The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (15 page)

“Gym, then grocery shopping. I feel like fish tacos. There was a girls’ night out planned for tonight, but Sarah begged off at the last minute. I’m going to rent a Bond film and enjoy a sex fantasy.”

He grinned. “Which one?”

I tilted my chin. “
Skyfall
or
Casino Royale
.” I noted a twinkle in his stare. “Oh, you meant which sex fantasy.”

“What about Hannah?”

I shook my head. “Hannah-free weekend.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy Hannah…”

“Don’t apologize, you’re wonderful with her.”

“It’s just that there might be an opportunity here, for us to get to know each other.” He smiled the winsome Bradley smile. “And I’ve never had fish tacos.”

I paused. “Are you suggesting we spend the weekend together?”

“I could gather up a few things—bring a suit for Monday.”

I checked him out. Still wearing last night’s clothes—so rumpled and cute. “Meet me back here at four-thirty, five o’clock?”

He pulled me into a long smoochy embrace, which involved a number of kisses, and a reluctance to let go.

 
“Four-thirty it is.”

By mid-morning, Union Square’s Green Market bustled with shoppers. I wound a path through canopied tables piled with colorful produce and headed for my favorite family farms, Four and Twenty Blackbirds and Muddy River Nursery. I went over the list in my head—jalapeños and cilantro for the mango salsa. I picked up a bundle of fresh mint for mojitos. Handmade tortillas. Last stop on my way out—a nice piece of snapper or cod from Blue Moon Fish.

Having grown up on the exclusive Westside of L.A., I knew my organic vegetables and free-ranging chickens. Mother had never been the most motherly creature, but she could teach a master class in nutrition.

I splurged on a huge bunch of gorgeous, hothouse parrot tulips and was heading for home when I stopped cold in my tracks. I could not believe my eyes.

Bradley stood under the canopy of a waffle truck with Audrey Lacoste. What was he doing in Green Market, and with Audrey?

He handed her a waffle of massive deliciousness. One with fresh raspberries and whipped cream.
 

Frozen on the spot, all I could do was stare as she offered him a fork full of heaven. Bradley even managed a charming smile as he chewed.
 

Not sure who saw who first, but I must have looked like an idiot. Standing there, arms full of produce and flowers, with my jaw on the ground. The second I became aware he’d spotted me, I turned away and lost myself in the crowded marketplace.

 
I stumbled past the farm trucks that lined the square, slightly nauseous and confused. My phone rang and I didn’t answer.

Several minutes later, just inside Whole Foods Market, a text arrived.
Where are you?

I scored three ripe organic mangos and texted:
Go to hell, Bradley.

I continued to shop for dinner like an automaton, and I wasn’t exactly sure why I bothered. I had no appetite, and I didn’t want to see Bradley or feed him. Wisely, I picked up the main ingredients for heartbreak preparedness, two pints of gelato ice cream. Dark Chocolate Chip and Salted Caramel. I was going to need both.

I received another text alert:
Trust me, Gracie.

Now I was angry. I scrolled through my photo file and found the shot of me giving the one finger salute. The one Derek had snapped the same day Bruce Weber had taken my portrait. Derek had walked into the dressing room and caught me with my top off. I had covered my breasts with one arm and flipped him off. In the picture, my mouth is open, swearing. The shot smacked of don’t-mess-with-me hotness.

Bradley deserved this for lying to me. I pressed send. A shot of crisis adrenaline instantly made me feel better. Fighting back, even at the junior-high level, felt cathartic. I emptied a pound of French Roast beans into the coffee grinder and enjoyed a flash of fantasy that involved Bradley’s penis. I hit the drip grind button.

Mother hadn’t gotten out bed for a month after Dad moved out. The dark cloud of her depression had descended over the house like a black fog. It had taken years for her mood to lift for longer than a few hours at a time. She had never fully recovered from his infidelity and abandonment. In many ways, she made sure none of us would.

A blur of coffee grounds poured into the paper sack, as memories filled my head. I was thirteen—last year of junior high. Flashes of me, climbing into the Mercedes and driving down the hill to get cereal and milk for breakfast. My hands had gripped the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles turned white. All I could think was Hale and Carly needed something to eat. Groggy from sleeping pills, and antidepressants, Mother could barely lift her head off the pillow.

What a crazy, fearful year that had been. Father had deserted us. Mother struggled day to day, in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Hale and Carly were too young to be of much help and Leah was away at college. I had determined then and there to never let what happened to Mom, happen to me.

Ever.

Standing in the checkout line, I swiped my credit card to the ring of yet another text message.

See you at four-thirty.

No. I answered.

Yes. He replied.

I shoved the phone back into my messenger bag and walked the four blocks home in a queasy daze. My stomach rose and fell as I rode some kind of huge self-destructive wave of pain. I tried not to overanalyze what had just happened, but it seemed pretty obvious.
 

Bradley Craig was too good to be true.

A tsunami of disappointment swelled inside me. Mentally, I demoted him to the same relationship status as Derek Moubin. Part-time, occasional sport fuck.
 

I ran up three flights of stairs, stuck the flowers in the sink, and put the groceries away. I tried calling my art director and got her voice mail. Besides celebrity gossip and wardrobe styling, Sarah was also a trusted advisor when it came to men, sex, and dating. Not exactly therapist-level advice, but honestly, who wanted a therapist at a time like this? I ran a tub full of steaming-hot water and added plenty of rosemary-infused bath salts.

Afterward, I slathered on body butter and gave myself a mani-pedi. When in crisis pamper thyself, something Leah used to say. How I missed my big sister. The one person in my life I could count on. I shut down my feelings for Leah. I couldn’t allow myself to miss her too much today. Today was taken up with another kind of heartache.

I forced a smile, admiring my new pale-blue finger and toenails. I really did have a talent for nail polish application.

A part of me wanted desperately to hear Bradley’s story. How he just happened to bump into Audrey while apartment hunting. Liars had a way of twisting things around, making you feel as if you were the crazy girlfriend. I wanted to confront him, let him know how badly he had fucked up.

I didn’t have long to wait. Just after four o’clock, I received a text.

On my way. Looking forward to my first fish tacos.

Obviously, Bradley wasn’t taking no for an answer. In fact, his message seemed strangely confident. Why? Why would he risk pissing me off any more than he already had?
 

Finally, I sent a return text:
Be prepared for snapper tacos with bite ur head off hot sauce.

My stomach growled and I thought about that nice piece of fresh fish in the fridge. It would all go to waste if I didn’t cook tonight. So I went to work peeling and chopping and very soon the kitchen smelled of mango, chilies, and cilantro.

I mixed a light tempura batter, adding a hint of cayenne and cumin, salt and pepper. With most everything prepared, I killed time arranging the tulips that had begun to unfurl their curly, stripped edges. Gorgeous.

The downstairs door buzzed.

I caught a look at myself in the mirror. Hip-riding sweats and a burnout cropped top. Dangerous togs to be flaunting. They could easily lead to something that wasn’t going to happen.
 

I thought about a quick change and decided against it. I wanted to see his face before and after he realized he wasn’t getting any of this.

“OPEN UP, GRACIE.” He continued to bang on the door.
 

I stood in the hallway, anger simmering. Finally I wrenched the door open. “You need to learn to stay away.”

He wore dark blue jeans, a loose V-neck tee and a really fabulous distressed leather bomber jacket. His eyes were bluer than I cared to remember.

 
“What did I do, Gracie?”
 

I backed away and let him in. An overnight suiter hung over his shoulder and he carried his gym bag.

 
“You can park those right there.” I pointed to the bench near the entry.

He stared for a very long time. Enough to harden my nipples, which were already visible under the thin cotton top. He set his stuff down and followed me into the kitchen.

“It smells amazing in here.”

“Mango salsa, one of my specialties.” I got out a muddler and cocktail shaker. “Can I interest you in a stiff mojito?”

“Do you think we should drink before we sort this out?”

I whirled around. The sharp end of my knife pointed directly at him. “I’m not very good at sharing, Bradley. So if I have to share, you have to learn to stay away.”

 
Jeezus, I sounded like my niece having a tantrum. And he seemed to recognize the Hannah in me. The glimmer in his eye and cute smile gave him away.
 

This wasn’t going right.
 

“You can just as easily make a do it list with Audrey.”

He flattened the grin, but his gaze never left me. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because…you obviously…” I was stammering.

“Audrey moonlights as a real estate agent. I thought you knew.”

Stunned, I shook my head.

“I have quite a large sum coming from the sale of the flat in London. I thought I might start looking for a place. Audrey has a listing on Gramercy West, and a loft near Union Square.”

My eyes narrowed. “You were sharing a waffle from the same fork.”

“Yes, that was a bit awkward. I’m not sure why she insisted on that.”

I crossed my arms under my chest, keeping the knife pointed forward. “Really? I’m sure I know why.”

He reached over and gently removed the cutlery from my hand. “An angry female wielding a samurai knife makes me twitchy.” He set the blade down on the counter.

I stared at him. “Why would Audrey need another income?”

“Her husband hasn’t worked in months—had to take sick leave. Cancer, I believe. She says he’s going to recover.”

I picked up the knife and sliced the lemons and limes for juicing. “There’s mint in the fridge and silver rum in the far left cabinet.”

 
While Bradley fetched, I contemplated the waffle, apartment listing, cancer story. Definitely too bizarre to make up, but l felt little remorse. Mostly because I found everything Audrey said or did suspicious.

Bradley set down the bottle and the mint.

“She cheats on him.” My voice rose along with my agitation. “She fucked Derek twice, just to piss me off.”

“It would seem Derek also fucked her.” His steady gaze met mine. “Twice.”
 

I had to admire the sheer courage of his remark.
 

He shrugged. “People do strange things when they’re frightened when they think they might lose someone they love.”

I thought about my reaction to Bradley and Audrey. Was this one of my self-preservation moves, or a simple overreaction? There were times, especially with men, that I couldn’t trust myself. I was really good at pushing them away before they had a chance to hurt me.

“Gracie, you came along at an awkward moment. The waffle thing appeared intimate—”

“I can’t allow myself to get close,” I interrupted, “not if you’re just another horn-dog player.” The mint turned out to be cilantro. “And this isn’t mint—use your nose.”

 
I got out the simple syrup while Bradley foraged. He set the new bunch of greens on the counter with a testy slap.

I don’t know why that small show of temperament made me smile. Maybe it was because Bradley always appeared so perfectly self-possessed unless he was coming. I thought about his face during orgasm—jaws tight, eyes glazed over, so beautifully out of control and vulnerable. Like now.

“Here—a bit of therapy.” I handed him a long-handled wooden pestle. “It’s called a bartender’s muddler.” I rinsed off the mint and shoved a handful of stalks into the cocktail shaker. “Pummel away.”

“Gracie, last night was amazing, one of the best nights of my life. Why would I want to fuck that up?”

The remark nearly sent me into his arms. Somehow, I managed to suck in a breath and get a grip. “Maybe because you thought you’d get away with it.”
 

I added fresh juice and crushed ice to bruised mint leaves. “A quick pour of simple syrup, a bit more ice, and…” I measured out two jiggers of rum. “Shake well.”

Bradley shook while I filled two tall glasses with ice and a sprig of green.