Wanna Get Lucky? (18 page)

“I’ve seen all of these folks around. This guy . . .” He pointed at Willie. “He’s the helicopter pilot, right?”

Not taking his finger from the photo, he looked up.

I nodded.

“I’ve seen him talking to this gal,” he said, tapping Felicia’s photo. “I think they got a thing going. But this other guy—I’ve seen him talking to her, too.”

“Really?” Dane sure seemed to get around. “Did you see them together more than once?”

“Sure. And last time, their conversation looked heated.”

“Heated, mad? Or heated, like . . . attraction?”

“He was mad. Real mad.”

I gathered the pictures and stuffed them in my pocket. Leaning back in my chair I surveyed Mr. Pascarelli. “Interesting.”

He pulled his plate back in front of him and dove again into his pile of spaghetti, which was enough to feed a family of four. Something was wrong with the universe when skinny people could eat their weight in serious carbs and not gain an ounce. “Are you investigating Lyda Sue’s murder?” he asked through a mouthful, his eyes twinkling. “Need some help?”

“Don’t get any ideas.” I grabbed a rib and dove in. “I’m leaving the investigating to the police. I was just curious, that’s all.”

“You know what they say about curiosity.”

“They say a lot of things, none of them good.”

I parked my brain in neutral as we both set to work in earnest. I was segueing from the ribs to the California rolls when I caught sight of Mrs. Paisley and her friends rising to leave. “Excuse me just a second. I’ve got somebody you should meet.”

I stood and waved like a maniac until I caught Mrs. Paisley’s eye, and motioned her over.

With the manners of a previous generation, Mr. Pascarelli rose to greet the ladies as they surrounded the table.

“Mr. Pascarelli, may I present Velma Paisley? You both share a love of playing the slots.”

“Really?” Mrs. Paisley said as she shook Mr. Pascarelli’s hand. “Call me Velma.”

“Velma, I’m Hank.” Mr. Pascarelli looked shy. “Would you like to join us?”

I gathered up my plate. “Ladies, he’s all yours. I’m calling it a day.”

The five of them made quite a crowd around the small table. As I walked away, they fell into easy conversation. Mr. Pascarelli looked like the proverbial cat with the canary.

All’s well that ends well, I guess
. What was it with me and proverbs today?

Totally beat, and nothing pressing, I decided to check out early. I scrolled down the list of numbers on my Nextel, highlighted Jerry’s and pushed-to-talk. “Jer.”

“Yo.”

“I had three hours of sleep last night. I’m going home. Can you hold down the fort until the shift change?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll have my phone.”

“And I know the drill. Call you only if there’s a national emergency.”

“You got it. And thanks. I owe you.”

IN
desperate need of clean, fresh air to clear my thoughts, I opted to walk home. Backlit by the setting sun, the Spring Mountains stood in stark relief. The air, still laden with the heat of the day, settled around me with a welcomed warmth. One lone bird circled in the darkening sky above. It looked like a vulture.

I needed rest. I needed to turn off my brain, take a good soaking bath, and crawl into bed—for the next week. However, rest would be impossible with Teddie waiting—and I’m sure he would be waiting. With the day still pinging around in my head, turning off my brain was probably not going to happen. And my next week had been bought and paid for by the Babylon. That left a bath.

The short walk home seemed shorter than normal tonight.
Forrest waved as I trudged thorough the foyer, but he didn’t stop me with his usual small talk. I guess I looked as bad as I felt.

Silence greeted me as I stepped from the elevator. Newton wasn’t cursing at me. There were no sounds from the kitchen. After hanging my purse on the peg by the door, I went in search of life.

Teddie was nowhere to be found. But he had been there. Newton’s cage sported its cover, and I found a note on the kitchen counter. It read, “Take a bath. I’m upstairs, come on up if you feel like it. Washed the bird’s mouth out with soap. He’s sulking.”

Even when he wasn’t there, he could put a smile on my face. Oh, what a problem I had! The mere memory of Teddie’s kiss was enough to set my nerves afire again.

I wandered into the bathroom, dropping clothes as I went. Turning the tap to the “scald” setting, I watched as the tub began to fill. Maybe I was making this out to be a bigger problem than it really was. I mean, what’s a little sex among friends?

Testing the water with a big toe, I yelped and leapt back. Okay, “scald” was a bit aggressive. I added cold water. I thought about adding bubbles, but tonight didn’t feel like a bubble bath kind of night.

When the temperature was just right, I slid into the water until only my head remained above the surface. I sighed. The water felt delicious. I punched the button and jets of water and air massaged my body. The strain of the day started to let go. God, this was better than sex—at least better than the sex I remembered.

Who was I kidding? Sex among friends was a recipe for the double whammy—ruined friendships and bad sex.

I had no idea what to do. I parked my brain—thankfully it remained parked.

Something would come to me. It usually did.

THE
bath had been heaven, and now I was facing my own idea of hell.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in for the short ride up one floor.

Would he be mad? Hurt? Would we have bad sex? Then everything would be different between us.

I didn’t want different, I wanted the same.

But how could it be the same after that kiss? That kiss changed everything.

The elevator doors opened and I was assaulted with the smell of fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies.

“Mom’s been here. She made a tin for you, too.” Teddie stood in the middle of his kitchen holding a tin with a Christmas motif. It was open and I could see little spikes of wax paper sticking out.

“Are those what I think they are? The ones with the coconut?”

He nodded, stuffing his mouth full of cookie. Enticing me with the open tin of cookies, Teddie walked backward toward the couch. I followed him like a hound dog following the scent of a rabbit. We both plopped on the couch, the cookies between us.

I grabbed one. “Oh god, they’re still warm.” I inhaled the first cookie and went for a second. “What’s with the Christmas motif?”

“You know Mom—every day is Christmas.”

Sorta like her son.

Teddie cleared his throat. “Listen, about today—”

He stopped at my raised hand.

I turned toward him. In my sweats, ripped tee shirt, with my hair piled on top of my head, I’m sure I wasn’t exactly the stuff male fantasies are made of, but I needed to have my say. “Today was a weird day.” His face fell, but I wasn’t finished. “Your kiss—our kiss—was the highlight.” Whoa, did I just say that?

“For you, too?”

“It was good, really good. It’s just that we went from A to Z all in one fell swoop.”

“Actually, we probably went from D to S, but I get your drift. How about we do one letter at a time and see where it gets us?”

I moved the tin of cookies to the floor, sidled in next to him, and put my head on his shoulder. “One letter at a time, I can handle that.”

I
awoke slowly, savoring the feel of Teddie’s body wrapped in mine. One hand on his chest, a leg casually thrown across his, my body stretched the length of him. He felt warm, and hard in all the right places.

“Good morning,” Teddie said, his voice tender and low.

I smiled and opened my eyes. We’d fallen asleep on the couch. This wasn’t the first time, yet somehow this time seemed different. I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with different. “How’d you know I was awake?”

“Your breathing changed.”

I left my head on his shoulder. I didn’t want to move, not ever.

He reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes, then he kissed my forehead.

So this is what D looked like—fully clothed on the couch, a peck on the forehead. I could handle that, but part of me liked his kiss yesterday better. However, I’d asked for one letter at a time, I guess that’s what I was going to get.
Be careful what you wish for
, sprung to mind.

One of these days I should listen to all these proverbs I’d been spouting. Sorta like rumors, proverbs had a grain of truth in there somewhere. Wasn’t there one about friends and lovers? As I recall it ended badly.

“Hungry?”

“Stupid question.” I groaned and tentatively stretched my legs. The one on the bottom was asleep. “What time is it?”

“Rise-and-shine time.” Teddie sounded way too chipper, as if he’d been awake quite a while.

“We need to set some ground rules,” I mumbled. “If we are going to sleep together, my first rule is ‘no perkiness.’ At least not until I’m fully caffeinated.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “
Are
we going to sleep together?”

I pushed myself up, catching myself before I slid off the couch to the floor. My hand met warm skin where his sweatshirt gapped away from his chest, sending a jolt through me. First my hormones were all out of whack, now my nerves were jangling. If I kept going down this path, pretty soon I’d be totally nonfunctional. “Technically, that’s what we just did—sleep together.”

“Technically, you’re right. I was asking euphemistically.”

“Oh, those big Ivy League words. I think,
euphemistically speaking
, that would come way down the alphabet.”

“Drat.” This time he pulled me to him and kissed me on the mouth. “Are there any more rules I should know about?”

His kiss lit every nerve that wasn’t already on fire. In very real danger of giving in, shucking my clothes and getting on with it, I needed to put some distance between us. Both hands on his chest, one foot on the floor, I pushed myself upright. “More rules? Not that spring immediately to mind, but I’m in virgin territory here, so some will probably come to me.”

“Virgin territory?”

“Do you have any coffee in this place?” I turned and padded toward the kitchen. “Bad choice of words—I may have slept with guys, but I don’t wake up with them.”

Teddie followed me to the kitchen where he pulled a canister of my favorite coffee from the cupboard. “Too bad. The waking up part can be one of the best parts.”

He whistled while he filled the coffeepot and punched the button.

I watched him go through the preparations for breakfast just as I had watched him do a hundred times before, albeit not after having spent the night on his couch. Several times a week I’d come up or he’d come down. We’d fix something and talk, share the news. I didn’t want to lose that. It was the only good thing I had.

“Teddie, I’m not sure I can do this.” I grabbed one of the empty mugs he had set on the counter and pretended to be fascinated with it.

“Can’t do what? Have coffee?”

“You know what I mean.” I sat across from him watching him make me eggs and bacon, just as I had yesterday. That breakfast seemed eons ago. “This could really screw up a great friendship. I need you.”

Teddie leaned across the counter, took the empty coffee mug from my grasp, then held both of my hands in his. “I need you, too. But I don’t want to be just your friend. Let go, Lucky. Give up control. Let me in. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Can’t we stay the same as we’ve always been?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t do platonic—at least not with you. And not forever. It’s not enough for me. And it’s not enough for you either—you just don’t know it yet.” He let go of my hands, poured us both some coffee. He took a sip and eyed me over the top of his mug. “You don’t know what you want. You spend your days fixing everybody else’s lives, while ignoring your own.”

“I don’t
have
a life.”

“My point exactly. If you don’t pay attention, by the time you figure out what you want, you’ll be too old to get it.”

“Geez, haven’t you heard of the soft sell?”