Diving In (27 page)

“Turns out… we knew each other in college.” He cleared his throat. “Once.”

“Christ on a cracker.”

“We didn’t actually sleep together, but when you’re eighteen… I’ve never forgotten her.”

“Except it sounds like you kind of did,” Brand said. “What’s her name?”

“Mickey. I mean, Nicki.”

“True love, is it?”

“Shut up.”

“My advice? Keep your dick in your pants for once. Especially around Diane.”

Ansel laughed softly. “You poor loser. Still have a thing for her, don’t you?”

“Tell Jenny I’m on board with the new property,” he said. “I’ll call the mortgage broker about adjusting the loan.” Then the line went dead.

* * *

Nicki got out a loaf of white bread, two eggs, a carton of milk, sugar, and looked around the cupboard for vanilla, without which the French toast would taste terrible, but all she could find was a bottle of peppermint extract.

Even with a full night’s sleep, she was a below-average cook; with two hours spread over eight, she dropped to the bottom fifth percentile of the cooking population.

There were only three items she had mastered, one for each mealtime: French toast for breakfast, grilled cheese for lunch, and pizza for dinner. Obviously, there was some flexibility there with lunch and dinner, but she kept it simple to maximize success. She was like that one guy you knew who could play one simplified Scott Joplin song on the piano but nothing else.

“There’s no vanilla,” she muttered. And there wasn’t enough bread for Diane if she showed up.

Of course she would show up. The woman would probably arrive in lingerie and heels.

Just friends
.

Oh, men. So clueless. So, so clueless.

How long had Diane been in love with him? How many times had she shown up like this when Ansel was with another woman?

Nicki almost felt guilty. She knew what it felt like to love a friend, and Ansel obviously had no idea about Diane’s feelings, or he’d show a little sensitivity. He’d probably already told her about their hookup yesterday, and now Diane was going into red alert mode. She was going to style that perfect bob of hers until it shone like a Roman battle helmet.

Nicki put on her running shoes, shoved a pair of twenties in her pocket, and ran out to buy some pastries from the shop downstairs. It wasn’t until she was handing over the cash and waiting for her pennies in change before she realized she’d taken the elevator.

Well, that was something. To celebrate, she ate a chunk of banana bread on the way back up—silently daring the elevator to break as she chewed—and was pulling out the rest of the piece when the door opened.

“Good morning!” Diane said.

She was jogging in place as she waited for the elevator. She wasn’t wearing lingerie, but the jogging bra and stretchy shorts were skimpier than Nicki’s bikini.

“Hi,” Nicki said, mouth full, stepping off the elevator with the pastry box in her arms. “It’s a beautiful day for a run.” No reason she couldn’t be friendly.

“I hate it, actually, but it must be done.” Diane reached inside and hit a button that froze the elevator in place. “Oh, I can smell that from here. Banana bread?”

Nicki nodded, waiting for Diane to moan about her weight, her inability to eat. She was the kind of woman whose abs had abs. Or maybe those bumps were her small intestines. Not much covering the organs down there.

“Save me a piece?” Diane asked.

“Really? Sure.”

“Hide it from Ansel. He’ll eat mine, even if you tell him it’s for me. Cover it with a napkin and put it somewhere he won’t look.”

Nicki couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay. I promise.”

“I could get my own, of course, but I don’t have my wallet on me, and I’m lazy.” Diane jogged into the elevator and hit the button. “Thanks!”

The doors closed between them; Nicki returned to the condo, wondering if she’d be able to stop herself from liking Diane. It would be easier not to. No matter what happened with Ansel.

Pastry box in her arms, she unlocked the door and pushed it in with her knee.

“Diane?” Ansel asked.

She froze. “No, it’s me.”

He came around the corner, hair mussed, bottled water in his hand, shirtless. When he saw the box, he let out a breath. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He looked like something that should be inside a pastry box. His chest hair was like chocolate and vanilla sprinkles. “I was getting breakfast,” she said.

“I thought you’d left.”

She went into the kitchen and put the box on the counter. Maybe she’d had only a few hours of sleep, but she suddenly felt wide awake. “Left in what way?”

“In a scary way.”

She felt a pang of unease. “Without a suitcase? Or all of my clothes?” Was he suggesting she had a reason to take off?

“I figured you weren’t naked or anything,” he said, “just that you’d gone out and didn’t plan on coming back anytime soon.”

Maybe she’d been too relaxed about his gal pal showing up. “I saw Diane at the elevator.” She scanned his face for guilt or deceit but found neither.

He simply nodded and put the water down. “She tried to get me to run with her. I thought she’d come back for another shot.” Then he met her eyes, holding them with a suggestive smile. “You know I’m not much of a runner.”

She felt desire blast through her body like a backdraft in a burning skyscraper. “You’re okay,” she said in a low voice.

“Okay?” He approached, never dropping her gaze. His bare toes bumped hers inside their flip-flops. He tilted his head back and smiled that lopsided grin at her.

“Yeah. You’re okay,” she said.

He slid a hand behind her neck. “How about you?” he asked softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” As her heart began pounding, his fingers tangled in her hair. “Fantastic,” she added in a whisper.

His other hand settled at her waist, lightly stroking the band of bare skin under her shirt. “I agree.” Then he leaned closer and dragged his lips across her cheek. His breath was hot on her mouth, where he lingered. “Are you still feeling like you’d like to be alone?”

Her hands trembled so violently, she wouldn’t have been able to write her name. “The way an antelope would like to be alone,” she admitted, closing her eyes. She didn’t know why it was so different from yesterday, why she would be afraid now and not then.

“But antelopes are herding animals,” he said, moving his mouth to her throat. He licked the hollow where her pulse skittered at the surface.
 

“Says the cheetah.” But he smelled like a man, like a fantasy. She tunneled her hands through his hair and let out a ragged sigh.

“Meow.” He opened his mouth and bit the side of her neck.

She moaned.
Oh, God.
Desire melted the fear, erasing the awkward hours between when he’d pulled away from her, sleepy and satisfied—and now.

She rubbed her body against his, searching for his mouth with hers, and in a hot second he was pushing her up against the back of the front door, hands everywhere, no more joking.

“Nicki,” he gasped against her mouth. He lifted her shirt above her bra, rough and fast, as he drove his tongue into her mouth. “You’re… killing me.”

She could do this; she could have fun without thinking herself into a panic attack. A bout of hyperventilation was proof she was doing the right thing. Just like swimming, bridges, flying, and elevators, sex was an everyday activity she needed to master. Like therapy. Not just once. Constant, consistent exposure was key.

Every day, every hour, every minute, every second…

He fell to his knees, hooked his fingers over the waistband of her shorts, and yanked them down to her ankles. The door was firm and smooth under her spine, holding her up when her own legs would’ve failed her. He didn’t start where he’d gone yesterday, which had been perfectly perfect, but at her calves. As he lightly kissed her navel, his fingertips stroked the backs of her knees, tickling their way upward, spiraling over the flesh of her thighs. Then his hands were under the thin fabric, capturing her bottom, pulling her to his face.

He pleasured her without ever taking off her underwear. Through the nylon, rubbing and licking, which she would’ve sworn was impossible, but his mouth and fingers were everywhere, using the barrier to tease and push her higher, up, over.

After she came, she slid down to the floor as if she’d been shot. Blasted in the heart, the head, she sat in a daze.

It was at that moment that Diane rang the bell, knocking at the same time. “Okay, guys, I admit it,” she called out. “I’m lazy. I want my banana bread now.”

Nicki could feel the door vibrate under Diane’s knuckles. Nicki’s gaze met Ansel’s, checking again for any doubt in his face but finding nothing but frustration. Sitting back on his heels, he hung his head and clutched his knees. Blood flow had resumed to Nicki’s brain, so she was the one to stand up first, pulling her underwear and shorts over her hips as she moved.

Diane knocked again. “I know you’re eating mine, Ansel.”

Choking down a laugh, he staggered to his feet. “Not yours,” he mumbled, palming his fly. “I need a minute. Just a minute.” Then he strode off to his room while Nicki did a quick check that no culturally inappropriate body parts were on display before opening the door.

“Hey, sorry,” Nicki said. “I was in the bathroom.”

Diane walked in, eyes scanning the living room, the hallway, the kitchen. “He’s hiding like a dog, isn’t he?” But then she seemed to see the unopened box on the kitchen counter, and her smile froze. For a moment, she didn’t move. She must’ve been running for a few minutes, at least, because every inch of her toned body was shiny with sweat, like a fitness model sprayed with water for a photo shoot.

Nicki walked past her and took out a few plates, pride at war with sympathy. “I’ll give you the biggest piece.”

Diane still hadn’t moved. Nicki felt her watching her as she went to the sink. It had occurred to her that she should wash her hands. She lathered for the full length of the birthday song, as they taught in school, then dried her hands on a fresh towel. As she lifted the box lid, Ansel wandered in with a towel slung around his neck.

“Hey, Diane,” he said. “That was fast.”

Diane responded in a cheerful voice. “I ran into Nicki at the elevator carrying banana bread. I only made it a mile before I had to run back.”

“She didn’t think I’d be able to stop you from eating all of it,” Nicki said. The double entendre caught in her throat, and she had to turn and grimace at the wall instead of breaking down with nervous laughter.

“Listen, Diane…” Ansel began. “Nicki and I—”

“Had plans for breakfast,” Diane finished. “Obviously. But I came all this way, so you can share. I’ll take mine to go.” She punched him in the shoulder, smiling so broadly her back molars were visible. And then holding it there as if a bungee cord were wrapped around the back of her head, hooked into each corner of her mouth.

“No, don’t go,” Nicki said. The welcoming, reassuring skills she’d honed from years of teaching kicked in. “Let me get you a plate. You can tell me about your job. Ansel says you’ve got a great career, but he didn’t say what—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Diane said. “It’s all the same, isn’t it? Corporations that take your youth, all your dreams and energy, until what passion you had on your first day on the job has been squeezed out of you like shit out of a toad.” She was still smiling, but her eyes were haunted.

“Jeez, Diane, what happened?” Ansel asked.

“Excuse me,” Nicki said, “but I think I should leave you two alone so you can catch up. Time for me to take a shower anyway, start my day. You know.”

“But your breakfast—” Diane said.

Nicki was already at her bedroom door. “I’m fine, I ate in the elevator. But thanks.” Then she was inside, leaning against the door, just like before.

She’d just had the best morning of her life. She could afford to share Ansel with his unlucky, unhappy friend.

Chapter 22

A
NSEL
WATCHED
N
ICKI
DISAPPEAR
INTO
her bedroom.
 

Again.

Watching her lose it like that, head falling back against the door…

Fifteen feet away. She was only right there on the other side of the wall, so close…

“I lost my job,” Diane said behind him. Banana bread muffled her words.

He spun around. She looked serious. “What?”

She took his piece of banana bread from him and shoved it into her mouth. “It’s no big deal.”

“Did you say you lost your job?”

“I knew you’d overreact.”

This from a woman who had more books on career planning than a college job placement office.

“That wasn’t overreacting,” he said, clutching his skull and stretching his face into
The Scream
expression. “Oh my God! You’re going to die!”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“
That
was overreacting,” he said.

After a sigh, she opened the fridge. “Do you have any unsweetened organic coconut water?”

“No, because I’m not—”
A yuppie poser
, he was going to say, before he saw her face: red, splotchy cheeks, lips sucked in between her teeth, eyes staring straight ahead. “Are you crying?”

She slammed the fridge door and turned away. “Jet lag. I didn’t sleep well last night. You know how I get if I’m sleep deprived. Stupid, emotional. Stupid.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist.

“Talk to me.” He remembered how Brand had asked why she was taking a vacation. And yet he, her best friend, had been too obtuse to question her.

“Usual story. We—well, not we anymore—got bought out. New people shut us down.”

“And they just dumped everyone?”

She nodded. “We were redundant.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s just business.” She lifted her head, breathing deep. “You can’t expect an intelligent corporation to pay a hundred people to do the same thing as another hundred people.”

“People aren’t interchangeable like widgets,” he said.