wished he was here.
Click. Click. Click.
What was that?
Click. Click.
Nothing.
Then Clive leaped on the bed, and I screamed bloody murder. Clive puffed out his tail and hissed at me, wondering why the hel Mommy was
screaming at him, I’m sure. The click-click-click was his goddamned kitty hangnail.
My phone vibrated an instant later, shaking the entire nightstand and eliciting another scream from me. It was Simon.
“What the hel is wrong? Why are you screaming? Are you okay?” he yel ed when I answered, and I could hear him through the phone and
through the wal .
“Get your ass over here right now, you motherfucking scary movie pusher,” I seethed and hung up. I pounded on the wal and ran out to unlock
the door. In much the same way I’d run up the last few steps of the basement stairs when I was a kid, I hightailed it back into my room, jumping the
last few feet and landing in the center of my bed. I wrapped the covers around me and peered out, waiting. He knocked, and I heard the door push
open.
“Caroline?” he cal ed.
“Back here,” I yel ed. Sad that I’d been reduced to this, but I was glad to see him.
“I brought the pie,” he said with an embarrassed grin. “And this,” he added, producing the afghan from behind his back.
“Thanks.” I smiled at him from behind my pil ow shield.
A few minutes later we were settled on my bed, each balancing a plate and a glass of milk. We’d been too ful , then too terrified to eat pie
earlier. Clive and his phantom hangnail retired to the other room after rol ing his eyes at Simon and swishing his tail.
“How old are you?” I asked, cutting into my pie.
“Twenty-eight. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. We are twenty-eight and twenty-six years old and terrified of a movie,” I mused, poking in a bite. The pie was good.
“I wouldn’t say I’m terrified,” he countered. “Spooked? Yes. But I only came over to stop you from screaming.”
“And to taste my pie,” I added, winking.
“Shut it, you,” he warned, and then he went ahead and tasted my pie.
“Jesus, that’s good,” he breathed, eyes closed as he chewed.
“I know. What is it about apples and homemade pie crust? Is there anything better?”
“If we were eating this naked, then it would be better,” He grinned, opening one eye.
“No one is getting naked here, buddy. Just eat your pie.” I pointed at his plate with my fork.
We chewed.
“I feel better,” I added a few minutes later, drinking my milk.
“Me too. Not too spooked anymore.”
He smiled as I took his plate and set it on the nightstand. I sighed contentedly and lay back against my pil ows, sated and less scared.
“So, I gotta ask…James Brown? I mean, James Brown?” He laughed, and I kicked him as he lay down next to me. We turned on our sides to
face each other, arms curling under the pil ows.
“I know, I know. I can’t believe you held it in as long as you did! I know you’ve been dying to make jokes since last night.”
“Seriously, who is this guy?” he asked.
“He’s a new client.”
“Ah, got it,” he said, looking pleased.
“And an old boyfriend,” I added, watching for his reaction.
“I see. New client but old boyfriend—wait, the lawyer?” he asked, trying to keep his expression neutral, but failing.
“Yep. Haven’t seen him in a few years.”
“How’s that gonna work?”
“Don’t know yet. We’l see.”
I real y didn’t know how things were going to go with James. I was glad to see him, but it was going to be tough to keep things professional if
he wanted more. And every instinct I had told me he wanted more. In the past he’d had more control over me than I was comfortable relinquishing.
I’d found myself sucked into the gravitational pul that was James Brown—lawyer, not Godfather of Soul.
“Anyway, we’re just going to be working together. It’l be a great job for me. He wants his entire place redone.” I sighed, already planning the
palette. I rol ed onto my back and stretched. I’d real y abused my stomach tonight and was starting to get sleepy.
“I don’t like him,” Simon said suddenly, after a long pause.
I turned and saw him scowling.
“You don’t even know him! How could you possibly not like him?” I laughed.
“I just don’t,” he said, now turning his gaze to mine and unleashing the power of the baby blues.
“Oh, please, you’re just a stinky boy.” I laughed, ruffling his hair. Wrong move. It sure was soft…