Unlikely (8 page)

Concern tinged the glow of pleasure when reality surfaced. He came back from a quick trip to the bathroom to take care of essentials
and laid down next to her on the cool cotton sheet.

Ryan pulled the thin summer blanket over their bodies. “Sophie, I’m sorry about that, but I promise there won’t be a repeat performance.” He caressed her arm, bare above the covers, and then slowly pulled the cover from her breasts
, feeling himself harden just looking at her. She made him feel like he was twenty all over again.

She pulled the covers back up, covering herself, and halting his roaming hands. “It’s okay, Ryan. I don’t…” Unexpectedly, she darted from the bed and pulled on a t-shirt and sweats from a shelf in the closet.

“Where are you going?”

Sophie glanced meaningfully at the combination alarm clock/compact disc player on her bedside table.

“It’s past seven and Sasha has to go for her evening walk now,” she said, practically dashing from the room.

She had Sasha leashed up and her running shoes laced when Ryan hopped into the room, still trying to get the second leg into his paint-splattered jeans. “I’ll come with you. Just give me a moment.”

Sophie looked put out waiting for Ryan, but she didn’t open the front door, despite the dog’s whining and licking of the doorjamb, until his shoes were properly on his feet.

Ryan hadn’t paid much attention to the street when he’d been driving her home
—his mind had been on other things—but he looked around now, keenly observant. He had never spent much time in this part of the San Fernando Valley, except for business meetings at the various studios.

Her street, like the one he’d grown up on, was full of small tract houses built in the postwar fifties. But that’s where the similarities ended. Where his mother’s street had remained the same for over fifty years, Sophie’s had evolved. Developers had torn down or substantially renovated most of the houses. A foreign or luxury car graced every driveway.

Sophie and Sasha were off like a shot. She walked toward the Studio City Golf and Tennis Club, following the path along the back of the golf course, the dog sniffing and meandering. He watched them meander along the tree lawn for what felt like an eternity before he trotted down the sidewalk and caught up with them.

One day Sophie wanted to have an orgasm that she didn’t initiate and complete herself. Her handheld showerhead had stood in for her boyfriend for years and she was damned tired of it. Ryan had tried, she knew he had. And it had felt good, really good, until it hadn’t. She’d been right on the edge. It had been better than the past, but it just wasn’t enough. She’d wanted nothing more than to let go, but it hadn’t come. It never did.

Sophie heard Ryan coming up behind her. The tightness in the pit of her stomach grew. She was dreading their post-coital conversation because she knew how it was going to end. He would say they were different, that she was unusually inhibited and unresponsive, and plain just not sexy. It wasn’t going to work. No matter how he put it, the bottom line was that he was leaving. They always did, sooner or later. This would be sooner than most. She took a deep breath and got ready to let him off the hook.

“You don’t have to say anything. It didn’t work out, but…” Sophie petered out before she could finish her speech. The older she got, the harder this was. She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the dog’s every movement. Now that she had a dog, she could happily die a spinster. Why were all these old-fashioned words ringing in her head? As long as she didn’t become a crazy cat lady, she thought she could live a very long and satisfying life without male companionship. Maybe she was just not meant to have a fulfilling sex life with any man. Happily ever after—or happy for now wasn’t for everyone. It was time she acknowledged that and moved on.

Ryan squatted and scratched the dog behind her ears. Sasha was easy. She wagged her tail and licked his hand in response. Damn dog sold her out.

“Do you really hate sex?” he asked, looking up at her, his gorgeous face anguished. “I would never have…if I thought you were remotely serious.” He raked his hand through his already mussed golden hair. “It was so good for me. I just want to make you feel as good as I did.”

Ryan stood and they walked back to the house in silence. She let the dog off the leash and Sasha immediately ran to her water dish, the lapping sounds the only noise in the otherwise quiet house. The room went from darkness to light when Sophie flipped on the sole torchiere lamp. She kept moving through the house, turning on the lights in the dining room and kitchen and the family room. She kicked off her shoes and padded back to the kitchen in her bare feet, her blue toenails peeking out from under her long knit pants.

“I’m going to make something to eat. Remind me to tell Holly that bagels and sandwiches aren’t enough for hardworking volunteers. You want anything or are you going home?”

“Sophie, I’m not leaving with things like this.” His voice rang with distress, but when he spoke again his tone was softer. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Ryan pulled himself up onto one of the barstools that abutted the kitchen’s large pass-through, and watched Sophie gather food from the refrigerator. It looked like he was in for breakfast at dinner. He wasn’t complaining.

“Are you ever going to answer me?” he asked. He stacked his elbows on the cool black granite counter and leaned on his clasped hands. She paused her chopping of tomatoes and peppers, and looked directly at him, her gray eyes coolly assessing him.

“It’s your lucky day,” she said, quirking one studded eyebrow. “I’ll answer only one, so choose carefully.”

Ryan thought carefully. There was so much he wanted to know about this complex woman. He was pretty sure that he had a good idea about her real hair color. It had been dark in her bedroom, but not that dark. He didn’t think it was wise to broach the topic of lawyers. There was no reason to give her an excuse not to see him, so he decided to skip that hot button issue for now. What really bothered him was why an attractive, responsive woman like her didn’t enjoy sex. So he took the plunge and asked the hardest question. “What can I do to make sex better for you?” he asked softly. “You were with me when I kissed you. I loved feeling your nipples get hard in my mouth. You got so very wet when I touched you. Why did I lose you? Did I do something you didn’t like?”

The only indication that Sophie heard him was the very short pause she took while adding grated cheese to the frying eggs. She deftly flipped the omelet over and simultaneously pulled toast from the toaster. A woman’s ability to multitask always amazed him. After she poured them both orange juice and buttered their white toast, she answered him.

“Nothing,” she said with such finality he thought that was the end of it. She paused for a long time, immobile. “You saw what happened earlier, Ryan. It has always been like that for me. A lot of wine, a lot of awkwardness followed by the huge letdown,” she said quietly. After serving up the eggs, she came around and claimed the stool next to his, avoiding his eyes.

Ryan put down his fork, his omelet forgotten for a moment. “You’ve never had an orgasm with a man?”

Sophie stopped eating and shifted on the stool, visibly uncomfortable with the frank discussion. “When I was younger and lost my virginity, it didn’t happen, but I just chalked it up to being young and inexperienced. It never got better, though.”

Ryan cursed under his breath. “What were you feeling back there when we were
…?”

Sophie took a deep breath. “It’s like being on a roller coaster. Your stomach does belly flops and you have this very exhilarating feeling, then nothing. The ride’s over before you really begin to enjoy it.”

They returned to eating. Ryan considered her words. When they were almost done, the silence was broken by the blare of a Snoop Dogg song.

“Oh, my phone,” Sophie said
, looking around the kitchen and dining room for the cell. “Hello,” she said answering the call. “Mmmm, now? Really, at Hannah’s place?” She squinted at the blue LED clock on the microwave. “Cool, I’ll be over in a little bit. I’ll need to…uhh…wrap up what I’m doing here, and shower. See you later, then.”

Ryan didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard her side of the conversation. “Going out?”

Sophie’s head was somewhere else, their conversation already a thing of the past. She headed into the bedroom, pulling a skimpy looking top and mini skirt from her closet along the way. When he cleared his throat, she looked up, feigning surprise that he was still there.

“You’re leaving? Just like that?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t plan it this way.” She pulled a towel from the bathroom door, ready to shower. “But with early calls, it’s rare that all of us from work can get together at an adult hour.”

Ryan needed to be alone. He needed time to think. He could not bully Sophie into being with him. A few hours with a yellow pad and he would put together a plan. Plus, he didn’t think he could watch her leave the house scantily clad knowing some other horny guy was going to be looking at her. He pulled his Blackberry from his pants and turned on the electronic gadget with a beep.

“Eight one eight…” he started.

“You want my number?” She appeared genuinely incredulous. “You want to see me again?”

Ryan sighed. “Yes, Miss Sophie Reid, I would like that very much.”

She dropped the towel, flustered. She quickly gave him her number and picked up the towel. “So, you’ll call?” she asked in a hushed voice.

His heart melted. She was so brash on the outside, but clearly vulnerable underneath all the smoke and mirrors.

He strode across the room and kissed her hard. Ryan schooled himself not to look down at her unfettered breasts as they bobbed gently under her t-shirt. He wanted to smooth his hands along her lithe little body until she cried out in ecstasy
—he was half hard thinking about ways he could bring them indescribable pleasure. Instead, he practiced restraint. He tipped up her chin and pecked her on her freckled nose. “Yes, I’ll call.”

Sophie walked through the courtyard, past the dry pool and empty fountain that lent Hannah’s apartment building an air of faded glory. She’d had far too much wine to drive and had walked the mile or so to the party. Following the beat of the music, she made her way to the door of her friend’s apartment. It was slightly ajar, and she walked right in without invitation. Though the music was loud, the gathering was mellow. Everyone was sitting grouped in various conversations. She was hoping for more of a celebratory atmosphere from the impromptu get together to help her forget about this evening’s disaster. But this was cool too. Sam and Alyssa, her assistants from her show, waved her over to their group around the dining room table.

“What took you so long to get over here?” Alyssa asked. Before Sophie could answer, she peppered her with another question. “Do you want a beer?”

“I’ve already had too much to drink today,” she said waving away the alcoholic beverage.

“Were you drinking alone?” Alyssa asked salaciously. She was the drama queen of the group.

“Um, not exactly,” Sophie admitted, trying not to look shifty eyed under her friends’ scrutiny.

“Shit,” Alyssa said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I think our fearless leader got laid tonight.”

A whoop went up from the small group assembled at the table. Sophie wished fervently she wasn’t blushing red to the roots of her blue hair.

“Oh my God, Alyssa’s right,” Sam said, observing her very closely. “Give me the who, what, where, why, and when, honey. Dish.”

“It’s nothing, and whatever it was is
not
going to happen again, so we can cut the discussion right now,” she said, slicing her hand across her throat.

“Why?” Sam wailed plaintively. He sounded like he’d been personally kicked to the curb.

“Long story short,” Sophie started, knowing that not saying anything would yield minutes, if not hours of water torture-like interrogation from her friends. “He was a lawyer. And a lousy lay,” Sophie finished, hoping she wouldn’t be caught in her bald-faced lie.

The diversion worked. Sophie cringed inwardly at her public disparagement of Ryan. Since they would never meet him, it wouldn’t make any difference. It was gracious of him to ask for her number, but he would never call. When she tuned back into the conversation, they were on to a new topic.

“Speaking of lawyers,” Sam dished, “Have you heard the rumors? There’s talk that the union’s going to strike.” The makeup artists and hair dressers who worked on movie and television productions were members of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, Local 706.

But this was the first Sophie had heard of a strike. With everything else that was happening in her life, this was the last thing she needed.

On day one, she could excuse him. It was Sunday. No one called on Sunday. He was probably doing the same things she was
—cleaning the house, doing the laundry, finishing last-minute errands before the work week started. If he was anything like her father, he was probably working today as well. Lawyers never knew when to turn it off. Though she thought Ryan had a better handle on it. He didn’t seem like the workaholic type.

She was pulled away from her reflection and self-pity when her ringer blared Sunday afternoon. Her disappointment that it wasn’t Ryan was quickly replaced by rabid curiosity.

“Nick?” she queried, pulling away from the phone and looking at her caller ID. “What’s up?” She could not remember Nick calling her in the last five years. “Is Holly okay?”

“That’s kind of why I’m calling,” he said. She heard a sudden crashing sound in the background as if he’d dropped the phone. “Sorry, I’m getting my luggage down for a trip to New York.”

“Okay,” Sophie said slowly. “What’s going on with Hol?”

“Nothing major. She’s kinda sick today with some flu bug or something. I think she’ll be fine, but I’d sure appreciate it if you could maybe check on her.”

“Of course,” she said, then ended the call. She called Holly’s cell, but got no answer, so she left a message wishing her friend well. Now she had two things to worry about—Holly and Ryan.

On the second day, a little niggle of doubt crept into her head. Maybe he wasn’t the guy she thought he was. Maybe he was like all the others. But she could excuse Ryan
for not calling on a first day of a busy workweek. Years ago, she had learned that Monday was the worst day for a job interview, because people were overwhelmed when they came back from a weekend, catching up with what was on their desks.

She called Holly again, but got the machine. Maybe there was something wrong with her karma. She put her phone in her apron, pulled out her sable brushes and got back to work.

By Tuesday, all the usual self-doubts and recriminations surfaced. Men always said they were going to call, then never did. She was old enough to know that. Getting your number was a way to end an acquaintance without having to say right out,
I’m not attracted to you. This isn’t going anywhere.
Sophie felt stupid, naïve, clueless for thinking that this time was any different than the others. Guys didn’t like making love to a woman as responsive as a cold fish, and definitely didn’t call to see them again. There was never going to be any bathroom graffiti displaying her number for a good time.

When the line producer announced that the show was off for a few days while the kids caught up on legally required school hours, she decided to pop over to Holly’s office for lunch. Maybe a little girl talk could assuage her worries about the sincerity of Ryan’s interest. Holly had far more real-life experience with men than she did; after all, she’d been married.

Holly, who never missed a day of work, ever, that Sophie could remember, had called in sick. Guilt washed over Sophie like a cold shower, snapping her from her malaise. She had spent the last two days twiddling her thumbs, worrying about Ryan’s rejection instead of following up on her unanswered messages. She dialed Holly’s home number, determined to redeem herself.

“I stopped by your office to see if you were free for lunch. Your assistant told me you’d called in sick for the last two days. You okay?”

“Soph, I don’t know.” Holly paused. Her voice sounded unusually timid. “I got really sick at Nick’s place. I feel like I must have some kind of weird flu or something.”

“I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Holly said, though it was clear from the inflection in her tone that someone coming over to care for her was exactly what she needed. “I thought you were on the set of one of the kids’ shows today.”

“I have a couple of days free. The young star has to make up some missed school hours, so the crew’s off.” The reception cut out as Sophie got into her car. When they could hear each other again, Sophie’s brain kicked into gear. “I’m going to stop at the drugstore and load up on stuff. What kind of symptoms do you have?”

Holly’s voice was muffled. “It started with me barfing at Ryan’s place.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Sophie groaned. “He must really like you if he sticks around after that.”

Holly ignored her friend’s comment. “It feels like a bad period. Probably something we ate. I let him talk me into too much junk food on the pier with a nacho chaser.”

Sophie nodded, her eyes glued to the dashboard. “Oh, okay. See you in a bit.”

My God, Holly sounds like she’s pregnant.
Holly might suddenly be deaf, dumb, and blind to her symptoms, but Sophie wasn’t. She picked up the requisite Pepto-Bismol, saltines, ginger ale, and club soda, but threw in a pastel colored box of pregnancy tests for good measure.

Unceremoniously, Sophie dumped the plastic carryout bag on the table. The contents spilled out haphazardly.

“Sophie, you’re a godsend,” Holly said, twisting the cap off the ginger ale and pouring herself a glass. “Wait, why did you buy that?” she said pointing at the early pregnancy test kit on the table. “I’m sick with some weird stomach flu, not pregnant.”

Raising one pierced eyebrow skeptically, Sophie looked hard at Holly. “Clearly, I’m no medical expert, though I did work on a doctor show once, but you’re acting a lot like my sister Selie did in her first trimester. When was your last period anyway?”

“I don’t remember, but Nick and I have always used protection,” she said emphatically. Then she paused. “Except…”

“Except for what?”

“Just that first time,” Holly said abashedly. She winced at the memory. “We got a little carried away.”

“Sounds like a lot carried away.” Sophie pushed the slim pastel pink and blue box into her hands. “Just do this to be sure. Then I’ll take you to Canter’s and we can try the chicken soup cure.”

They never got to the twenty-four hour Jewish deli or to Sophie’s dilemma about Ryan, which now seemed trivial in comparison. Holly was pregnant. Sophie was no less shocked than Holly. Of course, she knew where babies came from. She just hadn’t imagined that her very responsible friend could be so careless. She winced thinking back to Saturday night with Ryan. She’d been so self-conscious of her body, of the sex act itself, that pulling out her unused box of condoms would have been mortifying. But seeing Holly overwhelmed by an unplanned pregnancy convinced Sophie that she’d have to get over her embarrassment and take charge of protecting herself—that was, if she ever got the chance again.

Ryan picked at the Cobb salad his assistant Evangeline had brought. Healthy eating was one thing, but sometimes he just wanted real food for lunch. Shoving more eggs, bacon, and avocado into his mouth, and ignoring all that lettuce, he worried over the pages of notes he’d made on a yellow legal pad. In bold print at the top of the pad, he’d written, “Sophie.” It had taken the better part of three days, snatching whatever time he could in the office between meetings, to come up with a plan to persuade Sophie to give this lawyer a chance.

Before he lost his nerve, and the afternoon work demands overwhelmed him, he clipped on his headphones and dialed the
eight one eight number Sophie had so reluctantly given him.

“Sophie Reid,” she answered crisply.

Ryan paused, flustered. She sounded so grown up and well dressed on the phone. He’d been imagining her far more vulnerable and, well, naked.

“Can I help you?” Her voice broke the static filled air.

Thank goodness he was wearing headphones otherwise he probably would have dropped an ordinary receiver into the cradle out of sheer embarrassment.

“It’s Ryan. Ryan Becker,” he echoed her no-nonsense tone. Wow. That was stupid. She already knew his name.

A quiet “Oh” was all he heard through his headset.

Unsettled by the sparseness of her side of the conversation, he waded in. “First, I’m sorry I didn’t call before now. I’ve been swamped at work. But I’ve devised an eleven
-point plan to get you to orgasm,” he said, dropping to a whisper with the last word.

Sophie laughed. The full throaty sound arrowed straight to his groin. “Not a ten or twelve point plan?”

“No, eleven is the number I ended up with.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the plan is predicated on you coming out with me Friday night.”

“I think maybe that’s something I can agree to.” She hesitated. “What’s the catch, Mr. Three Syllable Man?”

Did he sound that much like a pompous lawyer? He was going to have to get more friends who spoke plain English. “The only catch is that our date, so to speak, would be in Big Bear. And it wouldn’t be just Friday, but the weekend as well.”

“What time are you picking me up?” she asked.

Wow. That was much easier than he thought it would be. He’d expected her to grill him on his eleven-point plan. He’d made a dozen bullet points to convince her to go. She never ceased to surprise him.

“T
-two o’clock okay?” he stammered. “I, um, looked up the production schedule for your show and it seems that you’re off…”

“Yep. Studio teacher said the kids’ hours were too low. Nothing you can do about that. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Oh, you can bring Sasha,” he said before she could hang up.

“Cool.” She rang off.

He pressed the disconnect button on his wireless headphones and yanked them off, dropping them unceremoniously on his desk. Standing before his view of the ocean, he raked a hand through his hair and shook his arms, trying to rid himself of the nervous feeling that had gripped him during the entire call.

Looking at the tent in his pleated pants, he wondered how he could ever have thought she wasn’t his type. Everything about Sophie made him hot, from the sexy rasp in her voice to the slight protrusion of her dusky areolas. His mouth watered at the prospect of feeling her hard nipples in his mouth again. He swore there and then, he would do things right this time, delaying his own pleasure for as long as he needed. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, placing his outstretched hands above him.

The sound of a light knock and his heavy wood door opening shook him from his reverie. “Ryan, do you need anything before I cut out for lunch?”

Thank goodness he had the presence of mind not to turn around when Evangeline poked her head in. The last thing he needed was a sexual harassment claim. “Can you call the realtor and confirm the Big Bear reservations when you get back? I’ll e-mail you some files I need after your lunch break,” he called over his shoulder.

“Will do, boss,” Evangeline said, mock saluting him before closing the door behind her.

Ryan reviewed a few agreements with various actors, writers, and directors before he quit for the day. The impending weekend weighed heavily on his mind. His promise to be the first lover who would bring her to fulfillment, so to speak, was a huge responsibility. It was like deflowering a virgin. He needed help. He couldn’t imagine calling his brother or asking his mom for advice, so he high-tailed it out of his fourteenth story office and headed over to the biggest bookstore within driving distance.

He generally wasn’t a fan of the huge mega bookstores with their in-house coffee bars, but he was professionally trained to turn to books when he needed an answer to a particularly difficult issue, and shaking that kind of habit was not easy. He prowled around the bookstore, having no idea where to begin to look. He rebuffed help from a twenty-something employee, too embarrassed to explain his needs.

Finally, he came upon a “Sex, Love, & Relationship” section in the far corner of the third floor. Ryan browsed titles that promised to school him in the art of seduction or make him dummy proof when it came to sex. He flipped through a couple of books and made his choices, not quite meeting the eyes of the checkout girl as he handed over his platinum credit card.

He stayed up far too late reading, and taking notes on his trusty yellow pad. He was going to be ready for the weekend.