Hot Flash (16 page)

As I pulled up in front of her home, the fixture at the door cast enough light to reveal someone sitting on the porch step.

“Oh, God. Oh, God! It’s Mike. Keep driving,” said Connie, sounding as if she was hyperventilating.

I did as she asked and pulled to a stop a block down the street, wondering if there was a paper sack in my trunk if Connie needed it.

“I can’t believe Mike is here. What am I going to do?” Her breathing slowed somewhat, although even in the dim light I could see her hands shaking.

“That was Mike? Are you sure it’s not some homeless person?”

“He
is
a homeless person. Did you see the huge backpack beside him? He’s brought all his worldly goods! Shit.”

This was serious bad news for Connie. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’ll spend the night at my place. You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“I’m not going to put you out that way. I’m a grown woman. I should be able to handle this.”

“But can you? It’s asking an awful lot, no matter how mature you are.”

“I can’t believe the jerk showed up without calling first.”

“He should have known when you didn’t call him back that he wasn’t welcome.”

“How the hell did he find my place, anyway?”

“Maybe the Internet?”

Connie babbled as she angrily straightened her clothes. “Okay. I’m ready to tell him he’s not welcome anymore. Drive back around.”

“Are you sure?” This couldn’t be a good idea.

“Absolutely. Until I tell him to get lost, he’s going to keep coming back. I’m not going to allow him to keep me out of my own home.”

I wasn’t sure she was ready, though. He’d done a number on her twice before. Was she prepared to confront him again? “Let’s practice what you’re going to say.”

“I’ll say:
Get lost. Go away.”

“That’s good for a start. But he’s always been able to talk you around.”

“There’s nothing he can say that’ll change my mind.” Her jaw was squared and her lips tightened with resolution.

“If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

A few minutes later I parked in front of her place. The engine noise from the Animal woke Mike, who stood up, waiting for us.

I didn’t like the smarmy expression on his face. She needed me there as backup. “I’m coming with you.”

Connie shot me a worried smile. “Thanks.”

She hitched her handbag over her shoulder as she stalked up the walkway to her home. I quickly scrambled out of the Animal and sped to catch up with her.

“Remember,” I said. “Start with
get lost.”

Nodding, and with a serious expression on her face, Connie reached the landing where Mike stood waiting.

He grinned hugely, making the hair stand up on my spine. Yuck.

Connie opened her mouth to tell him to go away, when Mike made his move. He grabbed her, bent her over slightly backward, and laid one hell of a kiss on her.

I have to tell you that, as I watched them, I wondered what the hell I’d been missing in the bedroom if the front porch could be this steamy. No wonder it was difficult for Connie to deal with him. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever personally experienced that much animal magnetism and, if I’m totally honest, passion.

It was depressing. That damn kiss went on and on, too.

I rubbed my shoe toe against the back of my leg, wondering what to do and whether I should interrupt Connie and remind her she was supposed to be getting rid of Mike, not welcoming him with open arms and tongue lock.

I stepped closer and that was when Connie made her move. She opened her front door, pulled Mike inside with her, mouthed, “Sorry,” at me, and slammed the door in my face.

Geez.

This was not on the program.

I banged on her door. “Open up!”

The door didn’t open, but I heard Mike yell, “Get lost.”

That was what Connie was supposed to tell
him!
Unsure what to do next, I stood there for a few seconds gathering my wits. There was no next action on my part. Stomping back to the car, I couldn’t see what I could do to help Connie other than calling the police and reporting a prowler. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d appreciate that.

Instead, I headed toward home. When I stopped at a traffic light, I realized the red light and my mood were in accord. Thinking about Mike hurting Connie made me see red. Sometimes men can be such jerks.

It seemed a pity to waste all this pent up anger at men, and at two men in particular: Mike and the Asshole Professor.

I wanted my skillet back. I wanted it now. I headed to his townhouse. It wasn’t that late, only just past ten o’clock, and with any luck, I’d disturb him right after he’d gone to bed. I admit I was in a mood.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I elected to leave the Animal running as I pursued skillet collection. I knocked on the door.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t knock. I banged.

I yelled, too. “Open up and give me my skillet!”

He opened the door seconds later. “Shush. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

I just hate it when people use that shushing tone of voice with me, and it didn’t help that it was the Asshole Professor. “Screw the neighbors. Just give me my frying pan and I’ll be on my way.”

“I told you, I don’t have it.”

Why was he giving me such a runaround? The skillet was mine. He had it. He should give it back. “How can you not have it? I left it here.”

“My girlfriend took it.”

That’s not the only thing of mine she’d taken, but it certainly was the most important. She could have the Asshole P, but I wanted my skillet. “What’s her address? I’ll go get it from her.”

“You’ll wake her up.”

Wrong answer. I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and flipped it open. “What’s her number?”

He eyed my phone. “I thought you cancelled your cell phone.”

“I changed the number.”

“What’s your new number?”

“Get real. Why do you think I changed the number?”

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

I started to argue back, but shut my mouth. This was just what he needed to justify having dumped me for Betwitna.

After controlling my temper, I asked, very nicely and politely I might add, “May I please have your girlfriend’s phone number?”

“No.”

“Her address?”

He slammed the door in my face. I was really and truly getting tired of this slamming-doors-in-my-face thing. I settled for heading back to my car and phoning the Asshole Professor from behind a locked car door. Naturally, I used call blocking to protect my new number. He answered on the first ring.

“Please. I need my skillet.”

“I’ll get it by next week. When and where do you want to meet?”

My mind worked fast because I didn’t want to see him ever again. “My schedule is chaotic right now. Radkin’s out and I’m filling in. Can you drop it off with the bellhop at the hotel? By Tuesday?”

“Make it Thursday.”

“Now look who’s being difficult. Fine. By Thursday. Noon.” Why hadn’t I noticed what an ineffectual jerk he was before he dumped me? I snapped the phone closed, put the Animal in gear, and headed toward home, with only three goals in mind: a) My skillet, b) college tuition, and c) taking off my shoes. Was that too much to ask?

CHAPTER NINE

Dear Jill,

It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday and to see your cute smile firsthand. I’m looking forward to dinner with you on Saturday. After watching you in action at the hotel, I’m certain to be impressed by your culinary talents.

Not wanting to be trite and send you dead flowers, I decided this cookie bouquet is more fitting. The fact they are baked on Classical products is an added benefit.

Fondly,

Running errands is a necessary, and usually dull, part of a woman’s life. While not always possible, having company during the running here and yonder makes it more enjoyable. I came up with what I think is the perfect solution: cell phones.

As I ran my errands, including a necessary visit to the grocery store to pick up items for my dinner with Aiden, I chatted with Susan, who had
come with me
, digitally speaking, on my cell phone. “I think I’m in love.”

“You’ve barely met him,” Susan said.

“So?” I grabbed a head of cauliflower and tossed it in my shopping cart. “What other guy would send cookies spelling out
Looking forward to dinner with you?
One word on each cookie!”

“Sounds desperate to me.”

“That’s your pregnancy hormones talking. You should see Aiden. No way this guy is desperate.”

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

“Very funny.” I grabbed a box from a nearby display. “What’s the fat content of dessert crackers?”

“How would I know? I’m eating as much fat as this pregnant body can hold. Read the nutrition information.”

“Ha. I tried. The print’s way too small.”

Susan made a humph noise. “You need reading glasses.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of ‘em.”

“Go to the pharmacy department and get a pair.”

“Ah. Good idea.” I pushed my cart to the in-store pharmacy and deliberately avoided the leg wax display on an end cap. I’d barely healed since my last encounter with the stuff. Faux leg wax ought to come with a warning:
Apply at risk of life and limb
.

It didn’t take long to find a spinner rack with all sorts of reading glasses. After checking out the selection, I was a bit disappointed. “Most of these look like something my mother would say was too old for
her
.”

“Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find a pair that isn’t too awful.”

“Oh, this pair looks cute. It folds up to the size of a pencil stub.”

“Try them on,” said Susan. “I adore those collapsible glasses. Do they come with a little tube to put them in?”

“No, but there’s a little case thingy.” There was a tiny slanted mirror at the top of the rack. When I stood on my toes I could see my reflection. I stuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, tilted my head to keep it in place, then slipped on the glasses. It was hard to assess how they looked from my odd angle in the mirror, but they seemed small, almost unnoticeable if you were as blind as I was becoming.

I glanced at the nutrition guide on the dessert cracker box in my cart. “Perfect. I can see again.”

“One problem solved.”

“Only two-hundred thirty-seven more to go!” Which reminded me. “Did you ever reach Connie?”

“No. Voice mail.”

“Me, too.” That was the moment I saw Davin Wesley squeezing the Charmin. Wanting to avoid him, I immediately about-faced my shopping cart. “Ack,” I whispered. “Stephen’s nutso teacher is here.”

“Go hide in the feminine products and he’ll never see you.”

“Good thinking.” I headed in that direction. “Are you as worried about Connie as I am?”

“Well, I called her office and learned she called in sick today. I hope she’s okay. I can’t believe she let Mike in the door.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s okay for now. Considering the intensity of their kiss, I’m surprised she was able to stop long enough to call in to work.” Perspiration broke out on my brow and I wondered if it was sympathy sweat.

“Mike’s going to break her heart.”

I hoped Aiden wouldn’t break mine as I picked up a box of tampons and read the label. The reading glasses were awesome. I then grabbed a box of condoms. Just in case.

I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. The grocery store was unnaturally warm. By this time I was reasonably certain that I’d hidden from Wesley long enough not to meet up with him, so I removed my sweater as I wheeled my cart toward the frozen food aisle. Since I generally freeze along with the food items in the freezer aisle, I was sure I’d feel better soon.

“You’re probably right about Mike breaking Connie’s heart,” I said. “But we can’t be sure he hasn’t changed. Maybe he meant what he said about leaving her being a mistake?”

“We’re talking Mike here, Jill. Lowlifes like him never reform.”

“Good point.” I was so hot I began fanning my collar, hoping for a breeze as I approached the dairy section. Frozen food was just up ahead and I felt desperate to reach it. Was I coming down with something? Had the air-conditioning in the store gone on the fritz? “I’m just hoping I’ll have as much fun with Aiden as Connie is probably having with Mike right now. Geesh. It’s hot in here.”

“Maybe you’re getting all worked up over the idea of s-e-x?”

“I wish. No, I’m perspiring. It started at my hairline and worked its way down my face. I feel like I’m experiencing a nuclear meltdown. I’m even sweating under my new boobs!”

“Hmm. Could be premenopause. Have your periods been regular?”

“No,” I grunted as I bent down to snag a carton of Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche ice cream (my idea of pure heaven) from the freezer bin. Although my reading glasses worked perfectly on the ingredient list, I deliberately chose not to read the calorie count.

“Have you been irritable?”

“What do you think?”

“Are you sleeping well at night?”

“I get up a lot.”

“When did your mom go through menopause?”

“Hell if I know. Is that what you think this is?”