Just This Night (6 page)

BETH

M
orning, sunshine,” I remarked wryly as Stephanie half-walked/half-stumbled into our kitchen two hours later, wrapped in an overly fluffy pink terrycloth bathrobe. Her normally sexily tousled hair was now mussed and snarled and black smudges ringed her blue eyes, giving her the look of a rabid raccoon. I glanced at my phone. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“You should say nothing,” she grunted. “Unless it's ‘Do you want coffee?' I could handle ‘Do you want coffee?' Maybe.”

“
Do
you want coffee?”

“You're really asking me that?” Stephanie slumped into the chair across from me, her head plopping down onto the table. I rose to my feet, walking over to the counter and grabbing two News 9 mugs, pouring freshly brewed java (my second pot of the day) into each. Looking at my roommate now I was pretty glad I'd agreed to be designated driver last night. Otherwise I'd be enjoying this humiliation sundae with a hangover on top.

After adding a generous dollop of pumpkin spice creamer
to each cup, I walked over to the table and handed one to Stephanie before sitting back down across from her with my own mug.

“Oh my God, you seriously win roommate of the year,” she muttered, taking a long slug, then setting the mug precariously on the edge of the table. I dove to save it from crashing to the floor, setting it back in front of her. She sighed heavily. “Like first place. Like, you should have an actual trophy and stuff.”

I snorted. “Great. I'll clear a spot next to all my imaginary Emmys.”

Stephanie nodded absently, staring into her coffee with a blank expression on her face. “I am never, ever drinking again. Ever.”

I'd heard this one before. “Whatever you say.”

“No. Seriously, I mean it this time.” She sighed. “Well, besides next Tuesday. I have a date with Rob next Tuesday—the bartender from Tito's? Guy makes a killer Mexican martini. Extra olives, just how I like it.” She took another sip of coffee, this time miraculously managing not to spill any on her robe. Then she set down her cup and studied me with a cockeyed look. “But enough about me and my pathetic spiral into alcoholism and misery. I want to hear about your night. Did you have fun? I seem to recall a few fun-sounding noises, coming suspiciously from the vicinity of your bedroom . . .”

My face prickled with heat. I grabbed my own coffee cup in both hands, bringing it to my lips, as if it were a shield to protect me from the impending inquisition. But sadly, I knew in my heart, even the power of pumpkin spice couldn't stop a rabid reporter like Stephanie from getting the scoop. I could stall, but eventually resistance would prove futile.

“It started out fine,” I admitted at last. “Great, actually.” I bit my lower lip, setting my coffee down. “Until this morning, that is.”

“Oh?” Stephanie tilted her head in question, the oh-so-innocent way I'd seen her do countless times when trying to get her interviewees to relax and spill the beans. “What happened? Did he take off quick or something?”

“Let's just say the Road Runner's got nothing on this guy.” Elbows propped on the table, I cupped my chin in my hands and sighed deeply. “I woke up and he was gone. He left a note, but no phone number. No email. Hell, I'm half-convinced he wiped away his fingerprints before making his exit, just to make sure I wouldn't be able to track him down.”

Though he did forget his jacket
, I reminded myself quietly. But I wasn't ready to go there just yet.

I chewed on my lower lip, frustration washing over me once again. I'd gone over the entire night in my mind, countless times throughout the morning, and I still didn't have a clue as to what had gone wrong. Everything had been so perfect. We'd clicked, we'd connected, we'd freaking spooned all night long like we were in love. How could a night that felt so special to me mean absolutely nothing to him? Was this just a
Men Are From Mars
or
He's Just Not That Into You
kind of thing? Or was there some piece to this puzzle I was missing? Like . . . A horrifying thought niggled at the back of my brain. What if he was married? I cringed. I so did not want to go there.

“Dude! What's with the long face?” Stephanie demanded, interrupting my worried thoughts. “Don't you see? This is perfect! Absolutely perfect.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you still drunk?”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Beth, this is what you wanted, remember? This is why you went to the club with me in the first place! One night of hot sex, no strings attached. And now, bonus! It's not even awkward. You don't have to give the throbbing love lance the boot. You don't have to deal with some stage five clinger, texting you desperate love poetry 24-7 until you're forced to block him on Facebook.” She shuddered. “Instead, you can just chalk this up to a night of awesome and move on with your life.” She reached across the table, holding up her hand for a high five. “Forget the roommate trophy. I'm getting you a dirty slut one. Which, I might add, is way cooler than some silly Emmy.”

I groaned, leaning back in my chair and staring up at the
ceiling. “You don't understand,” I protested. “I mean, trust me, I wish it were that simple. But it's not. I can't just move on and forget about him. Even if I wanted to.”

Stephanie lowered her hand and narrowed her eyes. “Elizabeth White. Do not
even
tell me you've somehow managed to develop feelings for this dude after just one night.”

I closed my eyes. My mind flashed back to Mac, wrapping me into his arms. His hot breath searing my shoulder as he cuddled me close, taking care to pull the blanket up over me so I wouldn't be cold. Then I shook my head.
Don't even go there, Beth.

I turned back to my roommate. “No. I mean I literally can't. Look.” I rummaged through my pocket and pulled out the employment letter I'd discovered in Mac's jacket, presenting it to her. She took it from me and scanned it quickly, then looked up, confused.

“I don't understand. Who's Jake MacDonald?”

“MacDonald,” I emphasized. “As in
Mac
Donald. As in, ‘You can call me Mac' Donald.”

Stephanie's jaw dropped. “Hold on a second. You're telling me that your one-night throbbing love lance is going to be working permanently at News 9?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Did you know that before you hooked up?”

“Of course I didn't know that!” I cried, exasperated. “Do you think I'm a moron? He left his jacket behind. I found it in his wallet.”

Stephanie pursed her full lips. “Wow. Well, this changes everything.”

“No kidding. I mean, how can I even go to work now—knowing he'll be there? What if he goes and tells everyone what we did? What if they all think I'm some horrible slut? God, I have half a mind to quit. ‘Sorry Richard,'” I quipped, making up my resignation speech to my boss on the fly, “‘I know I have six months left on my contract, but I didn't take into account you hiring a guy I hooked up with. As you can guess, I couldn't possibly stay.'”

Stephanie rolled her eyes again. “And they call
me
a drama queen.” She shook her head, her black hair swishing from side to side. “Come on, Beth. Let's not overreact. I mean, God, if I quit every job where I hooked up with a fellow employee or four? I'd be perpetually unemployed.”

I stared down into my empty coffee mug, deciding not to comment on that. While sex with strangers might be Stephanie's typical MO, it certainly wasn't mine. Besides, what was that ugly analogy about not crapping where you eat?

But it was too late now.

Uninvited tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. This was so unfair.

“Oh, sweetie.” My roommate's expression softened. She leaned across the table, placing her hands on my shoulders and giving me a comforting squeeze. “Do not even. You're awesome. He's an asshole. He doesn't deserve even a single one of your precious tears.”

“I know,” I sniffled, feeling like an idiot. “I know, I know. It just . . . sucks, you know? Of all the newsrooms in all the world . . .”

Stephanie pursed her lips, seeming to ponder this. Then her face brightened. “Well, think of it this way,” she declared. “You know he's not working the morning shift. Your photog Javier would have totally given you a heads-up if he was changing shifts. Which means Mac Daddy must be on days or evenings.” She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Which means you'll probably never even see the guy, save for the News 9 holiday party. And at that point, I'll make it my personal mission to get you too drunk to care.”

I laughed, despite myself. “Maybe they'll end up assigning him to you.”

“I hope so.” My roommate's eyes gleamed wickedly. “'Cause payback is a bitch, Mac Daddy. No one hurts my little love muffin. Not on my watch!” She held up her hand again in a high five. This time I didn't leave her hanging.

She was right, I told myself as I brought my mug to the sink. Plenty of people worked at News 9 that I barely ever saw. It would be no big deal. I never had to talk to him. Except
to return the jacket, of course. Though maybe I should just leave it at the front desk. Even better.

And that was the one satisfying thought in all of this mess. At least I wouldn't be surprised to bump into Mac Monday morning. I had time to mentally prepare.

He, on the other hand, was in for quite a shock.

MAC

I
t was Monday morning and I was pulling my SUV into the News 9 parking lot for my first day of work. The day was beautiful. Perfect temperature with a warm sun beaming down on my pale-ass New England skin. Back home it was probably snowing. My sister was always bragging that San Diego had the best weather in the world. I was beginning to believe it.

Ashley and I had spent most of yesterday on the beach, making sandcastles and dodging warm water waves. She'd laughed so much that she'd given herself a stomachache by the time we headed back to the car. Though, in hindsight, perhaps it was the mountains of ice cream she'd consumed that were partially to blame. Either way, I couldn't remember the last time she'd looked so happy and content—and, bonus, she hadn't asked about her mother once the entire afternoon. For the first time since we'd arrived, I found myself thinking that maybe this had been the right move after all.

If only I didn't have this smothering black cloud hanging over my head. Regret worse than any hangover, eating away at me without mercy. I tried to push the whole thing from
my mind, chalk it up to a huge mistake and move on. But try as I might, the night kept replaying itself over and over on endless loop and I didn't know how to make it stop.

I should have never let my sister and Joe talk me into going out in the first place. I should have stuck to my guns. Seriously, this was why I had determined not to get involved in all this dating shit to begin with. From now on, there would be no more bars, no clubs, no temptations.

God, she had been such a temptation.

And that was the worst part. Even with all the rationalizations in the world, I still couldn't manage to get her out of my head all weekend long. No matter what I tried to focus on, my traitorous mind kept wandering back to her long, smooth legs, wrapping around my waist, her soft breasts pillowing against my chest. Her hands, running up and down my stomach—and other places. Her wet, pink mouth, pressing against my own.

Goddamn it.

I rammed the vehicle in park, then opened the door and stepped out of the SUV. My new workplace loomed in front of me, tall, gray, intimidating, and I wondered, not for the first time, what it was going to be like to work there. Would it be challenging? Interesting? Would my new coworkers be cool? Or would I find only more backstabbing snakes like the ones I'd left behind in Beantown?

Sadly, that seemed more likely. It was still TV news, after all.

Before I had reluctantly accepted the job offer at News 9 I had considered getting out of the biz altogether. To leave it all behind. To start fresh with something less vile. Unfortunately, after talking to various recruiters and conducting a slew of Internet job searches, I couldn't find a single opportunity outside my field. I knew TV. And only TV.

Not that I didn't like being a videographer. Even after six years in the business I still got a thrill out of the whole thing. The adrenaline rush of shooting and editing a breaking news story, the coolness of seeing your work broadcasted on every TV—you couldn't get that anywhere else.

No, it wasn't the craft I didn't enjoy. It was the slime. The scum. The people of the TV news world. People like my ex-wife.

I grabbed my backpack and slammed the SUV door shut behind me. Taking a deep breath I readied myself to face whatever the new job might throw my way. But just as I'd almost convinced myself that things could be different here, I was blindsided by an all-too familiar face crossing the parking lot. I stared, unable to breathe. It couldn't be.

But it was. It was her. It couldn't be anyone but her.

Sheer panic warred with sudden, complete arousal as I watched her approach, my knees threatening to buckle out from under me. What the hell was she doing here?

I assessed her quickly. Her once flowing blond curls were now restrained in a severe knot at the back of her head and the scrap of a dress she'd worn to the club had been replaced by a smart, baby blue suit jacket. The skirt she wore, however, was still too short, in my opinion, to be legal and soon I found my eyes involuntarily running up and down the length of her bare legs, just as my hands had done only two nights before. Oh God. I felt my jeans tighten as I remembered all too well the satin smoothness of those thighs. Against my hands. Against my mouth. The mewing sound she'd made as I moved across her core. The sweetness she left on my tongue.

Down, boy.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts and focus on what was unfolding in front of me. She was getting closer. She was definitely heading my way. And for some reason she didn't look half as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

Then I remembered: the wallet.

I had realized I'd left my jacket with my wallet behind just as I'd gotten back to my sister's house and attempted to pay the cabbie. But I'd decided it'd be easier just to cancel my credit cards and apply for a new California license than go back and grovel for its return. I'd figured since my license had my old Boston address on it she wouldn't be able to track me down. I'd conveniently forgotten about the letter of employment.

I swallowed hard. She was close now. And I was a deer in the headlights, not sure what to do. Half of me wanted to run. To turn around and dive back into the SUV and speed away. But of course that was stupid. Not to mention fucking cowardly.

Come on, Mac. Grow a pair. Take the jacket, make up some lame apology, and you'll never have to see her again.

“Hey, Mac!” she called in greeting, giving me a small smile as she stepped into my bubble. A calm, friendly smile. Almost too calm, too friendly. Was she planning on confronting me for taking off like I had? Or would she pretend it hadn't happened, just to avoid the awkwardness? After all, this wasn't all me, I reminded myself. She'd wanted to keep it casual, too. To get back at her ex or whatever. She probably didn't want to see me as much as I didn't want to see her.

Except . . . I
did
want to see her, I suddenly realized. In fact, against everything sensible inside of me, I was pretty damn happy to set eyes on her again. Which was completely stupid, but evidently par for the course when it came to this girl. There was just something about her. Something . . . nice.

She doesn't want you, Mac,
I scolded myself.
And you certainly don't have room in your life for her.

“Um, hey,” I said, forcing my voice to stay casual. As if it was all no big deal. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

I watched as, sure enough, she reached into her bag and pulled out my jacket. “You left this at my house,” she said. Her voice was still calm and friendly, but from this closer proximity I could see her hands were shaking a little. Not so calm as she wanted me to think, I realized. For some reason the thought made me feel a little better.

I reached out to accept the jacket, our fingers accidentally connecting as they made the exchange. A zap of electricity shot through me and I involuntarily jerked my hand away then glanced over at her, wondering if she had felt it, too. From the startled look on her face, I decided she had and I had to hide a smile. Hey, at least it wasn't just me.

“Thanks,” I said with forced bravado. “But seriously, you didn't have to come all the way down here.”

She gave me an odd look I couldn't quite decipher. Then she followed it with a small embarrassed smile. “Oh. Well, I was . . . in the neighborhood. No big deal.”

I tucked the jacket under my arm. “Well, I appreciate it,” I said lamely.

She didn't reply, just looked at me and the silence stretched out between us, long and suffocating. Shuffling from foot to foot, I wondered if I should say something else. Like apologize or something, for leaving like I had. But no. That had been what she'd wanted. I'd done her a favor. And now it was best to get the hell out of there before she managed to unnerve me further. This was my first day on the job. I didn't need to be filling out HR paperwork with a raging hard-on and a gut full of regret.

“I've got to get inside,” I told her. “But thanks for the jacket. And, uh, maybe I'll see you around.”

Her expression stayed neutral, but I caught a flicker of something unhappy in her eyes and it sent a pang of guilt rocketing through me all over again. But no. I wasn't the asshole here, I reminded myself. We were both adults and we'd both gotten what we'd wanted. Now it was time to cut the cord and walk away.

I extended my hand, meeting her eyes with my own, as if daring her to take it. She looked taken aback for a second, then went for it, closing her hand over mine. I gave her a firm shake, trying not to think about what she looked like with no clothes on as we clung together a second too long—skin to skin.

She yanked her hand away. “So yeah. Anyway. Uh, see you later,” she stammered, her cheeks now flaming red. Before I could respond, she turned, her heels clicking on the pavement as she crossed the parking lot with rapid steps, putting distance between us. I watched her go, feeling the inexplicable desire for her to turn around and give me one last look. Like you always see people do in the movies. But, of course, she didn't. And why should she? This wasn't the beginning of a beautiful friendship. This was good-bye forever.

Which should have made me happy. Relieved. So why
was there suddenly a pang of loneliness stabbing me in the gut instead? Why was it taking all my willpower not to call her back and ask her if we could have another chance?

“Are you Jake MacDonald?”

I whirled around at the sound of the gruff voice behind me. A bearded Latino man wearing jeans and a plaid button-down was approaching, a coffee in each hand.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a hard swallow as I turned my attention back to the job. “You can call me Mac.”

He smiled with crooked teeth. “I'm Javier,” he informed me. “Morning show photog. I'm supposed to show you around.” He pushed a coffee into my hands. “And, of course, give you your first welcome cup of News 9 joe. Tastes like shit, but it's loaded with caffeine—something you'll need around here.”

“Thanks. Nice to meet you.” I took the coffee, then held out my free hand. Javier grabbed it with a firm grip. After we shook, I took a long slug. He was right. Not that tasty but damn strong—just the way I liked it. I started to relax. She was gone. And now I could turn my focus to what was really important. My new job. My new, clean, uncomplicated life.

“Well,” Javier said. “I'd hoped by coming out here I'd be the first to greet you. But it looks like Beth has beat me to it.”

I choked as my coffee went down the wrong pipe.

“Jesus.” Javier laughed. “I know it ain't Starbucks, but it's not that bad, is it?”

“Beth?” I managed to choke out, my entire world sliding out from under me with one single name.

So much for focusing on my new job.

“Oh, sorry, I meant Elizabeth White.” The photographer waved a hand in the direction of the parking lot where Beth was getting into her car. “I just assumed she'd introduced herself.”

“She . . . works here? Here at News 9?” I found myself blurting out, all Captain Obvious. My mind flashed back to Beth's weird smile. The way she'd said she'd been in the neighborhood. The way I'd completely not put two and two together.

“Sure. She's a reporter. She and I do mornings together.”

Frustration shot through me like a bullet and I raked a hand through my hair as my mind tried to comprehend his words. Beth worked here. The girl I'd slept with and taken off on worked here. Here at my new job.

And . . . so much for that whole new, clean, uncomplicated life thing.

I screwed up my face. All this time I'd been deluding myself, thinking my new job—clear across the country—would serve as an escape hatch from all the drama I'd dealt with back in Boston. And yet, now, somehow, I'd brought it all upon myself all over again—in just one night. That had to be a record, even for me. Would she tell everyone what happened? Did I already have a reputation with my new colleagues before ever stepping through the front door?

I realized Javier was laughing. “Yeah, that was my reaction when I first met her, too,” he teased, mistaking my look. “Hell, man, if I wasn't twice her age and happily married . . .” He shook his head, taking a sip of coffee. “Anyway, enough about her. You ready to go inside? Get the lay of the land?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to reset. Then I opened them again. “Sure,” I said, through clenched teeth. What else could I say? I needed this job. For Ashley's sake if nothing else. And I wasn't about to let some one-night fuckup ruin my little girl's second chance. “Lead the way.”