Back in Service

Very! And it was exactly what she was in the mood for. A long parade of drinks, surrounded by happy partyers and the wild, wavy ocean. She’d sit by herself, looking mysterious and sultry, indulging memories she hadn’t allowed herself to call up for years, brooding and wallowing in emotional agony.

Then she’d sleep soundly in the apartment she shared with her best friend and be fine tomorrow. Chris would again be safely part of her past and she could really move on this time, having gotten this first post-relationship encounter over with and ending up unscathed.

An hour later, she was standing at the pier’s end, inhaling deeply, pulling her jacket around her for warmth against the stiff, salty wind. Of course she was much too sensible to get drunk. One beer and the crush of bodies around her had gotten annoying, the noise not conducive to proper misery. Her big scene, like most, played better in fantasy than in real life.

But she loved it out here, staring at the black sea, a whole world under there, not one single resident of which had gotten his or her heart crushed by Chris Hamilton.

They’d met in class her senior year. He was teaching a seminar on music and culture in Paris around the turn of the twentieth century. She’d thought he was hot from the first day. In fact, she and her girlfriends—including a new friend named Clarisse—had giggled and oohed and aahed and had a great time dissecting his every word, gesture and look. As crushes went, hers seemed particularly intense, but so what? He was a professor. She was a student. And never the twain shall sleep together.

They’d gotten to know each other through a shared love of all things French, had talked earnestly after class one day, then another, had gone out for croissants and café au lait. Then lunch at a French restaurant he particularly enjoyed...

Later they’d admit that they’d known what was happening, but since they hadn’t the slightest intention of doing anything about it, the attraction was harmless. What counted were the ideas they shared, their similar views and tastes and humor.

Ironically, the crossing of the line had happened because of Clarisse’s first “suicide attempt,” a low-risk grab for attention after a guy dumped her.

Eventually, Matty had realized Clarisse suffered from pretty serious mental issues. Compulsive lying, sociopathic tendencies and a deep need to screw her friends’ boyfriends. But at the time, Matty had been terrified and extremely upset. Who wouldn’t be? The woman had tried to take her own life!

Matty had called nine-one-one and ridden with Clarisse to the hospital. When she’d heard Clarisse was going to survive—of course she was—Matty had finally broken down, tears that wouldn’t stop. Walking home to her dorm, she’d run into Chris, returning from a Pomona orchestra concert. One look at her face and he’d invited her out for coffee. She hadn’t wanted to be out in public looking like hell. No problem, he’d drive her to his apartment, where he’d set up the spare bedroom if she wanted to stay over. They’d shared a bottle of wine. Talked until very, very late.

She’d never made it to the spare bedroom.

The next morning they’d agreed it could never happen again. They weren’t that kind of people. He was too old for her—more than ten years older. She was his student. An affair was wrong, and he could lose his job. They’d stay away from each other.

They couldn’t stay away from each other.

For the next six months they’d tried to break up, gotten back together, then did both again. All those agonies of longing and pain followed by the joys of giving in to temptation, the guilt, the fear—by the time Clarisse caught on and set her sights on Chris, Matty was frankly exhausted. When she’d caught them together, along with the pain there had been relief. Finally it was truly over. No more temptation. Because Matty understood what he was and how foolish she’d been.

Chris had come after her, he’d explained. He’d laid the blame on Clarisse. It wasn’t what it looked like, he’d sworn to her...

Please. It was always what it looked like.

Three weeks later, Clarisse took enough sleeping pills to look ill, but not really threaten her life, and Matty had known it was over for them, too. She’d waited, even telling herself she shouldn’t, but Chris hadn’t come looking for her again.

On the pier now, arms wrapped around herself, squinting into the wind, Matty thought about how she’d come such a long way since then. She’d built a good, rich life for herself. Dated a couple of guys seriously, though none who took her over the way Chris had.

Yes, she was comparing. She’d always been comparing.

But unfairly. Her feelings in college had been intensified by her youth and inexperience, by the lure of the forbidden, by the perfect bubble in which their encounters took place. She hadn’t met his friends, he hadn’t interacted with hers. They’d had no problems to cope with but the drama of their own taboo passion.

A tear made its way down her cheek. She flung it forward into the sea, sniffed angrily and turned to go home.

Enough. She’d done what she’d come here to do. Brooded. Remembered. Cried one beautiful tear. The actress side of her had been fed.

Now she’d do her father proud, march home, get up at 0700 hours and take on the next day of her life.

4

KENDRA PULLED INTO the parking lot at Villas of the Pacific, CD player blaring Adele’s “Don’t You Remember.” Villas? Really? She could have sworn they were apartment buildings. Nice ones, yes. But a villa needed a sprawling estate. Jameson didn’t quite fit that mold, but he’d also looked painfully out of place in his friend’s apartment, which was decorated with modern art, odd sculptures and plants. Jameson belonged in a more traditionally masculine interior, all leather and dark wood, books and model fighter jets, one plant, always about to die...

She found a visitor spot and turned off the engine, sat for a moment in the sudden silence, annoyed at herself for being nervous. Hadn’t she been through all this after her visit here the day before? Yes, she had. Going forward she’d continue bypassing Jameson’s obnoxious behavior, understanding that it came from his pain and anger. She’d focus only on how she could help him. And she’d ignore the...complication.

Finding herself a teeny, tiny bit attracted to Jameson after all these years did not mean the world was about to end. He was an attractive man. So what? He was also an entitled jerk, who happened to be in a terrible situation and needed Kendra’s help. Kendra had agreed to help him because...quite honestly, she was curious. Who was this guy now? Who had he always been? Why had he chosen her to make miserable for so long?

One thing she had definitely decided—no more massages. Yikes. Not that his erection had been significant. He was a guy, one who probably hadn’t had any in a long time. His reaction had undoubtedly surprised him as much as it had her, especially after so many years of rather juvenile enmity between them.

Out of the car, she took a moment to gaze over the red-tiled roofs and palm trees toward the rust-colored cliffs that dropped to the edge of the vast Pacific. Blue sky today, a good breeze—the sight calmed and filled her as it always did. She could bring beauty and positive feelings and hope back into Jameson’s life if he would let her. She’d focus on that. The erection, not so much.

Today’s goal: clean the apartment, cook him a healthy meal. Push him gently to talk about his situation. Duck when he threw things at her. Maybe throw a few things back.

Kendra turned to unload the groceries and cleaning supplies she’d brought for this visit, one bag of each. Above all, she’d stay cheerful and brisk in spite of his sarcasm and cranky bad-boy mood, intent on what she was there to accomplish. She was not the same cowed high school kid having to fake self-confidence. She had the real thing now.

At the entrance to Jameson’s building, she balanced one bag on her hip and the other on a raised knee, trying to free up a hand to push the buzzer. Her finger had almost made it when a guy pushed out the door and let her in with a warm smile. Well. Looked like she’d catch Jameson by surprise again. She’d called that morning and left a message after another client canceled a late-afternoon meeting, letting him know she’d have time for him today. He hadn’t called back to say he wouldn’t be in or didn’t want to see her, so here she was.

On the second floor she turned right and strode down the cream hallway, enlivened by dark green carpeting and prints of landscape paintings on the walls. At his door she balanced the bags again and knocked, four fast raps, I’m here, ready or not, then stepped back to wait, bright smile in place.

Nothing.

Was he home? Had he planned to be out just to annoy her?

A noise inside. Her heart gave a little flip and she scoffed at herself. Still scared of the big bully, Kendra?

The door opened.

Whoa.

Jameson had cleaned up. Gone was the stubble, ditto the greasy hair and wrinkled clothes. He looked really good.

Really good.

Unwrinkled navy-and-white Air Force T-shirt over neat khaki shorts. Great legs, scarred on one knee. Awesome chest.

Had she referred to him as an attractive man?

She’d lied. He was smoking hot.

And he was standing there, stone-faced, staring at her. Was she gawking? Well, yeah, but she didn’t think it was that obvious.

“Come in.” He stepped back to let her pass.

“Hello, Jameson.” She pushed through the door. First thing that hit her was the absence of crap strewn all over the living room. “Wow, you cleaned.”

“Mike has a service.” He seemed taller today? Maybe he was just standing straighter. In any case, he already looked 100 percent better, and Kendra hadn’t even started her program yet. Matty would be happy.

“Looks like you resumed your human form.” She smiled at him, cheerful nurse, big sister, teacher, counselor, whatever kind of person would not want to have wild sex with him all over the apartment. “Did you get my message?”

“What’s in the bags?” He took one from her, apparently possessing at least some gentlemanly tendencies.

“That’s cleaning stuff, obviously not necessary now. This one is groceries.”