Kiss in the Dark (8 page)

It was probably one reason work seemed so long on Monday—the fact that Boston’s mind was so preoccupied with her apartment situation. She’d nearly lost her temper when Mr. Mercer had whacked her on the rear end after lunch. Sure, he would’ve deserved it, and she shouldn’t let him treat her that way, but she wanted that assistant news scriptwriter’s job and knew she had to play her cards just so for a little longer. Therefore, somehow she’d managed not to scream at him, stopped herself from slapping him soundly across his arrogant face, and kept from running to HR to finally report him. A week or two more and she’d know if the promotion were hers—then she would no longer put up with Dominic Mercer’s stupidity.

The good thing about the day was that Stephanie wasn’t home when Boston arrived there after work. Boston knew Steph often worked out at the health club right after work on Mondays. She was so grateful for the short reprieve. It gave her some quiet time to relax before heading over to Danielle’s to pick her up for cake decorating.

Boston and Danielle had signed up for a cake decorating class. It was quite a commitment—every Monday night for two months—and sometimes Boston wished they hadn’t signed up. Still, there were fun things about it—and only three weeks left. Furthermore, she and Danielle were getting pretty good at decorating cakes! A new skill was always an asset, and it was fun to be with Danielle and do something a little off the regular schedule grid.

After a light dinner of a sliced apple and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter, Boston still had an hour or so before she was due to pick up Danielle. Glancing out the front window, however, she saw Steph step out of the city bus. Boston’s anxiety rose. An all too familiar nausea of anxiety began to churn in her stomach. She had to figure something out—she had to escape! She didn’t want to face Stephanie. Furthermore, she knew she couldn’t wait two more weeks to move out. She had to do something.

Grabbing her purse, she hurried out of the apartment. Steph would see her—there was no avoiding it—unless…

Racing up hard concrete stairs that led to the floor above, Boston ducked down behind the railing and waited—listened until she heard Steph open their apartment door downstairs and close it behind her. Heaving a sigh of relief, Boston made her way along the second-floor balcony to the other staircase. Stephanie wouldn’t be able to see her from the other staircase, and she hurried to her car. She just had to get to Danielle’s. Once she was there, she’d settle down. Once she was at Danielle’s, her anxieties and fears would settle. The thought passed through Boston’s mind that Danielle’s house seemed even more a haven—a safe harbor—than it ever had before. She wondered why it did, and an image of Danielle’s brother popped into her mind. Alone—walking to her car without anyone around who might possess the talent to read her mind—Boston consciously admitted there was something strong and protective about Danielle’s brother, something that calmed her and made her feel safe, even from Stephanie. Vance was rugged and handsome, muscular and flirtatious. She figured it was the fact Vance Nathaniel was an exemplar of the idealistic and nowadays very rare manly man that made her feel that way about him.

Actually, Boston had made a conscious effort not to think about Danielle’s brother—even avoided thinking of him by name, letting her mind refer to him as “Danielle’s brother.” There was a certain sensation she experienced in his presence—a sense of impending, insatiable attraction—as if he were some wizard of seduction that might be able to lure her into some unbridled, impassioned, reckless abandon. This was by no means a comfortable sensation for Boston. It seemed dangerous—almost wicked—and therefore she suppressed it, ignored it, and refused to let her mind nest on thoughts of Vance Nathaniel. Any man who caused her to think such things—well, it was best not to think about him at all. And so, once again, Boston pushed Danielle’s brother to the back of her mind—just as she’d been doing all weekend.

She unlocked her car and slid into the driver’s seat. Reaching over to the glove compartment, she retrieved a chocolate Tootsie Pop, grimacing when she noticed there were only three Tootsie Pops left. It would be awhile before she would be able to get to the little candy shop in Mustang to load up on chocolate Tootsie Pops again. Sandy’s Sweet Tooth Shop was the only place Boston knew that sold Tootsie Pops in bulk. Boston only liked chocolate Tootsie Pops. Thus, every three or four months, she and Danielle would head over to Mustang, Oklahoma, to pick through the bulk Tootsie Pop barrel at Sandy’s Sweet Tooth Shop. She’d always limit herself to fifty chocolate Tootsie Pops because she figured it wasn’t fair to the owner of the store or the other patrons to be too selfish. Sandy Sorenson owned the little candy store and always assured Boston she could take as many chocolate Tootsie Pops as she wanted. Still, Boston tried to imagine that there were others, like herself, who preferred the chocolate ones.

As she unwrapped her fourth-to-last chocolate sucker, Boston realized she’d probably been eating more Tootsie Pops than usual because of the added stress over Steph and moving. What a nightmare! Cake decorating class would be good for her. It would offer another night of escape and a much-needed diversion for her tired mind.

Boston knocked on Danielle’s apartment door. She startled—actually gasped slightly—when Vance opened the door instead of Danielle.

“Hi,” Boston greeted, trying not to notice how thoroughly attractive Vance looked in a clean, yet ratty, tight T-shirt and khaki shorts.

“What’s up?” Vance asked, smiling at her and stepping aside so she could enter the apartment.

Boston moved past him and into the apartment, smiling as she noticed the fresh scent of Juicy Fruit gum. It was an inward and conscious battle, but she managed to suppress the worrisome attraction she felt toward Vance.

“I’m a little early,” Boston explained. “I just thought I’d see if Danielle wanted to leave early or anything.”

Vance grinned. “Snake woman’s home, huh?”

Boston felt stupid. How weak he must think she was. Still, there was nothing to do but admit stupidity and weakness. She shrugged and answered, “Yeah. I’m a weenie.”

“Naw,” he said. “You’re just like a lot of people who don’t like to cohabitate with reptiles.”

Boston smiled—even giggled a little. “Do you like reptiles, Mr. Zoo Curator Man?”

“Zoo
exhibits
curator man,” he corrected with a smile and a wink. “And no…not particularly. I’m more a big cats kind of guy.”

“Really?” Boston asked, delighted. “I used to collect lions when I was a little girl! I had lion stuffed animals and little porcelain figures, a lion lunchbox, a lion bedspread. It was a big lion surrounded by a leopard skin background, and I always thought it was kind of weird that the bedspread manufacturer used leopard print on a lion bedspread.” She had begun to babble—bit her lip to stop herself short.

Vance chuckled. “You actually used the word ‘manufacturer’ when you were a little girl?”

Boston giggled. “No. I guess not. I just thought it was strange…because I was a lion purest at the time. No leopard print for me.”

“You were prejudiced? What’s wrong with leopards?”

Afraid she may have somehow offended him, Boston’s babble resumed. “Oh, no! I love leopards too, really. Now, I even have a thing for leopard-skin underwear and pajamas. As long as they’re not too expensive, I can never pass them up! It’s like an OCD or something. Danielle can tell you…if I see a pair of leopard-skin panties, I just have to—” Boston gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth—mortified!

Vance’s verdurous green eyes blazed with amusement. “Leopard-print underwear, huh?” he began. “Well, that puts a man’s mind to wondering if you’re wearing them now.” He forced a puzzled frown. “Probably not the most appropriate place my mind could be lingering.”

Boston couldn’t speak—she was too horrified with embarrassment! She could only shake her head, astonished at herself for being so unguarded.

“Still, as a zoo exhibits curator and big cats fan,” he continued, “I like it.”

“Oh my heck!” Boston breathed. “I am so sorry, Vance. Sometimes I just babble on and on. How embarrassing!”

But Vance chuckled. “Naw…don’t worry about it. Does it make you feel better if I tell you I’m wearing boxer briefs? Plain white…but still.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Boston said, smiling. Though it did make her feel better—somehow.

“I see you like suckers too…along with lions and leopard-print panties,” he said, nodding his head to indicate the Tootsie Pop still held in one hand. The hard candy was gone—she’d eaten it on the way over. But the Tootsie Roll center still remained.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly remembering she’d taken the lollipop out of her mouth when he’d answered the door. “Yeah…but only chocolate Tootsie Pops,” she explained. She quickly put the little white stick with the rounded blob of Tootsie Roll in her mouth, stripping the candy off the stick. She tossed the white cardboard sucker stick into the nearby garbage can.

“Only chocolate Tootsie Pops?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t seem to like any of the other flavors. Now…I occasionally enjoy a root beer–flavored Dum Dum. But let’s be honest, what’s the point of a Dum Dum? They’re like the size of a dime…and there’s nothing in the center…and they don’t come in chocolate. But sometimes, like at the bank—you know how they give them out at the counter and stuff—sometimes I can eat a Dum Dum…but only the root beer ones.”

“Got it,” he said, smiling—obviously amused. “Lions, no leopards—just leopard-skin pajamas and underwear. Tootsie Pops, but only chocolate. And no Dum Dums, except maybe at the bank, and even then, only root beer–flavored.”

“You should know I have a tendency to talk too much,” Boston told him. She could feel the hot crimson of a blush on her cheeks. Actually, she felt too warm all over. She figured even her toes were blushing. For Pete’s sake, he knew what color her underwear was!

“No, I’m fine.” Boston glanced around the room. She smiled when she saw the TV was on, muted, but tuned to the Animal Planet channel. “
Animal Cops
, eh?” she asked, delighted with his programming choice. “I guess the real
COPS
isn’t on yet?”

“Dude! This is
Animal Cops: Detroit
,” he explained, retrieving a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and returning to where Boston stood. “It’s my favorite city for
Animal Cops
.”

“Is that so?” Boston teased. He was so funny! Just his random choices of TV programming made her feel giggly inside.

“Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “Though I will say this…I’m watching way too much TV here. Work just wears me out. Then until I’m ready for my evening run, I just feel like sitting on the couch and doing nothing. I’m a pig since I moved in here.”

Boston bit her lip to keep from laughing as she watched him drain the orange juice carton by drinking straight from it. He wadded the carton up and eyed the garbage can in the kitchen. Boston watched and admired his perfect follow-through as he free-throw-shot the carton into the garbage can.

“Ooo, swish!” she said, nodding at him with admiration.

“That’s right,” he said, proud of his basketball—rather, basketcarton—skills. “Danielle’s not home yet,” he announced, taking a seat on the sofa.

Instantly, Boston was unsettled. Danielle wasn’t home? She was alone with Vance in the apartment?

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” he continued. He must’ve sensed her discomfort because he smiled and added, “But don’t worry…I only hit on girls who wear, like, pink, glittery underwear…so you’re safe.”

“Oh well…whew…I guess!” Boston teased.

“Here, sit down,” he said, tossing a throw pillow off the sofa and patting the cushion next to him. “We can watch something else if you want.”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to miss the animal cops rescuing a litter of neglected kittens…being that you are a cat person,” she said playfully.

“Really?” Boston asked, taking a seat beside him. Again she was struck by his intoxicating allure. Still, she pushed the fact to the back of her mind—willed her body to fight off any goose bumps that might be threatening to appear on her arms. “And what did you think of him?”

“I think he’s cool,” he answered. He looked at her then, his eyes narrowing a bit as he said, “And you and I both know how important that is…don’t we?”

“Important how?” Boston asked. What did he mean? Of course it was important that Dempsey was cool. He was their friend—at least hers and Danielle’s. Surely he couldn’t be implying what she thought he was—not when years had passed since…

“Important for my sister’s sake,” he said. The TV was still muted, but he glanced at it for a moment, as if giving Boston time to consider what he was saying.

“Important because he’s her friend?” she fished. He knew something! She was certain he did.

Vance looked back to her, any sign of amusement or teasing entirely vanished from his expression. “Important because she’s in love with him.”

“What?” Boston breathed. “In love with him?”

“Come on, Boston,” Vance began, “don’t tell me you don’t know it. You have to! You’re her best friend.”

Boston did know it, not because Danielle had confessed it—at least not in a couple of years—but because she could see it. Every time Dempsey entered a room, Danielle lit up like a Christmas tree. Boston hadn’t questioned Danielle about it, however. For one thing, Danielle had nearly shriveled up and died two years ago for being so thoroughly in love with Dempsey—yet, for some reason, unable to tell him so. Life had meandered on. Danielle had dated other men, and Boston tried to imagine that Danielle had somehow gotten over Dempsey, though she suspected otherwise. Still, how did Vance know?