The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) (12 page)

She’d been aiming for jocular, but the worried crinkle around Matt’s eyes indicated that she fell short of her mark. Never one to outstay her welcome, Whitney offered another cheerful smile to Laura, grabbed her purse and made for the door.

It looked like round one went to the jeggings.

And she’d given the damn woman her lunch.

Chapter Nine

“What do you mean, you have to go rake leaves?” Whitney rolled out of bed and got to wobbly feet, which were still covered in her favorite striped fuzzy socks. Most of her clothes were still on, actually, which was a new coital habit for her. Normally she reveled in nudity and all its pleasures.

She’d been determined to pump Matt for information about Laura before they resumed their rebound agreement, but the second he’d walked through the door of her condo, holding an offering of orange dreamsicle cupcakes from the local bakery, she’d been unable to keep her hands out of his pants long enough to fully undress.

“Don’t be mad.” Matt leaned against her headboard, totally relaxed and at ease with one arm behind his head. Although she’d managed to remove his shirt, his jeans were still there, unbuttoned and unzipped where they slung low on his hips. “I only came here to thank you for taking care of me while I was sick and to explain that Laura stopped by last week to talk about some lingering insurance issues. Then you jumped me.”

“You jumped back. But I still don’t understand about the leaves. You live in an apartment. That’s why people live in apartments. Because they hate yard work and decent standards of living.”

Matt dropped his arm and swung his feet from the bed, busying himself with his fly. “Well...it’s not for me.”

Whitney froze in the act of buttoning her shirt. Lingering insurance issues, huh? She didn’t buy that for a second. Unless she was very much mistaken, that sweet ex-wife of Matt’s was the worst kind of manipulator, using that damsel-in-distress routine on a man who obviously considered himself some sort of savior.

“Please tell me it’s for a nice old lady who has no muscle mass and eats pot pies alone in her kitchen every night.”

“It’s not.”

“A science experiment then? Are you going to give your kids an insider’s look at the decay of nature?”

Matt hesitated before answering Whitney again. It didn’t take a psychologist to know she wasn’t going to care for his response. It would have been easy to lie and pretend he was helping Lincoln or the fictional nice old lady, but Matt was a big believer in honesty—especially with a woman he’d had his fingers inside no more than ten minutes ago.

“Matt...”

“She needs my help—it’s a big yard, and she didn’t get to all the leaves in the fall. And technically, the house is still in my name.” He paused, searching Whitney for some kind of clue as to her feelings. Other than the fact that she was adjusting her clothes rather fiercely, there wasn’t much to see. Still, he had to try. “I don’t want you to think it’s anything more. I would never do that. You’re the only woman I—”

She growled. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you still have the hots for your ex-wife. In fact, I wish you did. It would be one thing if you showed up there, rake in hand, totally commando underneath your coveralls.”

Matt frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—I’m here to mow your lawn and clean the gutters and all that. Bow-chicka-wow-wow. I fully approve of using your ex-wife for revenge sex.” She paused a beat. “But you and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

“How would you know what this is about?”

Whitney turned to face him. This time, there was no mistaking her sentiment. Her hair floated in a disheveled mess around her shoulders, and her clothes were slightly skewed—but none of that had the same effect as the contortion of her lips, which twisted in a sneer. “You might refuse to open your eyes to the truth, but I see you so much more clearly than you realize. You absolutely cannot go over to a woman’s house to do yard work with no ulterior motive, especially if she’s the woman who broke your heart and then tied all the pieces to her Laura Ashley belt to drag with her wherever she goes. You can’t go crawling back to a cheating wife to do her bidding without looking like a pansy. That’s what you look like right now. And let me tell you—it’s not attractive.”

Enough
. Matt got to his feet and forced his arms into the sleeves of his crumpled shirt. He didn’t even care that it was inside out. “So what you’re saying is that it would be attractive if I planned to take advantage of a woman who asked for my help? It would be attractive if I tried to sleep with one woman when I’m seeing another?” He shook his head. “Whitney, you are some kind of messed up.”

“You want messed up, go look in a mirror. If you think Laura is operating one hundred percent ulterior-motive-free, then you’re a lot dumber than those elbow patches make you look.”

“Fine,” Matt said, quieter this time. “I won’t go.”

“Damn right you won’t.” Whitney’s volume, conversely, stayed well inside yelling range. “I say fuck her. She can rake her own damn leaves for a change.”

Matt wasn’t done. “I won’t go,” he repeated, “but you have to give me a reason not to. Let’s go to a movie this afternoon, and I’ll make reservations at Pizzaro’s for tonight.”

She paused, her lips parted in the middle of her surprise. “You don’t mean a real date, do you?”

That was exactly what he meant. “Is that a problem?”

“I thought I already made this clear. We aren’t dating. This is about you and me and sex. That’s all. I’m helping you get over your ex-wife, remember? You obviously need all the help you can get.”

Pride had never been something Matt was accused of displaying to excess. He’d never understood the point in getting all worked up over a falsely inflated sense of self-worth, especially when it came to relationships, when giving was the much more effective approach over taking. But there was no denying that pride still existed inside him, one of those emotions it was impossible to quash entirely. In fact, it was making its presence loud and clear right now, telling him to walk away from this room—a jumble of clothes and shoes and gauzy, draped things over the lamps—and return to the nice, normal life he’d led just a short time ago.

It hadn’t been bad, that normal life. A little lonely, maybe, but at least he hadn’t been hanging out in a strange, highly sexualized limbo where it was difficult to tell which way to go for air.

“So...that’s a no then,” Matt said flatly. “On the date thing?”

Whitney’s mouth softened and she lifted a hand to Matt’s cheek. Quick and featherlight, it was the kind of embrace that could easily mean nothing. However, the image of Whitney sitting with him all night while he had the flu, of her stopping by to take his temperature and ply him with fluids was still fresh in his memory.

So that touch could also mean a lot more.

Ever the optimist, Matt steeled himself. Whitney Vidra—plastic surgeon, city girl, woman with a will of iron—might think that sex came with no strings, but there was more here than just a tangle of limbs. He was sure of it.

“All you have to do is say the word,” he added.

For a second, he thought she was going to cave. But she shook her head, and by the time she stopped moving, a frown seemed permanently etched into place.

“Matt, I like you. I like you a lot more than I should, and I’m not going to lie—my resolve is weakening. Two hours ago, I might have even agreed to go on a real date with you.” She paused and blew out a long breath. “But if you think for one second I’m going to allow myself to be wooed by a guy who doesn’t realize he’s lugging massive baggage around with his ex-wife shoved inside, you sadly underestimate my self-esteem. What she did was more than just wrong—breaking that promise, that
trust
, is one of the worst things a human being can do to another. How can you possibly be friends with a woman like that?”

“I’m going over to the house to help Laura with yard work. Not because we’re friends or because I’m still holding a torch, but because what I feel is the exact opposite.” He wished he could make Whitney understand. He wished he could make
anyone
understand. All the rules said he was supposed to feel rage, betrayal, loathing—those things that reduced a man to a rubble and left him with nothing to build on.

But the only thing he felt was antipathy. Relief. And the absolute, agonizing certainty that Laura was aware of both.

“I’m sorry, Whitney. But this is what I have to do.”

She frowned and, for a moment, Matt imagined throwing all concerns of Laura to the side and whisking Whitney back to bed. Forget his commitments and responsibilities, forget work and life and focus one hundred percent on
play
.

But that wasn’t him. He stuck to his promises, no matter how softly temptation beckoned. “Will I see you later?” he asked.

“You better,” she said. “I’m not about to abandon you now. Go. Rake. Be your bad Galahad self. And if you need a field to plow afterwards, you know where to find me.”

* * *

“I’m taking it upon myself to find you a serious relationship,” Whitney announced.

She, Matt and John sat in the bright window seat of the train diner, eating crepes the size of small countries. Hers oozed with cinnamon and apples and a rich ricotta cheese filling. The guys had both opted for a savory one with bacon and sausage and every other part of a pig that tasted good over coffee. She moved her utensil between all three plates, sampling whatever she wanted. Neither one of them dared stop her—she’d already stabbed Matt once with her fork, and she wasn’t afraid to do it again.

“Um, me or Matt?” John held up his coffee cup, as if to shield her with it.

“It would take me all of five minutes to pair you off,” Whitney said, ignoring John’s intense look of fear. One time, dammit. One time in college she’d set him up with the guy who lived in the apartment above hers. From the sounds of it, he’d been a very acrobatic lover. John should have been grateful for the introduction. “If you weren’t gay, you have no idea how many of my friends would happily snatch you up.”

“Don’t use the word
snatch
. Don’t even joke about such things.” John gave a fake shudder. As Whitney suspected, John had immediately agreed when she’d suggested brunch. He thought the idea of Whitney spending all her time with an uptight teacher was too hilarious to miss.

Matt pretended to look affronted. “Are you saying John is more desirable than I am? How many minutes will it take to pair me off?”

“Oh, it would take at least a month to do it right.” Whitney squelched against the vinyl seat as she sat back, studying Matt. He obviously thought she was kidding about this whole thing—but she’d never been more serious in her life. The last thing she wanted was for him to end up gardening for his cheating ex-wife for the rest of his life. “I’d want to make sure she was worthy first. A catch like you? You aren’t allowed to settle.”

This time, he caught her full meaning. “I think I’m the best judge of who I want,” Matt said in that quiet, firm way he had—that quiet, firm way that made her want to rip all his clothes off right then and there.

Since public acts of indecency were strictly forbidden until further notice, Whitney focused all her attention on her mimosa, taking a healthy sip that drained half the glass. She would not return Matt’s glance. She would not acknowledge the statement in any way. In fact, she would do exactly what she’d just announced. Matt needed a serious girlfriend.

And that serious girlfriend needed to not be her.

“Then make me a list.” She shoved her napkin across the table. “All the characteristics you’re looking for a in a woman. I’ll find her.”

“I don’t need help getting dates.” Matt shoved the napkin back, a challenge in the firm set of his jaw.

“I don’t think matchmaking is in your future, Whitney,” John agreed. “Maybe you should stick to your natural talents. Blood and gore.”

“If I wanted your opinion, I’d have given it to you. Matt is broken and in pain. He needs me.”

“Who said I’m broken?”

Whitney dropped her fork, allowing it to clatter to her plate noisily. “You haven’t once mentioned your gardening adventure with Laura. In my experience, reticence equals pain.”

“Maybe,” John said calmly, stabbing his fork into her last slice of apple, “it means you should mind your own damn business for once.”

“Unacceptable,” Whitney said, and she meant it. “You know as well as I do that the most catastrophic thing for the recently lovelorn is to be thrown in constant contact with their ex.”

For the first time that morning, John looked serious. He cocked his head slowly, taking in both Matt and Whitney through narrowed eyes. “Is
that
what this is about?”

“What?” Matt instantly picked up on the thread. His soft, trusting eyes turned her way. “What does he mean?”

“Ignore him.” Whitney tossed her hair. She didn’t want to talk about Jared. Not now. Not with Matt acting as though he could see right through her. “Nine times out of ten, John is talking out of his ass. That’s not all he does up there, by the way. Don’t trust it.”

John choked on his water.

“What I’m talking about is Laura,” Whitney continued. “I’m serious. That woman needs to be taught a lesson. She can’t keep treating you like her personal assistant.”

“You don’t know her,” Matt said quietly. John coughed something up from deep in his lung and muttered about needing to use the restroom.

“If this is the part where you tell me you’re going to start trying to fix things with her, I’m out of here,” Whitney said coldly as soon as John rounded the corner and disappeared from view. “You’re better than that.”

“I didn’t say anything about reconciliation. If you really want to know, she needed me to come over to both rake leaves
and
talk about health insurance. When we were married, she was always on my policy. She doesn’t have any now.”

Whitney raised a brow. “She couldn’t call?”

Matt refused to look away. “It’s not an easy thing, you know, the breaking up of a marriage. It’s a lot more than packing up a box of CDs and crashing on a friend’s couch for a few weeks. What was the longest relationship you ever had?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Are you going to say that what we have is irrelevant too?”

Whitney lost her appetite—something that didn’t happen very often in her world. She pushed her plate away. “Look, Matt. I’m doing you a favor here.”