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Authors: Rosalind James
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good time.”
She already had her keys out, and she was taking off around the side of the house, down a couple concrete steps, then opening a door, the window beside it glowing bright a second later. The door slammed shut, and she was gone.
She lived in the basement. The old car, the maxed-out credit card, and the basement. Professoring really didn’t pay that great.
Rochelle came up to join him. “That went well.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighed a little, and shrugged his jacket on again. “Pretty much shot down in flames.”
“Gotta be a first,” Deke said, as they all turned around for Rochelle’s apartment.
“I’ve got an ex-wife, remember?” Cal said. “I know all about getting shot down.”
Nobody had much of an answer for that one, and they walked in silence for a couple minutes.
“All right. Why?” Rochelle demanded at last.
“Why what?” he asked.
“Why couldn’t I tell Zoe who you are? When has that ever not worked out for you? Couldn’t have worked much worse, anyway.”
“Call it a hunch. I figured I’d win her over with my looks and personality instead.”
“Huh,” she said. “Yeah. That worked.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you.”
“But so you know,” she said, “I did it for you tonight, but I won’t do it for long. There’s a Girl Code, too.”
“That bra strap,” he pointed out.
“Only gets you so far. You’re a big boy, and you’re going to have to do this one all by yourself. Never seen you lose yet. Of course,” she had to add, “Zoe’s a cut above. I actually like her. And she actually likes women. That might be new for you.”
“Likes women how?” he asked, exchanging another of those glances with Deke.
“Ha,” she said. “I knew it. Don’t get your hopes up. I mean that she has friends, girlfriends. She knows how to be a friend. She’s not a snob. In fact, she just might be too good for you.”
“She just might,” he said. “And I just might be good for her. Guess we’ll see.”
SWEET PLACES
It took Zoe almost all week, and a fair amount of self-discipline, too, to stop thinking about Cal.
She’d left him standing on the sidewalk, had barely thanked him, she’d realized later with chagrin, before she’d hustled herself into her apartment. She hadn’t trusted herself to spend any longer out there.
So she’d escaped inside; had leaned back against the scratched, faded white paint of her front door; and had taken a moment to catch her breath, with her hand patting the lace covering her galloping heart, thinking about the way he’d smiled. She’d known exactly how much her body had responded to him, because it was still humming, still lit up from the electricity of his touch, the memory of his smile.
It had been a night out, and that was all. Exactly what Rochelle had said: dancing, drinking . . . and flirting, too, which was an added bonus, right? Coming home with a fantasy or two to help her through the lonely nights, and what was wrong with that? Even when she’d been with Mark, her latest and not-so-greatest boyfriend, she’d needed the fantasies. The sad truth was, it hadn’t been any better with Mark than it was by herself, so what would even be the point of finding someone new, somebody she could have in the flesh? Once, because Cal wouldn’t be interested in more than once. And even if he wanted something more—and there was no way he could, because men like him didn’t go for women like her—she couldn’t do a relationship. Not now.
But a fantasy was something else again, and the mere thought of Cal was doing more for her than the very real, very solid Mark ever had. Maybe because Mark hadn’t had shoulders like that, or muscles like that. He hadn’t looked at her like that. And he’d sure never affected her like that. Cal had touched nothing but her back and hand, but her body still remembered exactly what his own hand had felt like against her. Firm and sure, but gentle, too. He had
She already had her keys out, and she was taking off around the side of the house, down a couple concrete steps, then opening a door, the window beside it glowing bright a second later. The door slammed shut, and she was gone.
She lived in the basement. The old car, the maxed-out credit card, and the basement. Professoring really didn’t pay that great.
Rochelle came up to join him. “That went well.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighed a little, and shrugged his jacket on again. “Pretty much shot down in flames.”
“Gotta be a first,” Deke said, as they all turned around for Rochelle’s apartment.
“I’ve got an ex-wife, remember?” Cal said. “I know all about getting shot down.”
Nobody had much of an answer for that one, and they walked in silence for a couple minutes.
“All right. Why?” Rochelle demanded at last.
“Why what?” he asked.
“Why couldn’t I tell Zoe who you are? When has that ever not worked out for you? Couldn’t have worked much worse, anyway.”
“Call it a hunch. I figured I’d win her over with my looks and personality instead.”
“Huh,” she said. “Yeah. That worked.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you.”
“But so you know,” she said, “I did it for you tonight, but I won’t do it for long. There’s a Girl Code, too.”
“That bra strap,” he pointed out.
“Only gets you so far. You’re a big boy, and you’re going to have to do this one all by yourself. Never seen you lose yet. Of course,” she had to add, “Zoe’s a cut above. I actually like her. And she actually likes women. That might be new for you.”
“Likes women how?” he asked, exchanging another of those glances with Deke.
“Ha,” she said. “I knew it. Don’t get your hopes up. I mean that she has friends, girlfriends. She knows how to be a friend. She’s not a snob. In fact, she just might be too good for you.”
“She just might,” he said. “And I just might be good for her. Guess we’ll see.”
SWEET PLACES
It took Zoe almost all week, and a fair amount of self-discipline, too, to stop thinking about Cal.
She’d left him standing on the sidewalk, had barely thanked him, she’d realized later with chagrin, before she’d hustled herself into her apartment. She hadn’t trusted herself to spend any longer out there.
So she’d escaped inside; had leaned back against the scratched, faded white paint of her front door; and had taken a moment to catch her breath, with her hand patting the lace covering her galloping heart, thinking about the way he’d smiled. She’d known exactly how much her body had responded to him, because it was still humming, still lit up from the electricity of his touch, the memory of his smile.
It had been a night out, and that was all. Exactly what Rochelle had said: dancing, drinking . . . and flirting, too, which was an added bonus, right? Coming home with a fantasy or two to help her through the lonely nights, and what was wrong with that? Even when she’d been with Mark, her latest and not-so-greatest boyfriend, she’d needed the fantasies. The sad truth was, it hadn’t been any better with Mark than it was by herself, so what would even be the point of finding someone new, somebody she could have in the flesh? Once, because Cal wouldn’t be interested in more than once. And even if he wanted something more—and there was no way he could, because men like him didn’t go for women like her—she couldn’t do a relationship. Not now.
But a fantasy was something else again, and the mere thought of Cal was doing more for her than the very real, very solid Mark ever had. Maybe because Mark hadn’t had shoulders like that, or muscles like that. He hadn’t looked at her like that. And he’d sure never affected her like that. Cal had touched nothing but her back and hand, but her body still remembered exactly what his own hand had felt like against her. Firm and sure, but gentle, too. He had
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