Calling His Bluff (23 page)

There wasn’t anything in the universe that he couldn’t tell Tyler. Never had been.
But sometimes when a guy just felt—he searched for a word that didn’t make him feel
like a wimp, couldn’t find one—bummed, being around another guy, even one who’d never
rag you about it, wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted something softer. Something peaceful
and quiet and undemanding.

You wanted Sarah.

For a moment, the nostalgia almost made him forget why he was so disappointed in her.
Why he’d called up his best friend and dragged him out to a bar, albeit Tyler’s own,
at ten o’clock on a Monday just so that he could bitch. His memories of the Sarah
he’d known for the first years of his friendship with Tyler were simple. They involved
quiet staircases and cherry licorice and watching a quiet, pretty girl tuck long dark
hair behind her ear as she leaned over a book.

But somewhere between then and now, that Sarah had changed. Not disappeared exactly,
but she’d become this complicated
woman.
A woman who worked hard and knew how to play harder when she had the chance. A woman
who could spark a bonfire when she danced and crackle with icy control when she laid
it all on the line in a game of poker. He owned enough honesty to admit that maybe
the heat and the ice had been there all along. He just hadn’t seen it until now.

But thinking of Vegas and all its revelations, he remembered also that there was still
a sheen of innocence to everything Sarah did. Unlike some of the hard, brittle women
he’d come across so frequently in the movie business, she didn’t take her thrills
too seriously. She saw the glamour and the risk-taking as a fun way to let off a little
steam. A nice place to visit, but not somewhere you parked your trailer and settled
in to live.

He remembered the way she blushed when she confessed that she’d given away the bulk
of her winnings rather than taking the seat she’d earned at the tournament table.

Remembered her eyes going smoky and dark when he pushed her up against the wall in
the salsa club, giving in to the heat that had built inside him since the moment he
saw her in that scarlet dress. The lightning explosion between the two of them that
had quickly robbed him of all sense, that time and every time he’d touched her since.

He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his tall bar chair, well aware that the woman
he was picturing naked was the sister of the man sitting next to him. The man who’d
already agreed with great reluctance not to punch him in the mouth because J.D. had
told Tyler that things were getting serious with Sarah.

Not that he’d mentioned the whole thing about how she thought they were married, of
course.

Still, he had told Tyler the truth. He
was
serious.

Try explaining that to Sarah.

You’d think he was telling her he liked to kick puppies down a flight of stairs based
on the look of horror she gave him every time he brought up the subject.

And he was back to being pissed. Without even trying, he could hear the words she’d
tossed at him so casually that weekend.

You’re not exactly a stick-around kind of guy, J.D.

And how did she know that, anyway? Just because he never had, just because he’d hit
the road as soon as it was legal to do so, never returning for more than a quick visit,
didn’t mean he couldn’t stick if that’s what he wanted.

Hadn’t he come back this time and bought that drafty old warehouse of a place? That
hadn’t been part of any plan. It was a decision he’d made before stopping to question
it. Still. He might be only halfway through the remodel, but he was sticking it out.
He could already see what it would be like when he was done.

And that whole sudden obsession with party planning for her mother’s birthday party.
Even an idiot could see that from word one Sarah didn’t consider him part of the family
committee that would make Susannah’s birthday special. As if he wouldn’t want to participate
in planning something nice for the woman who’d practically raised him during his formative
years.

“I love your goddamn mother, too, you know.” He shoved his glass away and flung himself
against the curved back of his chair.

Tyler lifted an eyebrow. “Better not tell her like that.”

“I’m serious. I fucking love that woman.”

“Seeing as how she considers you her adopted son, that’s probably a good thing.”

“So how come I’m not family?”

“Didn’t I just say you were? God knows my mother thinks you are.” Tyler shook his
head once. “Why are we talking about my mother, anyway?”

“Sarah.”

“We’re talking about Sarah now? Nope. Forget it. I definitely don’t want to talk about
my sister with you. Once was enough.” Tyler shuddered with a brother’s refusal to
acknowledge even the possibility of his sister having s. e. x. He grabbed his beer
and downed half of it in three swallows.

“I’m talking about your mother because your sister wants to throw her a surprise party
for her birthday. And she definitely did not invite me to participate.” It still burned
under his skin how easily she’d dismissed him. He wondered if the rest of the Tyler
family would be able to cut him off so easily. If they found out what he’d done, how
insanely out of control he’d let this marriage lie get, he might lose them all.

His stomach roiled and a cold sweat broke out on the nape of his neck.

Losing the Tylers, even if he’d only touched base with them from time to time for
years now, would break him. The only anchor he had in the world was in this city,
and the idea of losing it…well, it pretty much made him want to puke.

Tyler frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like Sarah. She’d never not invite you.”

J.D. blocked the bleak thoughts from his mind. He would make this work out. Somehow.
He would tell Sarah, eventually, at the right moment, and they’d get through this.
He would hang on to the only things in his fucking lonely life that had ever meant
anything to him at all.

“Sure, I’ll get an invitation like anybody else. But I’m sitting across the table
from her, telling her she’s gorgeous, how I’ve wanted her pretty much since she came
to see me—” Tyler screwed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears. J.D.
punched him in the shoulder and raised his voice. “Suck it up. Pretend it’s someone
else. So, I’m pouring my goddamn heart out in her shoebox of a kitchen, and all of
a sudden it’s ‘Hey, the family should do something special for Mom’s birthday, and
don’t worry, J.D., you’re not a part of that.’”

“Hmm.” Silence seemed to be the better part of valor in Tyler’s opinion.

“So what’s wrong with me? She just about had a panic attack at the idea of you finding
out we’re together. It’s like I’ve got leprosy and an ankle monitor.” He shook his
head and finished the Harp. “I’m a goddamn good catch.” He smacked the empty pint
glass down and demanded an answer from his best friend. “Don’t you think I’m a good
catch?”

Tyler raised one hand in the air to stop traffic. “Hey, I think you look like the
ass end of a donkey, but there’s no accounting for taste. Girls always seemed to go
for that in a guy.” He got punched again in the shoulder for his trouble. “Ouch. Yeah,
yeah, you’re a great catch. You’re successful, smarter than you look, you can hold
your liquor and my mother loves you. Plus, for reasons unknown, chicks seem to dig
that tough-guy thing you’ve got going on.”

J.D. was stuck on the one important thing in that list. “Your mother loves me. Exactly.
So why can’t I do something nice for her birthday?”

“Why can’t you?”

“That’s what I’m saying—”

“No, I mean, why can’t you?” Tyler’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and when J.D.
turned his head to look at him, his friend was giving him a serious look. “You mean
it? You want to do something for my mom’s birthday?”

“Yeah, I do.” He meant it. He didn’t want to head out of town or lock himself up with
his Mac and two thousand photo files in glorious isolation for the next month. He
wanted to be a part of Susannah Tyler’s birthday planning, damn it. He wanted to be
a real part of this family.

“Then do it. Whatever it is that you want to do, just do it. You’re a part of this
family. You don’t need my sister’s approval for that. And screw her if she can’t take
it.” Tyler winced at his own choice of words. “God. Don’t. Please. Or at least don’t
tell me about it.”

His words took about a thousand pounds off J.D.’s shoulders, but that didn’t mean
J.D. was going to avoid that sore spot for one second. He let the memories wash over
him until the grin that spread over his face couldn’t be mistaken for anything but
pure carnal pleasure.

He wiggled his eyebrows at Tyler.

“Your sister can kiss like a house on fire.” He corrected himself. “Like you’re standing
in a house that catches on fire, and you don’t even notice that it’s burning down
around you.”

Tyler groaned and dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the bar rail.

“Man, I’m gonna puke.”

* * *

After a week of family meetings and party planning, it had become clear to Sarah that
certain things just did not go together.

The combination, for example, of sisters gathered around a table, an abundant assortment
of junk food and massive bouts of self-pity led directly to a roiling, unhappy belly
that had haunted her throughout the following days of veterinary house calls. The
Lincoln Park yuppie couple who had shut their cat in the bathroom to confine his vomiting
to one small area had not helped matters. The bathroom had been covered in puke.

She sat at her laptop, digging her way through the backlog of work emails that never
seemed to shrink, no matter how many hours she spent on them. With a click, she switched
files to her grocery list, deleting certain items and adding others.

Note to self: Drop the Ben & Jerry’s, beef jerky, chips and dip. Pick up veggies,
hummus and pita for your next sit-down with your sisters. Maybe then you can get through
the following day without feeling like you’re going to puke, just like that poor kitty.

The nonstop razzing from her sisters, down and dirty in the way only your best girlfriends
could get, had trailed off into sympathetic back rubs and stealth hugs when she told
them about the last time she saw J.D.

She slapped her laptop closed and propped her elbows on its gray plastic case. Pressed
the heels of her palms against her eyes and wished the sunbursts of color that bloomed
against her eyelids could blur out everything else. She hadn’t even admitted the worst
of it to her sisters. Hadn’t told them about her sitcom-worthy drunken marriage and
the farce of being uncertain whether or not her “husband” was actually divorced from
his first wife.

“Clearly, I have lost my ever-loving mind,” she said and considered asking her mother
if insanity ran in the family. Looked at objectively, the idea had promise. Her entire
family, except for Maxie, had taken crazy risks for love.

And won,
her gambler’s heart whispered to her.

Was it so surprising that when it came to matters of love and marriage, the greedy
core of her might have hoped she could find a way to win this biggest pot of all?

She shook her head at her own foolishness and straightened the laptop on the desk
until it was centered in the bare expanse of wood. Standing up, she pushed her chair
in, leaving her clean, uncluttered living room for the kitchen. She wanted tea before
bed.

Wish as much as you want,
she told herself,
but you just aren’t like them. Never have been. Oh, you play at taking risks, and
there’s no one who can say you won’t lay it all on the line at the card table, but
that’s just play. Deep down, you’re a planner, not a cliff jumper.

She gave a mental shrug, filled the shiny silver kettle just enough for one cup and
turned the flame on high beneath it. And what was so wrong with that? She’d worked
her ass off in school, four years of undergrad and four more of veterinary college
plus a year-long internship, because she knew what she wanted. She still worked hard
and was good at what she did because she wanted to be. She loved her family and took
pride in being someone they could count on—for help, for humor, for anything. Why
did everything she took pride in seem so dull and tarnished to her now?

Why did she feel so lonely? And why hadn’t he called?

A week.

It had been a week since J.D. had left her right here in her own kitchen, her emotions
and insecurities churning inside her like sludgy concrete in the barrel of a cement
truck. Seven days and not a word, damn him.

She’d hurt his feelings, she realized now, by not including him in her plans for her
mother’s birthday. Couldn’t help but realize it, since Tyler had torn a strip off
her the next day over the phone when she’d called to line up his cooperation. She
hadn’t even been able to squeeze in a question about whether or not Lana had made
any further appearances. Because a part of her still didn’t believe she could compete
with a sexually adventurous actress. And no, she hadn’t thought about how much J.D.
cared for their mother. Hadn’t remembered how as a boy he’d found a place to call
home with her family. Which was strange, given how often she wondered if it was his
love for her family that had triggered his enthusiasm for being with her. It didn’t
take a rocket scientist to see that J.D. adored her mother, counted her brother as
his own and slid into place with the rest of her family like he belonged there.

It was hard to admit that the man you wanted to love you loved your family more.

Harder still not to see how that love might drift so easily into a kind of affection
for her, especially when given a good hard push from blow-the-drapes-off sex. And
she
knew they didn’t suit, that her life and his could never mesh together, that she
wasn’t the kind of woman a man like J.D. wanted. Maybe he would settle for her if
it meant he would find a permanent place in the family he so clearly loved, but she
wanted more, damn it. She deserved it.