Plum Girl (Romance) (12 page)

For some reason, the idea really put her off. Here she'd been stressing over her growing feelings for Dominick, and for all she knew, Terry picked up a girl at every show. Of course, he was clueless about her current ire. Well, why wouldn't he be? He really barely knew her. The thing was, she knew how ridiculous she was to feel this sense of annoyance after the way she'd acted like an overheated hussy in Borders that afternoon. Yet, she couldn't help it.

Finally—as the cab turned the corner onto her street—she accepted the fact that her anger was really irritation, and she wasn't so much irritated as she was... well...
turned off.
She glanced over Peach's head at Terry, and her suspicions were confirmed. From the moment he'd showed up on her doorstep with the dumb eight ball, she just hadn't felt sparks.

No attraction, no zing. She normally did—at least she had until certain recent developments had forced her to realize that a spark was a far cry from a raging inferno of scalding, searing lust. To put it mildly.

The cabdriver let them off in front of Lonnie's building, and Terry allowed Lonnie to pay the fare without sparing a backward glance. After the taxi pulled away, Terry put his arm around Lonnie, and said, "Man, I'm tired. Good show, huh?"

"Uh-huh," she replied tonelessly. The elevator ride was quiet; Peach, for once, failed to fill in the silence. Inside the apartment, Peach went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, and Lonnie decided it would be a good time to try out the flannel, checkered, long-sleeved pajamas that Aunt Kim had given her for Christmas two years ago. Speaking of that, where was that long underwear she'd gotten for her birthday?

"Hey," Terry whispered, while he stripped to his briefs. "Is your sister staying here tonight?"

Obviously, genius.
"Yeah, I think so. Why?" She was playing dumb, although she knew perfectly well what he was getting at—Peach normally stayed at their parents' town house when Terry visited.

Luckily, their parents were away, and since Peach hated staying in the house alone, she'd be spending the night at their apartment.

"Why?" he echoed on a whisper. "Because..." He came closer and quirked his mouth into a mischief maker's grin. "What about the booty?"

I can't believe I used to find this cute.
"Oh... well, it wouldn't be right. I mean, with Peach here." She finished tearing the plastic wrapper, and the checkered pj's spilled out. Terry caught one look of them and grimaced painfully.

"What is
that?"
he asked.

"My new pajamas," she replied briskly, unwilling to acknowledge that they were about as alluring as a beekeeper suit. Peach emerged from the bathroom, patting her face dry.

Once Peach was in her bed, behind the partition screen, and everything was dark, Terry made his move. He slid his hand over Lonnie's side, to her stomach, and then slithered up inside her flannel pajama top. Her eyes flew open. Obviously turning away from him hadn't relayed her desired message: she didn't want "the booty" tonight. Fooling around with Terry was always fun—and always relatively innocent—but now, the thought of kissing and caressing him filled her with dread. Part of it was because of the way he'd been flirting with that comedy club groupie, and part of it had little to do with him... and a lot to do with somebody else.

Terry's hand applied pressure, coaxing Lonnie to roll over and face him. Fine, she guessed she owed him that much.

She rolled over, which he instantly mistook as an invitation. He swooped his head down to kiss her, but she pulled hers back before his lips could make contact. Even in the dark, she could see hurt cross his features. "I just don't feel comfortable," she whispered soothingly. "With my sister here and everything."

He sighed heavily. Now he was angry, but at least he wasn't hurt. "Well, why is she here? Usually, we have the place to ourselves."

"My parents didn't want her to," she lied. And not very convincingly, she might add. But Terry didn't seem to think she was fabricating anything. He was too busy sulking, which, in all honesty, Lonnie could understand. But it still wasn't going to change anything at the moment. "Do you mind if we just go to sleep?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Whatever," he growled, and flopped over onto his stomach with an audible thump. She rolled over so their backs were to each other.

Oh, Dominick.
She thought about the fun she had with him, how easy it always seemed to be with him. That is, until she inevitably did something stupid.

Okay, that was
it!
She was twenty-seven years old already. It was time to stop wasting her life with a guy she couldn't love, just because the one and only man she had ever loved broke her heart four years ago. It was time to stop closing herself off to real relationships because of what Jake had done. It was time to let this thing she had with Terry go, and it was time to
grow up.

Chapter 9

12:38 p.m. Lonnie's eyes darted off the clock and back to her coffee cup, which she'd accidentally filled to the rim, and now she was tremblingly close to spilling the scalding liquid on the hallway carpet. She was heading to the library at the far end of the office to get some extra work done. Since the holiday party was later that night, the office had a half day of work. Lonnie was one of the only people left, and she figured this would be a good time to work on Macey's project.

Only minutes before, Beauregard had left. Of course he'd stopped at her desk first and asked if any confidential faxes had come for him yet. When she'd told him that she didn't think so but she'd double-check, he'd told her not to bother since he'd already gone through her desk earlier.

On the way to the library, she stopped at Bette's office to drop off some resumes that had come in on Twit's fax machine. The door was open, but Bette wasn't around. She probably went home for the day, too, so Lonnie walked in far enough to toss the resumes into Bette's inbox. As she was turning back to the door, her coffee teetering, something struck her.

Something was different about Bette's office.... What was it?

What was it?

Wait!
The pictures that were usually on her desk were gone. Silver-framed photos of Bette's husband, Reginald, and their children, Skylar-Blaise and Burberry, were missing. Knowing Bette, Lonnie thought, she'd sent the picture frames somewhere to get them professionally cleaned—for an exorbitant price—and they'd be back on her desk in a few days.

Lonnie carefully pressed her hip against the glass door to the legal library, pushing it open while trying not to spill her coffee. She had her bag, which held Macey's little spiral notebook, slung around her, and she was ready to work... even if she didn't fully understand the purpose of the assignment. She looked around the deserted room. Its decor had a wonderfully homey quality—long, thick oak tables, mocha brown suede sofas, and soft-lighting lamps with emerald green glass shades. The stacks themselves were high and dense with multicolored leather-bound books, and the aisles that separated them were narrow strips of Oriental rug. She decided to sit at one of the tables so she'd be more
productive;
the last time she'd sunk into one of the suede sofas, she'd sort of fallen asleep.

She set down her cup, took the spiral notebook out of her bag, and opened to the first dog-eared page. For an instant, she got a seventh-grade urge to doodle smiley faces for Macey to find later. Luckily the urge wasn't uncontrollable. She walked down the second aisle to retrieve the black legal encyclopedia that Macey had told her to use.

As soon as she saw it on the fifth shelf, she reached up to grab it, and suddenly, heard voices coming from the next aisle over. Unlike Lunther's and Macey's conversation the other day, these voices weren't muffled. She could hear every word that Bette Linsey was saying. She just didn't know whom Bette was saying things
to,
because the man talking with her was whispering harshly, making his voice impossible to distinguish.

"I don't like being cornered like this," Bette said.

"Now you know how I feel," the man whispered savagely. "Look, if you just tell me what I want to know—"

"You don't have any right to
ask!"
Bette snapped.

"Shh! All right; just calm down!" he ordered. Lonnie had a dumbstruck déjà vu of the other morning in the supply room, and she knew she shouldn't just stand here eavesdropping, but she found herself in the same dilemma that she'd been in then. What was her alternative? They were obviously right in the next aisle, and she had no idea when they were planning to leave. She didn't want them to catch her tiptoeing out of her aisle, but she also didn't think she should noisily make her presence known since whatever she'd overheard so far was obviously not intended for her ears. She'd rather not make her intraoffice work relations any more awkward than necessary. It seemed like the best thing to do was to wait it out.

Bette lowered her voice back down and commanded, "Get out of my way." Her tone was steely and unyielding. Obviously the whispering man was holding her there against her will—or at least physically blocking her—yet she didn't sound afraid. Just annoyed.

In a strained tone that sounded as if words were being ground out, he protested, "Don't hold out on me, Bette! I'm
desperate.
I don't—I just don't know what I'll do if it's true!"

"Get out of my way!" Bette ordered, and Lonnie heard her stomp down the aisle and toward the library entrance. But she didn't hear the glass door creak open. Where was Bette? Why wasn't she leaving?
Oh, no.
This wasn't the best plan after all. Now if Bette walked over and saw Lonnie just standing here, it would look eight million times worse!

Then she heard her voice. "By the way!" Bette called out, and Lonnie figured that she must've just paused at the door for a few moments. "You're
pathetic
!" The door creaked open and creaked closed.

Good, Bette was gone.

Too bad she left Lonnie alone with a strange man who admitted to being "desperate," but not before she'd taunted him with some insulting words. Lonnie's heart was not only racing, but it seemed to be beating in her throat, as she tried to move stealthily down the Oriental rug. She got to the end of her aisle and froze in fear. Suddenly, she felt totally vulnerable—both surrounded and isolated. She decided the best thing to do would be to just calmly walk back to her table with a book in hand and act completely clueless. Until the pepper spray in her bag was within grabbing distance, that is. Just in case.

When she reached her table, she set down the book, and felt a twinge of uncertainty about leaving. What about Macey's project? But then, the library would always be there tomorrow after work, and even though it would be Christmas Eve, the attorneys were sure to stay late. The near emptiness of the office this afternoon was a once-a-year aberration. That settled it. With notebook still in hand, Lonnie picked up her bag, ignored her untouched coffee, and turned to go.

Aah!
B.J. startled her by being right behind her.

"Omigod! B.J. you scared me!" She let out a breath. "What are you doing just standing behind me like that?"

He smiled, but it was so forced it looked painful. "I was about to say hi when you turned around. What are you doing here? Everyone went home for the day."

Lonnie didn't want to jump to conclusions. B.J. might have been the whisperer from a minute ago, but it was possible he'd just come in. Then again, if he'd just come in, she would've heard the door creak. "Oh," she said and motioned to the encyclopedia, "Just getting some work done."

He nodded, and after an almost imperceptible pause, his forced smile turned positively plastered. "So, you psyched for the party tonight?" He balled his little hands into enthusiastic, bony fists when he said the word "party." Something definitely wasn't right with B.J.

Lonnie smiled in a way that she hoped looked normal, and answered, "Yeah. Well, probably more stressed. If anything goes wrong, Beauregard will be looking to me." She shrugged. "But what the hell, right? Listen, I should get going—"

"Yeah, I'm pumped about tonight. The only question is, which girl I'm taking. Three different girls I know have been trying to get me to ask them, but I still haven't decided. See, they're all equally hot."

And equally fictional.
"Well, make sure you introduce me to whomever tonight. See ya later." She left the library, praying she wouldn't hear the door creak open behind her, because B.J had really given her the creeps. He had to be the whispering man from the stacks. Seeing her in the library had obviously caught him off guard; he'd tried to act congenial, but it was a blatantly uncomfortable front. Lonnie wondered what he was so worried about, and what Bette Linsey had to do with it. But it was none of her business anyway, so she headed back to her desk to shut down her PC.

And to fortify herself for a little confrontation with Dominick.

* * *

Lonnie used the mirrored wall of the elevator when she applied a hint of Plum Daiquiri lipstick. It was more psychological fortification than cosmetic. And yes, she knew how doubtlessly fucked up that was. The ride three floors down was too short to plan anything elaborate, which was probably just as well.

After Terry had left on Sunday afternoon, Lonnie asked Peach if she'd noticed the way he flirted with that skinny blonde after his show. From the melodramatic gagging gestures her little sister made, Lonnie took that as a yes. And Lonnie started thinking more seriously about her feelings for Dominick. It wasn't just the way that Terry had flirted (shamelessly) with that groupie. It was more. It was their overall lack of chemistry. It was the superficiality of their relationship. It was the freaking eight ball.

And then there was Dominick. She loved his wit and charm. She loved that he'd volunteered for a big brother program. She respected his intellect. And, damn it, he'd taken a bloody punch for her, which maybe shouldn't mean as much to her as it did. But it did.