One Hit Wonderful Page 8

  She grimaced. “I hated high school. I’d have given anything to be able to skip it.”

  “You think that, but it’s tough being out of step with your peers. By the time I was college age, I was ready for it to be over.” He set his empty beer bottle on the ottoman and reached over to scratch Beau behind the ears. “Thankfully, the boy band craze was just about over, so the timing was right to get out.”

  “Did you go to college?” she asked. Her pulse was nearly back to normal, but still, she fixed her gaze on his collarbone, just in case he grinned at her again.

  “Juilliard,” he said.

  “Wow, the artistic ivy league.” She looked up, forgetting all about avoiding his dimples. “Did you take a lot of flack for the pop-star thing?”

  “In the beginning,” he said. “Almost everyone who studies there is classically trained, and here I was, fresh off the cover of Teen Beat.” He chuckled. “It was pretty ugly for a while.”

  “I bet,” she muttered.

  “But it got better. I can hold my own in a concert hall, and that’s where I discovered my talent for composing.”

  Intrigued, she started to ask how he got started composing for movies and television, but a jaw-cracking yawn caught her by surprise.

  Nate chuckled, and she peered at him with watering eyes. “You’re exhausted,” he said. He stood and started gathering up plates and empty beer bottles. “Beau and I should let you get to sleep.”

  She opened her mouth to protest only to be taken over by another yawn, and he laughed.

  “Okay, I’m beat,” she admitted, and started to lever herself to her feet. Nate reached out a helping hand and without thinking, she took it.

  Sparks, she thought, and shivered as he pulled her up. She had tingles on her fingertips, on her palm, racing up her arm to dance across her chest. She resisted the urge to cross her arms across her suddenly very awake nipples as she followed him to the kitchen.

  She watched him tidy up, brushing aside her protests as he put the trash in the bin under the sink and gathered up the leftover pizza. “You’ve got half a pie left here,” he told her. “Want to keep it?”

  “Sure,” she said. “You can just pop it in the fridge in the box, and I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “A woman after my own heart,” he said, and slid the box into the Sub Zero. He put the beer in beside it, telling her to when she protested to consider it a housewarming gift.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said as she walked him to the door with Beau dancing on their heels, eyes trained on the pizza box in Nate’s hand. “I just realized you paid, and I was supposed to treat you.”

  “The company more than made up for it,” he told her, and started the frogs to jumping again.

  “Still,” she said after a steadying breath, “next time I’ll buy.”

  “It’s a date.” He said it with a slow smile, barely a hint of dimple, but her heart thudded heavy in her chest anyway. “Good night, Lily Michaels.”

  “Night,” she managed, and closed the door behind them with a sigh.

  “Well,” she told herself as she turned off the lights and headed down the hall to the bedroom, “at least I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight.”

  Chapter Six

  Over the next few days, Lily settled into her new apartment. She bought sweeping, gauzy curtains for the windows, fabric designed to allow the natural light to burst through while still keeping a measure of privacy. She stocked the kitchen with goodies from her favorite gourmet grocery and pork rinds and beef jerky from the gas station on the corner. She found the perfect knotted rag rug for the small dining area, and began prepping the bathroom to be painted a happy periwinkle.

  What she didn’t do was see her landlord. She heard him, occasionally, calling to the dog outside as they went on their daily runs or plinking away on the piano downstairs when she came in from work. But their paths didn’t cross, and she’d all but convinced herself that the interest and sexual tension she’d felt the day she’d moved in was a figment of her imagination.

  “You’re an idiot,” Bridget told her during one of her check-in calls from Hawaii. “What, you don’t see the guys for a few days and you figure that’s it?”

  “It’s been a week, Bridge.” Lily shifted her cell phone to her left hand as the clerk at Paints ’N’ Moore rang up her freshly mixed gallon of Periwinkle Dream. “If he was interested, don’t you think he’d have asked me out by now? Or at least stopped by to say hi?”

  “You know, it’s not 1957,” Bridget drawled, her voice partially obscured by the tiki bar music playing in the background. “Women are allowed to ask men out in these modern times.”

  Lily grimaced as she dug out her wallet. “Don’t start with me on that again. You know I’m weird about that.”

  “Yeah, well, you need to get over it. Borrow a cup of sugar from the guy, for God’s sake. Take him a plant, tell him it’s a housewarming present.”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “I’m the one who just moved in, why would I be bringing him a housewarming gift?” She shifted the phone, signed the credit slip, and gathered up her paint with a mouthed Thank you to the clerk.

  “So? It’d be cute.”

  “It’d be obvious.”

  “Cutely obvious,” Bridget countered.

  “I’m not taking him a plant.”

  Bridget’s heavy sign came over the line loud and clear. “Fine, be a stubborn git,” she muttered.

  Lily laughed as she dashed through a light rain to her car. “I miss you. When are you coming home?”

  “Not for a while yet,” Bridget said, and even though her voice was easy, the words light, something in the tone made Lily pause.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Bridget assured her. “I’m just so relaxed here, so at peace. I don’t really want to come back to all that mess.”

  Lily frowned, juggling phone and paint as she climbed into the car. “All what mess? There’s no mess.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” Bridget said, and the odd tone was back in her voice. “What with cancelling the wedding and everything…”

  “Honey, nobody blames you for that,” Lily slid the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. “They understand why you did what you did.”

  “I know,” Bridget said, and Lily could picture her shuffling her feet as she spoke. “It’s just so humiliating, you know? Such a cliché, the groom running off with someone else. The wedding planner, and I never saw it. I feel so dumb.”

  “Nobody thinks you’re dumb,” Lily said firmly. “No one who knows you, anyway. And if anyone does, they’re not worth the spit it takes to lick a stamp.”

  “You don’t lick stamps anymore, Lily.” There was laughter in Bridget’s voice now, and the tightness in Lily’s chest eased slightly. “You peel and stick, or buy postage on the internet.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I love you for being so loyal. But with the talk about the wedding, I’d just as soon stay away for a while. And now with Max—”

  Lily straightened in her seat. “Max? What about him?”

  “Nothing,” Bridget said. “I just meant the talk about Max and the wedding.”

  “Bullshit. He’s been calling you, hasn’t he?”

  Bridget sighed. “He’s left a few messages on my mobile.”

  “Asshole,” Lily muttered. “What’d he say?”

  “Some crap about needing to talk to me, wanting to get together to talk things out. He wasn’t making a lot of sense, really, just kept saying we needed to talk.”

  “Did you call him back?”

  “Hell no.” The derision in her voice practically crackled over the line. “I’ve got luaus to go to and surfing lessons to take, I’ve got no time for cheating assholes.”

  “Good for you,” Lily told her. The rain was getting worse, pounding on the roof of the car, but she ignored it as she waged a brief internal debate.

&nbs
p; “He came by to see me.”

  “What? Max did? Where, when?”

  “About a week and a half ago, at the hotel. He told me he needed to speak with you, that the two of you had things to work out.”

  “Asshole. What’d you tell him?”

  “That he was an asshole,” Lily said, and listened to Bridget’s trilling laugh with relief.

  “He really is. God, I never thought I’d be so happy that my fiancé was cheating on me.”

  That startled a laugh out of Lily. “What?”

  “Well, if he hadn’t, I’d have married him. Then I’d be married to an asshole, and nobody needs that.”

  Lily rested her head back on the seat. “I love you, Bridget.”

  “I love you too. Now will you go home and borrow a damn cup of sugar?”

  Lily laughed and straightened up to turn the key in the ignition. “No.”

  “Stubborn,” Bridget muttered, and clicked off.

  The rain was coming down hard now, and the storm had knocked out a few traffic lights, snarling traffic and stretching the normal ten-minute drive into nearly twenty. Lily let her mind wander as she made her way around the campus toward Ivy Lane.

  She knew she was hopelessly old-fashioned about some things, but she really just couldn’t bring herself to seek Nate out. She kept hoping to run into him randomly, in some fashion that wouldn’t feel too awkward or feel forced. After a week, she’d pretty much accepted that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Maybe I could steal his mail,” she muttered as she pulled up the drive and around the back of the carriage house to the small carport Nate had built back there. She continued muttering to herself, running through possibilities as she gathered her paint and purse. “Then I could knock on his door, and say, ‘Hey, I got some of your mail by mistake, how weird is that?’”

  She paused in the act of opening the car door then shook her head. “No, that’s lame.”

  She climbed out of the car and nudged the door shut. She walked to the edge of the carport, and judging the rain to be of the cats-and-dogs variety, took a firm grip on her packages and made a mad dash for the door.

  The sprint from carport to door took only seconds, but by the time she managed to fit the key into the lock and lurch inside, she was soaked to the skin.

  She nudged the door shut with her foot and dripped her way up the stairs. Inside the apartment, she dropped purse and paint onto the granite countertop and walked down the hall to the bathroom. There she stripped off the sodden tank top and yoga pants she’d worn to the gym that morning and turned on the shower.

  She didn’t want the room to fill up with steam since she couldn’t paint if it was too humid, so she rushed through the process of washing and conditioning her hair.

  She twisted off the taps and reached for one of the fluffy soft cotton towels she’d treated herself to as a housewarming present. She towel dried her hair and patted most of the water from her skin then slathered on the vitamin E oil her mother swore by. “A man likes soft, supple skin, Lillian Ann,” she used to say as she’d smooth it into her own skin after a milk-and-rose-petal bath. “No man wants to make love to a lumberjack.”

  Lily grinned as she thought of her mother. Dorine Michaels might have some antiquated ideas of how the sexes should relate, but she could always be counted on for a hug or a smack on the head, whichever was needed most.

  Thinking she ought to call her mother while the first coat of paint was drying, she capped the oil and draped her towel over the shower rod. She padded naked into the bedroom and dug out the cutoff jean shorts and tube top she’d designated as painting clothes.

  She could hear the rain beating on the roof, and a glance out the window confirmed that the storm had gotten worse. She crossed the room to open the window, and breathed in the fresh scent of wet earth and wind as damp air pushed into the room.

  She smiled as she looked over the lush green of the lawn, to the trees in the park across the street. She had a wonderful apartment, a job she loved and good friends. And, if she could work up the nerve to borrow a cup of sugar, an attractive man who might just be willing to take her out on a date. Life was good, she decided, and would be even better when her bathroom was purple.

  She strolled without haste to the kitchen, and dug out one of the squares of gourmet dark chocolate she kept in the cupboard as a pre-work treat. She let it melt on her tongue, enjoying the bite of seventy percent cocoa while she gathered the paint, along with the drop cloth, paint pan and roller she’d picked up at the hardware store earlier in the week. On impulse, she crossed to the front door, opening it to the small landing, and opened the window there as well so she could enjoy the breeze created by the cross ventilation. Satisfied, she carried her supplies back down the hall and began to prep for work.

  Moments later her iPod was hooked into its speaker system, pumping out Aretha Franklin as she stood on the drop cloth and dipped her roller into the freshly poured pan of paint.

  * * * * *

  Nate cursed the weather and the dog in equal measure.

  “Come on, you furry jackass!” He shook the rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and yanked on the leash. Beau dug his ass even farther into the puddle he was sitting in and gave a pitiful whine.

  Nate bit down on exasperation. Force wasn’t working, perhaps cajoling would. “Come on, Beau, don’t you want a cookie? Let’s go home and get some cookies, okay?”

  The dog’s ears perked up and he gave a hopeful woof. Encouraged, Nate tugged again and was rewarded with two cautious steps. “Yeah, that’s it, boy! Let’s go home and get a cookie!”

  Beau woofed again and took two more steps forward, but before Nate could even finish the mental Yes!, lightning split the sky over their heads and thunder boomed. Nate swore ripely as Beau’s forward movement halted immediately, but even as he braced himself for the dog to pull back, lightning struck again and instead of burrowing in, Beau leapt forward.

  The leash flew out of his hand as the dog flew past him. Caught flat footed, Nate cursed as he ran to catch up. “Beau! Beau, heel!”

  He stopped cursing because it was costing him breath. He chased the dog through the park, past the swing sets and the merry-go-round, the softball fields and the picnic area. He felt a burst of relief when he realized Beau was headed for home, but his heart all but stopped in his chest as he watched him run across the street in front of a pickup. It started again with a painful thump as the truck swerved, missing the dog by inches, and Beau ran on with barely a hitch in his stride.

  Nate ignored the shouted curses of the driver and ran across the street, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the dog. It was getting darker, and he could hardly make out the wet mass of panicked canine as he raced across the lawn. He put on a burst of speed when he realized Beau was racing past the house without even a pause, but by the time he made it up the hill, there was no sign of him.

  His head whipped around as he scanned the yard, calling Beau’s name at the top of his lungs. It was only on his second scan of the yard he noticed the bottom door to the carriage house apartment was ajar.

  He leapt forward, spanning the distance in two strides, and immediately noticed the huge muddy footprints on the front of the door. He was pushing the door open when he heard the crash and the scream.

  Fearing the worst—though what the worst was he had no idea—he flew up the stairs and through the open apartment door. Part of his brain made note of the muddy footprints and puddles of dirty water on the floor, and used them as a trail. He flew down the hall and, noting the lights on and music coming from the bathroom, bolted through the door at top speed.

  He had a glimpse of Beau, muddy and wet and scrambling for purchase on the plastic-draped floor, and of Lily, arms pinwheeling, paint flying off the roller in her hand as she fought for balance. He stepped forward, arms outstretched to catch her, steady her, but the heel of his worn and muddy sneaker caught a puddle of spilled paint. His legs shot out, his arms shot up and he went skidding into both o
f them like a bowling ball aiming for the last two pins on the lane.

  Beau yipped, Lily screeched, and they all went down in a pile of arms and legs and paint roller and fur.

  “Fuck.” Nate’s head bounced off the tile and had him seeing stars. Beau whined and tried to get up, pushing the bulk of his considerable weight into Nate’s lower abdomen. He cursed again, groaning as the dog slipped and fell back into his lap, and in self-defense curled a hand into his collar.

  “Are you all right?” he heard Lily ask from the vicinity of his knees, and looked down.

  She was lying half under the dog and half over him, her neck arched over his shin and the top of her head resting on the floor. She had paint on her face. “Ah…fine,” he managed, and struggled up onto his elbows while keeping a vise grip on the dog. “How’re you?”

  “Oh fine. Just hanging around.”

  For a second neither of them said anything, the silence only broken by Aretha’s soulful voice crooning about Dr. Feelgood, then they both burst out laughing at the same time. Beau whined and tried to lick both their faces. Lily laughed harder, her whole body shaking with it.

  Nate finally managed to sit up and lever Beau off his lap. “Sit!” he commanded, pulling up with the hand on his collar, pushing his rump down with the other, and with an oddly human groan, Beau complied.

  Nate turned back to find Lily pushing herself up and quickly grasped her elbow, easing her into a sitting position.

  “Thanks,” she said, laughter warming her voice. Her brown eyes danced, sparkling in the light as she pushed her hair off her forehead. Her full lips were unpainted and curved in a smile he was sure she had no idea was as sexy as it was silly.

  It was the first and only time he could recall getting an erection with the smell of wet dog in his nostrils.