Until Now (14 page)

Back in the kitchen, Cody was now leaning against the stove, beer bottle back in hand, and flirting with a cute brunette. Seriously? I stepped between them, plucked the bottle out of his hand, and pulled him out of the kitchen.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to the brunette as I dragged him away, toward the still empty bathroom. Once inside, I locked the door and flicked off the light.

“Think again,” I told him, boosting myself onto the small counter. He moved between my legs as if by instinct, pushing me further against the pointy sink faucet. “You won’t be catching up with anyone later.”

“Is that so?” He grabbed my hips with both hands, holding me firmly in place as he rubbed against me. I gasped at the solid friction of his jeans against my thin leggings. “And how do you plan to stop me?”

Words escaped me at that moment, so I settled for showing him instead. As my hands slid up his shirt, seeking out those pectoral muscles I’d pointed out earlier, his cell phone buzzed. “Fuck,” he said, pulling away slightly. I thought for sure he’d ignore it, but he extracted the phone from his pocket and looked down at it. The screen illuminated the tight space between us as he studied whatever text he’d just received. “Fuck,” he said again, a little louder this time. He glanced at me, torn. “I have to, um…I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“You’re joking, right?” I unwound my legs from his hips when I realized that no, he was dead serious. He was leaving me here, ready and willing, so he could go answer a text. Likely a text from some other woman. Maybe even the same one whose perfume had branded his shirt. Once again…
seriously?

“I’ll be right back, I swear,” he said, backing away. “Just…don’t move.”

He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I continued to perch on the too-small counter, in the dark, one ass cheek hovering over the sink, debating in my head about how long I should wait in here. Was I truly this desperate?

Luckily, I was saved from finding out just how desperate when the door opened and the light came on, blinding me. Instead of Cody, one of Abby’s friends stood there, mouth agape as she stared at me. “Oh, sorry,” she said, backing out of the room. “Didn’t think anyone was in here.”

I hopped down off the counter. “I’m done,” I said, brushing past her out the door.

On my way back to the kitchen, I was intercepted by Abby. “Having fun?” she asked, looping her toned arms around my shoulders. The rest of her body swayed into mine, almost knocking me over. She was a few ahead of me on the daiquiris, obviously. “I saw you with Cody. That man wants you so bad.”

Apparently not badly enough
. “I think I’m gonna head home,” I told her, gently extracting myself from her grip.

“Noooo,” she whined. “Crash here. It’s still so early.”

“I’m feeling kind of queasy.” I cringed at my own words. This was so unlike me. I used to be the last one to leave a party.

“Go puke and you’ll feel better. That’s what I do.”

“No, really, I—”

“There you are,” said a voice in my ear. Cody, back from his all-important private text conversation. “Sorry,” he said when I twisted around to face him. “I had to, uh…diffuse a situation.”

I didn’t even want to know. Abby gave me a thumbs-up and took off, leaving me with Cody near the entrance to the kitchen. I raised my eyebrows expectantly at him.

“Look,” he said, his gaze focused somewhere over my head, “I gotta take off now, but maybe we can meet up tomorrow night and finish this?”

“Tomorrow night,” I repeated as a nagging memory poked through the fuzziness in my brain. Oh yes. Tomorrow. Saturday night. “I have…”
A date with a hot single dad
. “Plans.”

“Any way you can cancel them?”

I considered it for a moment. Could I? No. Jane had worked so hard to orchestrate this date. It meant a lot to her, and I owed her one. In fact, I owed her several. “No, I can’t cancel,” I told Cody, who frowned.

“Well, then,” he said, skimming his fingers down my arm. “Text me if you change your mind.”

He smiled at me and walked away, taking with him whatever beer he had leftover along with any plans I had for seducing him tonight. But he’d be back, I knew. When it came to sex, guys like him always finished what they started. And so did girls like me.

Upset stomach forgotten, I made my way back to the kitchen and poured another drink.

I couldn’t recall ever being so nervous before a date.

“My God, Rob,” Taylor said when I dropped my brush in the sink for the third time. “What is the matter with you?”

I picked up the brush and leaned into the bathroom mirror, checking the progress of my hair. I was trying to loosen the curls I’d made with my curling iron, but it seemed like my right hand had a mind of its own. “Nothing,” I told Taylor, who sat on the edge of the tub, keeping me company while I got ready.

“Why are you acting so freaked out? I thought you liked this guy.” She paused for a few seconds to study me. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” she asked, a smile in her voice. “You really like him. That’s why you’re so nervous.”

“I don’t like him.” I held the brush firmly and worked it through my curls. “I mean, I like him, but not like—” I sighed. “He’s not my type, okay?”

“Yeah, and you also said you don’t date guys with kids. Yet here you are.”

I stepped back and adjusted my dress, a short, form-fitting black lace number I’d picked up earlier at the mall. You could never go wrong with a little black dress. “It’s not a real date,” I said. “It’s just something we’re doing to make his mother happy.”

“Well, that’s…weird.”

Now I laughed. All of this was weird, but fortunately Ryan had a sense of humor about it. He’d texted me earlier, asking if he should pick me up at my door like a proper date. I’d told him sure, and that I wanted flowers too. Roses. Pink ones.

“What do you think?” I asked Taylor, posing in front of her with a hand on my hip. “Fancy enough for Masino Ristorante?”

She nodded. “You look stunning.”

I gave her a grateful smile and glanced at my phone. Six-thirty. He should be here any minute. My hand shook slightly and I dropped my silver clutch on the bathroom tile.

“Come on,” Taylor said, bending to pick it up for me. “Let’s get out of here before you break something.”

Downstairs, Michael sat in the living room with Taylor’s father and Leo the dog. All three of them stood up when they saw us.

“When is this young man scheduled to arrive?” Steven asked, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

“Soon,” I said, confused by his enthusiasm. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

Jesus. This was not helping my nerves. “You guys can go do something else. I mean, this is just a casual thing. No need for formalities.”

He waved a hand. “Nonsense.”

“We have to meet him,” Michael added, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Get a good look at him.”

“Make sure he’s good enough for you.”

I glanced at Taylor, silently ordering her to call off her men, but she just grinned and shrugged. They were clearly all in this together, even though their concern was somewhat misplaced. If anything, they should’ve been worrying about Ryan and whether
I
was good enough for
him
. Newsflash: I wasn’t.

The doorbell rang, causing Leo to bolt across the foyer and bark his head off. Steve grabbed his collar and held him back while I swung open the door.

“Hi,” I said to Ryan, who stood on the other side, dressed semi-casually in charcoal-gray pants and a light blue button down shirt that almost exactly matched his eyes. And he was holding—oh my God—a dozen pink roses. I smiled, which quickly turned into a wince as Leo’s barking grew even more frenzied. “Sorry,” I shouted over the racket as I gestured for him to come in. “He has stranger anxiety.”

“I can tell,” he said, handing me the roses. I thanked him and raised them to my nose for a sniff before handing them off to Taylor for safekeeping.

“He won’t bite you,” Steve said, loosening his grip on the dog’s collar so he could get closer to the new guest. “He just wants to check you out.”

While Ryan was being thoroughly examined by Leo, I introduced everyone. I could tell by the quick look Taylor shot me that she heartily approved. She’d probably expected someone more dad-like, maybe a younger version of her own father. But looking at Ryan, “someone’s dad” wasn’t exactly the first attribute of his that sprang to mind.

Taylor’s father and boyfriend must have approved too, because we made it out of the house without too much humiliation. Ryan and I exchanged a smile as we strolled down the driveway to his car, an older model Acura.

“Sorry about that,” I said once we were buckled and on our way. “They’re a bit crazy.”

He peered into the side mirror before merging into traffic, then flashed me another smile. “You say that like I’m not familiar with crazy. Have you
met
my family?”

I laughed. “Touché.”

We drove in companionable-but-still-slightly-awkward silence for a few minutes. I fidgeted with my clutch and glanced around the interior of the car. It was neat except for the back seat, which looked just like mine during the brief time I’d spent hauling the twins around. Toys and crumbs and empty juice boxes decorated the seat, floor, and Mason’s car seat. Typical kid mess, something I unexpectedly missed.

Ryan cleared his throat, and I turned back around to focus on his profile. He’d shaved his beard scruff, I’d noticed. It made him look younger. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, gazing straight ahead at the truck in front of us. “It’s kind of intimidating. I feel…I don’t know. Inadequate?”

“Well, I
am
almost as tall as you are in these shoes,” I said, gazing down at my black strappy sandals with the four-inch heels. “Just kidding. You’re extremely adequate.”

He parked the car along the curb a block or so from the restaurant. “If you say so.”

We made it to Masino just in time for our seven o’clock reservation and the hostess led us to a cozy two-person table in the corner near a decorative wine rack. The place was packed.

“I hope you remembered to bring that gift certificate,” I said after the hostess recited the specials and wandered off. “Or else we might have to wash dishes in the kitchen to cover the bill.”

“I have it,” he assured me. “And feel free to order whatever you want.”

“Okay, but I truly have no desire to drink a…” I peeked at the wine list. “…fourteen-dollar glass of merlot.”

“You don’t drink?”

My mind flashed back to last night, downing daiquiris in the kitchen. I’d felt like shit waking up, but it quickly passed. My hangovers seemed to be getting less intense now, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. “Not tonight,” I said just as our waiter came by for our drink orders. We both stuck to water.

“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Ryan asked.

So he
had
been listening last Sunday when I mentioned my accommodation issues to Maggie. “Not great,” I said as I perused the menu. All the dishes were listed in Italian, but at least they had English descriptions underneath. “Guess I’ll be staying with Taylor’s family for a while.”

He picked up his own menu and then put it back down without looking at it. “She sort of reminded me of my ex-wife. In looks, I mean.”

“Taylor?”

“Yeah. Dark wavy hair, petite…”

“Big boobs?” I added, just to tease him.

He gave me his almost-smile. “Maybe.”

“Hmm.” I rested my chin on the heel of my palm and leaned toward him. “So what you’re saying is, you have a specific type and it’s the exact opposite of me?”

“No,” he said, grinning full-on now. “I don’t have a specific type. Do you?”

I shook my head. No way could I tell him that I’d always had a thing for blond guys. With pretty eyes. Who smelled really good. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

Our waiter reappeared and we ordered, ravioli for me and fettuccini for him. The air smelled torturously good, and I wondered if Ryan would mind if I asked for a taste of his dish too. By now I felt like eating everything in the restaurant, including the tablecloth.

I shouldn’t have wondered about the sharing thing. As soon as our pasta arrived, we immediately sampled first our own food and then each other’s. It was easy, comfortable, just like the conversation. Sitting here together in this fancy restaurant, on a fake date, wasn’t much different than hanging out in his bookstore. Only here, I was allowed to eat messy food.

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Ryan said after we’d split a dessert (something chocolate, of course) and got our check squared away. “You made my mother’s week.”

I walked through the door he held open for me and into the warm air. “Happy to help,” I said, feeling full and content.

“Want to walk off some calories?”

I pointed at my feet. “Not the most ideal footwear for walking long distances.”

He gaze slid down my body to my shoes, making my stomach flutter like it was empty instead of stuffed to bursting. When his eyes met mine again, he smiled and said, “I have an idea.”

We got back into the car and drove toward the middle of the city, where a large, grassy park stretched across several blocks. Ryan parked the car near some oversized oak trees and I looked over at him, impressed. “You’re quite the problem solver,” I said.

He shrugged modestly as we exited the car. “Better to walk barefoot on grass than on a dirty sidewalk, right?”

We stopped at the edge of the large expanse of lawn and I bent down to remove my shoes, holding onto his bicep for balance. It may have taken longer than was truly necessary to undo my ankle straps. Ryan wasn’t as muscular as Cody, but he was definitely strong and fit. His hand felt warm against my skin as he cupped my elbow, preventing me from face-planting in the grass.

“Since this is supposed to be a date and all,” I said when we started walking again, “maybe we should legitimize it by holding hands or something. You know, in case your mom asks for details.”

“Good point,” he said, twining his fingers through mine. “She’s definitely going to ask, and I wouldn’t want to lie.”

“Very chivalrous of you.” I squeezed his hand. So much for not giving him the wrong idea. “Why is she so obsessed with finding you a woman, anyway?”

We passed a colorful playground structure, one I’d taken the twins to many times. “She worries about me,” he said. “All I do, really, is work and take care of Mason. Not a lot of time left for girlfriends.”

“Haven’t you dated anyone since your divorce?”

“I have, but nothing serious or long-term. Twenty-five-year-old recently divorced men with full custody of their kid and a mountain of debt from lawyer’s fees? Not a great catch.”

Right, I thought. Because there’s such an abundant supply of smart, nice, sexy, ambitious men around here.

We walked in silence for a few moments, the setting sun throwing shadows across the grass in front of us. Right now, with a full stomach and a warm hand enveloping mine and the soft, cool earth beneath my feet, I finally felt brave enough to ask the question I’d been holding back for weeks.

“What’s the story with Mason’s mother?”

Ryan looked at me, surprised. “My mom didn’t tell you?” he asked. When I shook my head, he mumbled, “Shocking.”

“We don’t sit around talking about you,” I said, indignant. “It just hasn’t come up yet. I understand if you don’t feel like—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I mean, no, I don’t really like to talk about it, but it’s not some big secret that I’m ashamed of or anything.”

We reached the end of the lawn and turned left to make a loop. I was suddenly very conscious of our entwined hands, how effortless and warm and friendly it felt. But not friendly in an innocent way. Quite the opposite. The more time I spent with him, the more attracted I became. It wasn’t like with Cody, all aggressive and flirty and cat-and-mouse. No. This just felt
good
.

Maybe Taylor was right—I
did
have a little crush.

“She drinks,” Ryan said suddenly, jerking me back to the conversation. “My ex-wife. Chelsea. She has a problem with drinking.”

Last night flashed through my mind again—Cody, the bathroom, an infinite stream of rum. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled it. “We started dating in our second year of college, and she wasn’t as bad then. Or she didn’t seem to be. At first, I just chalked it up to normal college drinking. You know…parties, weekend binges. A lot of people did that. I did it.” He brushed a piece of leaf off the sleeve of his shirt. “Then I noticed she was drinking more often. Weeknights. She started forgetting things, missing classes. I knew she was having a hard time. Something happened to her during freshman year. At a party.” He looked away, up at the darkening sky, and I filled in the blanks. “She’d never really dealt with it, and counselling didn’t seem to help. So she drank to forget.”

I nodded. I was familiar with the pattern. “And Mason?”

“We found out she was pregnant with him about a week before our senior year,” he said, smiling faintly at the mention of his son. “It was a shock, to say the least. Chelsea quit drinking the second she found out and things were good for a long time. We got married on Valentine’s Day, in that courthouse.” He gestured to a large white building, visible in the distance. “Just a small ceremony, family only. I knew we were too young, but she was pregnant and we loved each other. It seemed like the next logical step.”