The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (18 page)

 
“It’s Claire. I need to take this. She left me a message earlier, something about Liv and Hannah.”

My mouth dropped open. “They’ve been talking?”

He nodded. “Claire, what’s up?” After a brief silence the high-pitched squawking began. “Hannah Hoffman, yes I know her. She’s the niece of a friend.” Bradley met my gaze across the table. “Yes, someone I’m seeing. What’s going on?”

I stacked a few plates and he reached across the table for my hand. “Hold on—” He muted his phone. “I’ll help with the dishes.”

I settled back and listened to one side of the phone conversation. Apparently the girls were getting on famously, but they were chatting well past Liv’s bedtime.

“There’s a simple solution. Take her phone away after nine.”

I sipped my mojito and winked.

Apparently it wasn’t so simple.

“Hannah?—she’s a lovely girl. A bit lonely, I think. She’s been going through a difficult patch since she lost her mother.” Bradley’s gaze returned to me. “Crossing the street—hit and run.”

The squawks softened.

“I thought it would be nice for Liv to have a friend here as well. Frankly, I’m glad they’re getting on so well. Yes, I’ll speak to both Liv and Hannah.”

More garbled speech.

“Right, good night.” Bradley ended the call.

 
“So, when did all this start?” I asked.
 

“Hannah called me at work Thursday afternoon and asked if she could call Liv—it was eight o’clock London time, so I gave her the green light. Apparently they hit it off. I spoke briefly with Liv today. She was chatterbox over Hannah.”

I finished stacking plates, which Bradley carried into the kitchen. He rinsed, and I loaded the dishwasher. “Thank you, Bradley.”

“You’ll find that I’m rather handy around the flat—”

I shook my head. “Thank you for taking an interest in Hannah, encouraging the friendship.” My niece had her issues, but, as it is with many young girls, all she really needed was to feel safe and loved. You just had to double it for Hannah.

“So…coffee?” I asked.

He pressed against me. “I was thinking dessert.”

I hooked a finger in the V-neck of his tee shirt. “Two pints of gelato in the freezer. Sea Salt Caramel and Dark Chocolate Chip.”

He rocked me in arms. “No doubt
Skyfall
is queued up in the DVD player.”

I nodded, biting my lower lip. “I’m afraid so.”

“If I recall correctly, there’s a smoking-hot shag against a wall.” He kissed my earlobe. “And a shaving scene with Miss Moneypenny.” His lips brushed my cheek. “Something steamy and naked in a shower…” His mouth hovered a breath away from mine. “There is a danger we could become overstimulated.”

“Might I remind you,” I murmured, “the remote has a pause and a playback button.”

Sunday morning broke gray and misty. Bradley finally got me out of bed with a promise of blueberry pancakes, melted butter, warm maple syrup, and antigravity yoga.

We stopped at Johnny’s Luncheonette for pancakes and we both ate ravenously, no doubt to make up for all that vigorous, high-octane sex last night. Bradley had been indefatigable, impressive even by X-rated video standards.

Since waking, every time he looked at me, whether it was helping me into my sports bra or a glance over a fork full of warm pancake, I could tell he was thinking about last night.

He had started with an occasional nuzzle, a whispered word or two. There had been a pleasant, languid build of arousal, until masterfully, he had awakened all the girl parts.

Halfway through
Skyfall
his fingers had danced lightly along the edge of my panties, and when his hand slipped between my legs my hips rose to meet his touch.

By the time the bad guys had blown up 007’s Aston Martin, I had removed Bradley’s tee shirt and licked my way down his chest.

“I can’t watch the car burn.” Bradley pressed the pause button on the remote. He hooked his thumbs under his sweatpants and pushed them lower.
 

“Fuck me, Gracie—get on top.”

Bradley stared at me over a steaming cup of coffee. “We’re fucking great together. You know that don’t you?” His gaze quickly turned penetrating, possessive.
 

“M-mmm,” I murmured, “If there was a reality TV show called Sex Survivor I’d enter us in a hot second.”

Bradley laughed a bit uncomfortably. “You should see yourself after you climax. Your body is almost luminous, and the way you look at me…”

“Lust crazed?” I slanted bedroom eyes at him.

“Claire never looked at me that way—the way you’re looking at me right now.”

I stared at him for a long time. As great as the sex was, I was aching for a different kind of intimacy. “We fuck great, Bradley, but we hardly know each other. When are you going to let me in?”

 
A hint of panic flashed in his eyes.
 

Those gorgeous, crystal blue orbs shifted to the quiet morning traffic outside the diner. Would he open up or would he obfuscate? I held my breath and waited.
 

Finally, he returned to me. “What do you want to know, Gracie?”
 

I settled back into my chair. “Who cheated first?”

“I honestly don’t remember. We both cheated a lot.”

A sobering thought.

“It’s not something I’m proud of. And I haven’t cheated since. Truthfully, I’m not sure what went wrong between Claire and I. Things got pretty fucked-up.”
 

“What did the marriage counselor say?”

“All the stuff you’d expect her to say. We were both replaying childhood dramas. Insecure in ourselves and each other. Mostly we didn’t know what we wanted or needed in a partner.” His gaze moved far away before returning to me. “At one point, Claire accused me of sex addiction.”

Somewhat stunned by his candor, I also got it. “And the counselor’s opinion?”

“Alexa Rinehardt—that was her name. Not long after Claire made the sex addiction accusation, Alexa made a pass at me. Called me at work, asked me to meet her at a hotel bar. I forget the pretext…” He rubbed a bit of chin scruff. “I do remember how awkward it was.”

I swallowed. “What did you do?”

“I fired her, then I reported her.”

His story infuriated me. Therapists were supposed to help us not take advantage, not prey on us. “What a royal piss off,” I growled. “My first MFCC offered his services as a licensed sex therapist.”

He stared at me. “How old were you?”

“Like, seventeen.”

“Fucking pig.”

I nodded absently, thinking about Bradley’s story. He was finally talking and I needed to know more.

“WHY DO YOU THINK you cheated on each other?” I asked.

“I think…she thought I was sleeping around. I was working long hours back then. I also checked out of the marriage for awhile—mentally and physically.”
 

His furrowed brow and tensed jaw gave way to a subtle head shake like he still didn’t fully understand what had happened. “So she slept with someone. A pre-emptive fuck, as it were. She even made sure I discovered her infidelity.”

“Where?”

“In his car, parked in front of our flat.”

I snorted a laugh. “Sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s not funny, you were devastated, I’m sure.

“It’s all rather schoolyard, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “I felt angry and betrayed, so what did I do?”

I gaped at him. “You didn’t—not in the car.”

A self-conscious grin quickly disappeared. “No, I didn’t, but I participated in a number of not-so-discreet encounters. After awhile you become desensitized. You start not caring what your partner is doing. We blew through a few marriage counselors. When the last therapist pointed out that I was living my parents’ life, I quit the whole charade and filed for divorce.

“After I moved out, I made things worse. I didn’t want to relate and I certainly wasn’t looking for intimacy. I’d see a woman maybe once or twice. Get in, get out—I kept things pretty simple. Claire plays the role of a woman scorned, always looking for ways to punish me.”

“So you married your mother?” Just a guess on my part, but it felt right.
 

At first I thought he might be angry, but his gaze relented. “Claire can be a bit of a cold fish at times, and both she and my mother excel in the extramarital intrigues department.”

Bradley downed the last of his coffee. “There are people who enjoy all the angst and drama—the secret liaisons. My parents each had a string of lovers. As far as I could tell, they were both fucking miserable. I never did figure out what all the illicit sex did for them.” He slumped back in his chair with a comic shiver.

Time for a truth-sharing break.
 

I reached out and squeezed his hand. “I saw my mother eaten up by jealousy and rage—how it changed her and my father.” A sudden sadness nearly overwhelmed me and my vision blurred. “Folie à deux.”

Bradley nodded. “Craziness for two.” He squeezed my hand back.
 

So I had guessed correctly about the abandonment and trust issues. We both had them.
 

“I remember a strange sort of benign neglect. Mother wasn’t a crack addict. She was an aging movie actress with a philandering husband and prescription drug habit. My absentee father wasn’t doing time in Folsom Prison. He was a brain surgeon—saving lives when he wasn’t two-timing my mother.”

The look on Bradley’s face mirrored my own emotional state. Compassion, recognition, but at the same time feeling overwhelmed and slightly numb.
 

I sighed. “We’re both shutting down a little.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “When things get too close to the heart, that’s what we do, we shut down.”

 
We both checked our watches.
 

“Almost nine fifteen.” He left a large bill on the table and we headed straight for the gym.
 

According to Bradley, God created Sunday morning expressly for pick-up ball. And God’s blessing had been confirmed when he discovered an antigravity yoga class offered at ten o’clock. Sore from Pilates and sex, I had to admit the stretches from suspension yoga sounded heavenly.

We both needed the tension release and endorphin rush of a good workout. I could tell by the frown he worried about his breakfast confession. Too much truth-telling too soon? Had he confessed too many sins? I had to admit he’d given me reasons to be cautious.

Rounding a corner we came upon the waterfront warehouse that housed the huge sports and fitness palace. We also ran into Audrey Lacoste, waiting at the entrance.

“Audrey belongs here. She recommended this pick-up game.”

I suppose I didn’t sound too thrilled. “Is that right?”

Bradley flashed a “be nice” face as we closed in on her. Frankly, she looked about as happy to see me, as I was to see her.

Fuck. Audrey again.

Bradley arranged for a guest pass and we moved off into the spectacular, multi-level cross-training sports center. Not sure why I hadn’t joined yet. Three full-size basketball courts had games either forming or in progress.
 

Bradley stopped beside the middle court and called next. He turned back to me. “You need to get going.”

He looked a little nervous. This was New York City pick-up basketball. I flashed a reassuring smile.

“Stay in the paint, post up, rebound and defend—you’ll get your share of outside shots.” I lifted my gym bag off his shoulder.

He nodded. “I’m the new guy.”

“Have fun and get a good workout.” I held out a fist and he bumped me.

Audrey directed me downstairs to a number of smaller workout rooms and then headed for the fitness machines. Suspension yoga, anti-gravity yoga, whatever you want to call it, turned out to be amazing. Fully stretched and feeling strong and toned, I ran into Audrey on my way out of the locker room.
 

“I really have to join this gym.”

Audrey smiled her usual thin smile. “So, you and Bradley are together?”

I stared at her. “Actually, I think we’re quite taken with each other.” I rolled my eyes. “That sounds like something Bradley would say.” I played my usual game with her, not giving away too much, acting casual.

She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “And what about Derek?”

“He’s all yours, Audrey.”

She grinned the coy, irritating grin that women use when they pretend they’re not cheating on their husbands. “And you think Bradley’s not a player?”
 

I suddenly realized I couldn’t act like I didn’t care anymore. I’d played it cool with Derek, and surrendered without even trying. “Stay away, Audrey. This time I’m going to fight for Bradley.”
 

She edged away, apparently sensing something new in me. This felt weird—this new empowered me. I remembered what Bradley had said about her husband.

 
“I was sorry to hear about your husband. I had no idea he was sick. Bradley says the prognosis is excellent.”

Storm clouds drifted behind gray-green eyes. “He’s doing a lot better.”

I turned away and hesitated. With three floors of rock climbing, pools, boxing rings, running tracks, ice rinks and workout rooms, I was lost.