My Bachelor (8 page)

“I’ve got to go.” I watched her as she walked away.

“By the way,” I called to her.

She stopped and her sparkling eyes flashed my direction, temporarily short circuiting my thought. Then seeing her face jarred my memory.

“I would never marry someone who wasn’t my best friend.”

A glimmer of a smile curled her lips before she turned around and headed toward the picnic set.

Chapter 9

Eliot

Rafe met me
at the front door with a package of spaghetti noodles in one hand and a jar of sauce in the other. “Spaghetti is a specialty of mine.” He looked at the jar. “With a little help from Mama Petrillo and her basil, parmesan sauce.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the giant, rather intimidating and incredibly handsome man standing with a box of noodles and a jar of marinara. I walked past him. “Then you won’t mind if I finish annotating this last chapter while you toil over the hot stove with Mama Petrillo. Oh, and I need you to write me a list of things you want.”

He shut the door and followed me into the front room. “I don’t need anything.”

I dropped my textbook on the couch. “Come on, you must need something. The studio has a big budget set aside just for the star of the show. The other bachelors were more demanding. They had Jackson running around like a mad man. I need something to do or the studio will think this job only needs to be part-time. I can’t lose hours.”

“You’re here right now to help me get a better sense of what I’m doing on the show. So I’ve got you working overtime, as far as I can tell. Now study and I’ll cook. How long until you have to get ready for your next job?”

“I’ll have to leave in an hour. Fortunately, I’ve been too busy to take my laundry out of the backseat of my car. I’ll have to change into my Sparky’s
uniform
, and I use the term lightly.”

Rafe squinted one eye in thought. “Sparky’s, hmm, let me think.” He pointed at me with the box of spaghetti. “Black shorts and—uh—a pink tank top.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Can’t believe I forgot that. But then I haven’t been there in at least a year. How long have you been working at Sparky’s?”

“Eight months.”

“That explains why I never saw you there.” The noodles shook in the box as he waved it at me again. “Not pink. Turquoise.” I felt my cheeks warm as he gazed at my face. “Like your eyes.”

“My eyes aren’t turquoise.”

“No, you’re right. They are aqua. And, frankly, they are like none I’ve ever seen.”

He walked to the kitchen and put down the spaghetti.

I brushed over the comment about my eyes, reminding myself that I was still just Eliot and that Rafe had more than a dozen beautiful women waiting for him to propose marriage. Or at least I supposed that was the case. There had been a few seasons where the bachelor didn’t win the hearts and minds of all the contestants, but I’d seen nothing like that this season. From rumors floating around the set, the women in the bachelorette house were all determined to land him. 

I watched Rafe set to work filling a pot of water, a task that shouldn’t have been the least bit exciting or worth watching, and yet, he managed to make it look manly and appealing. For the first time since I’d started with the studio, I actually envied the women in that house.

Rafe’s big arms flexed, stretching the tattoo ink as he lifted the pot out from under the spigot. He placed it on the stove and leaned sideways to watch the height of the flame. Then he dropped the lid on the pot and swiped his hands against each other as if he’d just prepared a complicated dish. He smiled at me over the kitchen island. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

“Which part? The complex filling of the pot or adjusting the stove to just the right amount of heat?”

“No, the fact that I knew what the Sparky’s uniform looked like.” He tapped the side of his head. “That’s my photographic memory hard at work.”

“Oh that. Yes. So do you have an entire catalog of cocktail server uniforms in your mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“All right, that’s impressive. But I wouldn’t lead with that when you meet the contestants’ parents.”

Rafe’s face blanched, and his usual cool demeanor disappeared for a moment. “Parents? I’m meeting parents?”

I laughed. “Boy, you really haven’t ever seen the show, have you? Well, you’re in for a treat because after you’ve narrowed it down to four women, the studio flies you all around the country to meet their families. Some of them invite everyone for the gathering, aunts, cousins and even grandparents.” I picked up my book and sat down on the couch.

Rafe walked out and stood over me. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

I peered up at him, knowing full well I wasn’t being terribly supportive and yet at the same time having fun with the idea that he wasn’t very into the bachelor thing. Somehow it made him more likable. More real.

“El, you’ve got to help me narrow down the choices. In fact, maybe you could find out which ones are not really into me. That way I can send them off and put them out of their misery.”

I looked up at him and tapped my chin with my highlighter. “Bad news on that front too. I don’t think there are any bachelorettes willing to ‘fall on the sword’ and give up on a chance to be with you. But I’ll see what I can find out, if that helps.”

Rafe sat down next to me, close enough that my arm touched his. I scooted discretely away.

“Shit, Eliot, this is so not me. I really jumped from the plane without a parachute this time. Falling in love doesn’t come easy for me.”

“It’ll be fine. Just relax and let things happen.” I was great at giving the advice, but I couldn’t see how any kind of real love could blossom on a studio set. He looked truly miserable. “There are some really nice women up in that house. What about Nina, the elementary school teacher?”

“Which one is she?”

I pretended to be perturbed but deep down I was feeling a little gleeful that he couldn’t remember the contestants and their names yet. “Photographic memory, huh?”

“Well, selective photographic memory. Things that are important to me.”

“Like the cocktail waitress uniforms at various bars?”

“Yes. Like that. I can remember a lot about you.”

“That’s because you’ve spent way more time with me than any of the bachelorettes,” I said in my usual self-deprecating manner. Jackson called it my defense mechanism. I just called it my go-to response.

The couch creaked under Rafe’s massive form as he turned slightly sideways to look at me. “Eliot, you might work hard to go unnoticed, but trust me, you are highly noticeable.”

I brushed my fingers across the curl. It bounced right back as I stared down at my book and pretended to read.

“See, there you go again.”

“Anyone can see that I have blue eyes,” I said with a dismissive shrug.

“They aren’t blue. They are a rare aqua color. And you have a tiny heart-shaped freckle on the back of your arm. You also put a lot of milk in your coffee, but you still blow on it before you take a sip, in case it’s too hot.”

My heart felt heavy with his words. Some lucky bachelorette was going to end up with this man, who not only looked the part of the perfect bachelor but played the part too. Only, unlike so many of the other bachelors on the show, this guy seemed to be genuine. I forced myself to look up at him.

Without warning, Rafe pointed at my mouth. I could feel the top of his finger graze my lip. “And the way this side of your lips tilts up just a little higher than the other when you smile. A little imperfection that goes perfectly with the rest of you.”

I blinked at him for a second, completely at a loss for words. His close proximity didn’t help either.

“See. Selective photographic memory.”

“I’m perfectly imperfect?”

“Absolutely. Don’t change one single flaw, Eliot.”

I was completely on the emotional fence about which way to take his words. He seemed to catch my confusion.

“Damn, I always say the wrong thing with you, El, but I mean it all in a good way. You’re not spit-polished like so many women I meet. I like that. You’ll make some man really lucky one day. Wait. Is there someone? I just figured since you’re so busy—”

His mention of me making some man lucky stunned me back into reality. For a moment, I’d allowed myself the luxury of thinking that a man like Rafe could fall for someone like me. He was so smooth with his words, they flowed like cream. But they were just words. The nicest I’d heard in a long time but just words all the same.

“Don’t fall all over yourself in apology. I am too busy. It’s the last thing I need right now.” I thought about the few relationships I’d had and the one I was in with Brent when Georgie got hurt. It was such a horrible time. I broke it off with him for no other reason except that I was overwhelmed with grief. He moved quickly on to someone who was, as Rafe might say, much more spit-polished.

“Nina, huh?” Rafe stretched his legs out and rested his feet on the coffee table. “That’s who you see me with.”

I shrugged. “She just seems like the most down to earth. Not quite as much va va voom as some of the other women. Something tells me you’ve had no shortage off va va voom in your life. Maybe it’s time to think less voomy.”

Rafe nodded and scratched his chin. “I have had more than my share of voom. And I won’t lie. I like it. I like it a lot. But maybe that’s why I haven’t found someone that I can consider as a future wife.” He dropped his feet to the floor. “Water’s boiling and you are supposed to be studying.”

I stared down at the textbook, but it was a blur. I’d been left so flustered by our conversation, there was no way I was going to memorize amino acids this afternoon. I shut the book. “I’m going to zip out to my car and get my clothes.” I stopped in front of the kitchen island where Rafe was opening a beer. He offered me one but I shook my head. “If it doesn’t bother you, I’m going to hop in and take a quick shower.”

“Why would that bother me?” He lifted the bottle to his mouth. I was temporarily mesmerized by the lettering on his forearm. The word Outlaw twitched and moved with the sinewy muscles leading from his elbow to his wrist. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be held by his powerful arms. And I had no doubt he knew how to keep the perfect balance between strength and tenderness when it came to women.

“El? It’s all right. I really don’t mind.”

I snapped out of my musings and realized they’d left me more than just a little flushed. “Thanks. Wow, I need some air. I’m feeling a little light-headed.”

“Are you O.K.? Do you need me to walk outside with you?”

“No, no, I’m good. I think it’s just the steam in the kitchen.” I hurried to the door, thinking there was steam all right, but it had nothing to do with spaghetti.

Chapter 10

Rafe

“I’ll make it
fast,” Eliot blurted as she hurried past with her clothes and shut the bathroom door behind her. The poor kid was always in such a rush, and she seemed extra flustered this afternoon. I probably shouldn’t have invited her back to eat with me, but I’d found myself going fucking stir crazy in the house with no one but cameras and my own reflection to talk to. And Eliot was especially fun to be around.

I briefly wondered what the hell was happening in my real life without me actually being a part of it. I’d made sure that Tracker was being well-cared for, in fact, spoiled rotten no doubt, by my parents. My sister, Jill, was taking care of my bills and any business matters. The show’s producer had assured me that anyone from my family could contact me in the event of an emergency, but it was still frustrating not knowing what was happening in the outside world. I needed to give myself a good kick in the ass once this was all over. After I sold my data program, I’d allowed myself some time to regroup and figure out what the hell to do next. I was officially retired from the army. I’d bought a house and land up north but I had nothing to tie me down anywhere. And, for the first time in my life, I had enough money to do whatever the hell I wanted. As great as that had sounded at the time, I’d found myself getting bored with traveling and looking for the next thrill. But a wife? That just didn’t seem like the answer. Only now, at the end of this, I was going to have to propose to a woman I barely knew. I’d signed a contract with the show, and even though there was no requirement to actually go through with a marriage after all was said and done, this wasn’t only about me. Another person was going to be on the other side of that grand finale kiss.

I dropped the pasta into the boiling water and turned back to the stack of flashcards on the counter. The faces were a blur of lipstick and straight white smiles. None of them had made an impression on me yet. Being wrapped up in the bachelor’s house in between filming and being cut off from the world made the entire thing that much worse. Millions of people would be watching the show and expecting some kind of happily ever after thing at the end of it. But I was feeling so damn removed from it all, I was having a hard time believing that I was at the center of that happy ending. I needed to stop thinking about the whole thing as some crazy ass bet I’d agreed to while dangling on the side of a rock face and start thinking about how I was going to get through this without making a complete ass of myself on national television and without hurting someone else in the process.

I started shuffling through the cards.

Roxanne, the med student, had been interesting to talk to and seemed as if she had a cool sense of humor. I turned the card over to read more about her. The shower went on in the bathroom, and my attention was temporarily pulled from the cards. My mind floated to an image of Eliot stepping naked into the shower stall. I tried to shake it away before the vision took hold of me physically, but it was too late. My cock pushed urgently at the fly on my jeans. It was only because I was trapped in the house, with a lot of women across the lawn waiting for me to seduce them, I assured myself. Eliot was stuck with me because it was her job, and I had no right to think about her naked in my shower. I was blaming the erotic flash of a daydream on my forced seclusion.

A sudden clamor, like shampoo bottles falling onto tile was followed by a short squeal echoing off the same tile. The water shut off abruptly, and Eliot seemed to be talking to someone.

I walked down the hallway and stopped at the bathroom door. “Eliot, are you all right?”

“Come here, you little bugger. I almost drowned you.” Her words were slightly muffled by the door between us.

“Eliot,” I called. “Who are you drowning?”

“Open the door! Hurry!”

Adrenaline pumped through me, and I pushed open the door, not completely sure what I’d find on the other side. But I was ready to jump into action. Eliot had her hands cupped together She didn’t glance up as she brushed past me. “Follow me. You need to get the front door too. And hurry. Icky. Icky. Icky.”

I followed behind her as she scurried toward the front door wearing just the oversized studio t-shirt and not much more. She flashed an anxious look back at me. “The door. Icky. Icky.”

“Well, I’m a little insulted about being called Icky, but—” I reached past her and opened the front door.

Eliot tossed something tiny from her hands and then wiped them on her shirt as if she’d just touched a rotting corpse. “You aren’t the icky thing. The spider and its little crawly legs on my palms was creeping me out.”

“A spider? I’m impressed. I don’t know many people who would go through the trouble of saving a spider from the shower, let alone carrying it to the door in their hands. I think you’ve earned some kind of scout badge today.”

“Trust me, if it had been shiny and black, I would have spent one of my damsel in distress cards and called you in to drown it. But that was just a common garden spider, not the least bit harmful. Unless you are a fly or another pest. Spiders are a good thing, and I fully support their existence on the planet. I just don’t want them crawling around in the shower with me.”

“There’s such a thing then? Damsel in distress cards?”

“In a virtual sort of way. Only some women have a lot more of them than others. Not the lingerie model though. I’m sure that was all too real.”

“Janelle.”

“Who?”

“You keep calling her the lingerie model, but her name is Janelle.”

Eliot nodded and looked slightly ashamed. “You’re right. Sometimes we women are really good at taking ourselves backward instead of forward. Janelle. Seems like maybe she’s one of your top choices.” It was a statement that sounded like a question. “This won’t be all that hard for you. You’ll see.”

She pushed the curl aside, and it inadvertently lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing the blue panties beneath. “I need to get in that shower and get dressed.” She reached down and gave the shirt a stretch to cover her thighs.

“Hey, El,” I said and then paused to watch her fidget with the shirt.

“Yes?”

“You’ve got nice legs.”

A pink blush colored her cheeks. “They’re pretty standard, I think. Knees, ankles and a place to put my shoes.” She sidled past me.

“Nothing standard about those gams,” I called to her as she headed back to the bathroom.

The spaghetti was finished just as the bathroom door opened. The faint smell of soap mixed incongruently with the aroma of marinara.

Eliot’s feet pattered along the wood floor of the hallway. “Smells good. I just realized I’m starved.”

I spun around with two plates of spaghetti, and stopped short enough to send sauce covered noodles over the side of each plate. I glanced past the plates to the mess on the floor. “Guess I’ll cross fine dining server off my list of possible future jobs.”

Eliot hurried around the kitchen island. “I’ll get it.” She pulled on the paper towels, unraveling a good amount, and crumpled them in her hands. I lowered the plates onto the kitchen island, and even knowing what an ass I was for doing it, I stood and watched as Eliot stooped down in her small black shorts to wipe up the splatter.

“Yep, the Sparky’s uniform is coming back to me very clearly now.”

Eliot stood up and twisted around to look at me. Her wet hair was combed back and the curl was being held in check by the moisture. I realized I missed seeing it there on the smooth skin of her forehead. “What are you rambling on about?” she muttered as she carried the paper towels to the trash.

I leaned against the granite edge of the island. “I was just reminiscing about the old days, when I was free to move about the planet and hang out in places like Sparky’s where hot women brought me cold beers on a black tray.”

“You’ve only been in here for three days. And you are free to move about planet earth as long as it’s in the vicinity of the studio cameras.” She walked around to the stool under the kitchen island and hopped up onto it.

“The mystery of what you’ve been hiding under that gigantic studio t-shirt has been solved. Probably not considered proper manners to be saying this to my butler, but you rock that little Sparky’s server uniform. In fact, you’re technically to blame for the runaway spaghetti mess.”

Eliot quickly diverted her gaze.

“You sure like to hide from compliments.”

She responded by adjusting the clingy shirt so that it covered her cleavage.

I grabbed the salt and pepper shakers off the counter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m zipping it up.”

She quietly pulled the plate of spaghetti closer and picked up the fork. “By the way, I won’t be on set until ten tomorrow. I have class in the morning. So if you need something—”

“I don’t need anything.” I couldn’t hold back a smile as I watched her dive into the spaghetti. She wasn’t one of those women who picked at her food. None of my reactions ever escaped her notice. It was incredible how quickly we’d become friends. It seemed we could almost read each other’s thoughts.

She slurped in a long noodle and wiped her chin with her napkin. Her lips pushed up into that crooked little grin that I’d already characterized as one of the world’s best smiles. “I’m so glad I could entertain you with my eating habits. Aren’t you going to have some?”

I circled around to the second stool. “It’s just nice watching a woman eat without looking at the food as if it is her mortal enemy.”

“Thanks? I think. What happened to zipping it up?”

“I lied. But now I’ll eat spaghetti and try to keep my comments less focused on you.” I climbed up onto the stool and, again, ignoring my promise, returned to my favorite topic. Eliot. “So, you worked all day. Now, you’re going to serve beers to a bunch of drunken asses. Then tomorrow, you have class. You sure drive yourself hard, El.” I looked over at her as she continued to eat the pasta. “I figure you’re either working hard to get away from a life you aren’t happy with, or you’re working hard to make up for something. A mistake maybe?”

Eliot had a forkful of noodles but instead of eating them, she lowered them onto her plate. Her long lashes fluttered down as she stared at the uneaten spaghetti.

“Sorry, El, none of my business.” I picked up my fork. “See, I’m shutting up.”

“I should get going. There will be traffic.” She slid off the stool.

“Eliot, don’t go. Finish your food. I won’t say another damn thing. I promise.”

“I can’t be late, or I get docked pay.” She carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it off and stuck it in the dishwasher.

“Eliot—”

She turned around. The turquoise blue of her shirt made her eyes even brighter, if that was possible. “Thanks for the spaghetti. Get some sleep, bachelor. I hear you’re going on a bike ride tomorrow with the other half of the contestants. Hopefully there won’t be any runaway bicycles to contend with.” She winked at me and turned to leave, but I grabbed her hand.

“Eliot, please don’t leave yet. Ignore my big mouth. I’m being way too familiar with you, and I apologize. It’s just I felt this instant connection to you, as if we’ve been friends for a long time.”

She stared down at her hand in mine for a moment and then lifted her gaze to mine. Reluctantly, I released her hand.

“No apologies necessary, Rafe. And if it helps, I feel the same way, as if we’ve known each other long before this. I’m thankful for that. It makes my job easier.”

“Actually, that helps a lot. I didn’t want you to leave here angry or hurt by what I said. It was just an observation. Not a judgment.”

Eliot shook her head. “I’m not angry or hurt. My reactions come more from the fact that you are always spot on with your comments, the working hard to go unnoticed, being every guy’s chum, all of that. It’s like you see me better than I see myself.” Her smile tilted slightly to the right. “You’re like the world’s hottest psychiatrist.”

I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my fingers over the back of her hand. “Hey, anytime you need to sit on that couch and lay your soul bare, I’m there for you. And I won’t charge you a penny.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She picked her keys and books up off the coffee table. “I’ll see you around ten tomorrow.”

“Drive safely.”

“Thanks.” She reached the door and looked back at me. “And it’s both.”

“What’s both?”

“The reason I’m buzzing around like a worker bee building the world’s biggest hive. I’m working for a better life and, at the same time, I’m trying to erase a horrible mistake.” With that she walked out the door. 

I stared at the shut door and heard her always hurried footsteps as she raced out to her shabby little car. It took her several ignition turns to get the thing started. Seconds later, it sputtered down the driveway.

I looked down at the plate of spaghetti. It no longer looked appetizing. I picked up the pile of cards. I’d had plenty of notecards pass through my hands while I earned my degree in the army. But these particular flashcards left a tight knot in the pit of my stomach.

I got up from the stool, and as I headed to the couch, someone knocked on the door. I tossed the cards on the table and walked enthusiastically to answer it. “What’d you forget?” I asked as I swung it open. My shoulders sank in disappointment when Eliot’s pretty smile didn’t greet me on the other side. It was Doug, the director.

“Rafe, can I come in?”

“Of course.” I opened the door wider.

Doug glanced back over his shoulder at the driveway before turning back to me. The sun was close to setting, but he was still wearing his opaque black sunglasses. “Why is Eliot leaving here so late?” I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the accusatory tone or if that was just the way he always sounded. Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past me and into the house.

Doug was a forty something who was lean like a runner or cyclist. He always wore a backwards cap and black t-shirt. He was also always a little too wired for my liking, as if it wouldn’t take much to send him off into orbit. I’d already witnessed a few short temper fits when things weren’t going exactly right on set. My soldier instinct told me this wasn’t just a friendly visit.