She, Myself & I (8 page)

“Oh my God . . . I can’t believe your location. The view from inside must be incredible,” I breathed.

Zack grinned and looked up at the house proudly. It was still unfinished, but it was obvious that the house was well on its way to becoming a showplace. It had modern lines, a boxy shape, and huge windows all over to take advantage of the view.

“You want to see inside?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

Inside, it was still very rough. The bones of the walls were there, but Zack hadn’t put up the Sheetrock yet, and the kitchen was nothing but a shell. But the layout was open, and flowed well, and it was easy to see how gorgeous it was going to be.

“I’m doing a lot of it on my own, when I have the free time, so it’s not much to look at now,” Zack apologized.

I looked at him. “Are you serious? I love it. I went house hunting with Soph when she and Aidan were looking, and all of the builder houses looked so much alike, it was hard to tell one from another. And I hated how homogenous the neighborhoods are. This is so private and airy and pretty.”

Zack looked pleased. “I know what you mean. I used to work for one of those builders, and I got sick of repeating the same type of design over and over. I wanted to do something different here.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded,” I said.

“Do you want to see the upstairs?” Zack asked, holding out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment and then took it.

The second floor was even more incredible than the first. Zack had roughed out three bedrooms and two bathrooms, including a generous-sized master bath, but it was the view from the master bedroom that was really spectacular.

“Wow. Oh wow,” I exclaimed, moving to the wall of windows that covered the back side of the room. “Your view of the lake is phenomenal! I know what this house reminds me of . . . it’s a tree house. A grown-up tree house.”

“That’s exactly the feel I was going for. I’m going to put a patio out here, right off the bedroom, so that I can sit out here in the evenings.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d have a hard time leaving this view, too,” I said.

We went to dinner at Fonda San Miguel, home of the city’s best Mexican food. When Zack had suggested it as we clambered back into his vintage pickup, I must have looked surprised.

“Did you think I was serious about getting barbecue?” Zack asked, grinning at me.

“No, I . . . well, sort of,” I admitted, and found myself grinning back at him.

“I was just teasing you. You don’t strike me as the barbecue type.”

I raised my eyebrows. “No? What type am I?”

“You know, I’m not sure if I know yet. I keep thinking I’ll figure you out, but I haven’t,” Zack said.

“I could say the same about you,” I replied.

“Yeah, well, I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle,” he joked. “But really, I didn’t think you even liked me when we first met.”

“You winked at me,” I said. “And I’ve never liked winkers.”

“No way. I never wink at people,” Zack said.

“Be that as it may, you winked at me,” I said.

“No I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t.”

“You did,” I insisted.

“Is that why you gave me such a dirty look? I thought that maybe you were worried that I was trying to hook up with your sister.”

“Actually, I was more worried that she was trying to seduce you,” I said.

The restaurant was located in central Austin, just off of Forty-fifth Street near North Loop. It was an elegant place decorated like a hacienda, with lovely pierced-metal chandeliers and dark rose colored walls. The food was special, too. This wasn’t the place to come for greasy nachos or other deep-fried, cheese-laden junk food that was the standard fare at most Tex-Mex joints.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” I remarked, after we sat down and were looking over the menus.

“I try to get here once a month or so. I’m addicted to their enchiladas,” Zack said.

“Mmmm, that sounds good,” I said, and my stomach growled at the thought. I thought back and realized I hadn’t eaten very much after having bagels at my mom’s house. I’d been so busy shopping for the short-sleeved camel cashmere sweater and black wool trousers that I’d bought for our date that I hadn’t remembered to consume anything other than a Diet Coke.

The waiter arrived. “I’ll have the crab enchiladas and a glass of the chardonnay,” I decided, and handed the menu to the waiter.

“Good choice. I think I’ll go for the Cochinita Pibil. And a Dos Equis,” Zack said.

The waiter returned with our drinks. Zack raised his glass, holding it toward me. I clinked my wineglass against it.

“To the future,” Zack said.

“To tonight,” I replied lightly. Zack looked at me quizzically, and I held his gaze, enjoying how everything around us seemed to fade away while the sexual tension leapt and flickered like a lit candle. And I knew—tonight was going to be The Night. He would be the wild fling I’d been craving, the relationship equivalent to attending Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I imagined how it would feel to have his hands running over my body, and felt a shock of excitement.

“Are you excited about the baby?” Zack asked.

“Baby?”

I’d been lost in my embarrassingly vivid fantasy, and so this question seemed to come from nowhere.

“Your sister. Sophie. She is having a baby, isn’t she? Because if not, I really put my foot in it when I congratulated her,” Zack said.

I laughed. “Oh yeah. And I’ll be even more excited when Sophie becomes a normal person again and recovers from the estrogen-induced psychosis she’s been in for the past few months,” I joked.

“How about you? Would you like to have children?” Zack asked.

I blinked. The question took me off guard, as did the sudden lurch in my stomach, and suddenly I was remembering everything. The baby. Scott. Having to clench my teeth and force a smile when Soph had announced her pregnancy this summer.

I’m over this, damn it, I reminded myself.

“I . . . uh . . . why do you want to know?”

Zack shrugged. “Isn’t that a normal, getting-to-know-you, second-date kind of a question?”

“It’s just a little personal.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing here? Getting personal?” Zack asked. He reached over and grasped my hand. “Did I say something to upset you?”

“Look, can we just talk about something else?” I asked. Anything else.

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

“Your house. I love your house. Did you design it yourself?”

“No. My college roommate is an architect here in town, and he helped me out. I made some sketches on a napkin, and he turned them into blueprints for me. Which is good, because in my enthusiasm, I’d left out stairs,” Zack said, and I laughed, and we were past the awkward moment. For now.

Norah Jones was playing on the radio as we pulled into the parking lot at my building. I was a little tired—wine always made me sleepy—but in a comfortable way, heightened by the pleasant conversation. Zack was an easy person to be with, and in his presence I was relaxing in a way I hadn’t in a long time. So much so that I was surprised when Zack reached over and took my hand in his, and a jolt of excitement shot through my body. And then I remembered: this was it.

“I had a great time tonight,” Zack said.

“I did, too. Do you want to come upstairs?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d walk you in.”

“Actually, what I meant was . . .” I hesitated and then took in a deep breath. I’d learned that the only way to get what you want in life is to go after it, but I certainly didn’t relish rejection. And while I could tell Zack was interested in me—his thumb was erotically stroking the back of my hand, and he was looking at me with obvious interest—there was always the chance that I was miscalculating things, like I had after our last date. “Would you like to come in for a while? We could have a glass of wine, or watch a video, or . . .”

Before I could complete my sentence, Zack had leaned over and caught my lips against his. His tongue flickered against mine, and I went warm and woozy. He pulled back and smiled.

“Or this?”

I nodded, my eyes large and my appetite whetted. “This would be good, too,” I said. Very, very good.

Chapter Nine

The sex was like digging into an incredibly rich, gooey brownie topped with Häagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream and smothered in hot fudge after six months on the Atkins diet. Zack was athletic and commanding, and for once I actually got carried away with things, rather than just waiting for him to finish while I stressed over whether my secretary had filed all of the requisite papers for a case I was working on. Which pretty much summed up my married sex life, surprise, surprise.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” Zack asked after.

I was lying on my side, resting my head on his shoulder, my hand on his stomach. In a way, this cuddling felt even more intimate than the sex, and I worried that I was over-indulging myself. I’d heard that the trick to a successful fling was no kissing on the mouth. Wait, no . . . that was Julia Roberts’s advice on being a prostitute in
Pretty Woman
. Still, I wondered if it was applicable to the present situation.

Zack nudged me. I looked up.

“You’re not asleep, are you?” he asked.

“How could I be? I’m looking right at you,” I said.

“Maybe you’re one of those freaky people who sleep with their eyes open. Although if you are, then I think we should just end things right now, because that would really creep me out,” he said, and then he leaned down and very sweetly kissed me.

I had been planning to clarify our relationship, specifically that there was no relationship, and that this was a one-off kind of a thing, but the kiss distracted me.

“Do you have Scrabble?” Zack asked.

“What?”

“Scrabble. The board game,” Zack said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I feel like playing. Are you up for a game?” he asked.

“Okay . . . sure. Although I should warn you, I’m the all-time, undefeated Scrabble champion,” I said.

“In the world?”

“No.” I laughed. “In my family.”

“As am I. So this should be quite the match-up,” Zack said.

I hopped out of bed, shrugged on my red silk kimono, and went to fetch the board game from the front hall closet. When I returned, Zack had pulled on his boxer shorts and was standing in front of my open closet, hands resting on his hips. He had a nice back, broad and smooth skinned, and there was a small mole on his left shoulder. I felt an urge to walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and press my cheek against the ridge of his shoulder blade. I took a step toward him before stopping myself. The movement caused Zack to glance back at me.

“What are all these boxes for?” he asked.

Uh-oh.

“Nothing,” I said, and hurried to the closet, stepping in front of Zack and closing the sliding door.

“What are you hiding?” Zack asked. He laughed and pulled me toward him, his hands strong on my waist.

“Nothing. Really. It’s private,” I said, trying to back up against the door, but Zack playfully swung me to the side and pulled the door back open. He reached up and pulled down one of the white shipping boxes.

“Home Shopping Network,” he read, peering at the label printed in green on the face of the box. He grabbed another box. “This one, too. And this one. Are these all from the Home Shopping Network?”

I covered my face with my hands and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“This is embarrassing,” I groaned.

“Why, what are these?” Zack asked as he sat down next to me.

I looked up, sliding my hands down until they were covering my mouth.

“Likshophesan,” I mumbled.

“I can’t hear you,” Zack said. He pulled my hands down and held them in his.

“I like watching the Home Shopping Network.”

“Just watching?”

“And sometimes . . . occasionally . . . I like to order things,” I admitted. “Please let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“But these don’t look like they’ve been opened.”

“I never open them.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like the ordering part. When the stuff gets here, I’m too embarrassed to open it.”

“May I?” Zack asked.

I rolled my eyes and gave him a half-nod. He pulled back a corner of the white box and shook out a small, clear plastic bag.

“It’s a bracelet,” Zach said, pulling the sparkly object out of the bag. He tipped his head and shrugged. “It’s pretty. It’s . . .”

“Diamondique,” I said. “It’s Diamondique.”

“Cute name,” Zack said.

“It’s awful. It’s truly awful,” I said, palming the bracelet and staring at it with distaste. It was gaudy and chintzy and not anything I would ever wear. “Why would I buy this?”

“It’s not that bad,” Zack said. He plucked it out of my hand and fastened it onto my wrist, where it twinkled bawdily.

“I’m going to return it,” I announced. “I’m going to return all of them.”

Zack smiled. “Later. Now, I beat you in Scrabble,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

We smoothed the duvet out, and then I set up the game right on the bed.”I can’t believe this. I got four
O
s. Are there even four
O
s in the game?” Zack complained after we’d chosen our tiles.