ThisTimeNextDoor (14 page)

And he was lonely. A girlfriend from Wisconsin had led him to Milwaukee for his accreditation and first job, but she hadn’t lasted.

He pushed away from the window and strode over to the closet. Sucker. He had to find something to wear for tomorrow and every day of the week and every week after that, something that didn’t have holes or smell bad or make him look like a crazed loser.

Because Sylly had named his price for hiring Rose. And he’d agreed.

At least he’d get to see her every day.

Chapter 9

HE WAS POURING HIMSELF A cup of coffee in the WellyNelly kitchen when Rose rushed over, smiling wildly, and squeezed his arm.

After a quick glance over her shoulder, she said quietly, eyes twinkling, “Howdy, neighbor.”

No matter what she wore, even in black and gray work clothes and only a few necklaces, she blinded him. Blue eyes, pink cheeks, golden hair, all at once, pulsing with life.

“How’s it going?” he asked, stirring cream into his mug. She even smelled good. No, not the word. Tasty. She smelled tasty.

Then again, maybe it was just the banana bread on the counter.

“Fantastic, thank you very much.” She leaned across him to get a mug for herself out of the cabinet.

No, it was her. He inhaled, gritted his teeth.

“How am I going to pay you back for getting me this job?” she whispered. For once, she seemed oblivious to the joke potential. Innocent, happy, unguarded. “I still owe you a decent dinner. Maybe you and your mom could come over this week, before John comes back? Not Friday, since I’ll want time to make something really good. Saturday?”

The coffee burned his tongue but he swallowed it anyway. A hot woman asked him out… and included his mother. Didn’t that just capture everything that was wrong with his life?

“I’m sure she’d love that. Just tell us when,” he said, stepping away from her. She seemed to assume he wasn’t affected by her like other men, touching his arm, bumping his hip, smelling good around him.

“Are you really working in the office from now on?”

“A little,” he said, meaning Monday through Friday, eight until six. “Trying to get out of the house more, remember?”

Another pat. This time her palm flattened against his back. He could feel her fingers splay out, press gently into muscle, electrify his spinal column.

“Good for you. If I weren’t moving into my own apartment, I’d suggest we carpool.”

“Maybe until then,” he said.

She looked away. “Not yet, okay? It’s obvious they hired me because of you, and I’d really like to establish myself on my own, you know?”

“I totally understand.”

“But later. In a few months. Who knows? I’m looking at apartments in Berkeley. Maybe I’ll be on your way. Of course, then I wouldn’t be able to give you a ride, living way up in the hills.”

“I wouldn’t mind picking you up,” he said.

She smiled, shook her head. “You’re such a nice guy.” For a moment she visibly struggled with something and then, suddenly, she went up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Just as quickly, she was gone, out the door in a sweet-scented breeze.

Somewhere, Mark knew, he’d gone terribly wrong.

If only he knew where.

* * *

“This time I’m doing it all ahead of time. No forgotten chickens,” Rose said to Blair as they sprawled on the back deck in shorts and tank tops, enjoying their first weekend as employed people since they’d moved to California. The high temperature for the day was supposed to hit ninety-two, a record for the last day of September. Mark and his mother were coming over for dinner that evening.

“Did you know some people actually cook fish in their dishwashers?” Blair asked.

“Lord,” Rose said, turning her head to the other side. “You could cook one right here next to me here on this deck in a goldfish bowl. Like sun tea.”

“I can’t believe it’s September. I could get used to living like this.”

“I hope it’s not too hot for lasagna,” Rose said. “Should we make something colder?”

“I’ll make ice cream!” Blair declared, all smiles. Now that Rose had a job, Blair let herself express how happy she was to have John back in her life. “I’ve been wanting to buy an ice cream maker. This is a great excuse.”

“Sure, that’s a practical purchase.” Rose sipped her iced tea, rolled onto her back. She was glad Blair was happy, but skeptical John would live up to her hopes. “Forget the baby stroller. Get the dessert appliances first.”

“Be quiet. Pregnant women get whatever they want.”

“God, I’m so glad I’m moving out,” Rose said. “You’re going to be impossible.”

Blair poked her in the ribs. “I’ll make strawberry.”

Blair’s homemade strawberry ice cream had halted more than one nervous breakdown over the years. “You don’t have to make anything. I’ll get it all at the store. Let’s just keep it simple so we don’t have to stress about anything.”

“Why would having Mark and his mother come over be stressful?” Blair asked in a singsong, eyelid-batting way that made Rose clamber up to her feet.

“It’s too damn hot out here. I’m going to the grocery store.”

“He watches the house, you know,” Blair said. “I’ve seen him.”

“It’s not me he’s watching, babe.” Rose stepped inside and slid the door shut.

The house was stuffy and warm, but not as hot as it would be when the sun set in the west, filling all the picture windows with late summer rays.

Maybe she’d make a Greek salad. Gazpacho. Shrimp cocktails. She’d hate to sit there sweating like a pig over the dinner table, dark circles under her armpits.

Not that Mark would notice. Like she’d said, he’d be too busy staring at Blair, trying not to swallow his own tongue.

The doorbell rang. Rose wiped the sweat off her forehead and laughed to herself. Mark. He was probably going to try to get out of dinner again, just like last time. Being in the office together all week had given him enough of her. Enough of humanity. He was probably eager to crawl into his cave for the weekend to recover.

She strode over, savoring how she’d tell him there was no way in hell he was getting out of dinner. He’d saved her ass with a fantastic job. If he tried to cancel, Rose would threaten to invite him—and his mother—every Saturday for a year.

Smiling, half-naked in her bikini top and cutoffs, she reached out just as the door opened by itself.

Standing on the front step was John, his mother, and a suitcase.

Three suitcases. As well as a duffel bag big enough to engulf the Toyota.

“Hi,” John said, seeing Rose. His look was apologetic but determined. “Blair! I’m home!”

Ellen, John's mother, strode into the house, frowning at Rose’s generously bare midriff and exposed legs. Her gaze lingered on the navel ring, then the blue butterfly tattoo on her upper left thigh, before rising up to her face. “Catch you at a bad time?”

Damn it, the bitch was going to see her blush. And she had a lot of blushable skin, most of it on show at the moment, all of it rapidly turning pink.

John made himself busy hauling in the suitcases, piling them in the foyer, avoiding eye contact.

They’d only met once, but Ellen obviously disliked her. Somehow, months earlier, she’d interpreted her son’s accelerated relationship with a big blonde weightlifter as evidence of the big blonde’s loose character. No matter it had been John who seduced her in the gym parking lot, John who showed up at her apartment at all hours, unannounced, John who cheated.

Sticking her chest out and sucking in her gut (a little), Rose gave her a huge smile. “Hot, isn’t it?” To John, smile glued in place, she added, “Blair is out on the deck.” No way was Rose going to let on that any of this made her uncomfortable.

“I’ll go tell her I’m here,” John said, walking away. Coward.

“I thought John had told Blair he was moving in,” Ellen said.

“He also told Blair he didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby, yet amazingly, here he is,” Rose replied. Her cheeks were starting to cramp from smiling. “It’s so hot. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why are
you
here?”

Rose dropped the act. “Why are you?”

“I’ll get my own drink.” Ellen strode into the house like she owned it, which she almost did, while Rose clenched her hands into fists and went out to the deck.

Oh, please. Blair and John were making out on the towel like it was
From Here to Eternity
and the waves were crashing in. “Blair, can I talk to you for a minute?” she said loudly.

They broke apart and looked up at her in unison.

Then John turned back to Blair nestled in his arms. “Sorry, but my mother’s here, too. Hide out here while I get you another drink and try to get rid of her.” After a quick kiss on her forehead he got to his feet and walked into the house. Just as he passed Rose, he stopped, met her gaze. “She didn’t know I was coming this morning. So don’t blame her.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Rose said through her teeth. “
She’s
not the sneaky type.”

His jaw twitching, he went inside.
 

Rose looked at Blair. “You are wearing makeup today. I thought you were just in a good mood.”

Blair sat up taller. “I am in a good mood.”

Rose closed the door to the house, squatted down next to her. “Did you know he was coming?” she asked in a low voice.

Blair drew back, eyes wide, hurt. “Of course not.”

“Sorry. Of course not.” Rose got up, feeling sweat pool between her breasts. “Better get packing.” At least the hotel would be air-conditioned.

Blair climbed to her feet, grasped her wrist. “Don’t go. We’ll figure something out.”

“As much as I’m sure he’d love a little hot three-way action, no.” She wiped her forehead.

“Four if you count the baby,” Blair said, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Rose gaped at her, then burst out laughing.

Better than crying.

* * *

Enjoying his Saturday after a week of dragging himself into the office, Mark didn’t pull open his closet to get dressed until after two.
 

Frowning, he looked down at the floor where he usually threw his jeans.

Nothing.

Turning his gaze upward, he saw the weirdest thing: his Levi’s, clipped to matching wood hangers, in a tidy little row of denim. The hems at the bottom were aligned in a perfectly straight line.

He groaned, rubbed his eyes.

When Trixie Johnson learned Mark was going to go into the WellyNelly offices every day, she started doing his laundry for the first time since he was sixteen. Using scented dryer sheets, folding everything, putting it away in his dresser, hanging up his shirts.

He pulled out what he thought was his favorite pair of jeans, though it was hard to tell. They were stiff, oddly flat.

He held them up and stared.

And now she’d ironed his jeans.

“The horror, the horror,” he muttered, tugging them on. He’d have to have a talk with her. At first he’d thought she was just bored, or happy to get him out of the house. But then she’d started asking about his coworkers. Female ones. Single, reproductive-aged female coworkers. How many there were, how smart, how interesting, how available, how lonely.

He couldn’t believe it. She was worse than Sylly. Mind in the gutter, mind in the cradle, same difference.

Sighing, he went back to his computer, unhappy with the way the starched denim made him walk like C3PO. He really should look for his own place. There was a ton of real estate to choose from, the market still suffering, everything on sale, and he was loaded.
 

Not even his mother knew the extent of the fortune he’d raked in from his assorted tech jobs over the years. WellyNelly wasn’t the only software company that had given him stock options when he was a teenager, companies that later made it big. Only his brother Liam knew he was sitting on more than five million dollars in cash, a fact he’d only just shared very recently, when Liam’s own business, Fite Fitness, was faltering.

“Keep it, little bro,” Liam had said. “Bev is a marketing genius. We’ll be fine. Though it sure would’ve come in handy earlier.”

Up until now, he hadn’t been able to make himself look at places by himself. He imagined… more. But maybe he couldn’t wait, shouldn’t wait. Maybe he was wrong to assume there was more to have.

Just as Mark began a search for Oakland real estate, the doorbell rang. Not trusting his mother, he went down the stairs three at a time and was short of breath when he flung the door open.

“How about I take you and your mom
out
to dinner?” Rose asked.

Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a long, off-center ponytail like an 80’s popstar. Big silver hoops dangled from her ears amid a few loose, golden strands.

Her T-shirt was tight, black, cut low at the neck in a V, and her faded cutoffs exposed her curves from upper thigh all the way on down.

Even her feet were sexy. On display in jewel-studded sandals, each toe carefully painted crimson with a pink polka dots, her second toe adorned with a ring, her shapely ankle highlighted with a thin gold chain.

With so much to look at, it took him a moment to notice she had tears in her eyes.

“What happened?”

She smiled, wiped at her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara ran down her cheek. “Nothing. I’m being silly. Everything’s going great.”

“Which is why you’re crying,” he said. “Is it WellyNelly? Because if you don’t like it, don’t worry about chucking it when you’ve got something else. I won’t mind, really.”

“No, the job is great. It’s so exciting I can’t—oh, hey there, Zeus.”

Yapping his odd, distorted yap, Zeus had run up from outside and was attempting to climb up Rose’s legs. She bent down and lifted him up into her arms. As he licked her cheeks, his body shaking with joy, the forced smile on Rose’s face became a real one.

“You must taste good,” Mark said, then felt his face get warm. God. Even with Rose, he said the stupidest things.

“Is it my vanilla face cream, little dude?” she asked. “Do you think I’m an ice cream cone?”

Mark glanced past Rose’s shoulder and saw his mother in the driveway, empty leash in one hand, the two other dogs tugging at the other. Before he could stop her, she pivoted on her heel and marched back out into the street the way she’d come.