Rebound (17 page)

Then Susan caught
what Jill had said. “It’s not a date.”

Jill snorted. “Sure
it’s not. I thought you two were going to set off the smoke alarms
from just the way you were staring at each other.”

“We’re just friends,
that’s all.”

“Okay. But a nap will
still do you good, and I’ll give you a wake-up call around six.
That’ll give you four hours to rest, and another two hours to get
ready.”

“Sure?” Susan asked,
leaning back against the rather comfy seat of the taxi cab. “I do
own an alarm clock.”

“Yeah, but you’ll
either forget to set it, set it and then forget to turn it on, or
you’ll set it, make it to your date on time, but forget to reset it
for the morning. This way will leave much less of your schedule up
to chance.”

As usual, Jill made
perfect sense.

The cab dropped Susan
off at her apartment first, and then whisked Jill back to the
office. Susan didn’t stumble trekking up the steep stone stairs of
her apartment building, but her path was nowhere near straight. She
didn’t fumble with the key to the front door, but getting herself
through the door seemed to be a perilous act. Not only did she snag
her brand new Prada sling-backs on the damn door, but she
accidentally closed the door on her skirt, causing a small, though
loud, rip.

Now she had a damaged
Gucci portfolio case, gnarled Prada shoes, and--she gave her suit a
quick look to see which one she was wearing--a ruined Donna Karan
suit.

She would be able to
get the suit mended by her tailor easy enough, and if she had the
gumption she could find a cobbler to mend the snagged shoe, but her
prized portfolio case was beyond repair. Maybe she’d file her taxes
in it for the next twenty years?

She shook her head in
disgust as she headed up the stairs to her second floor apartment.
Once she was through the door, she trudged blurry eyed back to her
bedroom, stripping off her ruined suit as she went and wobbling as
she took off her shoes.

She fell face-first
onto her unmade bed, the sheets cool and soft, wrapping her loosely
in their soporific embrace. Her body went limp, her eyes sag shut,
and with a sigh she slipped off to sleep.

For exactly five
minutes.

Five minutes later
the thought of Francesca Costa diddling, boffing, or fucking Kevin
snapped her eyes wide open and she rolled over on her back and
stared at the ceiling.

As
if the answer is etched in the stucco
.
This
wasn’t the goddamn
Da Vinci Code
, it was her
life...her love life.

Again, with that word!

Susan covered her
ears, as if that would keep out an inner voice. She rolled to her
side and clamped her eyes shut hard, making green clouds of light
float through the blackness behind her eyelids.

Then another thought
occurred to her: Kevin wanted to see her. Actually, he seemed
verging on desperate to see her, and tonight. Of course, she was
desperate to see him too, so maybe she was just projecting her
desperation onto him?

But he wanted to see
her.

Susan rolled onto her
back again, luxuriating in the sudden warmth that thought filled
her with.

He wanted to see
her.

She stretched, the
cool cotton sheets caressing her as she sank effortlessly into
thoughts of Kevin naked on top of her, in this very bed. She
breathed in deeply, and the warmth from before intensified to a
prickly heat. She trembled as that heat moved through her body,
inflaming her neck, then moving to her breasts, and slowly settling
lower--much, lower.

When the realization
that Kevin wanted her hit her, Susan’s eyes snapped open.

And though it was
obvious she wanted him back, she was still filled to exploding with
nervous terror.

What if he wanted
more than she was able to give right now?

What if they did it
again and this time he didn’t call her for a year?

What if he was just
looking for one more time, a closing roll in the hay?

And what if she ended
up wanting more?

And what if--

“What if you shut the
fuck up!” she screeched. “Get a hold of yourself!”

She was acting like
some spoiled pre-pubescent princess whining about the pea under her
fucking mattress. It was degrading. She was supposed to be a smart,
worldly, take-charge woman. Those kind of women don’t whine, they
bitch.

They scheme and plan.
They knock out their competition and take what they want. They
don’t just lay around in the middle of the goddamn afternoon and
swoon over some boy until they roll themselves right off their
bed...

And just like
that Susan felt herself falling off the edge of her bed. She was
rolled up like an enchilada in her blanket and
hit--
thump!
--unceremoniously
onto the floor.

Stunned, she blinked
up at her stucco ceiling again.

So, what would a
smart, worldly bitch do in this situation?

She’d ask herself
what she wants.

Kevin
...

Did she want him for
a night, a week, a month?

I
don’t know
.

So she wanted Kevin
in her bed for an indeterminate amount of time?

Susan cringed at the
thought.

Y
es
! I want him in my
goddamn, motherfucking bed!

The first thing she
needed to do was get up off the floor and start getting ready. She
looked like broiled shit, and she had a lot of work to do.

Susan fought her way
out of her cotton cocoon and used the bed to pull herself to her
feet. She didn’t feel drunk anymore, but she did feel a surge of
energy start to wash through her as she looked at the clock.

It was four o’clock
already. She had gotten some sleep. Now she needed to go into
serious grooming mode. She wanted to look good. No, she wanted to
look goddamn irresistible. Way better than Francesca Costa!

* * * *

An hour and a half
later Susan had scrubbed the remains of her roller coaster day from
her body and out of her hair. She’d touched up her manicure,
defused and scrunched her curly locks, did her makeup extra sexy,
and had on a pair of nearly nonexistent black lace panties, and an
equally not-there Wonder-Bra.

It was the first time
since Cancun that she’d dug through her naughty-wear, and she had
to admit that she looked pretty good in them. Now she just had to
find a dress that wouldn’t completely cover up all that
lacey-underwear sexiness.

She scanned her
closet, flipping through out-of-date power suits, rummaging back
past her winter wardrobe, and then literally running right into the
exact garment bag she needed.

It was a dress of
Liz’s that she’d borrowed almost a year ago and had not only never
worn, but had completely forgotten about. If memory served her
right, it was black and sheer, and so silky that she’d had an
orgasm just putting the damn thing on.

After easing the
dress over her head, she examined the fit in her full-length
mirror. How it hung on her--more like how it adhered to her every
curve, leaving her arms naked, and most of her back, showing just
enough cleavage to tease, but not so much she’d get picked up for
solicitation. The flowing silk skirt came up above the knee to show
off her legs.

And black was
slimming, even when it was tight.

Just wearing the damn
thing made her feel pre-orgasmic. The way the silk slid over her
flesh as she turned to check herself out in her full length
mirror.

Susan sat down at her
bureau to check her makeup one more time. Glancing at the clock,
she discovered that it wasn’t even six yet. She had over two hours
to kill. Kevin had texted where they were going for dinner, and it
really wasn’t far.

Suddenly she was
seized with nerves again.

Was she making a
complete fool of herself?

Would he be bringing
a date to dinner...Francesca Costa for instance?

“Oh God. I need to
talk to someone.” But it couldn’t be Liz--that was a story too long
for the telling. And Kevin was the problem. So that left...

Dr.
Garvin?

Just then Susan’s
cellphone rang--it was Jill making her wake-up call. She never let
her down.

“Hey, I need a quick
favor from my computer genius assistant,” Susan answered the
phone.

“What’cha need, boss
lady?”

Susan took one big
breath, held it for maybe ten seconds, then just started talking,
spilling her guts about the whole devastating, hot flash inducing
mess. It didn’t take nearly as long as she’d thought it would, even
when she started crying, and when she started cursing Francesca
Costa’s name…and her surgically enhanced chest.

When she was done she
sat there in silence, waiting for Jill to say something. For a
moment she wondered if she’d finally gone too far, if laying all
her sordid romantic trials on her assistant was the last straw.
What if Jill quit and left her like Dr Garvin…or like Kevin
had?

Then she heard a low
whistle coming from Jill’s end of the line. “Damn, boss lady, you
really stepped in it.” She asked a couple of seemingly random
questions, like had Susan ever had sex or even kissed Kevin before
the Cancun incident, and when his birthday was. After clucking her
tongue for a few agonizing beats she said, “I’d say you’ve got it
bad. And if he’d been just some guy you’d dated, or had been even
remotely unattractive, I’d say cut and run. But he’s a honey, and
you’ve known him forever, so I say…”

Susan held her breath
waiting for Jill’s verdict. Finally she exclaimed, “What?”

“I’d say go seduce
the bastard. If it’s meant to be, then great, if not, then you’ll
have some nice hot, sweaty memories to keep you warm until Mr.
Right shows up.”

Thank God for Jill.
She really did know everything.

Maybe
she
was
God. Or a goddess? Whatever she was,
she was better to talk to than Dr. Garvin. Cheaper too.

* * * *

Seventeen minutes and
counting until she’d see Kevin.

When she got in the
cab she told the driver the address of the restaurant, a sudden
thought flamed in her mind. Twelve times. She and Kevin had had sex
twelve freaking times in two and a half days.

Yikes! She felt
herself start to hyperventilate, so she forced her breathing to
slow.

So what if she had
picked her outfit out for the specific purpose of seduction? It
didn’t mean she would do it. After all, he’d left her there in
Cancun. He’d made her feel...he’d made her feel way too many
things, and then he left, taking all those new wondrous feelings
with him.

And now he was
back.

She relived the
thrill getting that text--just a lousy four word message--had given
her. Her entire nervous system had shorted out when she’d seen him
there, looking so handsome, even with that over-the-hill shrew
hanging off him like a designer ensconced alley cat.

But now, trying to
recall the memory of just that afternoon, Susan couldn’t remember
who else had been there, who had talked to her, if anyone, and she
couldn’t even remember what he’d said. All she could recall was how
near he’d been. How his suit fit, hugging his lithe, muscular body,
and how she could so easily imagine him naked. And the way his eyes
had mesmerized her, and his smile sent hot waves of want through
her body.

She could also
remember how possessive she felt over him. That Francesca Costa
hanging all over her Kevin!

And now, sitting in a
cab, about to head to the restaurant, but stuck at the curb because
of gridlocked traffic, she knew what she would have to do.

She’d sleep
with him, just once more--it couldn’t be as amazing as she
remembered it. It was probably the island paradise making it
so...
incredible
was the only
word she could think of. It had been the most amazing sex she’d
ever had, had ever dreamed of having.

But here, in the real
world of Chicago, it would be mundane sex. She’d be over him like
that.

Just as the traffic
started to part she saw another taxi pull up to the curb and Kevin
emerged, looking solid and sexy and divine with his shirt collar
unbuttoned. That’s all he’d done to change his appearance since
that morning, but it made all the difference.

“I see who I’m
meeting,” Susan told the cabby. “Honk for him.”

“No problem.” The
cabby honked the horn, and Kevin turned just as he was about to
mount the front steps to Susan’s building.

When he saw her, all
done up in Liz’s eye popping dress, her legs hanging out the taxi
door, the heels making them look long and sexy, his jaw dropped,
and his gaze turned noticeably hotter. He licked his lips.

Sleeping with him was
not going to be a problem. He was hers for the taking.

Susan slid back into
the cab and halfway across the seat, so when Kevin got in she was
sitting right next to him. He smelled wonderful, and being so close
to him made her skin turn not only to prickly goose-bumps, but hot
as hell. If she could’ve, she’d have torn off her dress, it was so
hot.

But she decided she’d
rather have Kevin do that for her, sometime between dessert and
falling into her bed.

Kevin got an odd look
on his face. And very subtly he inched away from her and leaned
hard against the door of the cab.

That was strange.
Susan leaned into him, her hands clutching his arm as she rested
her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.” She sighed. “I
thought we were meeting at the restaurant, but this is so much
better.”