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That seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded and said, “It’s pretty interesting. Hard work, but interesting.”
In truth, I’d just told a big fat lie, but that was okay. Because this was one of those occasions when it’s okay to save someone’s feelings. Like a guy to whom you would otherwise have to say, I said ‘ooooh,’ because you’d just confirmed what I already thought I knew—that you really are the new nerd in residence. Not boy toy material at all. Which is too bad, because you really are a hottie, and I’m having a hard time not reaching out to stroke your chest.
Okay, yes, that was a little much. And I quelled those thoughts and simply said, “Sounds like you really like it.”
“Love it,” he said. “Right now I’m heading up a team that’s writing the code and the script for a new cutting-edge game. Multiple players, AI interface. It’s going to be state of the art.”
“Fab,” I said, but my enthusiasm was false. Computer games are so not my thing. I played Super Mario Brothers once years ago, lost badly, and was scarred for life. Haven’t hooked up an Xbox, Nintendo or logged on to a game site since. Clearly, Mike and I had very little in common.
Too bad a surprising little voice whispered before I managed to shove it to the back of my brain. Mike was simply not a possibility. I had a plan to up my slut score, and I wasn’t going to leap into a repeat of my three years with Dex simply because that plan—not to mention Cullen Slater—made me nervous.
Of course, considering Mike hadn’t made any sort of a move, I suppose I was getting ahead of myself….
“So what do you do?” he asked, following the traditionally accepted getting-to-know-you patter.
“I work in a production company. I’m the VP of Business Affairs.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” I resisted rolling my eyes. “I got into this job because what I really want to do is write screenplays, and I thought it was an in into the industry.”
“It’s not?”
“Hardly,” I said sourly. “And the worst of it is that I’m working such long hours that I’m usually too exhausted to write.” The words rolled off my tongue, surprising me. I desperately wanted to break into screenwriting, true, but I didn’t usually go around whining about it to people I’ve only just met. I told myself to tone it down as I waved vaguely around the pool area. “This weekend is an unexpected bonus.”
“That’s rough,” he said. “But it still sounds interesting. Working in television must be fun.”
He sounded genuinely interested. Most people are. Television does that.
I shrugged. “We produce reality shows. You know. The programs that are currently multiplying like locusts on your television lineup.”
“Ah, yes. I think I’ve heard something about those.” His mouth twitched, either amused at my definition or my utter lack of loyalty to my profession. My level of guilt, however, was minimal. Reality shows are a scourge. And at the moment, I was still irritated with John.
“Still, you’re in the business,” Mike said. “Isn’t that what L.A.’s all about?”
Okay, I was beginning to really like this guy. He was repeating back to me exactly what I’d told my mother after I’d turned down the law firm position. Not to mention what I told myself every time I felt a twinge about not having yet sold a screenplay. “Exactly.”
We shared a smile before he cleared his throat and stood up. “Listen, I’ve got a pizza in the fridge that just needs to be heated up. I’d love some company.”
“Oh. Right. Um.” The truth was that I’d love to just hang out with him, but I’d already filled and exceeded my allotment of sluffing off time for the day. My plan had been to simply veg for a bit—to numb my mind with margaritas and sunshine before returning to the equally mind-numbing task of furniture assembly. “I wish I could. But I have a pile of furniture waiting to be assembled.” I held up my margarita for emphasis. “I took a break to get in the mood.”
“I understand that,” he said. “I’ve schlepped more boxes to the recycling bin than I care to count, and it’s a wonder my eyes aren’t crossed from reading the assembly instructions on the IKEA shelves I bought.”
“Exactly,” I said, sensing a kindred spirit. “I mean, who wrote those anyway?”
“Monkeys with typewriters?” He laughed and I laughed, and for a second I thought maybe he’d offer to help me interpret my monkey-written instructions. But instead, he just stood up and gestured to the pitcher. “Thanks for the margarita.”
“Oh. Sure.” I started to gather my things, unreasonably irritated that he was so casually departing. I told myself I was annoyed by the breakdown of basic good manners. I mean, a chivalrous guy would have offered to help, right? Even Cullen would have offered. That’s what guys who look good without their shirts do, right? Offer to engage in manual labor so they have an opportunity to show off their pecs?
Mike, however, wasn’t showing off. He was just gathering his things to leave.
“So why are you out here all alone? I usually see you with Carla.”
“She declined my distress call for assembly help,” I said, giving him one more chance at that whole chivalry thing. “It’s okay. I’m well aware of how much she values her manicure.”
“Which apartment is hers?”
“Oh, she’s not in this building. She’s in the complex next door.” Our street was lined with apartment complex after apartment complex. “Her building doesn’t have a pool or a laundry room,” I added, by way of explaining why Carla was almost always here. At least, she was here if Mitch-the-Wonder-Stud wasn’t there.
His eyes met mine and he flashed me a zinger of a smile. “I guess that’s just one more reason why I’m certain I chose the right complex to move into.”
“Um, yeah.” For a guy who’d just failed Chivalry 101, he could be pretty damn charming.
“Later,” he said, with a small wave.
“Right. Later.” I waved goodbye, then watched him head up the staircase while I gathered my things. As I did, I realized he’d taken my extra glass with him. A little burst of emotion shot through me, and it wasn’t irritation.
No, this was anticipation. Because if he had my glass, I’d have to see him again. And that, I thought, wasn’t a bad thing at all.
He might not be chivalrous, but he was nice. And another friend in the building never hurt.
3
AS SOON AS MIKE opened his door, Stephanie greeted him with a wolf whistle. “Cute girl,” she said.
“Not your type,” Mike said with a grin. “She’s a fan of the Y chromosome.”
“Damn. Foiled again.”
He laughed, shaking his head as he slid into one of the kitchen chairs. He and Stephanie had been best friends since elementary school. They’d gone steady for about a week in eighth grade, which had ruined their friendship until the second semester of their sophomore year. That was when Steph had come to him in tears, desperate to talk about the crush she had on the new girl in school. Mike had listened, dried her tears, and their friendship had continued on, stronger than ever. With the added bonus that they could now discuss their relative girlfriends.
“So is she a new special friend?” Steph asked, lacing her voice with a tease as she tried to uncork a bottle of wine.
“Friend, yes. Special, definitely. Special friend…” He trailed off with a shrug, then took the bottle and the corkscrew from her, handily freeing the cork. “I’m working on that one.”
Steph’s eyebrows rose infinitesimally. “Oh, really? Tell me all about it or I withhold the wine.”
“I’ve been drinking margaritas,” he said, holding up his now-empty glass. “I’m passing on the wine anyway.”
She squinted at the glass, the blown Mexican kind with a bluish tint and a dark blue rim. “One of hers?”
“Yup,” he said, mildly proud of himself for walking off with it.
From Steph’s grin, he knew she understood. “Cinderella’s slipper.”
“Exactly. I keep the glass, I have a reason to go back and see her.”
Actually, he already had a reason. She’d been hinting hard enough about the furniture assembly. He could have easily stood up, held out his hand, and said, “Come on. Let’s go take care of that.”
The trouble with that option, though, was that while it would certainly impress her, it wouldn’t impress her in a way that fit in his overall plan of attack. Go when she asks, and he’s simply some male sap doing her bidding. But go in an hour or so—when she’s buried in hardware and frustrated—and suddenly he’s the hero. And all the more sexy for it.
“So tell me about her,” Steph said, coming to the table with a glass of wine for her and a Coke for him. Mike glanced at the clock, evaluated how much time he had before Mattie hit maximum frustration, and nodded.
“I met her the day I moved in,” he said, starting at the beginning. He told Steph the rest of it, too. All of it. From the heat of desire he felt when he looked at Mattie to the secret plan he’d overheard in the laundry room.
Steph took it all in without saying a word. He knew she understood the depth of his emotion. Mike wasn’t the type to fall hard and fast, but he was the kind to believe in love at first sight. His parents had seen each other from across a lecture hall as freshmen in college, and had been gloriously in love ever since. His family was close-knit, and unlike so many families these days, “family” included all the various extensions, including especially his grandparents.
Grandma Jo and Grandpa Fred had moved in across the street when Mike was eight. He’d grown up in the thrall of family, and he knew that he was stronger for it. More, because his grandparents’ relationship was just as strong as his parents’—and had happened just as quickly—Mike had always craved a deep love and a long-term relationship. Silly, perhaps, to base personal dreams on the love life of his family members, but Mike saw how happy his parents and grandparents were.
He’d explained all that to Steph years ago. And she knew better than anyone that Mike had yet to find his perfect woman. So for him to be so frazzled so quickly…well, that was saying a lot.
He described Mattie and her plan, and when he was finished, Steph leaned back in the chair, nodded slowly, and simply said, “Interesting.”
“That’s it? I tell you that the first woman who’s really sparked my interest in the last year is looking to ratchet up her sex life, and all you can say is interesting? How about ‘Wow, what an opportunity you’ve stumbled across?’ Or ‘Gee, what lucky star were you born under?’”
“Or maybe ‘Boy, have you got your work cut out for you,’” she said, looking at him gravely.
“You’re kidding, right?” he said, wondering what had possessed her to be so negative.
She rolled her eyes. “Mike, you used to be a lot less naive. Or am I wrong about your intentions here?”
“My intentions,” he said, feeling utterly old-fashioned, “are completely honorable.”
“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? She’s looking for a wild fling. A bit of experience between the sheets. She said her ex was a dud, right? That means she’s looking for a good time. And she’s not looking for commitment.”
He frowned; she had a point.
“And did she come on to you at the pool?” Steph pressed. Mike had to admit that she hadn’t. “Well, there you go.”
He held out his hands, hoping he demonstrated just how much he didn’t understand what she was talking about.
Steph sighed and rolled her eyes. “Straight guys are just plain dumb,” she said. “Obviously, she already has someone in mind to play stud.”
“Or she’s just not attracted to me.”
Steph shook her head. “No way,” she said, loyally. “You’re irresistible.” She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “No, the only reason our little friend wasn’t playing Flirt Girl with you is that she’s saving up for someone else. So your job, my friend, is to convince her she’s got her eye on the wrong guy.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off keeping his mouth shut. “And exactly how am I supposed to do that? Chocolate? Roses? Get her drunk and screw her brains out?”
“Not a bad plan,” Steph said, without skipping a beat. “But I think your best approach is to just ease your way into her life. Find out who she’s going after. And then make sure you’re in position to fill in the gaps if her plan stumbles.”
“And why would it stumble?” he asked.
“Who knows why these things go awry? But if she’s already in the mind frame of seduction. And if you’re already in her life. Well, then, wouldn’t her natural reaction be to turn to you?”
“You’re devious. You know that, right?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I know. The question is, am I right?”
He thought about that. About getting close to her. About the fact that Mattie Brown was the kind of woman he’d enjoy hanging out with. Talking with. Taking long walks with. And, of course, he’d enjoy running his hands over her naked body and driving her positively wild. That was a given.
But the friendship aspect? Yeah, he wanted that, too. And if by being her friend, he could be her lover…
His fingertip slowly traced the rim of the margarita glass. “Yeah,” he said slowly, after he’d thought it all over. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
I HATE PRESSBOARD. THAT fake wood with veneer on it filled with packed sawdust that weighs umpteen million pounds.
So far, I’d managed to chip the corners of two pieces, strip the screw-hole out of a third piece, and mutilate my toe by dropping yet another piece right on it. All in the name of a lateral filing cabinet I didn’t want for a job I didn’t want.
Honestly.
And I was all the more irritated because my sister had called earlier, just to say “Hi,” she’d said. But when I’d told her about my furniture dilemma, she’d immediately launched into a narrative about how her boss had insisted she not work at home. He wants her to have a life, he said. And to make sure she was comfortable whenever she did have to work long hours at the office, he gave her an astronomical furniture budget and told her to go for it.
Even in furniture, Angie wins out. I tell you, it’s enough to drive a girl batty.
I shoved thoughts of my sister out of my head, and instead focused on the mess in front of me. What I needed was help. Immediately, an image of Mike filled my head. Nice Mike. Cute Mike. Mike with the awesome upper body.
I shook myself. Bad Mattie. Bad. Bad.
Still…I did need to get that margarita glass back. And if he asked me what I was doing—and if I told him I was having a heck of a time assembling some furniture—and if he offered to help me out…well, who was I to say no?
Having thus justified seeing him one more time, I stood and headed to the door. I paused to check my face and hair in the mirror I keep hanging there, decided I looked respectable if not awesome, and pulled open the door to reveal the man himself.
“Mike! I was just coming to see you!”
He held up my margarita glass. “Desperate to get it back?”
“No, of course not,” I said, even though that had totally been my planned excuse. “I, um, was hoping you could give me a hand.” I stepped back from the door and ushered him in.
He brushed past me, glanced around, then turned to face me directly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did a sawmill erupt in here?”
“Very funny.” I plucked the glass out of his hand. “Will you help me if I offer to fill this back up for you?”
He flashed me a grin, charming, but with a hint of mischief. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”
Since I’m not a fool, I immediately slapped an Allen wrench into his open palm and pointed him toward the instructions (balled up under the television stand where I’d kicked them in a fit of pique.) He scored points by not even looking at me funny as he bent to dig them out.
I retreated to the kitchen to make the margaritas.
Not that retreated really describes it. The apartment is only about seven hundred square feet consisting of a big rectangle filled with a living area, a dining area and a kitchen area, pretty much all open to each other unless you’re standing way back by the fridge.
Between the dining area (carpeted) and the kitchen area (tiled) were two stairs leading up to a tiny bathroom on the left and a decent-size bedroom on the right. That’s it. End of grand tour.
It’s not much, but you’d think differently if you saw the check I wrote every month. Studio City doesn’t come cheap.
All of which is to say that even though I couldn’t see Mike the whole time, I could hear him. And it felt nice and cozy—and scarily domestic—to be working in the kitchen while he was shuffling pieces of wood and muttering to himself.
Since making margaritas requires little more than dumping ice and alcohol into a blender and pressing On, it didn’t take me too long to whip up a batch. Even so, in the short time that I was gone, Mike had managed to assemble an entire base section of the cabinet.
