her sister and Clay were fiercely competitive over gossip, and just about everything else where Jessie was concerned. Usually, this was not a big deal, since Jessie rarely had anything worthwhile to talk about. But today she couldn’t handle being the subject of their squabbling. “Couldn’t you have just given her an overview? You didn’t have to tell her I went to his place, did you?”
“Jessie, what can I say? Your sister is a master interrogator.” Clay sat down in the only chair and put his feet up on the counter. His tasseled Gucci loafers shone with polish. “She should work for the CIA, or the FBI, or whatever acronym the bionic man and woman worked for. She’s a natural.”
“I think that was the O.S.I. And your being drunk had nothing to do with it?” Jessie crossed her arms and raised one questioning eyebrow at him.
“Tequila is like truth serum. I was powerless. Now, should I arrange a devirgination celebration for tonight or not?” He dropped his feet back onto the ground with a thud, and grabbed the pad of paper Jessie had been using earlier for her list. Fortunately, she had torn her list off and stuck it in the pocket of her denim skirt when Clay had entered the store. He began writing his own list. “I’m thinking hot dogs and oysters on ye olde hibachi. What do you think? Maybe some bloody Mary’s…”
“Gross, Clay. I appreciate the gesture, but it would be premature.”
“What? He sent you roses and you didn’t even have to give it up? That doesn’t sound right? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. How could I not be sure?”
“Well, maybe he’s small. I don’t know.” Clay shrugged and rolled his eyes.
Jessie was tempted to give Clay the inside scoop, but if she did, he’d be in her business forever. She needed to have some privacy if she was going to pursue anything with
Duncan
, even if it was only a one-night stand. This would be hard enough without input from Clay. The question was: how did she do that without hurting Clay’s feelings. “Listen, Clay,” she said, as gently as she could. “I really appreciate your concern, and all your advice has been really great, but I kind of want to keep this to myself.”
“What? But I tell you everything.” Clay looked at her like she’d just kicked him.
“I know you do, sometimes too much. My ears are still burning from the story of you and the two double-jointed, circus brothers.”
“Well, excuse me for wanting to share. I thought you would benefit from my experience. I thought I was giving you a vicarious little thrill.”
“I’m sure I have benefited from your vast experience, Clay. At least from the stories that don’t make me feel a bit queasy.”
The expression in Clay’s blue-green eyes shifted from shocked betrayal to sly understanding. “You know what? I just figured out what this is all about. You like him. You really like him.” He poked her in the side with an index finger until she squealed.
“What are you talking about?” Jessie turned away to avoid his prodding finger and tried to look busy re-organizing the office supplies under the cashier’s desk.
“I’m talking about you not wanting to do a post-mortem. That means you have feelings for him. Otherwise you’d be giving me every single juicy little detail.” Clay looked at her triumphantly.
Jessie paused in her unnecessary cleaning. Is that what it meant, really? If she didn’t care, would she be acting out the whole evening for Clay right now? Maybe. “Clay, you don’t know that. I’ve never had anything to report before.”
“Aha, so you do have something to report. I knew it.”
Damn, it was a trap. He was purposely confusing her. “No, I meant that just because I don’t want to share doesn’t mean that I have feelings for
Duncan
. It just means I want to keep something to myself.”
“Did you just hear that? The way you said his name. All loving and lyrical? Dunnnncannnn. As in, ‘Duncan, my future husband.’ You love him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Admit it. You love him. You want to marry him, screw like rabbits, buy a little house, breed several poorly behaved little rug rats, and then rot together on the front porch for the rest of eternity, don’t you?”
“Clay, you’re certifiable. I’ve only known him for twenty-four hours. How can I possibly know him well enough to even like him, let alone love him?”
“Sometimes,
Ma Cherie
, it happens like that. Once, I fell in love with a go-go dancer just like that.” Clay snapped his fingers. “I just knew he was the one.”
“What happened to him?”
“Can’t remember. I think he moved to
San Francisco
and joined a cult.”
“Okay, so you just proved it. Love at first sight doesn’t really happen.”
“Sure it does. Just because it didn’t work out for me and Raoul doesn’t mean that it wasn't real. He might be back some day. People leave cults all the time.”
“Sounds like a beautiful
Lifetime
movie, Clay, but I am not in love with the detective.” She was careful not to say
Duncan
’s name again.
“Maybe not, but there’s definitely more to this than a one-night stand. Wasn’t that the plan anyway? Get deflowered and move on?”
“That’s still the plan. He’s just more than I bargained for.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s sweet, I guess. And gentle. Funny, too.”
“Sounds like a nightmare. But sweet? Did you see him last night? He looked like he was going to drop-kick me when I said I let Blondie leave the store.”
“I know, but he’s not like that with me. It’s weird. He looks like some arrogant, macho jerk, but he treats me like I’m special or something. It’s complicating things.”
“What things?”
“Well, how can I keep this strictly about sex if he’s romancing me like this. I wish he’d just take me and get it over with.”
“Have you had a head injury recently? Something else you haven’t told me about? Because that’s crazy. Most people go their whole lives without anyone giving a damn, yet for you, romance is a problem.” Clay shook his head at Jessie and gave her a weak smile.
“It’s hard to explain. I guess I don’t want to get too involved.”
“Why not? Is he a lousy kisser or something? Does he have a lizard tongue?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. His kisses are fine. Better than fine. Better than anything maybe. I just can’t see this working out, and I don’t want to get crushed.”
“I realize this is an eighties bumper-sticker and everything, but it also happens to be true. ‘No Pain, No Gain.’” Jessie rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. If you want more from His Gorgeousness than just sex, you’re going to have to put your feelings on the line. I’m not promising that it’ll end like a fairy tale—all happily ever after and zippity do dah—but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life kicking your own ass because you didn’t at least try.”
“Clay, I appreciate the bumper sticker and the Disney version of what’s going on, but I’m sticking to the original plan. Seduction, sex, and then sayonara.”
“Will you at least think about trying for more?”
“Trust me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last twenty-four hours.”
“Good, then I’m predicting a June wedding. Can I help you pick out a truly horrendous bridesmaid dress for Jamie? I’m thinking orange, or maybe mustard yellow chiffon. She’ll look like a car wreck. It’ll be great,” he said gleefully.
“No, you may not. Because there will be no wedding. Unless you and Travis decide to tie the knot.”
“Hardly. I’m not even sure I’m going to see that Colin Farrell wanna-be again.”
“What happened?”
“Walked in on him and the bartender in the bathroom last night at Lotus. Usually, that wouldn’t bother me, but the bartender had a mullet. Can you imagine, a mullet in 2012? So sad, Travis obviously has tragically bad taste.”
Jessie realized just how self-centered their recent chat had been. She couldn’t remember ever being the topic under discussion for more than thirty seconds at a time. Usually they spent the day rehashing Clay’s last conquest. She was slightly exhilarated to finally be interesting enough to warrant a rehash, but she also felt somewhat embarrassed for monopolizing their conversation. “Clay, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s nothing, Jess. Really. Onto bigger—hopefully much bigger—and better things.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. He wasn’t my true love anyway. When I find someone like that, I won’t be stupid enough to let go.”
“Subtle Clay. Really.”
“What can I say? I like to pound my point into submission. Now, are you sure you don’t want to give me some details, perhaps draw a picture of the detective naked? I could give you some pointers if you want.”
“Tempting, but no. Can you watch the store for a few minutes while I walk over to the printers to pick up those 10% off bookmarks we ordered?” Clay nodded and sank down in the chair again. “I’ll stop at Starbucks on the way back. Do you want the usual while I’m there?”
After getting Clay’s order, Jessie walked out into the bright sunshine. She barely noticed the day, or the people shuffling around her. She had a lot to think about, most of it related to what may or may not happen that night. One thought in particular kept running through her mind. Love at first sight was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
“Man. Do you ever look like warmed-over shit,” Kevin said, nudging the closest bar stool toward his friend with one foot so
Duncan
could sit down next to him.
Duncan
gave him a dirty look.
Hannibal
followed obediently at his master’s heels and curled up with his head on his paws at Kevin’s feet. Dogs weren’t encouraged at Steamworks, but no one had ever said anything to them in all the years they’d been coming here.
Hannibal
was as much a part of their Tuesday night, guys only ritual as beer and peanuts.
Kevin reached down to scratch the dog’s ears and got an adoring look from the poodle. Kev watched speculatively as
Duncan
made himself comfortable in the proffered chair, and held up two fingers to the pretty barmaid to indicate he wanted a beer and another one for his irritating companion.
It was shortly after six and the pub was pleasantly uncrowded, even for a Tuesday. A few college guys played pool listlessly in the back, and a pair of older ladies in brightly coordinated tracksuits shared a plate of Calamari by the window with one of the pub’s famous gargoyles standing sentry-duty over them. Looking around,
Duncan
thought the comfy chairs were very much like the ones at Jessie’s store.
Duncan and Kevin met weekly, schedules permitting, for a beer at the Steamworks, a pub on
Water Street
in
Vancouver
’s touristy Gastown that featured a wide variety of beer brewed on the premises. These meetings gave them a chance to catch up and rehash what was going on in their lives. Usually their discussions turned into arguments over police procedures, and the legal system in general, but that was just part of being friends for more than twenty years.
“What can I say? Not much sleep last night.”
Duncan
ran a hand over his red, bleary eyes. He knew without even looking in the mirror behind the bar that his reflection was scary. He’d been living on adrenaline for the past two weeks, and he was finally starting to crash. Another sleepless night didn’t help. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. After returning to his apartment, he had been too aroused, confused, and wired for sleep. Instead of going to bed, like an intelligent person, he and Hannibal had sat out on the balcony looking out into the twinkling lights of the city until it was time to get ready for work.
“Work?” Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly. Him and Duncan both lost a lot of sleep over cases: Duncan because he was obsessed with justice being done, and Kevin because his work—specifically interviewing serial killers and rapists—gave him nightmares that caused him to wake up with a scream on his lips and a cold sweat bathing his big, golden body.
“No, not work.”
Duncan
said shortly, taking a sip from the beer the barmaid had placed in front of him. She looked at him admiringly, but
Duncan
didn’t notice. He never did. Usually it was work preoccupying him, but today he was picturing a certain redhead’s dark eyes and sweetly turned-up mouth. The flashy little blond in front of him didn’t compare.
“That’s a first. What then?” Kevin gave his friend a puzzled look and tried to remember the last time their conversation hadn’t centered on their jobs.