California Girls(62)

“Don’t take this wrong, but I’m pretty sure I like you better.”

The sexy grin returned. “I like you better than Glen, too.”

She laughed. A prison-release program. Daniel was kind of a cool guy.

“I loved their tattoos. I was thinking maybe I should get one. Except they do it with needles, right?” She shuddered. “I have trouble getting a flu shot.”

“Then you might want to avoid the whole tattoo thing.”

“You have several.” Glen had mentioned it, in a disapproving way.

“A couple.”

He was wearing a T-shirt over jeans and from what she could tell, there was no ink on his arms.

“Where? Oh, man, please don’t tell me one is on the small of your back. That would change everything.”

“Not on the small of my back and maybe another time.”

What did that mean? That they were in places not usually seen in public? The idea of exploring Daniel’s body, searching for the tattoos had instant appeal. His skin would be warm, his muscles honed. What would happen if she got up and sat next to him, then put her hands on his...

Stop, she told herself firmly. She had to stop. She was not going to repay his generosity with some creepy move. Coming on to him would totally change their dynamic. Worse, he would pity her and she honestly didn’t think she could stand that.

“Your wedding date is coming up.”

His statement was so not what she’d been thinking about that it took her a second to catch up.

“Yes, it is.”

“We should plan something for the day. We can do something you’ve never done.”

“Like skydiving?”

“I was thinking of something a little more earthbound, but yes.”

“I have a morning of beauty planned. I kept my spa appointments because I figured I’d want to be pampered, but I’m free after that. What did you have in mind?”

“A dirt bike lesson and dinner.”

Nice, nice and more nice, she thought. If she was willing to be the least bit stupid, she would so throw herself at him. He was totally irresistible offering to spend her would-be wedding day with her.

“A dirt bike lesson and dinner sound perfect,” she said. “Thank you. But after that, you have to get back to your real life and stop worrying about me. I’m going to be perfectly fine.”

His dark gaze settled on her face. “Ali, you do realize I enjoy spending time with you, don’t you?”

“Um, sure. But you don’t have to, you know, take care of me or anything.”

Was it just her or was it getting awkward in here?

“So we have a plan for your wedding day,” he confirmed.

“We do. I will come back from my appointments looking like a princess and then you can dirty me up.” She winced. “You know what I mean.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “I do.”

“Great.” She pointed back toward her end of the house. “I’m going to make a graceful escape while I still can.”

He chuckled. “Probably a good idea.”

*

Finola couldn’t stop feeling weary. Her days weren’t any longer, her commute was actually shorter, but the ever-present sense of being exhausted only grew.

She knew it was a combination of stress and emotional pain. The news about Nigel and Treasure had exploded into the tabloids and she was pretty much under siege. The studio had put on more security to keep the photographers away and she was being deluged by interview requests. Her producers wanted a sit-down with her, and her agent was furious that she’d gone this far without letting the agency know what was happening. Finola knew she was right—her excuse was she had simply wanted it to all go away.

She drove to her mother’s and parked in the garage. Her mom was working late at the boutique so Finola had the house to herself. She went inside through the kitchen door, then paused to breathe in the familiar scent. Every house, it seemed, had its own smell. This was a combination of years of lemon Pledge and a hint of her mother’s perfume.

Finola couldn’t remember exactly how old she’d been when she and her mom had first moved into the house. After Mary Jo and Bill had married, for sure, so maybe she’d been six or seven. She’d loved the house—having her own bedroom and a big backyard with a swing set left by the previous owners. She was pretty sure her mom had been pregnant at the time. Finola had been excited about having another kid in the house. Being an only child was lonely.

She walked through the kitchen and into the living room. The house was so normal, so ordinary. It had been built for a family, she thought. She’d lived here, grown up here, left for college from here. It wasn’t that she minded her mom selling the house, it was that her mother moving was one more change to deal with.

She looked at the worn sofa and love seat, the matching coffee table and end tables. The style wasn’t hers at all, but it was familiar, comfortable.

Nigel didn’t want to be with her anymore. The truth couldn’t be avoided forever. She could dance around it, scream, run, she could even hide, but she couldn’t change the truth. There would be no baby, no happily-ever-after. Nigel had thrown away their future with his affair and from what she could tell, he’d done it without giving the consequences any thought.

She wanted to say Treasure had bewitched him, that he was under the influence of some sex drug and one day he would resurface. She wanted to believe that with counseling and therapy and maybe some kind of rehab program, her old husband could come back to her. The only problem was deep in her gut, she didn’t think he wanted to. Nigel liked who he was with Treasure and she couldn’t be with someone like that.