I stole a glance around the doorjamb of my server room. All clear. Before anyone saw me, I closed the door and slid the lock home.
I grinned. “Free at last.”
Plopping down on the floor, I pulled out a lime green pad of sticky notes and a pen. I tapped the pen against my lips. Where to start?
Because Scott was right- if my plan was going to work, I had to make my parents believe I was head over heels for the Bobby-substitute. The catch: I didn’t have much time.
Actually, this was a good way to start on my new mission to find a soul mate as well. What if the Bobby-substitute turned out to be fantastic and exciting and creative and thought the sun and moon revolved around me? It’d be very convenient.
So, best choices on top, or start off with the least viable ones?
“Best choices first,” I murmured. I didn’t have time to fool around. Hooking the pen on my bottom lip, I let it dangle while I mentally ran through all the men I knew. Then I weeded out the jerks and the unemployed. And I tossed out Scott, because that’d be like dating my brother.
Logan flashed through my mind, and I started to add him to the list. But even as my heart sped up at the idea of going out with him, I froze mid-letter. He wasn’t exactly viable. I doubted my parents would be thrilled if I told them I dumped Bobby and started to date a guy who teaches people to beat other people up for a living.
With a pout, I crossed him out and surveyed what I’d come up with.
Hmm. I scowled. Not promising. I let my head thunk backward against the wall, hoping the impact would knock an idea loose.
Nothing.
Maybe if I whittled down my criteria. Did it matter if he was handsome? That was icing on the cake, but the cake could still be delicious even plain.
“Okay. Successful with good manners.” I had to know someone like that.
Rehooking the pen, I wiggled my lip so it tapped my chin. Then I balanced the sticky notes on top of my head.
Still nothing.
Someone banged on the door. I startled and bumped my head against one of the servers.
“Marie! You in there?”
Shit-- it was Lewis, my intern. He was the reason I was locked in the server closet. Him and the fact that when I’m at my desk, people stop by to tell me their computer woes. I needed some sanctuary to get this list done and the server room seemed the most optimal place.
I debated not answering, but Lewis was persistent. It was one of this most infuriating traits. Why couldn’t he be like any other punk teenager and shirk his duties by playing video games?
“Marie!” He pounded harder on the door.
Shit. I got up, unlocked the door, and swung it open. “What?”
Then I realized I still had the pen dangling from my lip. I snatched it off and gave Lewis a look that said he’d better not comment. “What?” I barked again.
He pointed. “You have a pad of sticky notes on your head.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and reached for the pad. It pulled a few strands of my white hair. I grimaced and tried to lift it off gingerly.
“Do you need help? I can help you.”
“I got it,” I said quickly. “Thanks, though.”
He looked disappointed for a split second, but then he bounced back to his normal puppy eagerness. “I finished dusting all those computer cases. I’m ready for my next assignment.” he looked around the server room. “Is there something wrong in here? I can take a look around. Want me to straighten all the cables? I bought these really cool cord organizers. They’re corrugated tubes that are color coordinated--”
“Lewis,” I interrupted, “have you taken lunch yet? Maybe you should take a break.”
“A break?” His brow furrowed. Two seconds later his expression cleared. I could almost see a light turn on inside his head. “Do you want lunch? I can get you lunch.”
“Um. No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“I can get you something. What would you like? I have my bike,” he looked at me with adoring eyes. “I’d go anywhere for you.”
Oh, God. I patted his arm-- briefly, so he wouldn’t turn into a puddle of mush at my feet. “Thanks. I’m fine though. Let’s go find you something to do, sugar.”
Lewis monopolized the rest of my afternoon. Spending it with a pimply seventeen-year-old wasn’t the way I’d envisioned it, but at some point while I was showing him the finer points of coding in Perl I got inspired. I knew just who to call up and ask for a date: Warren Kenneth Worthington III.
Several times during the day I picked up the phone to give him a call, but I stalled. Was it a good idea to talk to him at work? Though I had to-- I didn’t know his home number and he was unlisted. But what if he had clients with him? What if his secretary wouldn’t patch me through? What if he was busy?
Oh, hell-- what if he had a girlfriend?
“Get a grip,” I finally told myself. Resolutely, I picked up the phone and dialed.
“This is Warren.”
Where the hell was his secretary? I glanced at the time and realized it was well past seven. She’d probably gone home.
I entertained the idea of hanging up on him for only a second before I cleared my throat and said, “Hi, Warren. This is Marie D’Ancanto. The sys admin?”
Did I mention Warren was the VP of Business Development for the same company I worked for?
I knew I probably should have thought twice before asking out a coworker. That never seems to end well. But we were on opposite spectrums in the work chain, so I didn’t think anything bad could come of it. Worse case scenario: he’d laugh at my question and then I could avoid him for the rest of my life by hiding in the server room.
There was a long pause after I said who I was--- significant enough that I felt I needed to fill it. “You know, Marie, the woman who helps you out every time you have trouble accessing your email.”
“Oh, yes! Of course.” Then he groaned. “Don’t tell me the network is going down. I have an urgent proposal to finish for the Japanese next week. I need Web access.”
“Oh.” I shook my head, stopping abruptly when I realized he couldn’t see me. “No, the network’s fine. Great, in fact. We haven’t had to send out any Saint Bernards for lost packets in days.” I chuckled at my little joke. Tech humor… it wasn’t for everyone.
“Uh, right.” He coughed. “Well, what can I do for you, then?”
The moment of truth. I rubbed the tip of my nose and blurted it out. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.”
Silence.
Oh, shit. I closed my eyes, wondering if I could build some kind of time machine to go back and erase this call. I think MacGyver once built one out of a cardboard box and couple of Q-Tips.
The silence on the other end was so great I could hear the seconds tick by. I opened my mouth to take the offer back-- I could find someone else to take me out. I wasn’t beautiful like Jean but I had merits. And I wasn’t desperate. At least not yet. I could find another guy, no problem. “Well, I just--”
“You’re the one with the long hair the white streaks, right? Athletic looking with great legs?”
I glanced down at the legs in question. “The first part’s me.”
“And you’re kind of eccentric in the way you dress, with those layers and tight t-shirts.”
“Uhm---”
“And you have that Catholic schoolgirl outfit with the short skirt and the thigh-high socks!” He whistled. “Sure, I remember you.”
Maybe calling him wasn’t such a great idea. “Well, I’ve got to go---”
“I’d love to go out with you.”
“You would? I mean, okay.” I grinned.
“How about Saturday?” I heard him flip some pages. A calendar? How novel. I didn’t know anyone who still kept a paper calendar. “I play tennis at four, so how about if I pick you up at eight? We can go to Henry’s for dinner and take it from there.”
Henry’s? I stifled a groan. “That’d be great.”
“I need to get your address.”
I considered telling him I’d meet him for drinks and we could go from there. But then I thought if he picked me up I could have more time to check him out. So I gave him quick directions and got off the phone before I could embarrass myself in any way.
I sat back in my chair and tapped a pen against my lips. Then I grinned, wide and hard. “Damn, I’m good.”
------------------------
Where the hell were they? I pushed aside my clunky Steve Madden ass-kicking boots and delved deeper into the abyss that is otherwise known as my closet. The shoes had to be in here somewhere.
Jean would say, after a slow shake of her head, that it was amazing someone who was a compulsive list maker like me could live in such disorder. Jean, of course, is one of those freaks who’s always put together, from her hair to the last spoon in her kitchen drawer. So it stood to reason that she wouldn’t understand my organization methods. Ask me where anything I owned was and I could find it in two seconds flat. Except for my cell phone. And the damn Via Spiga heels.
“They have to be here.” I crawled into the void and began tossing things over my shoulder into the bedroom. Eventually I’ll get to the shoes.
I did. They were at the bottom of the pile. Probably because I hadn’t worn them in six months or so, since the last time it’d been warm enough. Slipping them on, I turned my feet this way and that to admire the pedicure I got this afternoon. The woman who did my feet assured me Baghdad Nights was my color. I never realized nights in Baghdad were purple. And frankly, I still preferred green.
I got up and glanced at the alarm clock that was once again on the nightstand next to my bed. I’d attached the broken piece with the only thing I’d had on hand--- strawberry bubble gum. The clock titled to one side drunkenly, but at least it worked.
Sort of. No amount of gum could repair the digital numbers, and I noticed the hour number had a light bar missing. It read six o’clock, but I had a feeling it was really eight. I scrounged around for my cell phone to double-check, just in case.
Warren was due to arrive any second, so with one last look in the mirror, I winked at myself, grabbed my handbag and went to the living room to wait. The doorbell rang precisely fifteen minutes later. When I answered it, Warren was leaning against the door. “Wow.”
I tried to look demurely modest. I may not have been angelically beautiful like Jean, or stunning like Mystique, but when I made an effort, guys noticed. And tonight I’d made an effort: short black skirts, dark tights, red tank with sheer long sleeves attached, my hair pulled up in a pony tail that left my white bangs loose to frame my face, lips to match the top. And the shoes.
“For your, Marie.” he held out a perfect red rose.
Props to me for not rolling my eyes. I smiled sweetly, said, “Thank you,” and tossed the flower onto the staircase behind me.
I realized that might have been the wrong thing to do when I turned around and saw he was frowning. But I flashed him my most flirtatious smile and his frown cleared right up.
The cheesy rose aside, I was glad to see him. He looked good. He wore black slacks, a dress shirt, and a blazer. I tried to picture Logan dressed like this, but I could imagine him in only a torn wife-beater and jeans that were dangerously worn in strategic places.
“You look good. Damn good,” he said, doing that blatant all-over perusal guys do.
I didn’t mind. I wanted him to find me irresistible. I gave him a siren smile-- or what I hoped was a siren smile. As I turned to lock the door, I bent slightly at the hips and struck a leg out. I was no dummy-- if he liked my legs, I was going to shamelessly use them to my advantage. It worked, too; I felt his gaze like a brand on my bare skin.
When I turned around, I could read the anticipation in his eyes. I waited for that little part inside me to tingle in response. Nothing. So why was it one glance at Logan’s hands and I was panting for his touch?
I shrugged mentally. It’d come. It was sure to, Warren was a stud. He kind of looked like Brad Pitt and if half the stories I’d overheard about him in the restrooms at work were true, I was in for a good time.
“Shall we go?” He took my elbow and guided me down the porch steps.
I thought we’d walk since Henry’s is only three blocks from my place, so I was surprised when he stopped at the curb in front of his car.
A Jaguar, I almost groaned. Dating someone who drove such a pompous car like a Jaguar had never been on my list of things never to do. Maybe this date wasn’t such a great idea after all.
“Here you go.” He opened the door and handed me down into the passenger seat.
I waited until he settled in on his side before I said, “We could have walked. It’s not very far.”
“Walk?” his eyebrows twitched like he was trying to understand a foreign concept.
Ah. I nodded. “Are you from Los Angeles?”
“Not originally, no. But I went to high school and college there and lived on in the area for a few more years afterwards.” He smiled quizzically at me. “How did you know?”
I hid my grin by looking out the window. I used to have a friend from L.A. who would have been happy if she could have driven from her bedroom to the mailbox instead of walking. “Just a lucky guess.”
“Here we are,” Warren said as he pulled into the narrow parking lot two seconds later. Literally.
I got out of the car. It didn’t occur to me to wait for him to open my door until I saw the dismayed expression on his face. Oops. To make up for it, I smiled really big and said, “I’ve been really looking forward to tonight.”
He brightened right up and took my arm. “Me too. I was surprised when you called me.”
“Oh?” Was that a good thing?
“We don’t interact at work much. Of course, I’d noticed you--” his grin was only slightly lecherous. “--but I never considered asking you out.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t obvious.”
I frowned. I didn’t get a chance to ask what the hell that meant because he opened the door to Henry’s and the maitre d’ swooped down on us. “Ms. D’Ancanto. A pleasure to see you again. You look lovely this evening.”
“Hello Cameron.”
Cameron glanced at Warren before returning his gaze to me. “Do you have a reservation this evening?”
I had to give him credit for not batting an eye. I’d been coming here at least twice a week with Bobby for the past year, off and on. It must have been a shock, and somewhat scandalous, to see me with another man days after he’d seen me with my boyfriend.
Warren cleared his throat. “Yes. Under Worthington.”
Cameron nodded without looking a the reservation book. “Right this way.” He led us to the front dining room. I usually didn’t care where I sat, but tonight I was relieved to be where we were, right next to the gleaming oak bar. If the date went bad, at least I wouldn’t have to wait long for a drink. I could even get up and mix one myself if I got desperate.
But maybe I was wrong. The dated started off rocky, but that didn’t mean it was going to tank. Warren was still a good candidate to present to Mom and Dad.
Cameron pulled out my chair and waited patiently for me to sit. “Can I get you anything to drink while you peruse the menu?”
I wanted to order a beer-- they carried Molson here, which was right up there with Guinness--- but Warren beat me to it. “A bottle of champagne, please.”
“Excellent, sir.” Cameron raised his brows at me, but didn’t say anything when I gave him a weak smile. Not letting it slip that I hated champagne, he went to obediently fulfill Warren’s order. Good man, him. I briefly wondered if he was attached.
“I love champagne, don’t you?” my companion asked in happy anticipation.
“Hmmm.” I smiled and widened my eyes in what I thought would look like excited agreement.
His brow wrinkled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“For a moment you looked like you might be sick.”
Maybe I needed to take acting lessons. I had always been told that people could read my emotions like an open book.
Before he could make any more inquiries about my health, I asked Warren a question of my own. “What did you mean when you said going out with me wasn’t obvious?”
He shrugged and opened his menu. “Just that it wouldn’t have occurred to me.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not my type.” he seemed to have realized he made a slight faux pa. Maybe it was my glare that tipped him off, because he quickly appended his statement. “You’re gorgeous, Marie, don’t get me wrong. But I usually go out with more conservative-looking women.”
I glanced down at myself. I was covered practically from neck to toe, but despite the sleeves and hose, my outfit still consisted of a short skirt and short top that was all tight enough to show off my figure. Conservative I was not.
“But then you asked me out and I thought what the hell.” he grinned suggestively. “I’m looking forward to my walk on the wild side.”
Oh, god. I rolled my eyes, snapped open my menu, and studied it like there was a quiz at the end of the evening. Warren took my cue and lifted his as well.
Our waiter came with a couple of flutes cradled in one hand and the bottle of champagne cupped in the other. He chatted amiable about the specials while he popped the cork, poured us each a glass, took our order, and left us to enjoy our bubbly.
Warren and I both took a tentative sip. Okay, actually I pretended to take a sip. I tilted the glass until the vile stuff touched my lips, but I didn’t open my mouth.
“This is great stuff. The right way to start off a beautiful evening with a beautiful girl.” Warren raised his glass. “To us.”
Unimaginative, but I guessed it worked. I felt like I should say something too, but I didn’t know what. When in doubt, you could never go wrong by quoting MacGyver. “Water’s funny stuff.”
He stared at me blankly.
Sigh. “Never mind.” I clinked my glass against his and pretended to take another drink.
Despite the champagne, and that fiendish comment that I wasn’t his type-- I almost expected him to say I was lacking in bed too, I still had hopes that Warren would be my new and improved Bobby, so I tried to dazzle him with my clever wit. “Do you know why they call it hypertext?”
His brow furrowed as he thought about it. “Why?”
“Too much JAVA.” I burst out laughing, holding my stomach. I couldn’t help it-- it was a lame joke, I know, but for some reason it always cracked me up anyway. At least I didn’t fall off my seat this time.
I dabbed the tears at the corners of my eyes and smiled up at Warren, expecting to see him sharing my mirth. I sobered when I aught him gawking at me like I was insane.
Okay, so he didn’t appreciate tech humor. Not promising, but it was hardly a relationship breaker. I was sure we could connect on other levels. “So, Warren, what time do you wake up in the mornings?”
He blinked at me and then downed his entire glass of champagne. He reached for the bottle to refill it. “Not too early.”
“I knew it.” I grinned, watching him pour the champagne to the very brim without spilled a drop over the side. Talented. “Me either. Mornings were intended for sleeping.”
“I know.” He flashed his Colgate smile at me. “I sleep in until about five-thirty and then I go for a run. Six, if I’m feeling really lazy.”
“Six?” I chocked on my spit, which mean I had to down some of the fizzy wine.
“I know. It’s decadent staying in bed that late.”
“You probably have a special alarm clock you take with you when you travel,” I accused him with narrowed eyes.
“I never leave home without my Sharper Image alarm clock.”
Shudder.
I was saved from having to reply by our waiter, who arrived with dinner. Warren kept up a casual stream of conversation as we ate and, aside from the occasional question and intermittent nod, it didn’t require much effort on my part.
While we waited for our after-dinner espressos, I escaped to-- I mean, I excused myself to the restroom. I opened the door that hid the hallway to the bathrooms and promptly walked into someone. Someone who smelled delicious, though it might have been the scent of food from the kitchen.
Large hands caught me before I ricocheted back into the dining area. “Steady there.”
I looked up and bit my lip so I wouldn’t say hubba hubba, because the man I walked into was a stud. Out-doorsy, tanned, a great smile, and eyes that twinkled in mischief. Great body too-- solid. I knew that because I’d bounced off it.
I heard Dwight, my Kung Fu teacher, whisper in my mind. be aware of all opportunities this week.
I appraised my victim. Maybe I asked Warren out so should be right here at this moment to meet this man. This was the universe teaching me. Far be it from me to callously disregard fate. So I grinned and batted my eyes at him.
His lips stretched slowly into a wide smile. “I guess you’re doing okay.”
I hoped my smile was suitably mysterious.
He slipped something into his pocket and took my hand. “Tell me, are you free for drinks in--” he glanced at his watch “-- a couple of hours? We can meet at the Benson Hotel.”
I was about to shout Yes when I saw the tan line on the third finger of his left hand. What guy wore a ring on his third finger if he weren’t married? And the line was stark, so either he got divorced yesterday or what he slipped into his pocket was his wedding band.
The bastard.
Lowering my eyelids coquettishly, I plastered myself to his side, trailed my finger down the open vee of his shirt, and in a sex-heavy voice said, “At the Benson? I guess that means you really want to get to know me.”
His free hand skimmed over my ass. “Intimately.”
“That can be arranged.” My smile was slow and laden with promise.
Promise of retribution. Before he could make another slimy move, I thrust my knee, hard, right into his crotch.
Taking martial arts has a lot of advantages. One of the most important: learning how to nail a guy in the groins. You can aim anywhere in that region and get satisfaction, but for maximum damage, you need to hit under the balls, in an upward motion, like you’re driving his package up into his body. Do that and the guy is down for the count.
This loser was no different. The second I drove the knee into him, he doubled over with a girlish squeal.
Unfortunately, my elbow happened to be in the way as he bent over so his nose ran into it.
I blinked innocently. “Oops. Sorry.” I shoved him aside and went on to the restroom.
I took my time in the restroom collecting myself. The cold towel I applied to the back of my neck did wonders for cooling me off, and in minutes I felt ready to go back to Warren.
When I walked out of the restroom, I noticed my new friend sitting at a table with a skinny blonde who sported a whopping diamond on her finger. He was hunched over, clutching his lap, while the woman whispered at him with a mix of confusion and impatience. The ring was back on his finger.
The bastard. As I passed him, I caught his eye and made a grab-squeeze-twist notion with my hand. The color drained from his face and he looked away. Fast.
Suddenly, Bobby didn’t seem so bad. He may not have been very interested, but I doubted he’d hit on another woman behind my back.
But I was here with Warren and determined to make a decent go of it. Even if he was a little dull.
So when I sank into my seat again, I favored him with a big smile. “Hey.”
He stared at my mouth so intently I though I had a huge crumb or something on it. I was about to ask him what was wrong when he said, “What do you say we get out of here?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
He paid the bill while I downed my espresso. Cameron thanked us as we walked out the door and around the corner to the car.
“What did you want to do next?” I asked, eyes on the uneven sidewalk to keep from tripping. There was a band playing at a bar down the street from my house. A rock band with a lead female singer reminiscent of Janis Joplin. A loud bad. Loud music equaled no conversation; a big plus at this point.
Warren stopped suddenly and yanked my arm.
“Ooof!” I collided with his chest, which knocked the breath out of me.
And then his mouth was on mine.
I stared at his intently scrunched face. This wasn’t exactly what I’d planned, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Might as well know how he kisses. So I closed my eyes and gave myself up to it.
His technique was good. Not an overwhelming amount of tongue. Not too much saliva. But his lips… they were kind of mushy. It was like kissing the back of an old woman’s arm.. The flabby part that swings when she waves. I frowned and tried to get past that, but the image was vivid and once it was in my head I couldn’t shake it..
On top of that, I was woozy from the lack of air-- he was like a Hoover, so I pushed on his chest and took a step back.
“I’ve wanted to do that all night.” Warren stepped forward and tried to nuzzle my neck.
Tried, because I scrunched my shoulder and wormed my way out of his embrace. “Warren, this is---” Wrong? Gross? I settled for, “Too soon.”
Hey, that was good. I mentally patted myself on the back and tried to look virginal.
“Too soon?” Warren frowned and stepped back. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” I shook my head mournfully. Really, I wanted to grin. “This is our first date, and I want you to respect me.”
He cocked his eyebrows as he pointedly stared at my short skirt. I was sure there was a culture somewhere in the world where a short skirt and tank top were old-fashioned, so I stayed quietly righteous.
“I should probably take you home, then,” he said slowly.
I nodded. “That’d be best.”
We walked another couple of feet, not touching. Then Warren whirled to face me again. “What isn’t too soon?”
I had the distinct impression I was a challenge now. But I still needed a new Bobby to impress my parents with, and until I found someone better, I couldn’t rule Warren out. I remembered his kiss, and then I remembered Dwight whisper opportunities again. So I said, “A couple of dates?”
He grinned. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Looking up lip-muscle-firming exercises online. but I kept that to myself, smiled enigmatically, I hoped, and let him take me home.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Marie begins to weedle out prospective Bobby-Substitutes. Things don't go as well as she would like and for some reason she can't get the idea of Logan's hands out of her head.