Love at 11 (7 page)

He looked up. “God, I’m so sorry, Maddy. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such an idiot.” His face was white as a ghost and it appeared he couldn’t meet my eyes. “I swear to you, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m not that guy. I’m really not.”

“I said it’s
fine
,” I cried, my voice breaking on the word.
Don’t cry, Maddy! Don’t you fucking cry!
But I couldn’t help it. It was all just too horrible. I felt sick and confused inside. What was wrong with me? I should be screaming at him and telling him to get the hell out of my house. Instead, I was feeling sorry for the jerk. Like, I hated him for what happened, but at the same time, his distraught face tugged at my heart.

Jamie rose from the couch and approached me. He took my trembling body in his arms and pulled me close. Unable to stop myself, I buried my face in his chest and started sobbing like a baby. He smoothed my hair and kissed the top of my head.

“Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

“I said it was fine,” I repeated, bawling. He led me over to the couch and sat me down. “The eggs will burn,” I protested.

He nodded and walked back into the kitchen, switching off the stove. So much for breakfast, I guess. Then he returned to the couch, sitting down beside me. “I’m sorry, too,” I said, staring down at my lap. “I never should have—”

He pressed a finger to my lips, stopping my words. “No,” he said. “You did nothing wrong. It was completely my fault. Here I am trying to comfort you over your family situation, and I end up making it that much worse. I’m the only one here who needs to fucking apologize.”

He pulled me into another hug, holding me close. I could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He held me there for a moment, not saying anything. It should have been suffocating, but the closeness was strangely calming.

Finally, he pulled away, meeting my eyes with his own sad green ones. God, he was good-looking, I couldn’t help thinking. Jennifer was one lucky girl.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his expression earnest. “Is it going to be too hard to work together now? Do you want me to ask them to reassign me to news?”

I swallowed hard. What did I want? Was I going to be able to move on from this? Or would it be eternally awful and embarrassing and weird between us?

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.”

He gave me a wry smile. “Yeah, me neither,” he said. “I guess if you think we can work through it … and be mature adults and all that,” I mused. “I guess then it’d be okay to try working together still.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m totally fine with that. But I don’t want to make things hard for you. I feel so awful as it is.”

I shook my head. “I’m a big girl,” I said, though I didn’t completely feel it at the moment. “I’ll be fine. We’ll just have to keep it professional from now on. Stay away from the Scooby Snacks.”

Jamie laughed. “If I never have another Scooby Snack it will be too soon.” He paused, then held out a tentative hand. “So, still friends?” he asked.

I shook it, hoping he didn’t notice my fingers were still trembling. “Friends,” I agreed.

But inside I wondered if it’d really be that easy.

Chapter Five

FROM
: “Dr. Barbara Wilens”

TO
: “Madeline Madison”

SUBJECT
: re: Leaded Lipstick

Dear Maddy,

Thank you for your inquiry about whether or not lipstick contains dangerous levels of lead. The chain e-mail you forwarded me is incorrect in saying that lead in lipstick causes cancer. Exposure to lead does not cause cancer. However, lipstick pigments can contain some amount of lead and while the levels are not sufficient to harm a grown woman, a pregnant woman might be inadvertently poisoning her unborn child, which could possibly lead to brain damage. It’s a pretty big stretch to say cosmetics can kill, but we would certainly advise pregnant women to stay away from lipstick, just in case.

Sincerely,

Barbara Wilens, MD

P.S. To avoid bad luck, I did pass the e-mail on to five of my friends. Sure, it’s probably completely unethical to forward incorrect medical information to the public, but I’m in surgery today and I couldn’t really risk dropping the knife or leaving a sponge inside the patient’s body!!! That would be a good story, huh?

I was never going out on a Thursday night again. I was way too old to handle such hangover potential.

I peeked around the corner of my cubicle to make sure the Special Projects department remained vacant, then plopped my head in my hands on my desk. So tired. Just needed a minute of shut-eye.

Jamie had offered to drive me to work that morning (on his motorcycle, no less!), but I decided it would look a little strange to anyone who saw us pull into the News 9 parking lot. Like why were we together in the a.m.? Didn’t need those kinds of rumors on top of everything else.

I closed my eyes, attempting to block out the world. I felt terrible—both physically and emotionally—and couldn’t stop beating myself up over all that had happened. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let things get so out of control?

Deep in my heart, I knew the answer was simple. I had a massive, out of control, raging crush on the guy. And it didn’t seem to be fading very fast, even with the awkward morning-after syndrome.

I was in such trouble.

“Sleeping on the job, are we, darling?”

I looked up, bleary-eyed. In my hangover stupor, I’d failed to realize David, my very gay political producer cubicle mate, had sat down across from me. Guess he was back from Senator Gorman’s reelection tour. He grinned nastily, enjoying my pain a bit too much. I flipped him the bird and returned my head to its resting position.

“Girlfriend, you so
cannot
sleep! I have big gossip.” He reached over to shake me by the shoulder. “Big!”

“I’m listening.” Didn’t have to raise my head for my ears to work.

“I slept with Brock.”

Okay, that was news enough to warrant a head lift. “Brock?” I asked, incredulous. “As in Senator Gorman’s son, Brock? As in Ivy League, Preppy Crew Captain Brock?”

“There’s only one Brock, sweetheart,” David said in his flamingest voice. “And let me tell you, he is prime grade-A beefcake.”

“I didn’t know he was gay.” Senator Gorman was the most conservative Republican on the planet. Hell, he’d spearheaded the committee to make gay marriage illegal and had tried for years to stop gays from adopting children. “Does his father know?”

“Nope!” David looked pleased as punch. “He’d totally kill him if he did. And I’m sworn to secrecy. Of course, I was like: ‘You know, Brock, I could ruin your daddy’s career with this.’ And he’s like: ‘Yeah, I guess I’d better be nice to you.’” David giggled. “And then he sucked my dick, which let me tell you, was very, very nice.”

“Oh-kay then. Too much information alert.”

David grinned wickedly. “Oh grow up, Maddy Pants. You’re just jealous ‘cause you aren’t getting any.”

“Yes I—” … was stopping right there. I would not say
anything
about sleeping with
anyone
. “You’re right, David. I’m completely and utterly jealous. Cause I am getting nothing. Nada. Zip, zilch. I’m practically a born again virgin. And I am
so
jealous of all your gay action.”

“Hmm. Methinks my cubemate doth protest too much.” David studied me closely. “Me also thinks she has an I-just-got-fucked look in her eyes.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I DON’T!”

“You do. You do. You just got fucked. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Unfortunately, the “lucky guy” picked that moment to walk over to my cubicle. I must have turned beet red, ‘cause David’s eyebrows shot up in recognition.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Jamie asked innocently. He must have gone home to shower and change. His hair was still slightly damp and he wore a button-down surfer shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. Delicious. Not that I was tasting. I’d already done too much of that the night before.

“Um, we, um, got a lead on the lipstick e-mail you sent me. I have an, um, interview with a doctor who can talk about it.” Why could I barely form a sentence? I shot a glare at David who had turned around to check his Gmail, still giggling to himself. “Want to meet me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes?”

“Okay. I’ll go get a coffee while I’m waiting. You want one?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” I’d already drunk about ten and my hands had the shakes.

After Jamie disappeared, David, as I knew he would, whirled around and started screeching. “Who was THAT? I go away for four days and we get THAT as a new photog? He is sooo cute. But I guess you already know that.” He looked at me with a mischievous smile. “So, what was he like?”

“Like?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, come on, sistah soul. I totally gave you the scoop on Brock, and that’s way more of a secret than you shagging the new photog.”

“Yeah, but …” I lowered my voice. “He’s engaged.”

“Oh puh-leeze. Does he have a wedding band on his finger yet? No? Well, then, he’s still fair game in my book.” David clapped his hands together in glee. “So, I will repeat my question. What was he like? Divine with a capital ‘D’?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember.” I told David the whole story, starting with my family falling apart and ending with Jamie comforting me the morning after.

“Awh, so sweet. Honey, he sounds like a keeper to me.”

Was he on crack? “Did you listen to a thing I just said? I can’t keep him. I don’t even have him to begin with. He belongs to someone else.”

“For now.”

“Look, I’m not the type of girl who goes and steals other women’s fiancés. The whole thing was just a stupid, lousy, drunken mistake that I will never, ever repeat again.”

“Smart. Next time I’d do him sober. So you can remember how divine he is.”

I groaned. “There’s obviously no talking to you. Anyway, I have to go on my shoot. Do
not
under any circumstances tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Please. As if I knew anyone who would care about your little vanilla sexcapades.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll see you later.” I printed out the directions to the doctor’s office and grabbed them off the printer.

“Peace out. Don’t let the man get you down.”

I rolled my eyes at him and gave him a wave goodbye, then headed out to the parking lot. I found Jamie loading his camera into the Ford Expedition news truck. Without saying anything, I hopped into the passenger side and took a deep breath. He joined me moments later.

“We off?”

“Off.” I passed over the directions, looking straight out the window. What did I say to him? This was so awkward.

To make matters worse, my memory decided to treat me with a fleeting flashback of the night before. Namely, us collapsing on the bed after a particularly rowdy rendition of bedroom karaoke to Duran Duran’s “Save a Prayer.” (A song about a one-night stand—how appropriate!) Him, kissing me senseless. Me, weak in the knees. Him, pulling my tank top over my head. Me, well, still weak in the knees. Pretty pathetic, considering I wasn’t even standing up. Hopefully he didn’t regain any memories of the night in question, as I was becoming quite certain I hadn’t exactly been up to par in the bedroom department. Not that I necessarily wanted him to have fond memories of my prowess there, either. “So, got any fun plans for the weekend?” Jamie asked, interrupting my musings.

Well, I had planned on painting my bedroom forest green, but suddenly that sounded overwhelmingly lame. After all, he was a filmmaker. He probably spent his weekends going to trendy parties with movie stars and complicated cocktails. I couldn’t possibly tell him I had no plans and was going to stay home and paint.

“Actually, I’ve got a hot date.”

Oh, Maddy? Why did you say that?
Once again, my mouth had blurted before my brain could rationalize that the impulsive idea to tell Jamie I had a hot date was an extremely bad one on many, many levels. The most basic being because it was a complete and utter lie.

“Oh yeah?” Jamie turned to look at me. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

He said it so casually it made my stomach ache. Not a hint of jealousy in his voice. He’d obviously moved on from last night’s encounter already. Couldn’t care less that I had a potential new lover. And why would he? He had his fiancée, after all. I was nothing to him.

Get a grip, Maddy. Forget about last night. Or you’re in for a world of hurt.

I realized Jamie was waiting for me to describe imaginary-date man. “Um, well, he’s this surfer guy.” Yeah, surfers were cool. “With blond hair, blue eyes. About six foot.” If I were going to have an imaginary date, he might as well be a hottie. “He’s sponsored, actually. Does all these competitions.”

“Really? What’s his name? I did a documentary on surfing in So-Cal. I know most of the guys.”

Argh. Maddy, why? Why not just say he was some normal guy Jamie would have never heard of?

“Oh, you probably wouldn’t have heard of him …”

“Try me.”

“… because he’s from, um, Czechoslovakia,” I said, naming the country farthest away from So-Cal that I could think of. “Just moved here last month.”

“A Czech surfer?” Jamie asked, sounding intrigued. “Interesting, since the country’s so far inland. How’d he become so good at surfing?”

Oh yeah, I’d conveniently forgotten the Czech Republic wasn’t exactly beachfront property. Duh.

“His father sent him to, um, Ibiza every summer as a kid. He learned there.” Ibiza was an island, right? I was saved.

“The Spanish Island with all the nightclubs? I didn’t realize it was a kid-friendly place.”

Darn. “Um, no, no. Ibiza,
Florida
. It’s near, um, Fort Lauderdale.” I laughed nervously.

“Hmm. Never heard of it.” Jamie shrugged. “I spent a few months in Miami last year, too. Must be a small town.”