Reality TV Bites (22 page)

“Guys always say that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Then you marry the girl and complain that she let herself go. Fudging typical.”

He's grinning. “Now this is the Red I know. When I first walked up, I thought you were going to have a seizure.”

I frown at being so transparent. “I was just surprised to see you. When I didn't hear from you, I thought—”

“You weren't my type?”

I nod and step back, nervous again at the way he's read my mind. “Something like that.”

Dave catches my wrist before I can step out of reach. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a long, assessing look. He doesn't tug at me or grip my arm. He just holds me still and very slowly brings me to him.

When I'm pressed against his chest, my emotions a mixture of fear and desire, he murmurs, “You're still my type, Red. You'll always be my type.” He brings my captured wrist to his lips and kisses my palm. I shiver, and he smiles. “Maybe I shouldn't say always. I guess if you run me over or something, then all bets are off, but right now you're very much to my taste.”

“Toad,” I mutter, pulling away, but he hauls me back and slides his arms around me.

My heart pounds with excitement, and I can't catch my breath. This is what I wanted. This is what I've missed. I can't resist wrapping my arms around his neck and melting against him. I like the way being held by him feels—a contrast between the pleasure of connecting with his body and the pain of having all my senses on edge.

“So if I'm your type,” I say, “does that mean you forgive me?”

“Don't push it, Red.” But he leans down and brushes my lips with his. “I missed you,” he confesses. “And I thought about you, what you told me that night at my house. But I wanted you to call me. I've always chased you, and you make it so hard sometimes. I wanted you to show me you were willing to work at this, too. Then you called.”

“So all I had to do was call?”

“Not so fast. You're still on probation.” He kisses me again, then pulls back and looks over my head at the house and the
grounds. Swinging me around, he then surveys the lake. “Not too shabby.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

“I don't know. You still need one more flag.”

He releases me and we—okay,
he
—hangs the last flag. It's green and white and says, “19
TH HOLE
.”

Once we get the flag up and I take a digital photo to e-mail to Dad, I'm hoping Dave will pull me into his arms again.

He doesn't. Instead, he takes a seat at the table on the deck and pulls a file folder out of a briefcase I didn't notice before.

“What's this?” I say, taking the folder and sitting next to him.

“Few things I pulled together for you.”

I open the file and flip through the pages. “This looks like a marketing plan.” I smile. “I was just working on that.”

He lifts the marketing books on the table in front of us. “How's it going?”

“Um, not too great.” I study a chart Dave's included in the folder. He reaches over and turns it right-side-up. “Oh, thanks. I read to the part on market segregation and—”

“Segmentation.”

I glance up. “Yeah, whatever, and then got confused and had to go back. Oh, my God!” I pull a paper out. “You did one of the zip code thingys for me. I was reading about that PRIZM thing right before you got here.”

Dave lifts the passbook. “Are these your notes?”

“Some of them. There's more on those napkins.”

“Who's Cody Anderson?”

“Huh?” I peer over his shoulder. “Oh, those aren't my business notes. That's an old passbook Rory and I used to write in. My notes are in the back.” I try to flip the pages, but he seems more interested in the junior high exchanges.

“You really had a thing for this Andrew Ridgeley, huh?”

“Rory called dibs on George Michael.”

Dave frowns at me, uncomprehending.

“Wham! You know, ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'?”

He groans and flips to the business scribblings. A moment later he says, “Red, I think you better take a look at some of those financial books again.”

“Why?”

He points to a page. “Because DG does not stand for Dolce & Gabbana. It's the stock market abbreviation for Dollar General Corporation.”

I frown and scan my notes. “Oh, that makes more sense. I'm kind of new to the stock market thing. But no worries. Rory said she'd help with that part. I need you to help me come up with a great marketing and advertising plan. I want to make everyone in Chicago sit up and take notice.”

 

At midnight, I tell Dave that I refuse to listen to one more thing about SBAs, SBICs, CDCs, or LowDocs. And if he even thinks about mentioning EWCP, I'm going to hit him.

I trudge upstairs alone, shower, brush my teeth, and fall naked into my parents' bed. Dave's all the way downstairs in the guest bedroom, not that we discussed the sleeping arrangements. He put his duffel bag in there, and I didn't ask.

When Rory and Hunter get here, they can have Gray's room. Unless Josh and Carlos come. In that case, I'll take my room, give Rory and Hunter the master bedroom, and Josh and Carlos can take Gray's room.

My head is pounding and my eyes are burning, but I can't fall asleep. It's freaking me out that Dave is here.

And, as usual, I don't know where we stand. I mean, he said he forgave me. But he's down there, so maybe he meant it when he said I was still on probation. Or maybe I place too
much importance on sex. He can forgive me, even if we're not having sex. Right?

I snort and flip over. That is so not how guys work.

I stand. In my rush to get here, I neglected to pack any pajamas, so I pull on my mom's white silk robe and step onto the balcony. Dave and I moved inside after the sunset, so I haven't been outside all evening. It's surprisingly mild for July. I lean my elbows on the rail, and as the breeze ruffles my hair, I close my eyes.

The house feels different with Dave in it. When Nicolo was here, I felt young again, like I'd stepped back into my princess dream. But were those really my dreams, or just fantasies I've been too stupid to let go of?

Dave isn't my fantasy, but when I'm with him my heart races and my breath catches, and he makes me feel alive. I'm all grown up when I'm with him. I can't play princess, and I don't always get my way, and it's actually kind of nice.

Jeb's right. Being a princess ain't all it's cracked up to be.

I open my eyes and stare out at the lake, like I have a thousand times on a thousand nights like this one. Still no bad-boy pirate prince coming to rescue me. A flash of movement catches my eye, and I focus on the edge of the dock. Dave's standing there, between the wooden planks and the grass, looking up at me. A moment later, he's gone.

When he steps onto the balcony, I don't move. I let him wrap his arms around me and rest his chin on the top of my head. We stare at the dark water and the stars, breathing together.

“When I was little, I used to come up here and keep watch.”

“What were you looking for?” His voice is a deep rumble vibrating through me.

“A pirate ship.”

He chuckles. “Do pirates frequent Wisconsin lakes?”

“This one did. He wasn't just a pirate, either. He was a pirate
prince.
” I feel Dave stiffen slightly, and I turn to face him. “I was thinking about that fantasy tonight. Then I looked out and saw you.” I stop, not sure I really want to say this.

“Then you saw me,” Dave prompts.

“I saw you, and I thought”—I swallow, lower my voice—“maybe all this time I was just waiting for you. Maybe I never really wanted a prince after all.”

He leans down and kisses me, his lips brushing softly against mine. The tingle of pleasure flows all the way to my toes. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “I'll help you with the marketing plan, I'll hang up your crazy flags, I'll even play the pirate. But I draw the line at wearing an eye patch.”

I nod. “A guy's got to have limits.”

“Exactly.”

“And I don't really care about the eye patch.” I kiss him lightly. “As long as you have a sword.”

I wake Saturday morning with a pirate in my bed. A naked pirate who's
looking at me as though he's thirsty, and I'm the rum punch.

“Oh, no. Not more pillaging.”

“I thought you liked the pillaging part,” he murmurs, kissing my ear, then running a hand up my bare back.

“I like every part.”

We make love, the slow, leisurely morning kind of lovemaking, then just lie in bed and watch the lake come alive.

After a while I turn to him. “How is this going to work? You know, once we get back to Chicago?”

He brushes the hair back from my forehead. “You're going to start a business and force me to go to galas and soirees, and I'm going to take you to basketball games and dingy bars, and when you get too high-maintenance, I'm going to throw you in a vat of pudding.”

“Promises, promises. Come on. Get up. Rory and Hunter will be here pretty soon.”

A half-hour later, I'm regretting dragging Dave out of bed. I ask him one question about business, and he gets all huffy.

“Okay, Dave, forget it. I have a marketing plan anyway.”

He runs a hand through his hair. He's in the kitchen making waffles and fresh orange juice. “Giving away a day at the spa is not a marketing plan,” he says through clenched teeth. “It's a gimmick.”

I pull two plates from the cupboard and set them down with a
thump.
“If it gets people to choose my firm over someone else's, it's a marketing plan.”

“No. It's temporary, and it's a gimmick.” He checks the waffles. “You need a brand, something that'll last.” He glances at me. “Something that reflects you—sophisticated, elegant, classy.”

I beam at him. “Really? You think so?”

He mumbles something, but I kiss him before he can get too grouchy. I take down some glasses and say, “I'm not even wearing makeup.”

There's a clatter at the stove behind me. “Yes, you are. You spent like ten minutes in the bathroom this morning putting on makeup so you wouldn't look like you were wearing makeup.”

“Okay, but I'm not wearing nail polish.”

Outside a horn sounds, and I stand on tiptoes to look through the front window. “Rory!”

Dave grabs my shoulder before I can race to the door. He pulls me close and murmurs in my ear, “We'll finish this conversation later. Maybe naked you won't drive me so crazy.”

I give him a lingering kiss, then smile up at him. “Oh, you
know you like it. You'd be bored without me to test your sanity.”

Rory knocks on the door and tramps in. As soon as she sees me in Dave's arms, she squeals and yells, “You made up! Now we can be friends-in-law.”

“What the hell is that?” Hunter says, coming in behind her with their suitcases. Wide-eyed, he looks around. “This place is huge. Do you have a Jet Ski?”

Rory and I exchange a look and change the subject. Josh and Carlos show up next, then Grayson. He's brought supplies for s'mores and reminds me right away that I promised to throw him off the dock.

Saturday afternoon we all laze around. The boys attempt to barbecue while Rory, Josh, and I gossip. Then Gray decides to take us out on the boat, and I go with him to the boathouse for extra life jackets.

We're halfway down the path when Gray says, “So you and Dave, huh?”

I smile at him. “Me and Dave.” I stop and grasp his arm. “I really like him, Gray. I mean, I'm scared, but I'm excited. Am I just being stupid?”

Gray gives me a look like you're-my-little-sister-you're-always-stupid, but says, “He's crazy about you.”

My eyes widen. “He told you that?”

Gray glares at me. “I can tell, Allie. Don't mess this one up.”

We start walking again, the dead pine needles crunching under our feet. “It wasn't your fault, you know,” I say. “That thing with Chris. I've never blamed you.” He doesn't look at me, but I peek at him and see his jaw is tight. “I'm just sorry that you went to jail because of me. Because you went after him.”

“What?” Gray stops, turns to face me. “I went to jail because I was a junkie and was stupid enough to carry heroin around with me. That had nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, but if you hadn't been fighting with Chris—”

“Then I would have done something worse. Have you been blaming yourself for that?”

I shrug, and he grabs me and pulls me in for a hug. I seem to be evoking this response a lot lately.

I hug him back, a tight bear hug, and say, “I love you, Gray.”

“Back at you, brat.”

“Hey, have I told you about my friend Natalie?”

 

The boat ride is fun, and by the time we get home it's dark. Gray's promised Mitsy he'd bring a book on the dangers of liposuction to my aunt, so he heads over there. Rory and Hunter settle in for the
Star Trek
marathon on TV and Josh recruits Carlos to help him brainstorm names for our new business.

Dave and I go skinny-dipping.

Sunday afternoon we make s'mores, and Gray teases me until I try to throw him off the deck. No surprise, I end up going in instead.

I'm just finishing drying my hair after showering when Josh taps on the bathroom door and pushes it open.

“What's up?” I say.

“Rory told me the last episode of
Kamikaze Makeover!
is on tonight.”

I meet his eyes in the mirror. “You're kidding.”

He shakes his head. “Want to watch? It's not every day you get to see three Japanese guys win a million dollars.”

I set the blow-dryer on the counter. “It should have been us. It was my fault we got disqualified.”

“Sweetie, who cares? I'm a celebrity!”

We settle in front of the TV, Rory and Hunter on the couch, Dave and I snuggled into the big armchair, and Carlos, Josh, and Grayson lying on the floor.

It's pretty weird to watch myself on TV, especially considering all that was going on during the filming. I thought I was going to be a princess. I thought everything was perfect.

Then Nicolo comes on-screen, and everyone looks at me. Dave squeezes me around the waist. “You haven't seen this part?”

“No. I think this is where they announce the winners. That's obviously not us.”

Nicolo begins to explain his role in the competition and how hard it was to choose the winners and how excited he is to be part of such a great project. He looks happy, and he probably is. Of course, he doesn't know that when he steps offstage they'll be a subpoena waiting for him.

Payback time, Nicolo.

Nicolo announces the winners and hands over three huge checks for a million dollars.

Josh sighs. “That could have been us.”

I nod, still staring at the screen. At the smiling Prince Nicolo Bourbon-Parma. That could have been us.

“You okay?” Rory asks.

I look at Dave. I'm sorry I lost the money, but I'm not sorry Nicolo's out of my life. Prince Charming, he's not. Once you clear away the title, the connections, and the money, you're left with an ego and a pretty face. No substance. An illusion.

“I am now.” And I take Dave's hand in mine.

Later that night, Dave and I are on the balcony. He's sprawled, pirate-style, on the lounge chair. The lights are out, and the balcony's in shadow. I'm feeling my way down his chest with my lips, giving him teeny, tiny kisses so that the journey takes a long, long time.

Dave grips the arm of the chair, and says through gritted teeth, “I'm going to have to file a complaint with the Pillaging Committee. This is torture.”

I nip his skin and he sucks in air.

I smile up at him, then give an exaggerated frown so he can see it in the dark. “Now, look what you did. I'll have to start all over again.”

“Sweet Mary, mother of God. If you so much as—” The words end in a strangled groan as I flick my tongue over his belly button and move lower.

“Dave! Hey, you up there?” It's Hunter. I don't look, but it sounds like he's out on the dock.

I kiss lower, and Dave takes a shaky breath.

“Dave?” Hunter yells again.

“What?” Dave growls.

“You were a Boy Scout. Come down here and build us a fire. Rory wants marshmallows, and Gray went into town.”

I flick the button of Dave's jeans open and slide the zipper down. Dave groans again.

“Dave? Did you hear me?”

“Fuck,” he mutters. Then, “Ask Josh to do it.”

“Hello! Are you listening to yourself?”

I slide a hand inside his jeans, and he curses again. “Hunt, go away.”

“I will. First get down here and start a fire.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Dave scrambles up, and I sit back, watching him with an innocent smile. He fumbles with the button on his jeans, pulls the T-shirt over the bulge, and takes my face in his hands. “Do not move. Stay right there. I'll be back in two minutes.”

I nod. He storms through the French doors, then sticks his head out again. “Two minutes.”

I lay back and close my eyes. Leave it to Dave to be a Boy
Scout, and consequently the only one of us who can get a fire started. But talented as Dave is, I don't think he'll have the fire going in less than two minutes. He's more pirate than Boy Scout.

“Allie?” Rory peeks her head out. “Can I come out?”

I sit up. “Yeah. Grab that chair. We can watch the guys play caveman. Me fire, you none.”

Rory giggles and settles next to me. “You seem happy.”

“I'd be happier if your boyfriend didn't call my pirate away in the middle of foreplay.”

“Yuck, okay?” Rory shakes her head, and we listen to the guys arguing over fire-starting techniques below. Dave sounds unusually grumpy.

I turn my head to look at Rory. “Remember when we used to come up here and play princess?”

She laughs. “Yeah. I wanted to grow up and be Princess Leia.”

“Do you still want to be a princess?”

She stares out at the water, considers. “No. It's a lot of work fighting the Empire. Who's got time for that with a career, friends, boyfriends…?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

“What about you?” Rory asks after a moment. “Do you still want to be Princess Allison?”

A tongue of blue fire leaps up from the pit on the side of the yard, and Dave and Hunter jump back, cursing. Rory and I roll our eyes.

“I don't want to be Princess Allison anymore.” I stare at the fire, then the lake and beyond—at all the mansions, the Porsches, and the yachts, bobbing in the ghostly dark of the water. “I think I'll just try being me.”