The Right Words (11 page)

I looked at her then. Past the bedazzling brilliance of her clothing and accoutrement and saw her sincerity. I knew she loved me. She was a big public-affection type of mom. She told me often how much she adored me while squeezing me senseless. In a way I took that for granted. It was the worry I had a hard time with. I supposed all mothers felt the need to tell their offspring they worried, sometimes even using it to keep the “guilt card” active. I always assumed that was Mara’s motivation. Guilt. Though it didn’t seem as though shaming me was her goal today. She genuinely seemed concerned.

I bit my lip again and tried to formulate my plea. “Mom, I’m fine. I’m a work in progress, and I even think I’m moving in the right direction. Please just trust me. Okay?”

Silence. Not even the tiniest jingle. She heaved a troubled sigh and pursed her red-painted lips together thoughtfully.

“Okay.” She lifted her hand to her hair and ran her red-polished fingers through her platinum locks. “What is your client’s name?” Her question sounded distracted, like a lazy attempt at conversation.

“Michael Martinez.”

Fuck! The moment I said his name, I knew the severity of my mistake. A massive and thorough online search on my unsuspecting boss, his team, and anyone related to him would be under way within the hour.

“Wonderful. Well, you’re a dear friend for helping Brandon out too. He told me you agreed to work here on Saturdays for a while. He’s a good boy. I’m off! I have a dinner to attend tonight. But I’ll be checking in on you, darling. Love you.”

Mara flounced away with a surprisingly graceful turn and shouted a boisterous good-bye to Bran before exiting the store. I stood cloaked in the haze of her heavy perfume, wondering why her
I’ll be checking on you
sounded like an ominous
I’ll be back
from a horror flick.

B
RANDON
WAVED
a cheerful good-bye to his last customer of the day before locking the front door. When he turned back to me, he dropped the upbeat shopkeeper facade and gave me a shy sideways glance.

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t say a word. We had an agreement, and he’d gone back on it. He deserved to stew in a little remorse as far as I was concerned. I looked down at the paperwork I’d been busy with earlier as though I found it much more interesting than his lame apology. But Brandon hadn’t really done anything wrong. My mother was tenacious. I should have called her and filled her in about my new job myself. I set myself up for the embarrassment and guilt she seemed to represent by being a coward. I loved my mother, but I hated feeling like a failure. I wanted to fix my life and then invite her in. When would I get a clue? That’s not how things worked with Mara.

“I held her off for as long as I could but you know how she is.”

I nodded and raised my eyebrows at my oldest, dearest friend. When I rolled my eyes a second later, he knew he was forgiven. He lunged and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist before planting a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek.

“Eww.” I swiped at my cheek theatrically.

“I love you, Lukey. Never doubt it!”

“I know, I know. I love you too. And yeah, I get it. She’s….”

“She’s Mara. She’s big, brash, bold, and beautiful, but… she really
is
worried, which is the only reason I faltered. I apologize. A million times over. I figured if she saw you quick-like, she could set her mind at ease and stop fussin’. Do you think it worked?” Brandon gave me a hopeful look and perched his cute behind on the stool behind the register.

“No. Not at all. Whatever. She’s just exhausting.”

“Be grateful for her, Luke. You are so damn lucky to have all that love in your life.”

“I know,” I sighed tiredly.

“Good! Help me clear up the teensy mess I made in the stockroom. While we fold pillow cases, you can tell me what you were brooding about earlier.” Brandon waltzed away, swinging his ass in a flirty manner that made me want to remind him I wasn’t one of his many admirers, and the odds I’d tell all were above average, anyway.

Except I couldn’t. Not this time. I promised I wouldn’t say a word. As I followed him into the stockroom, I realized this wouldn’t be easy. Brandon wasn’t an ordinary friend. He was like a brother to me. I trusted him with my life. We told each other everything. It wasn’t a matter of sharing juicy gossip, although we did that too. It was a matter of helping each other process and keep perspective in a world that didn’t seem to get us.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What’s on your mind, sugar? Tell me about the job. All about it!”

I picked up a stack of pillowcases and began folding them meticulously. I made sure to line the seams just so as I launched into a boring monologue about picking out tile. I couldn’t even try to embellish my tale. I almost put myself to sleep listening to my monotone account of the various subtleties to be found in the Carrara marble samples I’d gathered.

“Luke?”

“Hmm?”

“You are the world’s worst actor. Ever. Give it up. Something is definitely on your mind, and the fact you are trying to throw
me
off track is suspicious to say the least. Bring it on. Let’s hear it.” Brandon’s right eyebrow was raised practically to his hairline while the other stayed in place. It was a cool trick. But it meant he was serious. Since he didn’t do serious often, I gulped and bit at my lip.

“You can’t say a word.”

“I would never!”

“I’m deadly serious, Brandon. I prom—”

“Luke! You’re freaking me out. You know you can trust me! What happened?”

I did know I could trust him. Michael didn’t know that, however. Oh fuck. I swiped my fingers through my hair in frustration and looked back at Brandon. He was sitting on the corner of his desk with his hands resting on his thighs. Not a good sign. Brandon was perpetually in motion. His stillness indicated he was extremely worried.

“Luke, are you okay? Neil didn’t contact you or—”

“No, of course not. I’m fine. It’s not me. It’s Michael.”

“Whew. Damn, you scared me! So what the hell is going on with choosing tile that’s got you so wound up?”

When he gave me an expectant look, I spilled the beans. Or half of them. I didn’t mention anything about Jamie’s blackmail letter, but I could use Bran’s unique take on how to process some of the unexpected twists in my new job. Specifically that Michael was gay, Jamie was a man, and the masseuse was most likely his new lover.

“Geez. Everyone’s gay these days!”

“Not helpful, Bran.”

“Hmm. He must be deep in the closet. Poor boy. He plays a professional sport, he’s Latin, and religious… or at the very least comes from a religious background. It all points to a deep, dark cave-like existence. Complete with steamy sex from late-night callers like the hunky masseuse. If you hadn’t shared a glass of wine you wouldn’t have even known he was expecting anyone later, let alone heard them in the throes of passion.”

“Throes of passion? Where did you get that line?” I scoffed.

“A romance novel of course. Or maybe it was
The Bachelorette
.” Bran shrugged good-naturedly. “Whatever. He’s a closet case. So he’s gay. So what? You have to respect that he isn’t ready to be out and proud. Just because you caught him kissing his beau doesn’t mean he’s going to want to be your new gay buddy.”

“You’re right. I know. I just wish he was old and ugly instead of tall, Latin, dreamy, and slightly intimidating. Deadly combo for me.”

“You have a crush! Already?”

“A little one. Don’t worry. I’ll talk myself out of it.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

“Well, you’re a professional. You’ll get his house in order, and if things don’t work out with the masseuse and there is magic to be made… who knows?”

“What? You’ll sell him a couple of ocean-blue pillows to match the color of my eyes?” I teased.

Brandon gave a hearty guffaw and flashed a brilliant smile at me. “Exactly!”

M
ONDAY
WOULD
be awkward. I knew it. I tried hard to keep my head from playing out possible scenarios of how the morning might go, but it wasn’t easy. The therapist I’d been seeing since my summer “episode” had been quick to identify my tendency to guess and worry about other people’s reactions in an effort to control or minimize a negative response. She was right, of course. I’d played a game of mental combat for two years with Neil. I was finding it a challenge to remind myself I wasn’t responsible for anyone else’s reaction or how they processed conflict. Real or perceived. Maybe someday I’d get there.

I was practically vibrating with nervous energy when I knocked on Michael’s front door Monday morning.

No answer.

I tried again, knocking a little harder. The door was opened a few moments later by a disheveled and very tired-looking Michael. Great. My heart sank as my mind began wandering. Maybe Jovan was back in the bedroom. Maybe I was responsible for coitus interruptus. Maybe he decided—

“Coffee?”

I gulped once and pasted an overly bright smile on my face.

“Yes. Thank you. That sounds great.”

Michael gave me a ghost of a smile before pivoting skillfully on his crutches and turning toward the kitchen. I took stock of my surroundings as I followed him to see if there were any traces of a lover who hadn’t made his exit yet. The Jeep wasn’t out front, though, so chances were good Jovan was long gone. I wondered if he’d just left and was instantly pissed at myself. This was not my business. I had to get a grip.

I found Michael staring bleary-eyed at his commercial-grade coffeemaker as I entered the awful kitchen. It was funny to see the state-of-the-art appliance next to a forty-plus-year-old refrigerator. Obviously the guy had his priorities straight.

“How was the drive?” he inquired conversationally as he opened an overhead cabinet to get a cup.

“Long, but not terrible.”

“Hmmm.”

Michael poured two cups of coffee and smiled pleasantly when he handed mine over.

“Thank you.” I cradled the cup in both hands, letting the warmth seep through my fingertips.

We stood a couple feet away leaning against the counter, eyeing each other over our steaming cups. The mood was uncertain, but not angry or negative. My shoulders relaxed as I carefully sipped my coffee. I didn’t want to be the first to speak. I didn’t want to miss out by bringing up contractor estimates if he was willing to talk about Jovan. I looked up when he chuckled softly. Michael’s dark eyes twinkled, creasing in merriment at the corners.

“You’re funny.”

“How? What did I do?”

“You look like you have a million things to say or questions to ask. I don’t know you well, but I’m going to suggest you don’t play poker. You’d suck at it.”

His soft smile kept me from taking any offense, but I scowled at him anyway before taking another sip. He was right, of course. But that didn’t mean I was going to crack. Michael licked his lips and looked briefly away before turning back to face me.

“You know when you saw me with….”

“Your masseuse?” I supplied helpfully.

“Yeah. Jovan. I… um. It isn’t serious. That’s all.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. The air suddenly crackled with an undefined energy.

“So you’re saying what exactly? I’m lost. Is it that Jovan is not your boyfriend or it was a momentary impulse? Or—”

“Jovan
isn’t
my boyfriend. We just have a loose… arrangement, I guess.” He stood a little taller and uncrossed his arms, his dark eyes piercing mine with a meaningful stare.

“Cool. Well good for you.” I pasted a weak smile on my face and changed the topic. I hated the strong rush of jealousy I had no right to. I wanted to steer things back to the remodel, but something else entirely came out of my mouth. “Did you call the police about the letter from your ex?”

Michael cocked his head curiously. “No. I called… someone else. Don’t worry about Jamie.”

“Your lawyer? That’s good. He shouldn’t get away wi—”

“Not my lawyer. My—”

I drew in a deep breath as my eyes grew wide and my hand flew to cover my mouth.

“What? What are you freaking out about?”

“Please don’t tell me you arranged a hit.”

“A hit? What—” Michael doubled over in laughter. When he seemed to get control of himself, he shook his head incredulously, his dark eyes twinkling merrily.

“It’s not funny.”

“Where did you get that? Don’t tell me. You were thinking I’ve got some drug cartel connection south of the border who takes care of pesky ex-boyfriends who might try to out me or cause general mischief in my life?”

I rolled my eyes at the very suggestion, though yeah, he wasn’t that far off the mark.

“You’ve got a vivid imagination, Luke. Somehow you being a writer and a designer makes sense. You must read a lot of mysteries as well as poetry. I hope you aren’t disappointed, but the truth is far less exciting. I’m just a stupid sucker who let my dick make a poor decision for me.”

“Well, what are you going to do about him? You can’t let him get away with blackmail, extortion, swind—”

“Don’t worry,
hombrecito
. I won’t.”

We held eye contact for a long moment. There was a strong current between us I couldn’t read. Was it commiseration over a creepy ex? Or was it just me staring at him like an idiot because he was so damn hypnotic? I looked away and took a sip of my coffee.

“Sorry. It’s not my business. It was just so weird.”

“I know. I thought there might be a chance you wouldn’t show up today. I’m glad you did.”

Was I imagining the hint of desire I saw in his eyes? Probably.

My overactive imagination was both a blessing and a curse. I was a hopeless romantic and I was the first to admit I was quick to fall into infatuation. I wasn’t strictly a literature snob. I loved it all. And the truth was I loved trashy romance novels as well as romantic literature and poetry. My problem was I couldn’t help romanticizing every handsome man I came upon. Michael was the perfect object of my desire. He was good-looking but not classically handsome. He was interesting-looking. Even better. Plus he had secrets. Anyone who loved a good romance would acknowledge that secrets evoked a certain vulnerability. The combination made him deliciously irresistible.