Play Dates Page 8
“Come on.” Monica tugged on his hand and turned toward the door. “I’ll walk you down.”
Her hips swayed under the slinky, silky fabric. She paused at the top of the stairs, casting a sidelong smile over her shoulder as she stepped over her discarded bra and blouse. Midway down the stairs, he caught her arm, urging her to turn and face him. Staring into those cool blue eyes, he shook his head in helpless defeat. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Monica pressed a fingertip to his lips. He kissed her knuckles tenderly, and she fell against the wall, her expression mirroring the smug, wistful thing he had going on inside. “Don’t be sorry. We had a great date.”
“Yes,” he agreed gravely.
She grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling. “And you can’t say the evening didn’t go out with a bang.”
He groaned, equally appalled and abashed by her quip, and moved closer, crowding her. She tipped her face up in clear invitation. One he had no intention of refusing. He kissed her firm and sweet, waiting until the magic moment when her lips went pliant beneath his. The second she surrendered, he poured his all into the kiss. If he was going to get cock-blocked by mutated turtles and the fallout from their shenanigans, he wanted to leave her with something to remember him by.
Monica heaved a gratifyingly tremulous sigh when he pulled away. He laced his fingers through hers and started down the stairs again. Neither of them spoke. What was there to say? They’d agreed to an evening without complications, and he’d proved he couldn’t even manage that. Bad jokes about banging aside, Colm agreed with the sentiment. Better to have their grown-up kind of play date end on a high note.
Pausing inside the front door, he brushed a lock of tangled brown hair away from her cheek. “Thank you.”
She gave him a slow, smug smile. “Thank you.”
There were so many things poised on the tip of his tongue. Things like “You’re incredible” and “I’d love to see you again” and “I’ll call you,” but any mention of the future seemed to go against the unwritten rules they’d been playing by all evening. In the end, he settled for another kiss, this one soft but lingering, and a simple, “Goodnight, Monica.”
She ducked her head, a peachy blush coloring her cheeks as she twisted the locks and gave the heavy old door a no-nonsense yank. Slender fingers wrapped around the edge, she rested a cheek against the varnished wood and met his eyes with her disconcertingly direct gaze. “Goodnight, Colm. And wish Aiden sweet dreams.”
He stepped out into the crisp, cool night. Regret rose in his throat like bile. He forced himself not to look back as he started down the stairs. The door closed with a solid kerthunk. He held his breath until he heard the locks click into place, ducked his head, and took off toward the corner at a brisk pace. Time to leave all thoughts of rumpled sheets and a certain sweet-smelling woman behind and get back to his real life. First, he needed to catch a cab to get to his car. Then, he’d break every speed limit posted between him and his scared, motherless little boy.
Chapter 5
Melody blinked up at her, the to-go cup of coffee poised millimeters from her lips. “And that was all? He left?”
Monica peered into the depths of the cardboard box in the center of the island and shrugged. “Well, yeah. What was he supposed to do?”
Her sister texted at ten on the dot, asking if the coast was clear. Given the affirmative, the doorbell rang mere minutes later, and the post mortem began. Monica had to admit she was having fun being the grill-ee for a change. When Mel was single, Monica was usually the one extracting bits of information in exchange for the caffeine and carbs.
Even on a normal day, the largest container of doughnut holes available didn’t stand a chance against the Rayburn sisters…plus one. And this day, this weekend, was so far outside of the norm, Monica figured these delightful little morsels had about five minutes left to live. Tops.
Emma zipped through Monica’s kitchen, high on hot chocolate and fried dough, singing a song about a sparkly castle on a glittery hill. She ran smack into Monica’s leg mid-twirl, grinned up at her, completely oblivious to bits of flyaway brown hair adhered to her sticky cheeks, and held up one sugar-glazed hand in silent supplication. Monica obligingly dropped a ball of blueberry dough into her waiting palm. Emma stuffed the hapless doughnut hole into her mouth.
The little girl twirled off toward the television blaring in the living room, and Monica turned to her sister. “What would you have done?”
Melody took the delayed sip of her coffee, then heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I would have gone.”
Monica snorted. “You’d have been out the door like a shot.”
“Yeah, but I would have at least said I’d call you or something.”
Unable to contain her laughter, Monica balled up a paper napkin and tossed the wad at the big, stinking liar. “Bullshit. You were the queen of the one and done.”
“I was not!”
“And the revisionist history begins,” Monica intoned in her best documentary narrator voice. “I was practically a virgin the day Jeremy looked my way,” she mocked in a high-pitched, annoyingly breathy tone.
They both laughed, knowing Melody had shed every technicality and moved onto technology by the time she’d graduated high school. In truth, Monica was jealous and sometimes intimidated by the way Mel embraced her own sexuality as if it was another one of her lovers. Three years older, Monica was a virgin at the time. She was more than a little shocked when she stumbled across what had to be the biggest, purplest vibrator on Earth while helping her baby sister move into her dorm room.
“Remember The Count?” she asked, a blush warming her cheeks.
Melody beamed and pressed a hand to her heart. “I can make you orgasm in one…two…three!”
Mimicking her sister’s horrendous Transylvanian accent, Monica joined in on the bit they’d loved to use. “Six…seven…eight! Eight orgasms!”
“Oh, The Count.” A wistful smile curved Mel’s lips. “Best vibrator ever made.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
Mel ducked her head and chuckled. “Well, you know, Monica, not all love affairs last,” she began, her tone grave, her expression somber. “Some only last long enough for one…two…two orgasms, then run out the door.” Straightening, she plucked a chocolate-glazed doughnut hole from the box and popped the morsel into her mouth. “Stop trying to change the subject,” she mumbled as she chewed. “Why aren’t you seeing him again?”
Ignoring the twist in her gut, Monica reached for her own coffee. “That was the deal. One night, no kid talk, no expectations.”
“Pffft.” Melody sneered. “I bet the no kid talk was an easy one for you.”
“Yeah, well, my lack of kid to talk about certainly makes the no expectations part easier.”
Lifting her chin, Mel leaned in to scan the contents of the doughnut box. Using her thumb and forefinger, she extracted what had to be her dozenth toasted coconut with the daintiness of a duchess selecting a sandwich at high tea. She eyed the sphere with a considering frown, pinkie finger fully extended. She consumed the tidbit in one voracious bite. Once her victim was chewed and forced down, she licked the crumbs from her fingers. “You could tell him.”
Wrinkling her nose, Monica circled the counter and claimed the stool beside her sister. “What would be the point? Even if I did come clean and he was okay with the fact that I let him think I was something I’m not, I’m not exactly the maternal type.”
“Because you’ve never let yourself be,” Mel countered.
“Let myself? How do you figure?” Shaking her head, Monica waved away her sister’s argument. “I’ve never been the girl who gets all gooey over babies.”
“You’re a great aunt to Emma.”
Though she appreciated the attempted compliment, they both knew the word great was a gross exaggeration and laughed.
“Because she’s more like a real person.”
“She is a real person,” Melody retorted, adding a glare for good measure.
“See? That. That right there is what I lack.” Monica pointed a finger at the spot between her sister’s eyes. “I don’t have the killer-mommy protective instinct.”
“Bullshit.”
Their sisterly staring contest was interrupted by a whirling dervish with bat ears, a sugar jones, and a flare for the theatrical. “Bullsheeet! Bullsheeeet!” Emma sang as she twirled into the kitchen once more. “Some bullsheeeeeeeeet, please,” she trilled, holding out her sticky hand, her eyes fixed on the pastry box.
“Hush.” Melody waved her daughter’s grasping little paw away, then pressed two fingers to Emma’s glazed lips. “Don’t say that word. It’s a bad word.”
“You said it.”
Monica smiled. Apparently, her niece wasn’t the type to be digitally edited.
“Mommy is a very bad girl,” Melody said solemnly. She lowered her fingers, shooting a sidelong glance in Monica’s direction. “Don’t be like Mommy. Be like Aunt Monnie.”
“Oh, I don’t know about—” Monica began.
“She’s smart and classy. Hardly ever says bad words. Aunt Monnie has a big-time job where she gets to boss lots of boys around, which you know must be fun.” A saucy wink was added for emphasis. “She wears pretty clothes and has pretty brown hair like yours.” Amazingly, she kept a straight face while prying loose the strands adhering to her daughter’s sticky cheeks. “But, best of all, she’s a really good big sister. She doesn’t really realize, but most of the time, she was a better mommy to me than our own mommy.”
Melody spoke the last softly, her nose wrinkling playfully, but her eyes were serious when she looked up. “She always took care of me. Always tried to help me, even if I didn’t listen to her very often.”
Emma blinked, stunned by these unexpected revelations. “Why di’ent you listen to her?”
“Because I was silly. And a little jealous of her,” Mel whispered the last part into her daughter’s ear, but clearly for Monica’s benefit. “I wanted to be perfect like her—”
“And I wanted to be silly like your mommy,” Monica chimed in.
Heedless of chocolate stains and perma-glaze, Mel pulled her daughter closer. “That’s how sisters are. They always want what the other has, but I have to tell you, Monnie was much nicer about sharing things than I was.” Wrapping her arms around the little girl, she hugged her tight but never looked away. “I want you to be more like your Aunt Monnie. That way, you’ll be the most awesome big sister in the world.”
Monica chuckled and waited for her stickler of a niece to remind Melody she had no younger sibling to shower all her awesomeness on. Then, she saw the sparkle in her sister’s bright eyes.
“No way,” Monica breathed. “Really?”
Mel covered her stomach with her hand, a beatific smile curling her lips. “We’re hoping if this one is a boy, you’ll raise him for us. Jeremy and I think you’re the best male role model a kid could have.”
Monica’s eyes filled with tears, but the sentiment didn’t stop her from giving her sister’s shoulder a shove. “I want to call you a really bad word right now.” Glancing at her niece, she assumed a pious expression. “But I won’t. Someone has to set a good example for these poor kids.”
“I love you, my Monnie.” Emma cooed as she snatched another doughnut hole from the box. Her mother scowled as she twirled from the room once more.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mel said, staring at the empty doorway.
“About having the kids or the doughnut holes?”
Melody shrugged. “The combination of the two can be lethal, but I was second-guessing the trip to the bakery.” She turned, and Monica had to stifle the urge to shrink from the intensity in her sister’s probing stare. “You really think you don’t want any kids?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Monica paused to consider the question. She’d thought about motherhood, or the possibility of passing on the chance, a thousand times. As far as she was concerned, she’d spent more than her fair share of time probing her psyche, taking her emotional temperature and shaking her biological clock to check for ticking. Every bout of self-examination returned the same result. No, she didn’t think she was destined to be a mother. Maybe because she knew deep down she was too much like their father. But she’d never give the thought voice.
Besides, she didn’t have to answer to others. This was her life, her decision, and she shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone.
She wasn’t some kind of baby-hating monster. She loved her niece. The kid left her confused and exhausted after only a few minutes together, but Monica did love the kid and was coming to enjoy the time she and Emma spent together more and more. And if Melody managed to pop out a boy, she and Jeremy were right. She could teach the kid to catch and throw, pick the best stocks and the smokiest tasting scotch.
The image of Colm’s gorgeous little Aiden clutching his beloved doll stopped her short of female chauvinist pig status.
Squaring her shoulders, she stared into her sister’s expectant face and made a promise to herself and her unborn nephew. If the kid wanted to play with dolls, he could play with dolls. She’d buy him all the dolls he wanted. If Emma wanted to learn about stocks and scotch, Aunt Monnie would show her the ropes. She’d use the jujitsu skills she’d picked up at the gym to defend their choices if she had to. Because she was a good aunt, even if she lacked the mommy gene.
“No,” she answered at last. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind when you meet the right guy.” Mel pinched a doughnut hole between her thumb and forefinger. “A guy like this Colm, maybe.”
“Stop.”
“What? You said it was really sexy to see how good he was with his son.”
“It’s demeaning to tell a woman the ‘right man’ will change her mind. I know my mind, and I’m telling you I am ninety-nine percent sure I don’t want to have a baby. Respect that.”
Melody looked instantly contrite. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She widened her eyes, the picture of hopeful innocence. “But I feel compelled to warn you, nothing kicks the old hormones into overdrive like seeing a man with his child. I swear, I came home from yoga to find Jeremy sitting on the floor drinking invisible tea and passing a plate of contraband Oreos to the teddy bear beside him, and the next thing I know…” She popped the pastry into her mouth and gestured to her stomach like a fairy godmother waving her magic wand. “…Bada-bing, bada-baby. Here we are.”
To be fair, both to herself and to her sister, Monica searched her memories of Colm’s interaction with his little boy to see if they elicited even the tiniest pang. She came up with zilch. Nada. Her memories of the same man stripped down in her bedroom and devoting himself to her satisfaction? Those set off five alarm bells, a couple of wailing sirens, and a handful of mental wolf whistles.
“I don’t think so.” She couldn’t help feeling a tinge of regret, even though a one-and-done was what they agreed to. “I did have a good time last night, though.”
“Good.” Melody heaved a sigh and popped the lid on her to-go cup, and cast a baleful eye at the contents. “Probably just as well. We have a sad, sorry state of affairs when a woman is driven to drinking friggin’ decaf and pretending to like it.”
* * * *
“So you left?” Mike stared at him, a mixture of awe and incredulity written all over his face.
Colm smothered a bark of laughter. His best friend would never win any poker tournaments. Hell, the guy only won a single pot when he held cards so good he couldn’t suppress his glee. In those rare instances, he or James nudged the ante before folding to make their budd
y feel good. If Mike ever figured out he truly sucked at poker, they’d risk losing the only Friday night entertainment they’d seen in forever.
He’d managed to go an entire workweek without spilling the beans. One hand into the game, he cracked, blabbing like a teenage girl mooning over her first kiss. Moving the baby monitor parked on the card table aside, Colm extended the deck in James’s direction. “You taking any?”
“Two.” James selected the two cards he didn’t want in his hand and plunked them down on the table. “You’re missing the point, Mikey boy. He had every man’s dream date. Dinner, sex, and a clean getaway.”
Colm huffed and tossed two cards in James’s direction. All action stilled when a muffled squawk came through the walkie-talkie-shaped monitor. The three men stared at the speaker, each sending up their own silent pleas to Benny Binion and the gods of poker the noise was simply a minor disturbance in the force. All five kids were bedded down in Aiden’s room. If Chrissie got fussy and woke the twins, it would be game over for everyone. When a full minute passed without any indication of activity, Colm turned to Mike. Despite the lack of two-way communication, he pitched his voice low. “Cards?”
Mike quickly shuffled three losers from his hand and placed them on the table. “Three, please.”
He doled out two for himself and reclaimed his cards. A long moment passed. He picked up a package of fruit snacks and tossed it into the center of the table. “I open with Spidey Snacks.”
Both Mike and James tossed a bag of compressed fruit morsels into the pile. James upped the ante. “See and raise you two string cheeses.”
“I’m out,” Mike said without a moment’s pause.
Colm stared down at his cards as if he might have the power to telepathically transform the nine of clubs into the queen of hearts. He gave his head a shake. There’d be no queen magically appearing in his hand. His luck with women was as crappy as ever. Tossing his cards toward the center of the table, he propped his elbows on the surface and planted his face in his hands. The stubble on his cheeks and chin scraped like sandpaper. He wondered if he’d left patches of red on Monica’s smooth skin, if she felt the burn of the heat sizzling between them, if she’d even spared him one second of thought since he’d walked out her door six days ago.