Love's Last Chance (7 page)

“How much longer are you staying?” he asked,
sipping a cup of tea.

“Depends on how the shoot goes, but about
two more weeks, if everything goes well.”

“Damn. Wish it were longer.”

She stared at her fork for a moment then
raised her eyes to meet his. “So do I.”

“Can’t you take a few days?” He sliced off a
piece of meat.

“The producer would have my head. What if a
job in New York came along? Say as a yoga or dance instructor?
Think I should take it?”

“How marvelous! Of course. You would,
wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe.” She picked up a piece of bacon.

“What’s standing in your way?”

“If this film is successful, there’ll be a
pilot and then a series. I’d be doing all the choreography. It’s a
huge opportunity.” Dorrie stared into his eyes, hoping to see a
spark there.

“I see your point.” Archer kept his face a
mask, his British reserve always in place.

“I’d stay in New York if I had…something
else.” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was practically
begging him to marry her, so she shut up.
No way to say this
without looking needy at the least. And a husband-hunter at the
worst.

“Something else?”

“A relationship.”
There. I’ve said
it.
She closed her eyes for a moment.

“I see. If that’s all there is to it, maybe
you’d consider coming to live with me?”

Dorrie’s pulse jumped and her heart beat
faster.
Live with you? We’ve never even slept together. Not
permanent enough. Am I expecting a proposal? A bit soon.
Her
mouth went as dry, as if she had been sipping sawdust. Putting her
water glass down, she swallowed.

“Live with you?”

“Why not? We have chemistry. And we like
each other. Known each other a while. I assure you, I’m not a
serial killer.”

“It’s a bit premature, don’t you think?”

“Then how about if I set you up in an
apartment?” He sat back, staring coolly at her.

“What?”

“Set up an apartment where I can come
and…visit you…from time to time.” His cheeks colored slightly.

“Like a mistress?”

“That’s such an ugly word. Like a friend,
maybe.”

“Friend with benefits?”

“That’s one of those new terms. I guess,
yes, a friend with benefits.”

A kept woman? I couldn’t do that. Why, if
he’s single? Oh my God! Is he married?
She snuck a furtive
glance at his left hand, but there was no ring there.
Doesn’t
necessarily mean single. Not with a man.

“That’s not…I couldn’t…that’s not me,
Archer.”

“I’ve embarrassed you,” he said, taking her
hand. “I’m so sorry. I want you to stay in New York. With me.”

She withdrew and looked at her watch. “It’s
late. I’ve got to go. Early day tomorrow.” She shoveled the last
forkful of eggs in her mouth and gathered her things.

“Oh, dear. Now I’ve blown it, I’m afraid. I
didn’t mean to insult you, Dorrie, dear. You’re so special to me.
Always have been. Please, give me another chance.”

She detected sincerity in his face.
He
does care for me. But there’s something there. Something I don’t
know. Another woman?
She sat back against the vinyl seat and
thought for a moment, while maintaining eye contact with him.

“I’m going to be tied up for the next two
weeks until I leave. Why don’t you think about it, about us? Give
me two more weeks when I get back to L.A., to catch up and breathe,
then call me. We can discuss possible plans to be together then.
How’s that?”
Gives him time to make a choice, me or the other
woman he’s seeing.

“That seems more than fair, darling.” He
took her hand and kissed it. “Must you rush off?”

“Early rehearsal tomorrow for a few hours,
then off to a ferry for Fire Island.”

“Oh? Got a hot date?” His expression
clouded.

“Just a reunion of the crowd I shared a
house with for a few summers. Jealous?” She cocked an eyebrow at
him.

“Perhaps.” His face became unreadable again.
“Not that I’ve any right.”

No, you don’t.
She checked her phone.
A missed call from Rick.

“I’ve got to go. Let’s talk in a couple of
weeks.”

“You won’t forget, will you?” His brow
furrowed.

“Not a chance,” she said, flashing him a
warm smile. “You’re special to me, Arch. Always have been.” He rose
when she got up, pulled her close for a kiss goodbye, and then she
was gone. Sitting back in a taxi on the way to the Cunningham’s she
wondered what Rick wanted.
Arch’s so wonderful. Still. Won’t
make up my mind until I talk to Rick.

Sitting on her bed, hugging her knees, she
dialed Rick.

“Hey, gorgeous, what’s cookin?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“Wondered if you might be available on
Monday night. Dinner and…whatever,” he snickered.

“I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

“Didn’t you get my flowers?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“That night was the greatest. Can we do it
again?”

She hesitated. “I’ve got two rough weeks.
Rehearsals then shooting. I don’t expect to be done any night
before nine or even later.”

“I can wait.”

“Can we play it by ear?”

“Sure, babe. Call me whenever you’re
free.”

“And this weekend?”

“I’m off to my house in the Hamptons
again.”

“Thought it was every other weekend?”

“Someone can’t make it, so the group invited
me.”

“Are you seeing someone out there?” She bit
her nail.

“You don’t think I’ve been waiting around
for five years for you to show up? Of course, I’ve been dating.
Sometimes a girl out there, some in the city. Whatever. Come on,
Dorrie. You can’t do the jealous, former girlfriend when you’ve
been gone forever.”

“I suppose not.”
He’s right. Still, I
don’t like sharing.

“Have a great weekend. I hope you can make
some time for me next week. I’ll call you.”

Sure you will.
“Right. Goodnight,
Rick.” She fell back onto her mattress and stared accusingly at the
moon. “I know you have it in for me, but I’m not giving up. One
more to meet again before I decide what to do.”

* * * *

There he is. God, his shoulders are
broader than I remember.
Hugging the railing of the Fire Island
Ferry, Dorrie stood twenty feet behind him. She moistened her dry
lips while watching Johnny, who she hadn’t seen in five years.

Her heart pounded, and she hugged the
railing tighter to steady herself. Then, the man turned around.
Shit!
The stranger responded to her open-mouthed stare with
a warm smile. Too warm. She glanced away from him to her friend,
Drake, standing at her side, his dark hair ruffled by the wind.

“That isn’t John, if that’s what you’re all
heated up about.”

“I’m not heated up about anything. It’s
August.” She turned away from Drake toward the water, hoping the
cool salty, spray would douse the fire in her face.

“Yeah, sure, Dorrie. Admit it, why don’t ya?
You’ve still got the hots for John.”

“Those hots became icebergs that summer, and
you know it.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Dorrie fussed with her purse and canvas bag
to cover her discomfort.
Drake could always cut through the
bullshit. Damn him!
“Is he—”

“Yeah, he’s coming. Said he wouldn’t miss
it. A five-year, summerhouse reunion? Damn.” Drake chuckled and
shook his head.

“What’s so funny?” She gripped the railing
to keep from falling as the ferry listed to the left.

“You’d think we went to college together,
instead of just spending some wasted summer weekends, drinking too
much and being jerks.”

“Speak for yourself,” she sniffed.

“I’m speaking for all of us.” Drake bumped
into her as the boat bobbed on the wake from a larger craft.

“So why did you come?” She moved away from
him.

“I miss those days. Looking forward to being
an idiot again with the rest of the idiots.” He chuckled.

They hit calmer water. Dorrie smiled as she
leaned her elbows on the railing and allowed her mind to take
flight. Visions of that last summer with Johnny danced before her
eyes. Games of beach volleyball,
Frisbee,
and picnics with
radios blasting. Dancing in the sand, and everyone singing along to
Don’t Stop the Music.
Throwing each other into the ocean to
sober up.

Then, one magical night with the best
looking guy she’d ever seen, and her closest male friend became her
lover.

Parties, endless parties all summer long.
Every weekend had been one long party that started with beer on the
ferry to the island on Friday afternoon and finished with plenty of
caffeine disguised as iced coffee on the ferry ride home on Sunday.
Every kind of drink you could make with fruit juice and booze
chilled by huge blocks of ice had been served in a clean bucket.
Beer flowed like water.

Six-foot hero sandwiches, mammoth bowls of
homemade spaghetti and ice cream by the gallon fed the group of
eight, plus friends. Dorrie’s mouth watered at the memory. If she
closed her eyes, she could practically taste the cold, creamy mint
chip confection and the warm lips of Johnny Flanagan.
Wait. How
did he get in this memory?

“What really happened between you and
John?”

“Doesn’t matter. Water under the bridge.”
Dorrie trained her gaze at the island growing larger and closer by
the minute.

“Then why are you here?” He raised his
eyebrows.

“To be an idiot with the idiots. To get
drunk, go swimming, and be stupid. Why else?”
Not telling you,
Drake.

Drake laughed and pulled her in for a hug.
“Dorrie, the un-party girl. You crack me up.”

While Dorrie accepted her friend’s embrace,
she thought about her real reason for coming.
I want to give
Johnny one more day, one more chance…the day I didn’t give him five
years ago.

The boat slowed as it approached the Fair
Harbor dock. They had rented the same two houses they’d had every
weekend for that fateful summer and several summers prior. Drake
was lucky to get both places, one was to be the boy’s house and the
other, the girl’s, just like five years ago.

As the dockhand caught the rope, people
crowded around the gate. Drake and Dorrie were in no hurry.
The
beautiful thing about Fire Island. No deadlines, no place to go, no
hurrying. Relaxing and more relaxing. Reading. Making Love.
Paradise of the North.
She smiled to herself and slowly
proceeded toward the exit.

They were almost the last to get off. The
man on the dock reached in to grab her big suitcase and yank it
down off the vessel. Dorrie thanked him and turned to look for
Drake. She didn’t see him, but did hear a deep, smooth voice behind
her. “Can I take that for you?”

She whirled around and came face-to-face
with Johnny Flanagan, wrapping his long fingers around the handle
of her valise. “Why…uh…no. I can manage. Really. It’s okay. Really.
I mean…” The light gleamed off his sunglasses, hiding his eyes
completely.

Still, she could feel the warmth of his
stare as he looked her over. The skin on her chest, exposed by her
low-cut T-shirt, was burned by his gaze. She shifted her weight
from foot to foot.
Why didn’t I wear a turtleneck?

“Let me carry it for you, Dorrie.” She
sensed his dark brown eyes were laughing at her.

“Okay, okay, yeah. Fine. Thanks, Johnny.”
She dropped her purse, scooped up the makeup, wallet, and credit
card holder that fell out, hauled her canvas bag onto her shoulder,
and followed along behind him, ignoring his chuckle.

The narrow, wood slat walkway only allowed
walking single file, so there was no opportunity for conversation.
Dorrie examined his back. He seemed a bit more muscular than five
years ago, if she could gauge by his tight, light blue T-shirt
straining to cover both shoulders. Navy blue swim trunks clung to
narrow hips, a cute butt, and strong thighs. His calves were
perfect.
He still has a body to die for.

She looked out at the placid bay as they
walked by. All the wild, crashing waves came from the ocean on the
other side of the narrow island. The sight of the calm water
brought her much-needed peace.
Don’t know what I’ll find here.
Maybe Johnny’s married, engaged, or in love. Wouldn’t surprise
me.
Her heart rate was still rising as anxiety mixed with
excitement in her blood.
Time to find out for good. Did I leave
too fast, or was that the right move?

Johnny carried her luggage into the small,
two-bedroom bungalow on Blue Wave Street. “Which room is
yours?”

“Scouting her out already?” Drake asked.

Johnny blushed. “Looking for the right place
for her suitcase, nut-job.”

That’s Johnny. Always helping me. Always
there when I needed him. Almost always.
Dorrie pointed to the
room on the right, and he deposited her valise there. She leaned
against the bar, her gaze scanning the room.

“Crap, this dump hasn’t changed,” she
said.

“Yeah, only five years ago, we thought it
was a palace,” Johnny chuckled.

“Beer?” Drake asked. Johnny pointed to the
fridge. Drake helped himself then offered an Island brew, a local
brand, to the other two.

Sweat had begun to gather between Dorrie’s
breasts. She grabbed the bottle and took a swig. The liquid cooled
her. “Ah. That’s good.”

Johnny followed suit. “Damn right.”

“I’m going to check out the other house,”
Drake said, leaving the two alone.

Dorrie glanced at Johnny’s left hand.
No
wedding ring. Doesn’t mean anything.
“So…not married, Johnny?”
Damn! Did that just pop out of my mouth?

“Not married, not engaged, not even going
steady.” He thrust his head back and guzzled his beer.