The Naughty Corner (24 page)

Lola rubbed her napkin over a smudge on the table. Yesterday in her office had been extraordinary, thrusting her a step higher on the terrifying heights of the can-I-live-without-him ladder. First it had been
Sure, I can live without this, but it’s a lot of fun.
After Monday in his office, it was
God, this is so good that I could actually tolerate it all the time.
Which wasn’t the same as saying
I can’t live without him.
Today was
I can’t stop thinking about him, wanting him, needing him.
Still not quite
I can’t live without him
, but horrifyingly close.

“Charlotte, I think I’m in over my head.”

Charlotte gasped and put a hand to her chest. “Do tell.”

“It started out as just sex.” Lola mouthed the last word. “And it’s still just sex”—she mouthed the word again. “But I think I’m pretty hooked on him. And when our six weeks of football camp and punishment are over”—and they were halfway through their six weeks—“I don’t think I can bear it when he dumps me.”

Charlotte dropped the eager-for-dirty-details attitude and gave Lola’s problem real consideration. “First, it’s not
when
, but
if
or
maybe
. And you told me he said it wasn’t punishment any longer. That doesn’t sound like he’s thinking about dumping you at the end of the six weeks either.”

“And then there’s his kid,” Lola heaped on. “I get the sense they don’t have a great relationship and that he would totally resent his dad dating anyone.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re a cliché, damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

“Exactly.” She’d be crushed if he walked away. But she couldn’t handle a teenage kid either, especially a resentful one. The darling princelings were a perfect example. Really, what kind of woman would make up all sorts of not-so-nice names for her nephews? A woman who really couldn’t get along with kids in general.

“So you want him but not his son.”

Excuses popped into her mind. No, of course she didn’t mean that. It was just stepping into a difficult situation. What if she made their relationship worse? But that’s what they were, excuses. So she admitted the truth. “Yeah, I’m not ready to handle a guy with . . .”

“Baggage,” Charlotte supplied.

“God, that makes me a terrible person, doesn’t it?”

“It makes you honest. But let me throw out something you might not have considered.” Ah, there was the psychologist in Charlotte. “Maybe he doesn’t want to introduce you to his son either. There’s no requirement that you need to have a relationship with his son to have a relationship with him. You could date, you could have sex, you could go on holidays together, and do all the things that normal couples do.”

“Just not on the weekends he sees his son.” Though she still wasn’t exactly sure what his custody arrangements were.

“Precisely.” Charlotte gave her a smug, self-satisfied smile.

Lola eyed her. “Is that what you would recommend to one of your clients in the same situation?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “Not precisely.”

“Because it wouldn’t really work.”

“No. Because most of them come to me when the kids are already a problem. I’m offering you a suggestion so that he doesn’t become a problem. Limit your contact with the kid now.”

“What if Gray doesn’t go for that?”

“You won’t know until you ask him.”

“But I don’t really want a relationship like normal people have relationships. I’m just not ready for him to walk away.”

“So tell him exactly what you do want.”

“Umm . . .” She didn’t know what she wanted.

“Chicken,” Charlotte goaded.

Yes. Totally. She didn’t want to define it only to have him say no. But she didn’t want him to say yes, then change his mind later. God, she was crazy. “How old do you have to be before you stop being chicken?”

“Depends on the chicken. But even chickens can change their spots if they want to.”

“You’re mixing metaphors. I think that’s a leopard.”

“Whatever.” Charlotte flapped her hand, barely missing her coffee cup. “Most people don’t say what they really want. They wait for the other person to figure it out. And the other person is waiting for them. And nobody says anything and nobody gets what they want.” She huffed out a breath, then smiled and put a hand to her chest. “And then they come to me.”

Lola laughed. “Has anyone told you that you’re actually pretty amusing?”

“No, they use the word
amazing
.”

“That, too.”

“And you don’t even have to pay big bucks for all this advice.” Then she leaned in very close and said softly, “I suggest first you figure out exactly what you want. And, Lola, make sure you don’t use his kid as an excuse to get out of a really good thing just because you’re afraid of getting rejected later on.”

Brilliant. Lola’s phone chirped once, softly, signaling a text message. And saving her from answering.

“Oh my God.” Charlotte grabbed for the phone. “Is it him?”

Lola beat her to it. “Don’t you dare touch that.” She glanced at her watch. He was texting her from the football field.

“Hah, it is.” Charlotte’s smile was wide enough to show her gleaming teeth. “This is a paranormal event. We’re talking about him, and miles away, he senses it.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“What does he say?”

Lola hit the button and read. Her heart began to thump. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Charlotte gave her a wind-up motion.

“He wants to have dinner.”

“Wow.” A sparkle grew in Charlotte’s eyes. “It really is paranormal. Telepathy. He heard what we were saying.”

Lola ignored the absurdity. “Dinner. I don’t know.”

Charlotte threw her hands up and huffed out a breath. “Are you crazy? You said you wanted more from him.”

“I said I don’t
know
what I want. And then we started talking about his son. And I’m really not ready for all that.”

Charlotte stared at her deadpan. “If you do not say yes, I am going to have to send you round to his house for a really big spanking.”

“But what am I supposed to do with the boys?”

“Tell them you have a date. They’re old enough to stay home alone for a few hours.”

“But—”

Charlotte shook a finger. “Do not
but
me. Tell him yes.”

She typed
Yes
because she really wanted to. She’d think about his son and relationships and getting hurt later.

He came back with:
Tonight.

She was suddenly terrified, why, she had no idea. They had sex. She’d gone to his house, his office, he’d come to her place . . . “He wants dinner
tonight
.”

“So say yes.” Charlotte made everything sound easy.

Lola typed another
Yes
.
Again, because she really wanted to.

After several back-and-forths, they agreed to meet at six on the downtown’s main street, which had several good restaurants.

“Why don’t you let him pick you up like a normal date?”

“Because I don’t want to have to explain anything to Heckle and Jeckle.” She stopped Charlotte with a look. “You’re the one who said we don’t have to tell his son. Same goes for my nephews. It’s my business, not theirs.”

Charlotte put up her hands in surrender. “You’ve got me there. What are you going to wear?”

“Something sexy.”

“Let me help pick it out.”

“I can choose my own clothing, thank you very much.”

“But that’s no fun.” Charlotte pouted.

Lola’s phone buzzed with another text, and she immediately hit the button. And there, all over the little screen, was
BITCH WHORE SLUT.
In capital letters.

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte touched her arm.

Before she could stop her, Charlotte turned the phone to read. “He is a dirty one, isn’t he. From asking for a date to calling you filthy names.”

She should just let Charlotte think that. Then she wouldn’t have to explain. Wouldn’t have to analyze. Instead, what came out of her mouth was “It’s not him.”

“Who is it?”

Lola checked, but she already knew. “It’s from a blocked number.”

Charlotte gave her a narrow-eyed glare. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’ve had some calls and emails.”

“And the dead flowers.” Charlotte wasn’t stupid. “For some strange reason, I get the feeling you know who’s doing it.”

Lola chewed the inside of her cheek. After her talk with George, she didn’t believe it was him. She still didn’t despite this new message. “I think it’s the twins.”

Charlotte gaped. “No way. They’re bad, but
that
bad?”

“I got an email on Tuesday morning”—she didn’t load it on by saying she’d had a letter, too—“and when I picked them up from football, they were so concerned that I appeared to be nervous and anxious. They asked if I was okay. Was something bothering me? And they did the same thing about the dead flowers. Remember they bought me another bouquet?”

“Yes, at the mall.”

“That’s not like them. And now, only a few minutes after Gray sends me a text, I get
this
text”—she pointed at the phone—“not a call, but a text. As if they
can’t
call, but they can send a surreptitious message.” Which meant Gray hadn’t confiscated their iPhones today.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because it’s fun.” It made perfect sense to Lola. And the coincidence of this latest text message coming only minutes after Gray’s was confirmation. They’d probably been watching him and assumed—correctly—that he was texting her.

“It could be something worse. They could be serial killers in the making.” Charlotte leaned in. “Have you seen small dead animals around the condo complex?”

Lola rolled her eyes. “They’re yanking my chain. That’s why they’re being so good. Because they’re playing this game.” It was dirty and underhanded. And just like them.

“Then you should call the police. That would scare the crap out of them.”

Lola pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “I think I’ll just observe and evaluate, gather evidence. Then I’ll think of how I’ll make them pay.” This wasn’t a matter for the police. It was a game. And she had to outsmart the twins.

21

“SO, YOU’VE GOT A DATE, AUNT LOLA.” WILLIAM SMIRKED.

“Someone from work?” Of the two, Harry was the better actor. He didn’t overdo with more than passing interest, barely looking up from his video-game console. He’d attached this one to the TV, and, from what Lola could see, the game was excessively violent with buildings blowing up, tankers exploding, gunfire erupting, but, thankfully, very little blood and guts. “Does your mother approve of these games?”

“They’re just games,” Harry said, his fingers and thumbs flying over the controls.

“All right, fine. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. The lasagna in the oven will be done in thirty minutes.” She’d felt honor-bound to produce a meal. “Don’t have anyone over and don’t burn anything down.”

“Have a wonderful time, Aunt Lola,” they said in unison. Harry added, “And thanks for the lasagna. You really make the best.” Okay,
now
he was laying it on thick.

“You look really nice, Aunt Lola,” William added. Yeah,
way
too thick.

“Thanks, boys. Be good.” If they weren’t, she probably wouldn’t figure it out anyway.

She’d chosen a stretchy white top with a square neck that made her breasts look more tempting than they actually were. She’d never bemoaned her chest size enough to do anything about it, but the top and the push-up bra at least gave her a hint of cleavage. On a normal date, she would have paired it with tight jeans, but this was Gray. And after dinner, well, who knew what was in store. So she wore a skirt. Panties or no panties didn’t matter; if he wanted her, he’d tear them off. It had given her a delicious thrill yesterday in her office when he’d ripped the delicate material.

By the time she’d parked in the downtown lot behind the grocery store, locked her car, put her phone on vibrate in her purse, and headed out to the sidewalk by the bank, a tiny thread of anxiety had her nerve endings thrumming. Dinner. Conversation. What would they talk about? What topics were off-limits? The only things she knew about him were that he was a divorced CEO with a teenage son who didn’t seem terribly fond of him. And he liked football. Which just about described every man. Oh wait, she also knew he’d had an exciting sexual summer in his sixteenth year. Which is when he learned to enjoy spanking and various other forms of bondage, dominance, and submission. The safest topics would be sex and work, forget his divorce and fatherhood.

A warm evening breeze fluttered in her hair like the light touch of fingers. Diners thronged the sidewalks, heading to outdoor seating along the street. A couple with a well-behaved poodle were drinking champagne cocktails and consuming a plate of sliders at one eatery. The dog didn’t even beg. For a small San Francisco suburb, the town had more than its fair share of restaurants, from Italian to Chinese to steak and seafood, upscale, middle of the road—but no fast food, at least not on the quaint main street.

Where was Gray? She glanced at her watch. Okay, she was early. But she felt conspicuous standing alone at the corner of the bank. A couple of men looked at her, looked away. What did that mean?

Then something brushed her backside. A palm cupped her, squeezed. She turned her head slightly and said, “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin.”

He laughed softly, his breath minty against her hair. “May I squeeze something else?”

“Not in public.”

He stepped around to face her, dressed in a black button-down shirt and jeans. God, yes, she’d let him squeeze anything he wanted.

“So what do you want to eat?”

Lola glanced up and down the packed avenue. “You didn’t make a reservation?”

He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t think it would be so crowded at six o’clock.”

“Then let’s eat at the first place that has a table available right now.”

“You’re easy.”

Yes, she was.