What Looks Like Crazy (7 page)

“Even the guys at the station felt bad for me.”

“I was angry as hell at the time, okay? Stark fear has a way of doing that to you.” We stared at each other. I suddenly recalled him standing in the parking lot that day, yelping as I backed away and accusing me of running over his foot. It hadn't been humorous then, but now I choked back a sudden laugh.

“You think that's funny?” he said, although he looked amused as well.

I realized I was a little tipsy. “I'm really sorry, Jay. I had no idea.”

“Thank you for your apology, Katie. It only took you five and a half months.”

“You've been waiting all this time for
me
to apologize to
you
?” I said in disbelief.

Someone accidentally bumped me from behind, and I struggled to stay atop my stiletto heels. Jay caught me. His hand at my waist sent shivers through me.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said. But I wasn't fine. I was dizzy, and I needed food. Any idiot knows you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. Plus my feet hurt. I should have examined my own head for buying four-inch whore heels to begin with. How was I supposed to make my grand exit and leave Jay wanting me if I couldn't walk?

I searched the crowd, which had doubled in size in a matter of minutes. “I have to find Mona,” I said.

“You'll never make it across the room in those high heels, Katie-Lee. You'll fall flat on your face, and everybody will see your undies.”

This was my cue. I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Uh-oh,” I said.

Jay met my gaze. “Don't tell me you're not wearing panties.”

“It's a thong,” I whispered conspiratorially, and had the pleasure of watching his jaw go slack.

“Oh, hell,” he said.

Our gazes locked, and I was pretty sure I caught a look of unbridled desire in his eyes. But the moment was ruined when my stomach growled so loudly that a woman nearby turned and looked at me as if I had just passed gas. I was on the verge of intoxication, and if I didn't eat soon, I was going to pass out. “I have to leave now,” I said, feeling less like a temptress and more like Wimp-Woman. “I don't feel so great.”

I must've sounded desperate, because Jay suddenly looked concerned. “I'll take you wherever you want to go. My SUV is close by.”

Mona was nowhere to be seen. “I guess so,” I said. I took a deep breath and tucked my arm through his to steady myself.

“Can you make it to the door?” he asked.

I nodded, and we moved slowly in that direction. A waiter paused and offered us hors d'oeuvres from a tray. I grabbed a fistful of cheese cubes and ignored the stunned look on his face.

At the door, I glanced over my shoulder, searching the crowd once more. I found Mona and caught her eye. She looked from me to Jay and back at me, then gave me the thumbs-up sign. Behind her, my mother and aunt were grinning and doing high fives.

A blast of hot air hit me as Jay and I stepped outside. True to his word, we didn't have far to walk.

Inside his black SUV, he turned the air on high. I aimed a vent at my face and wolfed down the cheese.

Jay watched me. “You must be really hungry.” He reached into the backseat and handed me a bottle of water.

I took a long drink. “I'm okay now,” I said.

“Great.” He smiled.

I smiled back.

He put the gear into drive. “Where to, Katie?” he asked. “Your place or mine?”

 

When I opened
my eyes, it was morning and I was in Jay's bed, naked as the day I was born.
Hell's bells!
I'd gone and slept with my soon-to-be-ex-husband! I'd let a little bit of champagne and a whole lot of lust override good common sense.

I sat bolt upright in the bed. The sun was bright coming through the twelve-foot windows of the loft. I checked the alarm clock.
Eight thirty
! I tried to think. Mr. Lewey was due in at nine. I specifically remembered him calling on Friday, asking if he could see me.

I heard the shower running in the bathroom and scrambled from the bed. I had no desire to face Jay Rush, not after how we'd spent the evening. I'm almost sure some of what we did was still illegal in certain states.

I yanked my dress from the floor, pulled it over my head, and searched for my thong. Where the hell was my thong? I checked the covers and looked beneath the bed, then raced from the room, trying to make as little sound as possible.

The place looked much the same as it had when I'd lived there. The building had once served as a mill and was converted to lofts in the late nineties. The brick walls, wood floors, and twenty-foot ceilings, not to mention Jay's masculine furniture, had given the place a stark look that I'd softened with slipcovers, shaggy rugs, and window treatments after I'd moved in.

I did not see my thong. My high heels were still lying beside the front door, where I'd kicked them off when I'd come through the night before; beside them lay my small evening bag. I grabbed both.

Damn, damn, damn!
Where was my thong? I started for the bedroom once again, only to hear Jay shut off the shower. I did an about-face and ran on tiptoes to the front door. I turned the dead bolt, slid the chain free, and ran out.

Once I was on the sidewalk out front, it hit me: I had no cell phone to call a cab. I slipped on my stilettos and started down the sidewalk as quickly as I could. In the parking lot next to the building, I saw a woman and a young girl getting out of a car. I hurried over.

I didn't recognize the woman, but she could have been a new tenant. “Excuse me,” I said, noting her arched brows and the way she pulled her daughter closer as I neared them. “Do you happen to have a cell phone on you?”

The woman hesitated.

“Mommy, is that lady a hooker?” the little girl asked.

The woman turned stricken eyes to her daughter. “Where did you learn that word?” she demanded. “That is
not
a word we use in our family.”

“I'm just a regular person,” I said, “who needs to make a quick phone call.”

Still eyeing me dubiously, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. I dialed the office and prayed Mona would have arrived by now. She picked up on the second ring. “It's me,” I said. “I don't have time to explain, but I'm outside Jay's place. I need a cab, fast. Mr. Lewey is coming in at nine.”

For once Mona didn't question me. I gave her the address. “Tell the driver to pull into the parking lot next to the building. Tell him not to leave if he doesn't see me right away. I'll be hiding behind the building, but I'll watch for him.” I started to hang up. “Oh, one more thing,” I added quickly. “If you can get your hands on a pair of clean underwear, I'd appreciate it. I've lost mine.” But Mona had already hung up.

I heard a gasp. The woman had her hands pressed against her daughter's ears. “This is a respectable neighborhood,” she hissed.

“It's not what you think,” I said.

She yanked the phone from my hand and all but dragged her daughter away as quickly as possible.

I hid behind the building, hoping and praying the cab would arrive quickly. I should
never
have gone to Jay's place to begin with. I was a weak woman, an embarrassment to women everywhere. All Jay'd had to do was nuzzle the back of my neck, and I'd been a goner. I covered my eyes, but it didn't block the memory of me pulling off my thong and dangling it in his face.

I'd lost control. I recalled tugging the front of his shirt from his jeans. There'd been no stopping me. Not that Jay had tried. We'd barely made it to the bedroom before he had me out of my dress. Our lips had remained fused together, even as he'd hovered over me, as he sank into me, and I'd felt my body shiver and my liver quiver at the fierce pleasure. Our lovemaking had been fast and furious, two people answering a desperate mutual need. Nothing else mattered.

It wasn't until later, when we'd made love a second time and the urgency had been replaced by long, lingering kisses and gentle explorations, that I realized Jay Rush still had the master key to my heart.

My first mistake had been going to the grand opening to begin with. I should have called my mother and pretended to have Lyme disease. Now I was forced to face the absolute truth that I was still as crazy about Jay as I'd been the day I married him. Nothing had changed in the six months we'd been apart. I was going to have to go through the whole heartbreak thing again.

As I waited for the cab, I worked on my multiplication tables.

For once, luck seemed to be with me; the cab arrived in ten minutes. Jay's car had not left the parking lot, and if he'd come out to look for me, I hadn't seen him from my vantage point. I darted toward the cab as fast as I could, waving both hands in the air so the driver wouldn't miss me. As if he could. I yanked the door open, lost my footing, and all but tumbled into the backseat.

“Holy mother of God!” the man said in a thick Italian accent. “You're not wearing underwear.”

I blushed so hard that I was certain I'd singed my eyebrows. I slammed the door and tried to tuck my dress under me as I recalled what Mona had said about what went on in the backseats of cabs. I was too embarrassed to meet the driver's gaze, but I glanced at his photo near the meter and saw that his name was Tony. “Um, Tony, I'm in a really big hurry,” I said.

He gunned the engine and squealed from the parking lot, sending me flying across the backseat again. I was aware of him darting looks in the rearview mirror, from which a crucifix dangled. “Does your father know what you're doing?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“This is no life for a pretty girl like you.”

“I'm not a hooker, if that's what you're thinking. I'm a professional in the business of helping people, um, heal.” I'm not sure why I felt it necessary to defend myself to a perfect stranger, but the crucifix was staring me in the face.

“Oh, so you're telling me you're a nurse? Well, that's some uniform you have there, young lady.”

I ignored him.

“I have a daughter your age,” he said. As he sped down the street, holding the steering wheel with one hand, he whipped out his wallet with the other. “This is her picture.”

She had her father's nose. “She's very attractive,” I lied. With his thumb, Tony flipped the picture, and I found myself looking at the fattest baby I'd ever seen. He had his mother's nose.

“My grandson, Antonio,” he said. “Named after me, of course,” he added proudly. “They call him Tony Number Two. There is nothing more precious than a grandchild. You should get married and give your poor mother grandchildren before you're all used up like a bar of hand soap.”

“Look, I appreciate your concern, Tony, but I need to get to my office.” I sat back in the seat, crossed my arms, and stared out the window. Tony obviously got the message, because he kept quiet the rest of the way.

By the time we arrived, I'd managed to repair my hair with the plastic hair pick in my purse.

I pulled out my cash, paid Tony, and hurried from the cab. I tried to ignore the stares of those waiting beside me for the elevator. When I stepped out on the fourth floor, I froze. Down the hall, people spilled from my reception room, sipping coffee and eating pastries.

Oh, crap!
How could I have forgotten Open House Day, which fell on the first Monday of each month? Mona had come up with the idea in the hope of building my practice and ultimately making me famous. There was little I could say, since she paid for the advertisement as well as the caterer. Plus I didn't want to hurt her feelings, even though the event hadn't produced a single new patient. It had, instead, turned into a social event for building employees and residents from a nearby retirement center, who were bused in.

More stares. I entered my office and stepped up to Mona's desk. “I have a little problem.”

“No, you have a
big
problem,” Mona said. “Screwy Lewey freaked out when he saw all these people. He's hiding in the bathroom. I thought he was just afraid of elevators.”

There was no time to admonish Mona for the remark, and it would have been unethical to discuss Mr. Lewey's fears. With his claustrophobia, he would have panicked in a tight crowd of people. “I need a clean outfit,” I said. “Can you do that?”

She held out her hand. “House key?”

I pulled it from my purse and dropped it into her palm. “Also, clean underwear. I lost the thong.”

Mona gave me a look. “Slut,” she whispered.

I crossed the reception room, pausing to sign a couple of autographs. In Mona's attempt to draw in new patients, she handed out goody bags stuffed with pens, notepads, and miniature boxes of chocolates. Also included were brochures on mental health, my business card, and a glossy eight-by-ten of me sitting in my wingback chair, holding a clipboard. Below my picture were the words “Your Compassionate Friend.” I scribbled my name and hurried down the hall.