The Science of Loving (5 page)

“Oh yeah, baby girl’s gonna be hot, hot, hot!”

“That’s way too…too… this is a professional mixer. And that’s—”

“Fucking hot. Don’t give me no lip Lucy. I’m gonna get you in touch with your inner skank. I mean goddess. No, I was right the first time.” Danny declared, pulling off my robe. “Oh girlfriend… you’ve been holding out on me.”

I fidgeted under her surprised stare. “What? So I like pretty underwear.”

“Yes you do. Mat so owes me,” she muttered as she reconnected my bra straps for the halter back then shoved the dress over my head, bleeding red organza and silk down my body. After zipping me up, she dove back into my closet. “Shoes… Shoes… Shoes…”

“The matching shoes are on the shelf,” I said meekly, and she wolf whistled when she saw the Louboutins.

“Okay Cinderella, let’s get you ready for the ball.”

“I thought fairies were small.”

“Baby, your order’s been super-sized. You got upgraded to six feet of bodacious hotness.”

For the next half hour, she primped and painted. After donning a pair of simple pearl earrings, she stepped aside, declaring me done. Staring back from the mirror was a 1940s pin-up girl, complete with full red lips and startled, long lashed eyes. The dress clung to me, its brilliant red giving my skin a peaches and cream glow. Danny'd even tamed my curls to frame my face in sophisticated swirls.

“You know,” Danny said, looking me over with a critical eye, “If I didn’t like dick so much, I’d do you.”

Yikes!

The spray from multiple heads pounded my body. As I lathered off the dried sweat from my work out, I thought about a girl with blushing cheeks and dark liquid eyes—
I’d like to lather her up—
later I promised my cock, shoving those thoughts down. With Angie already so skittish, I didn’t think answering the door naked, dripping wet with a raging hard-on, would do much for her piece of mind. Hopefully she wasn’t getting cold feet, not that it would save her from Danny—bless her little black heart—who was at this very moment, making sure she didn't chicken out.

I stood in front of the mirror running through my final checklist—shave, no missed spots… check. Shirt’s buttoned right… check. I adjusted my belt buckle centering it—fly’s closed… che—.

My cell began dancing across my dresser and my stomach fell. She was canceling.
Motherfucker.
“Hello.”

“Mat?”

“Yeah… Hey Angie.”

“Hey…”

Silence. . . .

“Hey. Baby, where are you?”

“I’ve driven around the block like five times and all I see are warehouses and businesses.”
Thank you Jesus.

“Yeah babe, my loft’s in a warehouse. I’ll come down to the street so you don’t have to park.”

I raced downstairs, busting onto the sidewalk just as a sweet ride turned the corner. It was all tricked out. Shiny taupe paint with a pair of wide grey racing strips centered on its hood, chromed rims, fog-lights, the works. I waved when she pulled up, trying not to drool on the leather as I climbed in
—mmmm… I loved the smell of leather. Good golly Miss Molly, it was a four speed. Gotta love a woman that can handle a stick. What the hell
—behind the wheel sat a red-lipped goddess with dark bedroom eyes.
Who the hell are you, and where the hell is Angie?

“Seatbelt.” She wiggled the gearshift nervously, checking her mirrors instead of looking at me.
Oh, there you are shy girl.

“Wow Angie, you look… Just wow.” I was in so much trouble. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was wearing; only that it was red, really red. I loved red.

“Danny did this.” She gave me an awkward smile before looking away.

“Well, Danny done good. I’m gonna have to keep an eye out, ‘cause all the guys are gonna try to steal you from me.” She blushed, reminding me of my vow.

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

“Yeah, it’s because I’m so hot, right?” I said, making a goofy face.

“Yes, that’s definitely it.” She giggled, pulling out into the street.

“So cars, how’d that happen?”

“My Dad. He’s an engineer. Retired now. Growing up, he was always tinkering with things in his spare time—not just cars, but everything, and I tinkered right along with him—my mom’s more of a social tinkerer, not my forte as I’m sure you’ve figured out—anyway, we were out driving one day. I was sixteen, practicing to get my license, and we drove past this car with a for sale sign in the window. It was up on blocks, covered with dents and patches of grey primer. It had a cracked windshield, and no wheels, not even rims. The leather interior was torn and most of the trim was missing. It was a real eyesore. Daddy went back and bought it the next day. You should’ve seen how pissed my mom got when she saw it parked in front of our house. I think my dad reasoned I’d be more careful if I had a lot of work invested in my car.” Wow, that was the most I’d heard her say in one go.

“Your Dad sounds very cool.”

“I’ve always thought so, but he’s my dad, so I’m probably biased.”

Pulling up to the gates of a private community, Angie spoke to the rent-a-cop minding the guard shack. He took his time checking her out while he pretended to look over some list on a clipboard until he caught my glare
—that’s right buddy, she’s mine. Best keep your eyes in your head.

Angie’s tension increased as we drove past fairways and ponds with black cart paths snaking through them. Interspersed, perched on tiny lots with perfectly manicured lawns, were large pretentious homes, each one as boring as its neighbor. I’d rather stick a fork in my brain then be forced to design these pricey cookie cutter developments. The closer we drew to our destination, the tighter she gripped the steering wheel. And by the time we pulled up to the clubhouse, she was white knuckled and rigid.

She parked efficiently; setting the handbrake with a ratcheting zip then sat silently staring out of the windshield. “Hey babe, the party’s not going to come to you.”

“It’s this damn dress. People are going to notice.”

“Honey, you’ll get noticed no matter what you wear. You know I got your back, right?” I said. “Deep breath baby-cakes. We got this.”

As I handed her out, I glimpsed the top of a thigh high stocking before her dress settled into place. ‘Wow’ didn’t come close to describing her. Stepping back, I took a good long look: Starting with those lecherous high heels, up her silk clad ankles, past rounded calves to the rich, red cloth brushing her knees and hugging her hips. Its folds dropped across her curved belly, fanning out from one side of a cinched bodice that ended where gentle swells of smooth skin began. My gaze touched delicate collarbones below a graceful neck; my eyes finally rising from her full painted lips to her widening big brown eyes.

Shit, busted
. “Sorry angel, but you just robbed me senseless.”

He looked stunned at first, his expression changing as he studied me. His eyes warming, slowly traveling up my legs and over my body. My chest tightened when he paused at my décolletage, licking his lips. His heated gaze slid up my neck to pause again at my mouth before finally reaching my eyes.
Oh my God, he’s blushing.

“Sorry angel, but you just robbed me senseless.”

“It’s the dress. It’s kind of over the top.”

“Over the top is good.” He grinned. “But I’ll bet under the top’s even better.” And just like that, his senses returned.

I trudged through the clubhouse like one condemned, loitering at the entrance of a garden courtyard as if all the usual suspects were mingling around a guillotine instead of a koi pond and shrubbery. A couple of deep-pocketed pharma reps were sucking up to my boss, Bob Tate, while off to the side, my next door lab mate, Dr. Ben Bhatt was chatting with my minions, Dr.s Steven (the stick) Crane and Leslie Jacobs. And commanding center stage, my mother regally held court, looking dangerously poised while a familiar collection of puffed up alumni fluttered around her in their khakis’ and designer shoes.

“Let’s rock this joint,” Mat murmured. His hand warmed my back, right before he propelled us out into the open, shifting his grip to my elbow, steadying me on the uneven pavers. I smiled weakly as I felt what seemed to be everyone’s eyes on us. I could imagine what they saw. Although, with his tattoos hidden under buttoned cuffs, he looked far less sinister in the light of day; he still a towered over everyone. And I was the bloody splash of road kill standing next to him.

“Angie?” Steve strode over, looking as flummoxed as I felt. “Holy-moly! You look—I almost didn’t recognize you.” He took a step back when he noticed Mat.

“Mat, this is Steven Crane. We work together. Steve this is my friend Mat.”

“Hey, how’s it going?” Mat said, calmly offering him his hand. “Are you into fruit flies too?”

Steve gaped. Seconds passed. I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one Mat rendered stupid. “Oh yes, they’re really fascinating. Well their genes are—the flies don’t do all that much. Currently, we’re using them to study degenerative muscle disorders.”

“Like Muscular Dystrophy?”

“Exactly,” Steve said.

“That’s very cool.” I glanced up to see if Mat was joking as his hand skimmed up my back, and reddened when I caught his grey eyes sparkling down.

“Yes, it is.” Steve beamed.

I eyed the wine boxes across the courtyard; I could really use some liquid courage. “Sweetheart, can I get you a drink?”

“I’d love a glass of wine.”

“Hey man, you mind looking after my girl while I get her a drink?”

Pleasantly surprised, Steve stood a little taller. “It would be my pleasure, Mat.”

Mat brushed a kiss across my knuckles. “I’ll be right back.” I watched people shift out of his way as he prowled like a sated lion through a herd; safe for the moment, but carrying an underlying threat.

Leslie made a beeline over to me, her eyes never leaving Mat’s back. “Holy shit, Ange. Who is he? What has he done to you? And where can I get one!”

Thank God for Leslie, she was great at these things—not great as in popular—great entertainment. She’d whisper snarky observations on everything from wardrobe choice to sexual orientation. It was like a bizarre stream of consciousness, unpredictable, funny, and occasionally uncomfortable.

“Holy shit, indeed, Les. His name is Mat. Nothing so far. And I think he broke the mold.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, he’s ginormous. Can I at least rub his head? Please? I want to make a wish.” I rolled my eyes as she pleaded. “There’s just something about a shiny, bald head. Gets me every time.”

Steve grinned, doing his best Groucho Marks impression. “I could shave my head doll, but you’d wish I hadn’t.”

“You’re right; it wouldn’t be the same.” Les sadly shook her head. “I’ve already seen you with hair. There’s no mystery.”

I felt her coming even before I saw her pastel power suit and perfectly coiffed platinum hair; homing in on me like a heat seeking rocket, riding a giant wave of disapproval. “Angie, darling, well—just—look—at—you.” A knot twisted in my stomach.

“Hello Mom.” We traded fake air kisses, and as usual, she didn't acknowledge my colleagues—not that it bothered Les. She couldn’t stand my mother. So, as far as she was concerned, Mom just upped the entertainment value.

Mom looked me up and down, distaste clearly written on her pursed lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in that color before.”

“Yeah, doesn’t she look fabulous? Here you go, sweetheart.” A heavy arm dropped protectively around me. “Thanks Steve, I appreciate it.”

I muttered my thanks, wondering if it would be gauche to chug the whole thing in one go while I observed Mom’s reaction to Mat. First, there was the understandable eye widening shock. Then, open mouthed amazement—again understandable—then confusion as she looked from him to me, then back to him. In all fairness, he wasn’t my usual desperate type. Even I wouldn’t have pictured a guy like this with me.

“Mat, I’d like to introduce you to my mother, Stephanie Martin. Mom, this is Mat James.”