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“Seven o’clock?”
“I’m not coming.”
“Think about it.”
She rolled her eyes. When he got like this, he wouldn’t let go. Probably because he sensed her hesitation, sensed her slight weakness. Seth knew her way, way too well, and having grown up extremely wealthy, he was used to getting what he wanted. Though his parents had skimped on the things that really mattered, like love and attention. “I won’t change my mind.”
She saw the triumph in his eyes. He thought he had her.
If he was talking about the chocolate hazelnut cheesecake, he might be right as far as her appetite went. The rest of her? He couldn’t have that. She was keeping that safe. Safe for a new man and for herself.
TEARS RAN DOWN Demi’s cheeks, which she bravely ignored. She and Wesley were sitting at her kitchen table shoveling in mouthfuls of the incendiary Noodles from Hell from their favorite Thai restaurant. They both adored and suffered through the dish, though they considered it a badge of honor not to wince or admit to the chili-induced agony. Demi had bought Wesley his drink at Joe Bar, and they’d come back here for dinner and dessert, in the mood for some edible torture.
“So tell me something.” Demi cheated just a little by pushing aside a particularly large chunk of red bird’s-eye chili pepper. Big difference between brave and suicidal. “Why is it that men are considered strong if they don’t show emotion? Who decided that was masculine?”
“Hmm.” Wesley stifled a gasp and poured half a beer down his throat. “If I had to answer that …”
“Which you do because I asked.”
“I’d say because children have no control over emotions and women have less control than men. Women and children are weak and need protecting—” He held up his hand to stop Demi’s outrage. “Calm down, I’m speaking biologically.”
“Okay …” She grudgingly let him continue.
“So in order to be least like women and children—in other words, the most masculine—men have to be strong and emotionless.”
“Doesn’t that seem stupid to you?”
“Extremely.” He ate another mouthful, chewing cautiously. “If it was up to me, we’d change it. But for some reason it isn’t.”
Demi frowned at him, thinking he looked better and stronger every time she saw him. “We need to put you in charge, Wesley. Of the globe. Would you mind?”
His blue eyes went wide. “Could I still have ice cream?”
“Absolutely.” She took a sip of beer and pushed her plate away, tired of her dinner giving her first-degree burns. “How did you escape the Culture of Macho?”
“I wouldn’t say I escaped.” He rubbed a hand thoughtfully through his thick, dark hair. “Though I did cry during one of our appointments.”
“I remember.” She reached to squeeze his hand. “Nearly broke my heart.”
“Softie.”
“Me? I’m hard as nails. But we were talking about you.”
“As we should be.” He smiled his easy, dynamite smile. “I had three sisters, for one. And my dad was emotional. He was also crazy about my mom and we got to see that. He cried when he was really sad, and acted as if that was completely normal.”
“Which it is.”
“He helped around the house in nontraditional ways, too.”
“My dad didn’t do squat. My sister-in-law is finding out what that’s like, too, since my brother takes after him.” She gestured to Wesley with her beer. “Your wife will be one lucky woman.”
“So will your husband.” He laughed at the sight of her startled face. “Scared you, huh.”
“Husband? Husband?” She clutched at her chest. “I’m too young. Husbands are for grown-ups.”
“In some cultures twenty-eight would make you a hopeless spinster.”
“I’d make a good one.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Demi.” His dark-lashed eyes took on a warmth that made her blush. “Too much passion in you to waste on sexual aids.”
“Oh, geez.” She made a hideous face, hiding giggles.
“So …” He spoke so casually she went on instant alert. “Demi …”
“Wesley …?”
“What brought up all this talk about the Culture of Macho and marriage?” He put a long finger to his cheek and tipped his head. “Could it have anything to do with yesterday’s visit by Colin ‘Ironman’ Russo?”
“Of course it does. Well, no, not the marriage part.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “But the guy can barely move. I worked really deeply on him and he does this whole stoic statue thing. It just seems stupid he couldn’t yell, ‘Ow, that effing hurts!’”
Wesley looked at her skeptically. “Would you do that in a professional office?”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “That’s partly my point, too. It’s ridiculous for anyone to hide normal feelings of pain.”
“Your studio would get kind of noisy.”
“At times.” She twisted her mouth, pushing her unused knife back and forth on the tablecloth. “Truth is, I’m not sure what to do about him.”
“Jump him?”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “He’s not only hurting in his body.”
“I’m not surprised.” Wesley drained his beer, his handsome face shadowed. “Tough journey out of that pain.”
“He wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as you were, but like you his athletic career meant everything to him.”
“He just thinks it does.”
“Yes, he just thinks it does. That’s my point. You found coaching. I’m not sure what he’ll do.” She swirled more pasta onto her fork, mouth craving another shot of pain. “I wonder if he should meet you and hear about—”
“Ha!” Wesley was already shaking his head. “Hear about my sad story? So you can say hey, guess what? Instead of being a world champion triathlete, you could be a suburban high-school track coach. He’s not ready for that.”
“He might be.”
Wesley gave her a look.
“At some point he might be,” Demi said.
“Then at some point I’d be happy to.”
“He’ll get there. I just need to make sure I don’t push him too hard.” She laughed. “I mean emotionally. I don’t think I can push him too hard physically. He’d work until both legs dropped off and barely notice.”
“Exercise addicts are like that.”
“Exactly.” Demi stood and carried their plates to her sink, surprised at how rattled she felt by this discussion. “Want some ice cream?”
“Is there any answer possible besides yes?”
“Nope.” She opened the freezer. “Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond?”
Wesley groaned. “Do you know what it’s like having to cut back from a three-thousand-calorie diet?”
“Nope.” She pried the top off the carton. “One scoop or two?”
“Two.” He sighed resignedly and patted his flat stomach. “Already gained ten pounds, what’s a couple more?”
“Yeah, but you were down way low from running, Wesley. You look great.” She tried not to compare his lean, slender frame to the broad torso and hard muscles of her triathlete obsession. She should picture Colin hugely obese.
That didn’t work, either.
“What does this god among men do besides work out?”
Demi served him a glare along with his ice cream and a spoon. “He used to play sax and he made knives from scratch before he became a triathlon junkie. Maybe he can go back to that.”
Wesley’s silence made her look up from scooping her own ice cream. He was staring at her, shaking his head. “Strange.”
“What is?”
“I don’t ever remember you talking about a client so much.”
Blush. Inevitable. Unwelcome. Grrr. “He’s an interesting case.”
“Uh … ruptured disc? Dime a dozen.”
“No, but I mean …” What did she mean? She sat down and lost herself in her first bite of Häagen-Dazs heaven instead of trying to figure it out.
“What else could be unusual?” He pretended to count on his fingers. “Had to give up an athletic career, I think you’ve seen that before. Trouble adjusting to new reality of his body, ditto …”
“Yes. I know, but—”
“Me?” He put his counting fingers away and dived into his dessert again. “I think you’re hot for this guy.”
“No. No way. No. That is ridiculous. Completely—” She broke off, wrinkling her nose. “I’m objecting too much, aren’t I.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Okay, okay.” She licked her spoon and heaped up another bite, making sure it had plenty of chocolate-covered almonds in it. “He’s hot. So what?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Do? I’m going to help his pain, teach him how to manage the injury, try to show him that his life isn’t over and wish him well. What did you think?”
“I don’t know, ask him out?”
“A client? Don’t think so.”
“We went out.”
“You asked me. After we finished working together.”
“Make his treatment short, then ask him out. Or I know.” He brightened. “Send him to a friend. What about whatsername, Julie, who you used to—”
“He came to me, I’m his physical therapist and I will treat him.”
“Ooh.” Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Mighty possessive, aren’t we.”
“Professional. Why are you so anxious to foist me off on this poor man?”
He reached across the table and ruffled her hair, chuckling. “Because I know you well enough to know that the more you like a guy—if the way you acted with me was any indication—the colder and more professional you become. So he probably has no idea that you’re leaving drool spots on his blanket.”
“Am not.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Okay, that one was a mistake.”
Wesley cracked up. “Okay, okay. But I’m right. So think about it.”
“Yes, master.” He was right about the way she acted around guys she was attracted to. In high school, for four long years she’d been passionately in puppy love with Brad Johnston. Time after time she’d been in situations where she could have gotten to know him. School paper. School plays. Social-activity committee meetings. But the more she adored him, the less she spoke to him. So guess what, they never went out. Someday she was going to run across him, grab him and plant on him that kiss she’d fantasized about every night. The guy would have no idea what had happened. He probably didn’t even remember her.
However, in this case, her shyness was a good thing. If Colin caught wind of her attraction he could cause unpleasantness that would damage her professional reputation.
“In any case, I’m mostly interested in helping him.”
“I know. That’s what I love about you.” Wesley let his spoon fall back into his bowl and heaved himself out of the chair, something he couldn’t have done that well even six months earlier. “I should go. This was fabulous, thanks. Need help with the dishes?”
“Nah. They all go in the dishwasher.”
She gave him a hug, congratulated him again on his successful second date with Cathy the previous evening and sent him shuffling off. His balance was much improved from when she’d started working with him two years earlier, but his gait was still not the graceful stride he must have had before the accident. She hoped Cathy fell madly in love with him. Hell, she wished she could have fallen madly in love with him. But Demi too often seemed to go for men who wouldn’t look twice at her. Sometimes she thought she was sabotaging herself. Other times she figured it was because she essentially made herself invisible around the guys she wanted.
Love and relationships were so confusing, sometimes she wished she didn’t want either one.
She carried the ice-cream bowls to the sink, rinsed and stuck all the dishes in the dishwasher, then curled up in her favorite recliner with her knitting and the audiobook she’d been making piss-poor progress on in the past few days ready to play on her iPod. Great story about a guy who thought he—
Phone.
She sighed and put down her knitting. She looked at the display and sighed again, louder. Carrie, her sister. Demi wasn’t in the mood. But if she didn’t answer now, Carrie would call back and leave increasingly hysterical messages about how she was starting to picture Demi lying dead in her apartment. Carrie never used to be that neurotic, but in the past few months she’d gotten more clingy and more intensely … herself.
“Hi, Carrie.”
“Hey, little sister. How’s everything?”
