When It Hooks You (It #1) (8 page)

“It’s going to be weird for him, too. Especially when you show up with the best dressed guy in the city. Not to mention the best smelling. C’mon, take a good whiff.” He pulled her into an abrupt hug, wrapping his hand around the back of her head and holding her nose to his neck as he shimmied into her. “It’s the ambrosia of the angels, catnip of the cool—”

“Nectar of the narcissistic,” she grumbled into his clavicle, beating her fists against his chest. “Can’t breathe!” She shoved away from him, laughing as she threw her hands up to comb through her mussed hair. “Look what you did!”

“What? It’s just-been-fucked hair to go with our ruse.”

“Gee, thanks. Oh no.” She pointed at the shiny smear below the collar of his shirt.

His eyes flicked down and he pouted as he examined the errant lip gloss. “Give me a couple minutes to change.”

“Won’t your look be ruined?”

“Not to worry. I’ve got a backup for every occasion.”

Three quarters of an hour later, they stood in the center of Geri’s loft apartment, admiring the unique architecture of the high, curved ceiling and talking to other guests. She introduced Cliff merely as Cliff, not her boyfriend, but she was liberal with affectionate squeezes of his arm and coy smiles. He seemed at ease with the group of strangers, and having him close helped sedate Trish’s nerves as she made small talk while dreading Kurt’s arrival.

Her back was to the front door, but the moment her ex-boyfriend stepped through it, she knew. There was no mistaking the particular cadence of his voice as he wished Geri happy birthday. Trish listened hard over the din of the party for an unknown female voice to chime in after his, but none did. Perhaps her sources had been wrong and Lauren wasn’t coming. She was surprised to feel a sense of disappointment. After so many months, she’d hoped to finally get a good look at the other woman.

“Hey,” Cliff leaned in and murmured when the guy they’d been talking to stepped away. “Will it blow our cover if I go over and talk to that sweet, young thing?” He nodded toward a brunette standing by the appetizer-laden table. She was a few inches shorter than Trish and had an adorable boy-cut hairstyle and eyes that seemed to smile. As she pecked at the food with her slender fingers, filling her plate, she turned her head sharply to laugh at something a man behind her had said. Her smiley brown gaze caught on something by the front door.

A whisper of True Religion, Kurt’s signature cologne, floated beside Trish. She watched the athletic blond formerly known as her boyfriend weave past other party guests to approach the brunette. He laid his lips on the girl’s in a quick kiss. Apparently Lauren was already comfortable enough with Kurt’s friends to have arrived at the party solo.

Trish turned her narrowed eyes onto Cliff. “You were going to ditch me for the same girl he did.”

“That’s Kurt?”

“Yup.”

Cliff glanced at Trish, then to the girl and back at Trish again. “I can say one thing for the guy—he’s got excellent taste in women.”

Trish’s hard expression softened into a smile. “That’s true. Now can we redirect our attention so we don’t look like we’re creeping on them?”

“Sure. Let’s go get a refill.” He swirled the remaining few drops of wine in his glass. “Or better yet—I saw they had Kahlua. If they’ve got brandy, too, I’m going to make you a dirty mother.”

On their way to the marble island countertop that served as the bar, Trish asked, “Is that anything like the mind erasers we used to drink at Iowa?”

“It’s like the mind eraser all grown up. Excuse me,” he said to another party goer at the counter as he moved around him to grab two short glasses on the other side of the island.

Trish watched with rapt attention as he filled the glasses with ice and began concocting. His wicked grin and dexterity with the bottles made him look like some sort of mad scientist. She was about to tell him so when she felt a light squeeze at the back of her arm. She hadn’t noticed the True Religion approaching, but it filled her senses once she turned to see Kurt giving her a cautious smile.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Trish meant it, though she struggled for what to say next. “Your hair’s getting long.” Instead of sticking straight out from his scalp, his golden strands sort of bent a little.

Cliff swung around the counter and handed Trish a glass before he stuck his hand out to Kurt. “Cliff Walsh.”

Kurt grasped his hand, giving a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kurt and this is Lauren.” Letting go of Cliff’s hand, he put his arm loosely around the girl’s waist and brought her forward.

Trish took a gulp of her drink. Her glance skipped over to meet Kurt’s before she swallowed the cold liquid and smiled, nodding at Lauren. “Hi. I’m Trish. And this drink is truly awful.”

Lauren laughed.

“You can dump it if you want,” Cliff said, “but that was a pretty nice bottle of brandy. It really shouldn’t go to waste.”

Out of buried old habit, Trish’s automatic response was to turn to Kurt with puppy dog eyes. He’d been the kind of boyfriend who’d have sucked the drink right down for her. She was horrified to see her glass-bearing hand inching toward him. His slightly widened eyes reminded her that his throat was no longer at her disposal.

“Sorry,” she said, sliding her eyes to Lauren and pulling back her arm. “Almost forgot—he drinks shitty drinks for you now.” She’d only been babbling to cover her
faux pas
and hadn’t meant anything by it, but when she saw guilt pinch Lauren’s expression, the scab was flicked off an unhealed wound. Without considering her next words, she asked something she’d been wondering since the night Kurt had broken up with her—though it came out far differently than she’d ever imagined saying it. “Did you know he was still drinking my shitty drinks when he started drinking yours?”

“I—” Whatever else Lauren had intended to say seemed to stick in her throat. The smile in her eyes changed to something more like a scream.

“Save it,” Trish said, lifting her free hand with her palm flat out. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve all played nicey nice and shown that we’re grown-ups. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather spend the rest of the party talking with people who haven’t fucked around behind my back.” She held her glass up and gave Kurt a false smile. “I drink my own shitty drinks now.”

As she stepped away, she overestimated the size of her mouth, pouring too much of the dirty mother into it and rendering herself mute for several moments while she navigated an inelegant swallow. Once a satisfactory number of party guests were between her and her ex-boyfriend, she stopped walking. Cliff’s hand slid up her spine, molding over the back of her neck as he came to her side. Despite the icy beverage that had just flowed down it, her throat burned. Her voice came out husky. “Sorry. I really thought I could be cool.”

Cliff shrugged. “Your ex might disagree, but I think that was pretty damn cool.”

“More like pathetic and jealous.”

“No. Like someone who’s been hurt and is justifiably angry. You might’ve been a little tough on Lauren, though. From her reaction, I don’t think she knew you two were still together when they started up.”

Trish blew out a derisive breath. “Don’t defend her. He might not’ve told her about me, but she knew. Women always know.” She took another swig of the brandy and Kahlua mix and immediately cringed. “God, this drink is disgusting.”

Cliff watched her closely and stayed silent.

She took a slow sip, staring back at him over the rim of her tilted glass. After swallowing, she gave a shudder. “Gets a little easier every time,” she said. When Cliff remained mute, she asked, “What?”

“Why aren’t you asking me to drink that for you? You were going to ask Kurt.”

“It’s like I said—I drink my own shitty drinks now.”

“What if Abby had been a guy? I bet by the end of the night you’d have let her drink your drinks.”

Trish narrowed her eyes and locked her jaw in place while she studied him. “Are you thirsty? Because you’re already holding your own drink, but if you want some of mine…”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just—why does this have to be a fake date? Why wouldn’t you even consider that maybe you and I could go on a real date?”

“Cliff! We work together at one of the most uppity law firms in the city. They’re not going to tolerate that. I love having you around there, and I’m not going to do something that’ll risk getting one of us fired. Besides, you know my dating relationships have an expiration date. My friendship doesn’t, so can we…” She waved her free hand in the air as if dispersing the topic into the cosmos.

“Fine. I’ll drop it. But…am I undateable?”

“You were on a date last weekend. And she seemed very into you, as a matter of fact. Didn’t that work out?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t closed any doors on it, but she’s more into my law degree and promising income prospects than into me. She’s always been surface.”

“Okay, but that still shows you’re dateable.”

“I guess—with girls I don’t necessarily want to date. Same old story. I never get the ones I really want. It’s my curse.”

“Maybe that’s because they all think you’re gay.” She wrinkled her nose, and he wrinkled his back.

“Funny.”

Trish pulled out her phone to glace at the time. “I think my work here is done. If we kill these nasty things and leave right now, we can probably make the late show at Second City.”

Without a word, Cliff polished off his drink and Trish did the same. By the time they arrived at the comedy complex, the main stage was sold out, so they went to one of the side stages and consumed more drinks—tastier than what they’d had at the party, but just as strong. They left smiling, still cracking up over some of the improv they’d seen and expanding on the jokes with their own material, which wouldn’t seem nearly as clever in the sober light of the next day.

When the cab pulled up to Trish’s building, Cliff asked the driver to wait so he could walk her to the door. Once there, he touched his lips to her forehead and thanked her for the fun night. In response, she squeezed her arms around his waist and told him again how happy she was he’d blown back into her life.

His lips moved down to her temple, planting a featherlight kiss. Tilting his head forward, he rested his mouth at the side of her face. His warm breath tickled her cheek. The stinging spice of the Captain Morgan he’d been drinking wafted around her face and under her nose. He stayed there a moment too long, and Trish knew what would happen next. She stepped back and put her hand to his chest, noting the strong beat of his heart against her palm. His shining irises were nearly black in the moonlight.

“Good night, Cliff,” she said.

His gaze flicked downward, and his shoulders slumped as he took her hand and slid it off of his chest. She didn’t like to disappoint him but knew that in the morning, he’d be grateful for her preemptive strike. She wasn’t going to let the captain’s spiced rum steer them into an ill-advised hookup.

“Ha! That’s why they call him Captain Hook,” she blurted.

“Huh?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, it was a stupid pun swimming around in my head. A literal inside joke, I guess you’d say.” She groaned. “Right, so I’m starting to annoy myself with the corny humor. I should go to sleep and put us both out of our misery.”

He nodded but didn’t crack even a hint of a smile as he took a backward step toward the cab. “See you at the office.”

Chapter 8

T
RISH
S
AW
A
DAM
H
ELMS’
N
AME
on the visitor list, and her perfect posture sagged. She’d hoped he’d get in touch before his next trip to Chicago, but she hadn’t heard a word from him. Now he was here and hadn’t even attempted to make any plans with her. She could only interpret that to mean he wasn’t interested in a second date.

Probably for the best
, she told herself.
Not like it could go anywhere, anyhow.
Yet she couldn’t deny she’d been hoping for more than a few transient moments with him as he entered and exited the office. Something about that man intrigued her. But if he didn’t find her to be equally intriguing, what could she do about it?

She was pleasant but reserved when he arrived. “Good morning,” she said, keeping any hint of flirtation out of her smile. “You’re a third timer now, so Michael asked me to send you directly to the conference room.”

“Thank you,” was all Adam said before disappearing behind the door to Michael’s side of the office.

Trish lost count of how many times her eyes went to that same door during the next ninety minutes. When Adam finally emerged, she was at the small kitchenette off to the side of the lobby, pouring coffee for a waiting client. She watched him glance at her empty chair. Then his eyes roved the room, stopping when they landed on her.

She immediately redirected her attention toward the other client, walking across the carpet in a practiced saunter—not too provocative, but not completely innocent, either. “Here you go, Mrs. Beneficence. Please let me know if you need anything else. Stephanie should be ready to meet with you in a few minutes.”

When she stood straight and turned toward her desk, Adam’s gaze flicked abruptly away from her, like he’d been caught staring. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Helms? Would you like a bottled water for the road?”

“No…I…” His captivating eyes were back on her. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” He stayed rooted where he stood, looking considerably less haggard than he’d been the last time he’d exited the office, four weeks earlier. Today he was poised and collected, debonair in his perfectly fitted dark suit.

His lingering attention caused Trish to waiver in her coolness. The earnestness in his expression certainly seemed to indicate he wanted more than transient moments with her, as well. She shook it off, resisting the urge to read more into his look than was actually there. He hadn’t called. He wasn’t interested. That was that.

She continued on to her desk and lowered into her chair. “Well, goodbye then.” She gave him a dismissive smile and focused on her computer screen. It felt awful being outright rude to him, but what did he expect? She was embarrassed at having been so forward about adding her name to his contacts. He’d probably deleted her information before he’d even gotten to the hotel.