The One That I Want (22 page)

He likes me. He really likes me.

Monday afternoon, the day after our Camp Willowgreen adventure, he picked me up and took me to dinner at this little hideaway Lebanese restaurant in neighborhood Chicago. In a corner booth, we gazed at each other over shish-kabob skewers, saffron rice, and hummus, and then we went back to his hotel and made out like teenagers until midnight. Because it was late, he suggested that I stay over again, and he tucked me into his bed, just like he did after the VIP party.

Unlike last Sunday morning, however, when I had to rush up to camp, we arose to a Tuesday morning that was completely devoid of all plans. With no pressing need to go anywhere, we lingered over our room-service breakfast, which turned into lunch. We watched old music videos together on TV and laughed about the hairstyles from the nineties. We shared more high-school stories. He told me about all of the girls he’d had crushes on who wouldn’t date him because he was “offbeat.” I told him about Kristopher and my circle of teen friends back in those days of Mirabelle Harbor High.

It was early evening before he drove me home, but I invited him in for pizza.

“Pizza Palacio delivers,” I said. “If I call them now, they can be here in twenty minutes.”

Dane laughed. “How could I refuse? As long as we get sausage on it. And how do you feel about mushrooms?”

So we had sausage and mushroom pizza and transitioned into watching an action flick together in the living room. It was completely comfortable and relaxing and, when he kissed me goodnight, it was utterly sensual. I collapsed into my own bed after he left, dreaming of him.

But I scarcely had time to miss him. Wednesday morning, we’d already made plans to return to Highbury Park, visit Samuel at The Lovin’ Spoonful Bakery, and go for another fairly inconspicuous walk around the park. We checked in on his brother’s apartment, picked up local carryout, and somehow ended up back at Dane’s suite, laughing and talking until nearly two a.m.

“This is becoming a bad habit,” I said, as he tucked me into his bed for the third time in a week.

“Nah. I don’t think I’d call it
bad
,” he whispered, bending down to kiss my forehead, my nose, and then my lips. “I kinda like waking up and finding you wandering around my hotel room.”

I didn’t want to admit it aloud, but I kinda liked it, too.

Thursday, we made an adventure out of a mostly incognito trip to IKEA, since I needed to get a new bookshelf for Analise’s bedroom. (Her novels were overflowing onto the floor.) While in the store, we pretended Dane was a visiting Swede who spoke no English.

Very few customers even glanced our way, but one of the workers did a double take when we were checking out. He said, “Hey, aren’t you—”

“Johannes,” Dane said brightly and with a heavy accent, pointing to his chest.

“Oh. Um…” the guy said, squinting to see Dane’s face better from under his baseball cap.

Dane ducked his head a little more and plastered a weird grin on his face that made him look positively demonic.
“Hej! Hur går deŧ?”
he added with feeling.

The man looked at me with growing concern.

I just shrugged. “I think it’s a greeting.”

“Right,” the guy said, hurrying to ring us up so we’d leave.

We barely made it to the car before we burst out laughing. I was holding my sides, doubled over in the passenger seat, wondering when the last time was that I’d laughed this hard. Before meeting Dane, it had been a long time.

“Oh, God,” he said, wiping the corners of his eyes. “I never realized how valuable learning to say, ‘Hi! How goes it?’ on the set of
Scandinavian Knights
would be. Dreadful director, but the dialect coach was awesome.”

“So,
Johannes
, you can actually speak some Swedish?”

“Only a handful of phrases,” he said. “Most of them filthy.”

“Well, you’d better brush up just in case I got the wrong size bookshelf and we need to go back.”

“Det finns ingen chans.”

“What’s that mean?”

“There’s no chance,” he translated with a grin. “I’ll drive you if you need to return, but you’ll be going in by yourself. That’s a role I should probably retire. Plus, the real world is wearing me down today.”

I knew the reason for that. He’d been stopped countless times in the hotel lobby for autographs as we were trying to leave this morning. And some newspaper person had been pestering him with phone messages at the hotel. He wasn’t sure how she’d figured out his room number, and I didn’t know all that had been said between them, but it set him on edge.

Even so, he’d been unfailingly polite to everyone. Still, I could tell he was getting irritated with all of the intrusions.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” I told him. “It’s got to get old, not being able to go out without always having to be on guard in case you’re recognized.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he murmured.

We got back to my house that afternoon and Dane helped me assemble the bookshelf for Analise in the middle of the living room. It wasn’t a difficult task, but the finished piece was heavier than I thought. We both ended up a little sweaty after lugging it into her bedroom and filling it with her books.

Dane sniffed his shirt. “I should probably head back to my hotel, take a shower, and change clothes.”

I laughed. “Well, you know you’re welcome to shower here, although I don’t have those fluffy white robes like the ones you have waiting for you at your suite.”

“True, but you have other inducements.” He pulled me close to him and gave me a parting kiss that left me with nothing but pure wanting.

When he stepped away, he grabbed his car keys and walked to my door. Deep within me, a knot filled with longing—one that had been building in my stomach all week—tightened.

I exhaled slowly in an attempt to relax and loosen the tension. But, truly, it was useless.

Dane spun abruptly toward me. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Sigh like that.”

“Oh…I was just, um, I had too much carbon dioxide in my lungs,” I joked.

“But why so deep? So much like you were trying to rid yourself of something else that was mixed with it? Is it annoyance at me? Relief at getting to be alone for a while?”

I wasn’t sure what came over me. A bolt of honesty? Momentary insanity? Maybe I was just drained from fighting the strength of my attraction toward him. Fighting two decades of fantasy.

So, I said, “No. Neither. I just—I just
want
you to this crazy degree, Dane. But I know you’re leaving town soon, and my daughter will be coming back home in no time. And I don’t know. My body and my head are at war, both trying to deal with the reality of you.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

His expression froze and he betrayed no emotion, at least none I could read. “What makes you so sure I’m leaving?”

I squinted at him then pointed at his hand. “Well, right now you’re holding your car keys and standing at the front door. I thought it was a logical deduction. Plus, you told me so.”

“No, I mean, what makes you so sure I’m leaving town?”

“Because you told me that, too, Dane. Remember? You’re planning to go to New York City for a few days and then back to L.A. in August to shoot a film.”

“Well, plans can change.” He tossed his keys to the floor and strode back to where I was standing. “I want you to a crazy degree, too.”

“I…really? I mean, earlier you’d told me that you didn’t think we should—”

“Seriously, Julia? I’m an actor. I lied.”

I got as far as saying, “Oh,” before he started kissing me again. Passionately kissing me, in a way that signaled he wouldn’t be stopping until we weren’t wearing anything and it was tomorrow morning.

I broke away for a breath. Also, I suddenly needed to think. Switching gears like this threw me. It was one thing to fantasize in the privacy of my mind about stripping off Dane’s clothes and getting down to business. It was another to realize it could begin happening in, like, under a minute.

I hadn’t slept with anyone but Adam in over twelve years. What if, when we got to the big moment, I wasn’t ready after all? What if I disappointed Dane?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What else did you lie about?”

He grinned. “I was worried admitting that fib to you would bite me in the ass.”

“Then why did you tell it?”

“Because it was the right thing to say. You know it was.”

I pondered his words. “What else would you lie about just because it sounded like a better line than the truth?”

“Julia, I know you know I’m an actor, but you don’t understand it, do you? Acting isn’t just a profession. It’s a way of being. Most actors don’t
choose
this. We
are
this.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that playing a role becomes a way of life. We’re aware of ourselves as characters in any given situation and at any time. Switching between parts is instinctive. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to tap into our real selves or be honest about our genuine motivations in the midst of a world of potential roles. It just takes concentration and a good reason to do it.”

I nodded at him and took a few steps back. I was in way over my head with this guy, and I knew it. “I just realized I’m very thirsty and need a drink. Want one?”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t move from his spot. He crossed his arms and trained his blue eyes on me with a half contemplative, half amused look—like the military sniper he’d played in that one indie film,
Dead Man’s Will
.

“Great,” I said. “Mine’s going to have alcohol in it.” A lot of alcohol. “I can go lighter on yours, though. Since you’ll be driving…later.”

“You’re adorable.” He flashed one of his trademark grins at me. “I won’t be driving anytime soon. Unless you kick me out.” He paused. “Are you planning to kick me out?”

“No,” I said. “But plans can change.”

He laughed. “Touché.” Then he walked with me into the kitchen, put his arms around my shoulders, and whispered, “Relax. I know we just did a 180. Fast enough to make us both a little lightheaded. Let’s have a drink. We can slow it down a bit.”

I grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cabinet and orange juice from the fridge and made screwdrivers that were one part juice, three parts lighter fluid.

Dane took a sip of his and then cough-laughed. “You reversed the proportions there, eh?” He took another sip and shook his head.

“Maybe.” I downed about half of mine, hoping the increased quantity would made the potion take effect faster.

Dane studied me. “Where’s your bedroom?”

I guzzled a little more of my slightly orange-flavored vodka. “I don’t want to go in there.”

“Okay. Where
do
you want to go?”

“Almost anywhere else in the house.”

He ventured another sip of his drink then pointed toward the Persian rug in the middle of the living room.

I considered this. “Nice tight weave, but carpet burn is a real possibility.”

He pointed to the top of the polished mahogany dining-room table.

I considered this, too. “Surprisingly spacious, but clearly not a soft surface. If you have any back issues at all, well…”

He laughed openly at that. “Any guest bedrooms? Sofa sleepers?”

“There is a guest room, but the walls are this really nauseatingly ugly apricot color.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited for me to continue.

“Um…and there’s a pullout sofa bed in the house. It’s in the basement, though. There might be some stuff on it. Old blankets. Maybe a spider or two.”

Dane set his drink down on the counter, reached for mine, and placed it deliberately in the spot next to his. Then he held out his hand to me. “Take me to it. I’m not afraid of a few spiders, but I am afraid I’ll combust if I don’t get to finally lay down beside you.”

I put my hand in his and silently led him down a flight of stairs and to our mostly finished basement.

Sure enough, there were a stack of ratty old blankets on one side of the sofa. A couple of Milton-Bradley board games were on the other. And though I couldn’t immediately locate any arachnids, I knew there had to be a bunch nearby.

Dane surveyed the space. It was cluttered with bags filled with Analise’s old toys, a few boxes of Adam’s medical-school textbooks, and a handful of infrequently used houseware items.

“Oh, that’s where I’d stashed the crock pot,” I murmured.

“Did you want to stop everything and throw together a quick stew? We’ll probably be starving when it’s ready…in about six hours,” Dane said, smirking.

“Watch it, or I’ll actually go back upstairs and do it.”

“I am watching,” he said, his gaze undressing me, one article of clothing at a time.

I swallowed and struggled to get a full breath. The odor in the basement was vaguely musty. I should have tried to air it out somehow, I supposed, but we’d never spent much time down here as a family. Right now, that was a very good thing. The place didn’t hold the jumble of bittersweet memories that the rest of the house did.