Rule's Obsession (12 page)

A rock crawled up and lodged itself in her throat. Mrs. Rule seemed to have a one-track mind today and Angie couldn't distract her as she usually did.
Damn Damian for not wanting to be honest with his mother!
Answering this question would be a full-blown lie, and it was making her very uncomfortable. "No, he didn't really mention much that night. I got the idea that he only needed an escort for the evening."

"You know why, don't you?" Mrs. Rule asked conspiratorially.

"Umm--" Angie faltered.

"It's because he doesn't care for it when I don't mind my own business. But sometimes I can't help it; I love Courtney so much and want to keep her in my family. And marriage to one of my sons would do the trick. But I suppose Damian thinks of her as a sister. Anyway, he was trying to teach me a lesson, I think."

"Maybe so." Angie shrugged.
Maybe Damian did think of the girl as a sister, but it had been obvious to Angie that one of his brothers didn't.
"But he is a grown man, Mrs. Rule. I'm sure he'll find someone in his own good time."

"Well, he's taking too long! He'd be happier if he would settle down with one woman."

Angie felt a knot grow in her stomach and couldn't help asking, "Does he date a lot, then?"

"Oh, my yes, although I don't know if I'd call it 'dating.' He has a lot of women, darling, but they seem to be interchangeable, although I haven't seen him with anyone lately. That's why I think you'd be perfect for him. You're so attractive and. . . and," she paused as if searching for the correct word to describe Angie's style. "And vibrant!"

Angie smiled at the other woman in the mirror. "Thank you." She realized in that moment that Damian didn't understand his mother completely. He'd taken Angie to her dinner party with the belief that his mother wouldn't like her because of the way she looked, but that wasn't the case at all. The woman didn't appear to Angie to be judgmental at all, and she gave her credit for that.

As she put the cap on Mrs. Rule's head before leading her to the hair drying station, Angie glanced to the front of the store and saw her next appointment, an older gentleman who'd been her customer for a long time. She smiled across at him, knowing she'd have plenty of time to fit him in while Damian's mother was under the dryer.

At her smile, he stood up and intercepted them as she and Mrs. Rule crossed the room. "How are you, hon?" he asked Angie, his gaze skimming away from her to land on Damian's mother.

"I'm well, and you?" Angie questioned sincerely. She was fond of this man--he was a sweet old guy. Both he and his grown son had been her customers for a long time.

His eyes never wavered from Mrs. Rule and Angie was shocked to see a blush on the older woman's face. "I'd be better if you'd introduce me," he said in a gruff voice, nudging his chin toward his intended target.

Angie took a deep breath, a ribbon of both humor and panic rushing through her. Why did she have the feeling that Damian wouldn't care for his mother getting hit on? And with the look on the man's face, that was exactly what was probably going to happen. "Mrs. Rule, this is my long-time customer and good friend, Rick Harris. Mr. Harris, this is Justine Rule."

Mr. Harris picked up Mrs. Rule's hand and actually kissed it, and Angie broke into a spontaneous grin as the other woman's expression became colored in panic, her free hand flying up to her head as if only now remembering the colorant cap she wore.

Angie took pity on her and led the blushing and stuttering woman to her seat, adjusting the heat and setting the timer.

She began to turn away but stopped when trembling, feminine fingers grabbed her hand. She looked down at Justine. "He's very good-looking for an older gentlemen, isn't he?" Damian's mother asked.

Angie knew they weren't talking about Damian anymore, and she glanced over at Rick Harris and studied him a moment. He was good-looking for an old dude, something she'd always known. His son was exceptionally good-looking, as well. "Yes, he is."

"And is he?"

"Is he what?" Angie asked.

Damian's mother took another quick glance across the room before returning her attention to Angie. "A gentleman."

Angie smiled, relieved she could put the older woman at ease on that score. "Yes, he's always respectful; he's a gem, actually."

"Is he married?" Mrs. Rule asked as her gaze darted back and forth between Mr. Harris and Angie.

"No, his wife died several years ago."

"Oh."

Angie paused as she considered Damian's mother. The older woman was quite pretty and she took good care of herself. It was obvious where Damian had inherited at least some of his good looks. Studying her, Angie could plainly see the conflicting dismay and excitement the woman was feeling from being scrutinized so boldly. "What do you want me to say if he asks about you?"

"I don't . . . I don't--"

Angie took pity on her and patted her hand and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll figure something out if it comes up. I'll buy you some time, okay?"

"Do you think he'll ask?"

Angie glanced back and could plainly see the man staring in their direction. "Oh, yeah. He's going to ask."

Damian's mother blushed once again and with that, Angie turned to give Mr. Harris her attention.

****

That evening, after being herded into the bedroom, stripped of clothes and made love to within an inch of her life, Angie clutched the sheet to her bare breasts and peeked over at Damian. He appeared to be either falling asleep or deep in thought. Angie knew what she had to do. "Your mother really gave me the third degree today."

He pulled his arm from where it lay resting over his eyes and snagged her with his gaze. "She had
another
hair appointment today?"

She nodded, pursing her lips.

His brows came together in a frown. "How bad was she?"

"She wasn't
bad,
Damian. She's sweet, but she asked a lot of leading questions.
Again."

"And?"

Angie shrugged, and at the movement, his attention strayed down to her bare shoulder. Her stomach clenched with butterflies in immediate reaction.
Weren't butterflies supposed to go away after a while?
When would that stop happening, exactly?
Trying to wrestle her unruly body under control, she answered,
"She asked about a lot of things. She wanted me to talk about how good-looking you are, she wanted to know if we'd seen each other lately, if you seemed interested in me."

His forehead creased and a muscle flicked furiously at his jaw. It was obvious he was angry at his mother's interference, and Angie didn't want to make it worse. "She didn't mean anything by it; it's obvious she loves you very much. I held her off with the 'friends' line again, but it felt like a lie. I get that this is
casual,"
she waved her hand between them, "but I had to intimate to her that we hadn't seen each other at all, and I'm not comfortable with that."

"What's the big deal? The appointment is over, even if she comes back to the salon again, you shouldn't have to see her for a month or more."

Angie shook her head. "Wrong. She's coming again next week."

"What the fuck for?"

"She said she enjoys our time together and wants to pamper herself again. Since she
doesn't like
massages,"
Angie repeated his mother's words to him, "She's going to come in for a deep-conditioning treatment and a style."

"Shit," he grunted through clenched teeth.

"I'm not going to keep lying to her, Damian."

"What are you going to tell her, Angie? That we're fucking like rabbits every chance we get because I can't keep my goddamn hands off you?"

A shard of pain pierced her heart. "That's not very smooth." She paused before asking, "How do you think that makes me feel?"

"What's wrong with it?" A circle of ice ringed his mouth. "It's the truth."

"Are you saying you only come here because you can't keep from it? Are you saying you don't want to see me?"

His eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her in silence.

"That's it, isn't it? You're actually trying to stay away." Angie clutched the sheet as she sat up, immediate hurt sliding through her heart. "So what's the draw exactly? The whole Goth element?" She kept her tone flat, trying not to betray her pain. "Something you've never had before that makes sex exciting again for a staid, cynical guy like you?"

His mouth thinned in displeasure. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She swung her feet to the floor. "I'm going to shower now. You can let yourself out."

He raised himself on one elbow and leaned forward, swiping his hand out with a sudden motion and encapsulating her wrist with his fingers. "You think you can dismiss me that easily, baby?" His mouth twisted, and if it was supposed to be a smile, it held no humor.

As his grasp tightened and he began to draw her to him with a firm, inexorable pull, Angie's heart rate escalated and she breathed in shallow bursts of oxygen. She refused to let him have his way in this, no matter that the mere touch of his skin against hers intoxicated her. "I don't have a problem with a casual relationship, Damian." She was assailed with a bitterness that she didn't want to feel. "I do have a problem with you hating yourself because you can't stay away from me."

He pulled her toward him until she lost balance and landed with her hands on his chest. "I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth."

"Whatever." She ached with an inner disappointment. How the hell had she developed feelings for him when she'd specifically warned herself not to? It was obvious that he didn't feel the same. "I'm sticky and tired. I need a shower."

"I'm not ready to leave."

"Fine. Stay." Angie sat up and pulled at her wrist that was still banded within his fingers. He narrowed his eyes in silent warning, but finally released her. She fled to the bathroom to take a shower, and hopefully, to find a modicum of peace.

****

Janice looked at Angie the next morning in surprise. "You want to do
what?"

Angie rolled her eyes. "I want to go back to my natural color for a while."

"Why? I thought you relished all the tips this look is bringing you."

Angie shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not going to completely give it up." Then she thought better of it. "Or I might. But I'll do it slowly. But the black hair has to go." And then she smiled. "But not the music. Definitely, not the music."

Janice quirked a smile. "You do like your alternative rock." And then she sobered and asked, "Is this about Damian?"

"Maybe." Angie knew it was. She'd had some fun with him, but somewhere along the line, the casual aspect had taken a turn and wasn't working for her anymore. She didn't care for the direction things were going. If he wanted out, he should just leave. It wouldn't kill her. His attitude was making her feel bad, screwing with her self-esteem, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

She was starting to feel taken advantage of. Sure, she'd given in pretty quickly and maybe that was her fault. There was the old adage about 'getting the milk for free', but it wasn't just that. He didn't let her see inside of himself very often, if at all; he kept his emotions in check.

She needed to know if he liked her for the person she was, or for the persona she'd developed. Because if he didn't like her, she needed to quit seeing him. And his reaction to the change she was thinking about would be a big indication of how he really felt. She wasn't going back to a conservative look so that she'd be more suitable to what he wanted in a woman.
She wasn't
. She would never lower herself that way. This was a simple, expedient way to figure out if her normal, everyday look, the person she really was, was enough to keep him interested in her. It was as simple as that.

"So, is it about him?" Janice questioned.

"I want to see if it's me or gothic me that he likes. Is that so terrible?"

"Nope. Not at all."

"Do you think we can fit it in today? Between customers?"

"I can make time if you can, but you might have to walk around for a few hours with it stripped."

"That's not a problem. This is a salon, after all."

The door pinged as the first customer walked in and Janice tilted her head toward the man standing at the front. "Let's get started right after him."

****

After an extremely busy morning, when they hadn't had a moment to start on her hair, the phone rang between customers and Angie picked it up to find an extremely excited Justine Rule on the other end. "We went to dinner last night," the older woman said without preamble.

Angie was flabbergasted and pleased all at once; she knew immediately who the 'we' was. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, and we're going again tonight."

"Wow, that's cool, Mrs. Rule."

"Justine. I've repeatedly asked you to call me Justine."

"Yes, ma'am. Justine," Angie agreed, knowing there wasn't a chance in hell she'd call Damian's mother by her first name, at least not for the foreseeable future.

"I need to ask you a question, darling. I have literally no friends who I feel comfortable having this discussion with. They're all married and quite conservative. I thought about asking Courtney but that would almost be as bad as asking Erin and I just can't bring myself to do it. Besides, TMI and all that, that's what you kids call it, right?" she rattled and then continued, "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead." Angie held the phone between her ear and shoulder while she swept the floor, sure that the question would be about clothes or shoes and what was stylish or appropriate.
How could his mother be so sweet when Damian could act like such a douche?

The other woman paused and then plunged into it, "Anyway . . . he's going to want to sleep with me pretty soon, isn't he? People don't wait long for sex anymore, do they?"

Angie choked and the broom handle dropped to the floor with a cacophonous clatter as she made a grab to keep the phone from doing the same. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, dear. I probably shouldn't have blurted it out like that. But I have no one else to ask and I've been somewhat worried about the situation. And it's your fault because you're so easy to talk to and you don't appear to have a judgmental bone in your body."

Angie walked to the back room and shut the door where she'd have some privacy. "It's okay. Let me think for a minute. I didn't expect this, you know?"

"Yes, of course, darling, take all the time you need."

Angie tried to steady her nerves. Could she have a conversation like this with someone of an entirely different generation? "So, I hate to be rude, but since you're asking me about sex, I'm going to ask a probing question, but only so I can get a clear picture of the situation." She took a deep breath. "How old are you? And do you know how old Rick is? I've never asked him."

"I'm fifty-four, and he's fifty-two, I found that out last night."

A feeling of mirth took Angie by surprise. "A younger man, Mrs. Rule? Bad-ass."

"Yes, well, my husband was ten years older than me, so this
is
quite different."

Angie took in a deep breath and blew it out, preparing herself to answer the question at hand. "Yeah, he's going to want to sleep with you if the relationship continues."

"That's what I thought." Angie could almost see the older woman twisting her hands together. "What do I do?"

Damian would murder her if he ever found out about this conversation.
Screw Damian, he was an asshole.
"Um, do you want to sleep with him?"

"Yes, between you and me, it's fairly exciting to think about. I've never slept with anyone besides my husband. I was young when we married, and after he died, I was so devastated that I never wanted anyone else, even though I was pursued a bit. He's been gone for seven years and maybe it's time. I don't want to be alone forever, I need my own life. I can see it upsets the children when I'm too clingy and nosy."

Angie tried to pretend she was talking to a regular woman and not to Damian's mother. "Well, I'm not an expert on sex and relationships. I have an aunt and uncle about your age but they've been married forever, and I seriously doubt they're having a lot of sex and if they are, I
don't
want to think about it. So I don't really know anybody who is new to dating in your age bracket but I'm sure it's done all the time. I mean, what with all the internet dating sites and all."

"I don't know why I'm so worried about this, but I just don't know how to go on." The agitation in the other woman's voice was easy to hear.

"Okay, here's the deal," Angie tried to be forthright. "I'm assuming that at your age, there's no risk for pregnancy."

"None at all."

"Okay, but you still have to use condoms, you know? It's for protection against STDs and HIV and other diseases and stuff. That's the rule."

"Oh, damn, I knew you were going to say that."

"I know that Mr. Harris
seems
like a gentleman, but I saw the way he was looking at you, and who the heck knows if he's new to dating since his wife died? I know he's been carrying a torch for her since she passed away and that was a few years ago, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been out trying to ease his pain with other women, you know?" Angie shook her head at herself, not quite believing she was having this conversation.

Only silence came across the line and Angie continued, "I'm not saying he's for sure been out messing around, but we don't know either way, so you have to make him use a condom." God, she felt like a mother preaching to her daughter. A daughter who she didn't really want to have sex, but needed to make sure she was careful if she did.
Oh, God, she was going to make a terrible mother.
And truly, Angie didn't care if Mrs. Rule was sexually active or not. Actually, she thought it would be kind of cool if she did have a real life; it was nice to think you could still be a sexual creature even after menopause.
But Damian wouldn't like it. What did she care? She'd been upset the night before and he'd cared so little that he'd promptly fallen asleep.

"Should I have condoms on me? Just in case?" Mrs. Rule asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"Oh, dear Lord," Angie breathed out in a sigh, foreseeing a shopping trip in her future. "Are you brave enough to buy them?"

There was a heavy silence on the other end. "I'm not sure."

Angie tried to imagine being fifty-four years old and about to have sex for the first time in seven years and took pity on her. "Okay, look. I'll go buy them tonight. Come by tomorrow and I'll have a box for you."

"Thank you so, so much, darling. I'll owe you one, okay?"

"Sure, but keep him at arm's length tonight, okay? Because you won't be prepared. We're really busy today and I can't get away, or I'd go get them now."

"That's okay, I'll be there tomorrow, and I appreciate it more than you know. I knew you'd be the perfect person to talk to about this. Now what else do I need to do when the time comes?"

"Do?"
Uh-uh. No way. She wasn't going there
. "I have no clue. You can probably just follow his lead, you know?" Angie replied, desperately ready to get off the phone.

"Okay, yes. That's what I thought. And after tonight, I'll hide a condom in my purse just in case."

"Right. Just in case," Angie agreed.

"Now darling, where do I buy really pretty underwear? I mean the really nice stuff, matching sets. Lace. You know what I mean."

Angie imagined Damian finding out she'd told his mother where to buy lingerie with a man in mind and she reached up and began rubbing her temples where a stress headache was beginning to form. Yeah, there wasn't a chance in hell that she'd be telling him about this phone conversation. Luckily, his mother spoke again before she had to. "There's a store at the mall called Victoria's Secret. I've never been inside but do you think that's the place to go?"

Angie breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was about to get off the phone and put this uncomfortable conversation behind her. "Sure, definitely try Victoria's Secret first."

****

They'd been so busy at work that day that the black dye was still in Angie's hair when she walked inside her apartment that evening with a pharmacy sack in her hands. She tossed it on the small dinette table and went to take a quick shower.

She was feeling particularly edgy tonight, still upset at Damian's callousness from the night before. She didn't want to be here if and when he showed up. And she knew he would. Well, she didn't know for sure, but she figured. With that thought in mind, after she dried off and threw on jeans and a t-shirt, she picked up her phone and sent him a text.
I won't be home tonight. Catch you later.
That was easy enough, right?

Wrong. His text came back three seconds later.
Where will you be?

Angie didn't stop to think, she just began to key in her response.
Out.

Where?

She stiffened her spine as she focused on that one word demand and began keying again.
There's nothing casual about you asking me where I'll be
.

His response came back instantaneously
. Fuck casual.

She sucked in a breath. To say she was floored was an understatement. And on top of that, she had no idea how to respond. Suddenly more antsy than she'd been five seconds ago, she slid on a pair of flip-flops and grabbed her bag and her keys, preparing to leave the apartment that very second.

She opened the front door and immediate trepidation slid down her spine. Damian stood in the threshold, over six feet of pure testosterone, leaning into hands that were propped on either side of her door frame, effectually imprisoning her inside the apartment.

She had a wild idea of darting under one of his arms, and before she could think better of it, she made a hasty dash for freedom.