Authors: Allison Morgan
“It’s designed to have all the commodities of daily life, while encompassing the changing future,” Campbell says. “We incorporate extensive use of green technology along with xeriscaping, thus reducing our draw on the desert’s crucial water supply. We’re quite pleased with the project.”
The estimated cost of the project is $110 million. The complex is expected to open with a ribbon-cutting ceremony early next month.
“Impressive write-up, don’t you think?” Evan asks as he cuts into the pizza I picked up on my way home.
I say nothing, fold up the
Arizona Republic
, and peel olives off my slice. “Where is Wes, anyway?” I try not to let on that his name pricks me like a cactus.
“The Patriots are playing tonight. He’s watching the game with some of the City Core engineers.”
“A game?” I perk up. “We should do that.” At a different bar, of course. An entirely different bar. One far, far away from Wes. “C’mon, let’s go have some fun.”
“Not tonight. There’s a pile of RSVPs we need to sort through on the kitchen counter, and then I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep.”
“Right.” I pause, then say, “You know, I was thinking, Rudy has coed classes. Maybe you’d want to come sometime?”
He blots the corners of his mouth with his napkin and looks at me. “I don’t like you doing it. Why would I want to?”
“How about skydiving or horseback riding, or maybe we can rent Jet-Skis on Tempe Town Lake?” I sound desperate.
C’mon, Evan. Something. Something fun together.
“What’s with you? Are these ideas from that jar?”
“No. I just thought we could step out of our box, try something new.”
He eyes the Scrabble board, pushed aside to make room for the pizza box. “How about we finish our game?”
“No, that’s all right.” I stack olives on top of one another. They wobble and fall over. One rolls off my plate toward the newspaper article. “Evan, how well do you
really
know Wes? He seems rather arrogant, don’t you think?”
“Arrogant? That’s not how I’d describe him at all. He’s probably the most modest man I know. He’s incredibly respected in the architectural arena, yet doesn’t brag about it.”
“I’m surprised you invited him to stay with us.” I add a sixth olive to my rebuilt stack.
“It’s the least we could do.”
“This girl, Julie, are they close?”
“Well, I’d hope so. She’s a lovely young woman. I think she’s an elementary school teacher.”
She’s sweet
and
admirable. Ugh.
I flick my olives.
Damn that Wes for getting me all worked up. Who does he think he is, sneaking up on me, questioning my whereabouts and motivations? I’m crazy about Evan. Yes, we’ve disagreed a couple times lately. Big deal. Doesn’t every couple?
I glance at my fiancé and recall Wes’s words: “Isn’t Evan fun?” Yes, he is. I’ll prove it. What would Wes think of this?
I grab Evan’s fork and toss it on the table. I push his plate aside.
“Lanie?”
With my eyes seductively fixed on his, I straddle myself across his lap and kiss him hard on the mouth.
He murmurs, wraps his arms around me, and returns my kiss.
This is good. Yes, very good. This is exactly what we need. No question. This is fun. This will squelch the minor squabbles we’ve had.
My gorgeous fiancé kisses my neck. His lips trace along my skin, teasing with his touch, and it feels, well, it feels . . . fine. I mean, it doesn’t feel
bad
. I’m just not in the mood, I guess. I’m sure I will be. Any minute. I’m sure to get all gloppy and turned on by his wandering hands.
I shove aside the pizza box, knocking Scrabble letters off
the racks, and climb onto the table’s edge. With a tug on his belt loop, I pull him close.
“Lanie, what’s gotten into you?” He leans toward me and his lips playfully tug on my earlobe.
Any minute now.
I fold my legs around his hips, arch my back, and push myself into him.
Nothing.
Focus, Lanie. Focus. You started this. Isn’t this what you want?
I wrap my arms around his neck and concentrate. His body presses against mine and his warm breath breezes across my cheek. His hands caress the shape of me.
Patriots fan, huh? Typical. It’s easy to be a fan of a consistently winning team. Try being a Cardinals fan. That takes grit, endurance, and years of disappointment. Where does Wes get off following me into Lucinda’s, squeezing my forearms, and smelling so—knock it off, Lanie. Pay attention to Evan. Who cares what Wes thinks?
Determined to jump-start the fireworks, I unbutton my shirt and slink it off my arms, letting it fall onto the table. Slowly, and with approval in Evan’s eyes, I slide each bra strap off my shoulder, then reach behind and unclasp the hook. My lace bra drops from my fingers. Cool air tickles my nipples as I post my arms behind me and lean back, fully exposed to Evan. Let the games begin.
The front door swings open.
Wes walks in.
“Aagh!” I clutch my chest and hop off the table, scrambling for my clothes.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
My dumb-ass bra strap is caught on the chair and I yank it, hard. After a painfully embarrassing few seconds—which feels like days—it
snaps free. I bang into the table, and the pizza box falls on the floor.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” Wes says, shielding his face with his hand. He turns around, bumping into a picture hanging on the wall. “Fuck, sorry. I should’ve knocked. I’ll come back later.”
I don’t hear Evan’s reply because my half-naked and fully humiliated body races up the stairs. It hits me then and there. I do care what Wes thinks. That makes me run even faster.
I dashed out of the house before Wes woke with hopes that when he did, he’d suffer from a severe case of dementia and forget he saw me half naked. Honestly, how am I supposed to look him in the eye ever again?
With a stack of listing documents in my arms, I walk toward the office door and notice Maria, the soft, round, sweet Mexican woman with broken English and zebra-print press-on nails who stops by every couple of weeks selling the best homemade tamales in all of Phoenix, standing on the curb in front of her car.
“Everything okay, Maria?”
“
Hola
, Miss Lanie.” She points at her car. “I deliver my tamales, then find tire flat like pancake. This lovely man pull up and offer to help.”
“What lovely man?”
Wes stands.
Oh, God.
My breath catches and I take half a step back. My knees
threaten to buckle from the crushing weight of my embarrassment.
“Hi, Lanie.” He brushes off his hands. He wears a crisp white shirt that floats over his stomach and contrasts with his tan skin but matches his teeth as he offers his familiar half smile. “Got a jack? Maria doesn’t. Nor does my rental.” He thumbs toward the Dodge Charger behind him.
“Are you sure you no mind?” Maria asks Wes.
“Not at all. It’ll only take a minute.” Wes rolls up his sleeves and nods toward my car. “Jack?”
I stare back at Wes, full of conflicting emotions. I was mad at him for fooling me at the airport. Furious for following me into Lucinda’s last night. Mortified at home. And now, he’s so nice to Maria. I don’t know what to feel.
Naked. He saw me naked.
Mortified. That’s how I feel. “In the trunk,” I manage.
He finds the jack and lug wrench, then crouches down beside Maria’s tire.
She steps close to me and whispers, “He’s very cute, Miss Lanie.”
With swift moves and flexing forearms, Wes hoists the jack and effortlessly removes each nut, lining them up in a row on the pavement.
“How you learn this so well?” Maria asks.
I’m curious myself. Evan would call a tow truck. Or buy a new car.
“My grandpa had a tire shop in Savannah.” Wes spins the tire freely until it plops into his hands. “My brother and I spent a few summers there as kids. Worked at Grandpa’s shop during the day and chased the farm girls at night.”
He winks at Maria.
She blushes.
I clutch my papers closer.
“When we’d get a full set, Wade, my brother, and I, would race. We’d each pull two tires and see who could swap them the fastest.” He pauses to laugh. “I’ve never had more bloody knuckles in my life.”
Instinctively, I glance at my sore hands.
“He older than you?” Maria asks.
“No, a year and a half younger.” Wes rests the bad tire against the curb and reaches for the spare. “This one time, we got so caught up in trying to beat each other, one of us forgot to tighten the lug nuts on the rear tire of a Chevy pickup. Neither could remember who did it.”
“Uh-oh,” Maria says.
“The poor guy got a quarter mile down the road before his tire fell off and rolled into a ditch half filled with cow shit.” Wes quickly corrects, glancing at Maria. “Pardon my language. Manure.”
“Shit,” Maria says. “Go on.”
Wes laughs. “Well, Grandpa was livid, to say the least. He made Wade and me get the tire and roll it all the way to the shop. Then he made us stay at the garage all night long, loosening and tightening lug nuts on his tow truck, over and over. No food. No shower.”
“No girls either, eh?” Maria teases.
“Not a one. That shit stench stuck for so long, no girl came near us for weeks.”
Maria lets out a long laugh.
I can’t help but giggle.
“You’re all set.” Wes lowers the jack and again brushes off
his soiled hands with a towel Maria provided. “You should get a new tire on here soon. Want me to follow you to a station?”
“Honey, I gave birth to five kids. If that didn’t kill me, then neither will the drive to a tire shop. Now, how can I thank you?”
He eyes the basket of tamales on her front seat. “How about one of those?”
“Yes, of course.” Maria hurries toward the passenger seat and stuffs three tamales into Wes’s hands. She plants a juicy kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick imprint. “Thank you, Mr. Wes.”
“My pleasure.”
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” Maria assures me, and waves good-bye.
Wes returns my jack, then moves beside me.
I swallow hard, more self-conscious than a sixteen-year-old on a first date. I can’t look him in the eye.
Naked.
“Evan’s probably wondering where I am. I better get inside.”
“Right.” Wes holds the door open and I walk past him. He heads into the restroom only to step toward my desk a minute later.
Not even a bra.
“Listen, Lanie. I think we got started on the wrong foot. Maybe it was insensitive of me not to reveal who I was at the bar, and though I don’t understand why you were at a singles hot spot yesterday, I wasn’t following you. I’m not a spy for Evan’s parents. There’s no familial covert operation.”
“Well, that’s good to know. For the record, I wasn’t there to meet guys. Evan and I have a great relationship.”
“From what I saw last night, I gathered.”
My cheeks flush hot. “Let’s not talk about that. Ever. I hope
you finally believe me. I didn’t mean what I said about Evan at the bar.”
“I do believe you. I always have.”
Not knowing what else to do, I open my desk drawer and reach for a nail file.
“You know, you could thank me,” he says.
“Thank you? What for?”
“I kept you from dying, remember?”
“Oh, that.” I wave the file nonchalantly.
He slides his hands in his pockets. “You’re lucky my ninjalike reflexes kicked into gear and saved your ass.”
I press my lips together, hiding my smile. “Ninja?”
“You heard me.”
“Fine. I’m grateful for all you did, but still, you could’ve told me who you were. Why didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “You threw me for a loop.”
“Me?”
“I wasn’t expecting someone like you. I’ve met one or two of Evan’s girlfriends over the years and well, they were different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I never paid much attention, but you know, the done-up nails, fake tans, smiles pasted on. That sort of thing.”
“Like Paige?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m nothing like that sort of girl.”
His eyes meet mine. “That’s the point.”
“What’s going on?” Evan asks as he walks from his office. “What are you two so deep in discussion about?”
I back away from Wes and blurt, “We, uh, we’re discussing
whether the Cardinals should start with two or three wide receivers.”
Evan laughs. “Good luck debating Lanie. She’s something.”
“Indeed she is.” Wes’s phone rings and he steps away.
“Paige and I are going over the house plans in my office. Join us?”
“Oh, I didn’t even know she was here.”
“Yes, for a while now. You coming?” He thumbs toward his office.
“Certainly. Give me a minute to forward the septic certification to the title company.” I pat a nearby file. “They’re waiting on it to close escrow.”
“Excellent. What about the Murphys? Have they called to schedule an appointment?”
“Not yet.”
He rubs his temples. “I’m losing sleep over this, Lanie. Do you appreciate what’s at stake here?”
Yes, my promotion.
“They’ll call soon.”
“Keep on them. I think I’ve made it clear how much I want this listing.”
“And I want to be named broker.”
“We’re equally motivated.” Evan smiles at me. He catches Wes’s eye across the room and motions toward his office.
A minute later, Wes joins me by the copy machine. We stand inches apart. “How about we call a truce? If you and I are going to live together for the next couple of weeks, we need to get along. For Evan’s sake.”
I press random buttons on the machine to buy some time. For the past few days, I’ve envisioned Wes devoured by tiger sharks or spontaneously combusting into flames—well, not
really—but now, something about his smile and considerate nature softens my reserve. Wes seems genuine. Truth be told,
I
was the drunk idiot at the airport and
I
was the one caught at a singles’ meeting. How could he not be skeptical? Not that I’ll admit this, of course.
“Fine. I will no longer poke pins into my Wes voodoo doll.”
“So that’s why my neck hurts.” He offers his hand. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
We shake hands and his shirt, with a small grease smudge on the upper sleeve, stretches tight across his shoulders. Only for a moment do I wonder how he looks without it on.
Paige laughs, grabbing our attention.
“They’re discussing the house. We should probably get in there.”
“After you.” Wes moves out of my way and I walk around him, aware of my every step.
Evan and Paige aren’t discussing the house. They stand beside his bookcase. A deep purple satin scarf peeks from behind the lapels of her well-fitted jacket. She looks brilliant in white tailored pants that reveal neither panty lines nor unsightly ass-dimples.
Kit’s right. We hate her.
“Hi, Lanie.”
Evan holds a picture frame in his hands. I know the picture. I’ve dusted it countless times. Evan poses knee deep in a river with waist-high yellow waders and a salmon in his hand during a recent fishing trip to Alaska. He hated the trip. Not much of an outdoorsman, he complained of mosquito bites and lack of quality bedding at the lodge. Who gets adequate rest on mere three-hundred-fifty thread count sheets? A client
with a medical complex in escrow invited Evan and, with a pending commission, he couldn’t say no.
“Anyway.” He returns to Paige. “I panicked.”
“What did you do?” Her tone implies they’re discussing a bloody grizzly attack and not a defenseless salmon the length of a Subway sandwich.
“Well, while this fish floundered inside my waders—” Evan points toward his pants. “It’s powerful—”
Paige tilts her head. “I can imagine.”
Oh, please.
“I try to scramble out of my waders, but this fish thrashes so much it throws me off balance, I lose my footing on a slippery river rock, and I fall face-first into the river.”
“You didn’t.” Paige covers her gaping mouth.
“But I will not let this fish get away.”
“No?”
“No. The salmon swims up and out of my pants. I bear-hug it. It flails and twists, but I hold it steady, squeezing tight while I call for help. Finally, after what felt like hours, the boat captain rushes over with a net and I drop the fish into it. That”—he sets the frame on the shelf—“is my fish story.
Paige rests her hands on Evan’s forearm and throws her head back in laughter. “Evan, that’s hilarious.”
He notices me in the doorway. “There you are. Come join us.”
“Oh, if I may.” Paige glances apologetically at Evan, then returns to me. “Lanie, be a doll and get me something to drink.” She taps her throat. “I’m parched.”
“Uh, sure. Tea? Coffee? Lots and lots of cream?” I say the last word louder as if the mere sound alone will instantly glop cellulite onto her ridiculously toned thighs.
“Never,” she says, stunned. “Water, please.”
When I return a moment later with Paige’s drink, she stands across the desk from Evan and beside Wes, each bent over the unrolled set of plans. I step beside Evan, the plans upside down from our view, and hand Paige her water.
“You’re an angel.” After taking a sip, she sets the glass on a coaster Evan provides, digs into her purse, and pulls out several five-by-five-inch stained samples of wood. She holds a couple in her hand and scatters the others on the plans. “We really should decide on the cabinets before selecting the granite or paint. This step is crucial as it sets everything in motion, not to mention the atmosphere of the entire home.”
“I’ve narrowed between the cherry and the walnut.” Evan reaches for the two wood squares.
“Cherry will look fantastic with that sandalwood granite we saw the other day,” she says to Evan.
“What other day?” I ask.
“You were showing that commercial lot on Thomas when Paige called. Good thing I didn’t bother you to come, as they wrote a solid offer. Remember?” Evan winks at me, then continues his discussion with Paige. “I do especially like the movement in that slab. It has an appealing seductive flow.”
“I totally agree.” Paige smiles at Evan. “There’s a smooth sexiness to it.”
They’re still talking about countertops, right?
Neither one looks at me. Even Wes scribbles notes on the plan’s edge. It’s like I’m not even here. Isn’t this my house, too? Why isn’t anyone asking me about granite or cabinets? I have thoughts and suggestions.
Here I am, sitting on the sidelines. As usual. Letting others
control my life. This is raspberry filling again. No more. It’s a new me. I uncorked my Someday Jar, dammit!
I grab a light, clean-looking wood sample propped against her purse. “I like this one. It’s very smart and contemporary with the straight lines and simple markings.”
“Oh, Lanie, you’re precious,” Paige says.
Evan grasps the sample and taps it a couple times with his index finger. “This is the backside.” He flips over the square and reveals the espresso-stained side. He drops it back into my hands.
“I knew that.” Damn. Why didn’t I know that?
“Anyway—” Paige waves her hand. “Moving on.”
Before I strangle myself with Paige’s scarf, Hollis walks in the front door, saving me. Never have I been more excited to see the man, especially since there is color to his cheeks.
“Lifeguard drowns at
own
pool party,” he says, and we embrace.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “So awful.”
He hands me a candy cane and says, “I need to discuss that market analysis you gave us, but can I trouble you for a tissue?”
“No trouble at all. I’ll just be a second.” My body flutters with excitement. Hollis may be one step closer to listing his house.
I poke my head into Evan’s office. “Mr. Murphy is here.”