Mistletoe and Margaritas (2 page)

She didn’t, though. Instead she looked out her window and cursed Penny for putting the thought in her head.

Justin had a slice of pizza in one hand, a pool cue in the other, and was trash-talking Claire’s shot when the Rutledges walked through the front door. Brendan’s parents saw him immediately through the big window to the game room and he felt the same quick flash of shame he’d felt every time he saw them since Brendan had introduced them to Claire. Then he smiled and waved with the hand holding the pizza.

Claire turned to see who he was waving at and he didn’t miss the way her face lit up. There had been no in-law drama surrounding the Smith-Rutledge wedding since the families had hit it off almost as well as Claire and Brendan. It was storybook, really. Except the ending. The ending had sucked.

“I forgot Tuesday was pool night,” Judy Rutledge said as she and Phil turned the corner into the game room.

Claire kissed them each on the cheek, then it was Justin’s turn to get a kiss from Judy and a handshake from Phil. They’d been like second parents to him since they’d moved to town the summer before Brendan and Justin started fourth grade and struck up a friendship. The Rutledges had a family room, two televisions, a never-ending supply of freshly baked cookies and no time limit on video games, so the boys had hung out there a lot more than at the McCormick house. Justin’s mom worked a lot of hours at her hair salon and was just as happy to have her only child out of her hair as much as possible.

“All ready for Christmas?” Phil asked, because that was the usual conversation opener two and a half weeks before the big day.

“No,” Justin and Claire said together.

Claire laughed. “I’m going to get a Christmas tree on Saturday and I’ll probably get around to shopping next week. Maybe.”

Judy shook her head. “I expect to see you both Christmas Eve.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Justin said. That was the plan. An appearance at the Rutledge family Christmas Eve party, then he and Claire at her place, watching
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
It was a tradition.

The Rutledges went to order their take-out and since Chris Jones was just walking in, Claire handed her pool cue to him and went to sit with Judy and Phil while they waited.

Chris had youth and a pretty face on his side, but not much in the way of book smarts. And his work ethic was a little iffy at best, too, which Justin knew since he employed the kid off and on during the summer. When Chris’s beer and video-game money ran low, he’d help out on a roof or two, then take off again.

“Must be about time for you to head north,” Justin said. In the winter Chris worked and lived at one of the fancy resorts because an almost freakish natural ability to teach rich people to ski was another thing he had on his side.

“Monday. But for the fifteenth, I managed to score a few hours off in the middle of the day. You in?”

“Hell, yeah.” That was the day the gates were officially opened on the snowmobile trails. “A few hours is better than nothing. I’ll text you when I get there and we can head out.”

“So you get with that yet?” Chris asked, and Justin realized he’d been watching Claire through the window as she laughed at something Judy said.

He forced his attention back to the pool table. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“I don’t know what the problem is. She’s hot and you hang out more than a married couple.”

“We’re friends, Chris. It’s possible for a man and a hot woman to be friends without having sex.” It wasn’t easy, but it was possible.

Judy and Phil poked their heads in to say goodbye when their food was ready and Justin gave Chris a warning look behind Claire’s back. That subject was closed, at least as far as the other guy was concerned. It was never closed in Justin’s mind.

“Who won?” Claire asked, grabbing another slice of pizza from the tray.

“Me,” Chris said. “Smoked him, actually. His mind must have been on something else.”

Since her back wasn’t turned, he couldn’t send another glare in Chris’s direction, so he concentrated on keeping his expression neutral. “I let you win. Figured your ego could use the boost.”

“Whatever, dude. Claire, you in?”

“Rack ’em up.”

Since watching the two of them play really meant watching Claire bend over the table to line up her shots, Justin lined some quarters up along the edge of the pinball game and set about taking out his frustrations on the metal ball. The action was loud and fast and just what he needed to distract himself from the game behind him.

Until Claire moved up beside him to watch and he smelled the slightly tropical scent of her soap and shampoo and imagined he could feel the warmth of her body standing so close to his and the metal ball went down the chute with an electronic flushing sound of failure.

“Good timing,” she said. “I just kicked his ass, so you’re up again.”

“Be right there.” He picked up the quarters he hadn’t used and shoved them back into his pocket, taking the opportunity to adjust the crotch of his jeans.

Time to have another talk with himself about cutting back on the time he spent with Claire. Tomorrow.

It was still dark when Claire woke feeling flushed, a little breathless and a lot confused.

She dreamed about sex a lot, which was probably normal considering she was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who hadn’t had the real thing in two years. But this was the first time the dream had been so deliciously potent and the imaginary sex so mind-blowingly good she’d awakened with her body aching for more.

Which wasn’t good because it also happened to be the first time she’d dreamed about having sex with Justin. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Moxie, sensing she was awake, strolled up the bed to bump heads with her, but Claire rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. She’d just had the best sex of her life. Too bad it wasn’t real. And it was with the one person she shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with.

Everybody knew the quickest way for a man and a woman to ruin a friendship was to have sex.

Moxie mewed plaintively, kneading Claire’s shoulder, and she sighed. Five-thirty or not, it was time to get up. If she went back to sleep she might have imaginary sex with her best friend again and her nerves said once was enough.

“It’s Penny’s fault,” she muttered to the cat as she sat up. “She planted these thoughts in my head.”

She started the coffeepot brewing and hit the bathroom, but the shaky, off-kilter feeling didn’t fade. The first cup and the early morning news didn’t help, nor did Moxie nudging her, wanting to know what was wrong. She wasn’t so far gone she was going to try to explain being blindsided by an erotic dream about her best friend to her cat.

Maybe she
didn’t
want to have sex with Justin. Maybe it was her body’s less-than-subtle way of telling her it was time to wade back into the dating pool. Actually, her body wanted her to cannonball off the diving board, but her heart wasn’t up to more than dipping her toes into the shallow end.

She realized she was twisting her wedding band around on her finger and forced herself to stop. Nobody wanted to explore even the shallow end of the dating pool with a woman wearing a wedding ring. Well, not any guy worth dating, anyway.

Maybe it was time to take it off and put it away. Quick and painless.

Or it would have been if the band didn’t hang up on her knuckle. Dish soap didn’t do it. Butter didn’t help. When even a liberal application of olive oil didn’t budge the ring, she leaned against the counter, tears running down her cheeks unchecked because her hand were so gunked up she couldn’t wipe her eyes.

Maybe it was a sign. If she couldn’t get the wedding band off, she didn’t have to think about dating again. She laughed through the tears and Moxie, who’d been watching her with disdainful interest, retreated to the back of the couch.

“It’s not a sign,” she said out loud. “It’s all those potato chips I ate watching
The Biggest Loser.
”

After ten minutes with her hand stuck between two baggies of crushed ice and another dousing with olive oil, she was able to work the ring over her knuckle.

Claire set it, slimy and glistening, on the counter while she washed her hands. Even though winter was setting in, she’d spent a lot of autumn outside and the white circle of flesh was stark against the tan that had yet to fade. When her hands were clean, she washed the ring and then rubbed it dry.

Brendan’s wedding ring was on her dresser, in a small wooden box covered in tiny shells—a Cape Cod honeymoon souvenir so tacky they’d
had
to have it. She opened the lid and took out the gold band that was identical to hers, except larger. It had gotten hung up on his knuckle during the ceremony, though potato chips probably weren’t to blame. They hadn’t had to resort to begging hand lotion from a guest, though Justin had told her in a low voice to spit on it. Instead she’d shoved, Brendan winced and they all laughed about it at the reception.

She had vague memories of being asked if she wanted it left on Brendan for burial, but she hadn’t been able to part with it. For a long time she’d worn it on a chain around her neck, but she wasn’t a necklace person and when the time came that she was annoyed by it more than comforted, she’d put it away.

Now she dropped both rings into the box and, after sucking in a deep breath, closed the lid and waited to feel different. Maybe lighter or more free or…something.

But all she felt was a little hollow. And she wasn’t suddenly hit with an urge to sign up for an online dating service. All she could do was hope that one small step would be enough to satisfy her subconscious and put an end to the deliciously naughty dreams about Justin.

A few minutes later, her phone rang and she almost spilled her second cup of coffee down the front of her T-shirt. To make matters worse, Justin’s name was flashing at her from the caller ID window. Praying her voice sounded close to normal, she answered. “Hello?”

“You awake?”

“No. I answer the phone in my sleep.”

“Smartass. Just wanted to see if you’d be up to leaving earlier than we’d planned. If you’re awake.”

“I’ve been up since five-thirty, thank you very much.”

He laughed. “You? Did the smoke alarms go off or what?”

“Very funny.” She couldn’t very well tell him she’d been awakened by exceptionally good sex with him. “We don’t have to be at my parents’ until two.”

“I’m going to buy breakfast. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get my tires changed, and I still need to pick up a gift for Nicole.”

“She’s turning three and my parents probably bought out the toy store. You don’t need to bring a gift.”

“Can’t go to a birthday party without a gift. Then I feel guilty taking a second piece of cake.”

Claire laughed, letting his easygoing normalcy chase away the last of the lingering weirdness. “Fine. What time do you want to leave?”

“I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Sounds good.” She hung up the phone, feeling better. It was just a stupid dream.

Justin noticed it right away—the soft ring of pale skin where the gold band had been—and his heart turned over in his chest like a sluggish engine on a sub-zero morning.

He knew he should say something—like maybe
hello
—but he was frozen, watching that tan-free ring of skin as she zipped her coat, and the only coherent thought in his head was
what the hell does it mean?

Five years ago, he’d watched Brendan slip that wedding band onto Claire’s finger and he’d never seen her without it since. It had served as an unmistakable, highly visible reminder she was Brendan’s wife and now it was gone.

“You feel okay?”

No, he didn’t. His pulse was racing. His palms were sweaty. And the chronic ache that was his constant companion had flared into a throbbing pain.

She was ready to move on.

“Justin? Hello?”

“Yeah. Sure. You ready?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went back down the stairs, needing to put some distance between them. It didn’t do any good, of course, since she was going with him and a few minutes later Claire and her naked ring finger were sitting next to him in the suddenly claustrophobic cab of his truck.

Having a girl for a best friend was challenging enough. They didn’t have the upper-body strength to help a guy change out an engine. They cried during movies. They needed blenders and umbrellas for their drinks instead of just a cold bottle of beer. Hell, he’d even bought a box of tampons once. Claire had been sick and thank God she’d texted him a picture of the right box or he’d still be standing in the girl aisle because, holy crap, women had options.

But having the girl you were half—or more—in love with as a best friend was a special kind of hell. He’d endured it well enough so far, but there was no way he was going to sit on her bed and watch her dig through her closet for something to wear on a first date. He didn’t want to watch her sigh over a text from some guy. And no way in hell was he going to giggle over the morning-after
details
if she invited the asshole up for “drinks.”

“What’s got you so pissed off?”

“What makes you think I’m pissed?”

“Oh, how about the fact you’re strangling the steering wheel? Or that your eyebrows are practically touching over your nose? Or the fact you just burned off half your tires in my landlord’s driveway pulling out?”

He made a conscious effort to relax his grip on the wheel, but faking even a half-assed smile was out of the question. “It’s nothing. Rough day.”

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Fine. Rough morning.”

“You sounded fine on the phone earlier.”

She wasn’t going to let it go until he gave her something. “Hot water heater’s crapping out on me. Cold showers aren’t a happy way to start the day.”

It was only half a lie, since he’d taken more than his fair share of cold showers. The falsehood, of course, was that it was the hot water heater’s fault.

By the time they’d hit their favorite diner for breakfast and had his tires changed, he was finding his footing again. Except for when that band of pale skin caught his eye, which was a problem since she used her hands a lot when she talked.

They were in the toy store, looking at shelves of preschool board games, when Claire crossed her arms and sighed. “Just say it, Justin.”

“Okay. Nicole’s three. Why can’t I just buy her a doll? No pieces to lose.”

“Fine. Buy her a doll, even though she asked for games. And that’s not what I’m talking about. I lost count of the times I’ve caught you staring at my hand about two hours ago. Just say it.”

“You took your wedding ring off.”

She looked at him like she was expecting more, but he didn’t know what else to say. It was a big deal for her and, even though she didn’t love him the way she’d loved Brendan, he knew he was important to her. What he said mattered.

“It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget him,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I know that.”

“And nobody’s ever going to take his place in my heart.”

Oh, he knew that, too. “I’m not upset you took it off, Claire. It’s just different, so it catches my eye. Makes me think about him, you know?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was doing her best to blink them back as she nodded. “I know. Me, too.”

“One of the things he loved most about you is the way you’re always happy about things. He’d want you to, you know… Move on. Be happy…and stuff.” Justin wanted it for her, too. Just not with some other guy. Especially the
and stuff
part.

She laughed and swiped at a stray tear with the heel of her ringless hand. “You’re not the best with words, but you’re a really good friend, you know.”

Great. That’s what he was shooting for. Really good friend. He held his arms open. “You better? Need me to hug you so you can wipe your face on my shirt?”

“No, I’m good,” she said, and he hid the disappointment. “Let’s get something for Nicole and get out of here or we’ll be late.”

Justin found a stuffed cat that looked exactly like Moxie and, even though it wasn’t a board game, he decided Nicole would like that. Then, according to Claire, he had to pick out a card. And a gift bag. And bows.

By the time they pulled into the Smiths’ driveway, Justin was beat. All he wanted was a steak, a beer and a game on the flat screen. What he got was a houseful of people, a wound-up little birthday girl with a horde of wound-up friends, and Debbie Smith—who noticed immediately her daughter had taken off her wedding ring.

He was hiding in the kitchen, pretending to look for more paper cups, when Mrs. Smith walked in. “Oh, Justin. I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

“Looking for paper cups.”

“Hiding.” She laughed when he blushed. “We’ll hide together. When Kelly asked me if they could have Nic’s party here because I have more room, I should have asked how many of Nic’s playdate friends she was going to invite. And at two o’clock on a Friday afternoon!”

“You should make Mr. Smith take you for a nice dinner after everybody leaves. Have a drink. Or two.”

“Trust me, I’ll be telling the waiter to leave the bottle.” She pulled out a stool at the kitchen bar and perched herself on it. “How’s Claire doing?”

Since he knew she’d noticed the lack of gold on her daughter’s finger, he didn’t bother hedging. “I think she’s a little wobbly today, but she’s good. It was just time, I guess.”

The smile she gave him was warm and sincere. “I don’t know how she would have gotten through this without you, Justin. If only everybody could be blessed with a friend like you.”

He gave her a return smile he hoped showed nothing of the guilt eating away at his gut and thanked his lucky stars when one of the moms flew into the kitchen looking for a roll of paper towels.

Her now three-year-old niece was one of the people Claire loved most in the world, but she wanted out. Badly.

Watching her sister, Kelly, and her brother-in-law fussing over their daughter and her little friends did nothing but remind her she and Brendan were going to start trying for a baby as soon as they signed on their new house. She kept trying to fidget with her wedding ring, only to find bare skin. And Justin was nowhere in sight. Not the most fun she’d ever had at a party.

“Ohmigod, you took your ring off!”

Claire curled her left hand inside her right and cursed herself for picking this day of all days to take that particular step. “Gee, Kelly, I’m not sure they heard you next door.”

“Sorry.” Her sister plopped down on the couch next to her. “So does this mean you’re thinking about dating again?”

“No.” As she said it, Justin emerged from kitchen and she watched him as he scanned the room until his gaze found hers. Then he smiled and she rolled her eyes at him.

“What does he think about it?” Kelly asked.

“He just wants me to be happy…and stuff.” Claire smiled, remembering his awkwardness in the toy store.

“I bet he does.”

She turned to look at her sister. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” And there was the fake innocent face Kelly did so well. “Hey, J.J., watch out for that—crap.”

A herd of adults converged on the shattered vase, shooing kids away from the broken glass, and Claire laughed when Justin slid into the seat Kelly had vacated in a hurry.