The Opposite of Wild (17 page)

Liz raised her eyebrows. The likelihood of Rachel going home with someone from a club was zero.

“What?” Rachel asked. “We’re single and carefree. Thirty is the year o’ fun.” She twirled a finger in the air.

Liz decided to take that as a small measure of enthusiasm. “You know what? You’re right. If we can’t have fun now, then when? I don’t want to wait until I’m in my seventies like Maggie did.”

Rachel put up a hand for a high-five. “
Veni, vidi, vici
!”

“Please, I can’t keep all the Latin straight.”

“We came, we saw, we won!”

On that note, Liz enthusiastically slapped five.

~ ~ ~

The next morning Liz stopped by Garner’s for an egg-white omelet, and who was sitting there drinking coffee at a front window table but Ryan. She could only see the back of his head, but she’d memorized its shape years ago. This was the second time she’d seen him in Garner’s in a week. As far as she knew, he hadn’t been there since returning to town, preferring not to deal with all the nosy gossip hounds that frequented the place.

She passed him quickly, pretending not to notice him, still so embarrassed about yesterday and the way she ran off. She took a seat at a table for two in the back corner and opened a menu in front of her face.

The chair in front of her scraped across the floor. “Can I join you?” Ryan asked.

“Sure,” she squeaked, putting down the menu.

Ryan took a seat with his coffee. This couldn’t be a coincidence. He must want to see her if he kept showing up at Garner’s.

“What’s good?” he asked.

“I like the egg-white omelet.”

He made a face and picked up a menu. “Hasn’t changed, has it? Except for all the heart-healthy items. Eggs and hash browns it is.”

“The hash browns are fried and fatty.”
Why did I say that?
His health choices weren’t her concern. She gripped the napkin tightly in her lap, her cheeks burning.

“Perfect.” He studied her a moment and lowered his voice. “Yesterday was—”

“Don’t say it was a mistake!” At the surprised look on his face, she barreled on. “Because it wasn’t. Okay?”

His mouth quirked. “Okay.” He glanced at her mouth, then met her eyes. “So you liked that?”

Her face flamed. “Let’s not talk about it.”

The waiter came and took their order.

“For someone that doesn’t want to have dinner with me, you’ve had lunch and now breakfast,” he said. “How about dinner tonight?”

“I can’t. Rachel and I are going to a club.”

“You and Rachel at a club.” He smiled at the thought.

“Yes, me and Rachel at a club. It’s not unheard of for single women to go to clubs for some fun.”

“You gonna hook up with someone?” he asked huskily. His eyes were hot on hers. They promised what he could do for her. To her.

“No. I don’t know.” Flustered, she smoothed her hair and pushed it over her ears. “Maybe.”

“Uh-huh. Call me after.” He sipped his coffee.

After I hook up with someone? After I’m done at the club?
He always left her on edge like this, unsure what to say or do. And Rachel’s advice just didn’t hold. She couldn’t very well get naked at her parents’ restaurant to show she was interested.

“Okay?” he prompted.

“Okay, I’ll call you.”

“Or just come over.” His eyes promised more.

It all became clear in that moment. She bit her lip, unwilling to promise anything she might not have the nerve to go through with.

“Maybe,” she said.

“I’ll take a maybe,” he said, placing his warm, large hand on top of hers.

Warmth spread through her.

The waiter arrived with her omelet, and she snatched her hand back. She waited for his food to arrive.

“Go ahead and eat,” he said.

But she couldn’t. Between the nerves and his intense eyes, she thought she might be sick. She took a sip of water instead.

“You feeling okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re not gonna get sick on me?”

She studied him. Did he remember that time when she had? Twice? He watched her, patiently waiting for her answer, no telltale sign of recognition.

She smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine. See?” She took a bite of omelet, and it was fantastic.

Chapter Sixteen

Liz walked into Twenty-One and did an about-face.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. She’d worn contacts and pulled her usual braid loose, her dark brown hair falling to her shoulders in waves. Her look was new, as was her outfit—an off-the-shoulder white peasant top with a tight black leather skirt and black spiked heels.

“I think it’s called Twenty-One for a reason,” Liz said. “We’re the oldest ones here.”

“Oh, stop.” Rachel pushed past her.

Liz followed, taking in the young, barely twenty-one-year-old girls writhing on the dance floor. “See?”

Most of the girls wore halter tops, the better to show off their belly-button piercings. The club had a DJ on a raised stage at the far end, with the bass blasting so loud she could feel her eardrums vibrating. To her left, a huge mahogany bar. To her right, long white sofas, white chairs, and tiny round pedestal tables. And in the huge center space, half-naked dancing nymphs.

“I don’t know about this,” Liz said, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her capris.

Rachel reached over and untucked Liz’s sleeveless white button-down shirt from her pants. “Loosen up. Let’s hit the bar.”

No problem. She could loosen up if she just made a little effort.

Besides, her shirt could be worn either way. She just preferred the tidy look of having it tucked with a thin belt. But tonight was for fun.

She approached the bar with Rachel and ordered a chardonnay.

“Nope,” the bartender, a twenty-something guy with spiky hair and arms completely covered in tattoos, said. “Beer or mixed drinks.”

“We’ll take two beers, whatever you have on tap,” Rachel said.

Shoot
. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the taste of beer; she just stuck with wine because it had a lower calorie content.
But you’re done with counting calories
, she reminded herself.

Rachel took her drink, handed one to Liz, and chugged. She’d never seen Rachel chug. Of course, she’d never seen Rachel wear a leather skirt with spiked heels either. She was
serious
about finding fun. Liz decided just to hold her drink. She’d be the designated driver.

“Should we dance?” Liz asked. It was mostly women on the dance floor. A lot of guys stood around the dance floor, watching the women, except for one very talented hip-hop dancer.

“Let’s sit,” Rachel said. “These heels are killing me just from the walk over.”

They found a white chair and matching ottoman and took those seats next to a crowded sofa with two men in suits and two women in short skirts and halter tops. Liz tapped her foot in time to the music.

“How ya doing?” Rachel asked loudly, pitching her voice over the music.

“Fine,” Liz answered, but Rachel was looking past her to the two men in suits. The women next to them had left.
Geez, not those guys
. They looked so geeky. And who wore a suit to a club?

The tall, wiry one stood and crossed to Rachel. His friend, a chubby blond guy with his hair parted neatly to the side, eagerly joined them.

“Buy you a drink?” Tall Guy asked Rachel.

“Sure!” Rachel agreed cheerfully. “Two more beers.”

Liz shook her head. “None for me.”

Tall Guy left to get the beer.

“I’m Wes,” his friend said, sticking out his hand for Liz to shake.

“Liz,” she answered, shaking his hand. “This is Rachel.”

Rachel smiled and gave her an exaggerated wink.

I will not be having “fun” with Wes tonight
, she telepathically messaged to Rachel with a scorching look.

“Haven’t seen you lovely ladies here before,” Wes said with an eager smile.

“First time,” Rachel sang.

“Twenty-One virgins.” Wes waggled his eyebrows. “We’ll have to show you the ropes.”

Liz stuck her finger down her throat when Wes turned his back to her. Rachel giggled.

Tall Guy returned with a beer for Rachel, which she began to chug. Liz reached out and stopped her. “Slow down.” The glass was already half empty.

“Liquid courage,” Rachel whispered. She turned to Tall Guy. “I’m Rachel.”

“Mark,” he answered. “Really nice to meet you, Rachel.”

Rachel smiled, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Liz stiffened in shock. Rachel never, ever kissed someone she’d just met.

Wes turned to her. “Looks like they hit it off. How about you and I—”

“I have a boyfriend.”
The pretend one I pull out whenever I need him
.

He nodded and rocked back on his heels. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“Accountant. We’re both accountants.” He gestured to Mark. “Work at the same firm, Angelo, Drake, and Valardi. Heard of them?”

“No.”

“Well, they’re pretty well known.”

An awkward silence fell. Except for the ear-rupturing relentless club music.

They looked over at their friends. Rachel and Mark had moved into some tongue action.

“Maybe we could dance,” Liz said loudly.

Rachel and Mark broke apart. “Sure,” Rachel said, leading Mark onto the dance floor. Liz and Wes followed. Liz did a little shaking shoulder move. The thrumming, pulsing beat was too fast for her usual dance moves. Wes did the Running Man in front of her, his blond hair bouncing up and down.

She glanced to her side, where Rachel was dirty dancing with Mark, their pelvises grinding together.

Liz snapped her attention in the general direction of Wes, focusing on a spot over his head.

Rachel was as good as her word. She’d said she was going to have fun with someone, and she did. After they finished grinding on the dance floor, she and Mark headed for a dark corner to make out. Memories of high school dances flashed back to Liz, the many times she got to witness other couples making out while she hoped someone would seek her out.

Wes was not going to be that someone.

By midnight, Liz had had it. Wes had tired of her an hour before and sought out a more agreeable woman. Her ears were ringing from the loud music, her feet were tired, and she couldn’t take one more minute of watching Rachel swapping spit with Mark.

Liz spoke sharply. “Rachel, it’s time to go.”

Slowly, Rachel pulled away. Her cheeks were flushed with lust and alcohol, and she didn’t take her eyes off Mark. “I’m not ready.”

“Well, I’m driving,” Liz said, “and we have to go. It’s late.”

“I could drive you,” Mark offered.

“He could drive me,” Rachel said, turning to look at Liz, her eyes glassy.

No way was she leaving Rachel like this, drunk and ready to jump the first accountant she met. “Tonight’s my turn to drive.”

“Okay,” Rachel said. She gave Mark a quick kiss on the cheek. “Call me.” She hung onto Liz’s arm as Liz worked her way through the densely packed bodies in the hazy smoke left over from the fog machine. She took a breath of clean, cool night air when they hit the sidewalk. The small city felt absolutely silent compared to the nonstop club music still pumping out onto the sidewalk.

Rachel headed down the sidewalk in the wrong direction, and Liz ran to stop her. “This way,” she said, turning her friend around. “So you had fun tonight, huh?”

“Yup. I sure did.”

They walked to the parking lot. Liz enjoyed the silence while Rachel just smiled goofily and walked none too steadily toward the car. They got in, and Liz pulled out of the lot.

“I can’t close my eyes,” Rachel said. “The car keeps spinning.”

Oh, no. She’s going to barf in my clean car
. “Keep your eyes open.”

She headed back toward home. Rachel was quiet, looking out the window. After a minute, she said, “Do you think he’ll call me?”

“I do.”

Rachel giggled. “I forgot to give him my number.”

“He could just look you up.”

“I don’t know his last name. I don’t think he knows mine.” Rachel powered her window down and leaned her head out like a dog. “Universe, if it’s meant to be, give me a sign!”

“I know where he works,” Liz offered.

Rachel whipped her head around. “You do?” Her voice hit a high note of excitement.

“Angelo, Drake, and Valardi. It’s an accounting firm.”

Rachel pulled out her cell and Googled it. A moment later, she said, “Mark Valardi joined his wife Lee Angelo at the firm as a partner shortly after their marriage…” She leaned her head out the window. “That’s a sign! Thank you, Universe!”

Liz stopped at a red light and gave her friend a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

Rachel smacked her forehead. “I have terrible taste in men.”

“To be fair, you weren’t thinking straight the way you were chugging beers.”

“Thanks, Liz. You’re an awesome friend. Pull over. I’m gonna hurl.”

Liz pulled over and put the hazard lights on. Rachel leaped out of the car, ran to some bushes, and tossed her cookies. Liz shook her head. So much for Clubbing Liz and Rachel. It just wasn’t their scene.

After she’d tucked Rachel into bed at her apartment above the bookstore, she found herself too wound up to go home. Without giving herself a chance to think too hard, she made the short drive to Ryan’s house. He’d said she could come over. She pulled into his driveway and checked her cell—1:02 a.m. Maybe she should have called. She stood at his front door and called his cell. One, two, three rings…

“O’Hare,” he answered sleepily.

“It’s Liz. I’m here.”

“Be right down.”

A few moments later, he opened the front door, wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else. This was way better than accountant Wes. All that golden tanned skin, sculpted muscles, the way he filled out those jeans. Heat pooled through her body.

“Hello,” he said warmly. His eyes lit with anticipation.

This was it. Time for her to show her interest. Rachel said all she had to do was get naked.

“I’m not into accountants,” she announced, stepping inside the foyer and unbuttoning her shirt.