Bad Boy (26 page)

“I don’t know. I watched Beth get ready for her date, and then you had to rush off to Phil, and it seemed like everyone had someone but me. And I thought of Peter. I know I shouldn’t even think about him,” Laura admitted, her voice full of pain. “I know that. But . . .”

“I know,” Tracie echoed, putting her arm across Laura’s shoulder. “It’s hard to be alone in a world of couples. I hope that Phil and I don’t make you feel left out. I’d hate that.”

“No. No. You never make me feel like the third wheel. It’s so nice that you’d even have me here.” She paused. “It got really bad in Sacramento.” Laura made a little choking noise. “You know, I don’t want Peter back. It was just hearing Phil’s snore that somehow made me so lonely.” She paused, and Tracie could see a single tear roll down Laura’s cheek. “I wanted to be next to my own snorer,” Laura said, then sniffed. “So sue me.”

“I won’t sue you this time,” Tracie told her, “but I am going to tell you that you have to give up the reruns of
Quincy.
Jack’s a bad influence on you. You know, Mr. Bill at my video store won’t let me watch
Love with the Proper Stranger
anymore.”

“He won’t?”

“Nope. And that’s a good thing. You have to get out there again. Oddly enough, you’re
_p. 257
not likely to meet anybody in front of my TV or in my kitchen.”

“You may have a point there,” Laura admitted.

Tracie moved her hand to Laura’s two and rubbed them. They were big and warm and capable, just like Laura. “Come on,” Tracie said. “Don’t you think it’s time you decided to stay up here? Look for a job?”

^:
’Well, I already went to one interview,” Laura said hopefully.

“It’s a start,” Tracie told her. “And let me make you an appointment with Stefan to add some streaks to your hair. It’ll be fun.”

“Hey, what do you say if just this once we make farm cakes? I know how you love them.” She took one look at Tracie’s expression and backed off. “Okay. Okay. Just a pan of brownies from a box.”

“I ate and ate and got sick on the floor. So eight times eight is sixty-four,” Tracie sang as she got up to go to the kitchen. “And then we sit here on the sofa together and watch
Barnaby Jones
or whatever else is on.”

“Really?” Laura asked, her voice full of enthusiasm again.

“Sure. Maybe you could wean yourself off Klugman with Buddy Ebsen,” Tracie told her. “Think of Buddy as the patch. Did I tell you Jon wanted his nickname to be Bud?” Tracie asked, then wondered again for a minute what Jon was doing at that moment.

“Bud? You’re dreaming, right?” Laura asked, and they both giggled in the darkness.

_p. 258
Jon sat in one of his beanbag chairs, his helmet in his lap and with what he knew was a dopey look on his face. He couldn’t get the half smile off his face, despite the fact there was a big Parsifal project meeting that afternoon
‌
—unprecedented for a Saturday
‌
—and he wasn’t prepared to lead it. Instead of focusing on the next steps he and his staff had to take on Parsifal, he was replaying moments from the night before over and over.

Beth had been an enthusiastic partner, but a little too athletic and fast-tempoed. Jon had put his hands on her and slowed her down the way you would with a nervous dog. Every time she wanted to jump to some new position, he’d reminded her with his hands and his tongue
‌
—and sometimes by pressing his chest against her
‌
—to take it slower. He wanted her to savor each stroke, each caress, each flick of the tongue.

And, once she relaxed, she seemed to enjoy herself. He could tell that she’d had plenty of experience, but he thought she was probably more practiced at pleasing men than at taking her own pleasure. The first time they’d made love, he’d come far too quickly. But that had given him the advantage when they made love the second time, and using his hand as
_p. 259
well as long, slow strokes, he’d been able to make her come.

At least he thought so. Jon sighed. The night with Beth had given him a new attitude. He was surprised that it didn’t really bother him that he didn’t know her very well and didn’t think that he’d like her too much when he did. What they had done had just been healthy and fun, but the only thing he didn’t like about sex with an almost stranger was that you could never be sure if your partner had come or not. With his last girlfriend, they had had an agreement that she wouldn’t fake it. He hoped Beth hadn’t, but he couldn’t know for sure. Jon looked around the table in his office, imagining the faces of his department staff, who in the next half hour would all be sitting there looking at him. Not one of them, he guessed, would feel as good, as relaxed, as he did at that moment. Or as unmotivated. Or as unprepared. He hoped that they had not been goofing off as much as he had.

As the meeting time approached, he couldn’t keep his mind on the matters at hand. Visions from the previous night kept coming back to him: his hand moving down Beth’s back into the hollow right above the swell of her hips; the way her eyelids flickered when he moved his hand slowly from her neck to her breast. He moved his tongue against his top lip and then thought about her nipples and how they’d felt against his lips. He felt a stirring in his trousers and realized he better focus on
_p. 260
Parsifal, since he’d have to stand up for a good part of the meeting.

Beth was nice enough, but kind of silly. If he wasn’t playing the game by Tracie’s rules, he didn’t know what they would talk about. Yet he felt a tug toward the phone. He wanted to call her. No, he didn’t want to talk to her; he just wanted to meet her somewhere for an instant replay.

More and more, he was coming to understand that all was fair in love and war. It wasn’t that his father or Phil didn’t like the women they hooked up with. They just didn’t like them enough. Sex with a stranger
‌
—and Jon knew that Beth was a virtual stranger
‌
—could be a lot of fun, but afterward there wouldn’t be much to say.

His phone rang again, but, as Tracie had warned him, he didn’t answer it. That was really putting a crimp in his professional life, but, remembering the previous night, he knew it was worth it. Jon grinned. The thought that he could do it again gave him a little thrill. He thought of the women that were coming to the meeting today: Elizabeth, Cindy, and Susan. He certainly wouldn’t mess with anyone who worked for him, but Samantha
‌
—she was a different story. Jon wondered if his new look might work on Samantha. His phone rang again, but again he ignored it. His assistant was calling everyone to remind them about the meeting. Again the phone rang. Annoyed, he got up to check the caller ID and realized it was Tracie.

_p. 261
He reached out to pick up the receiver and then stopped. He was embarrassed. He knew Tracie. She wasn’t a reporter for nothing. She’d question him on every detail, and somehow it would feel bad to tell Tracie how much he’d enjoyed her friend Beth. It would, however, be equally wrong to pretend that he hadn’t enjoyed being with her. He sat back down on the beanbag, and as it gave a sigh of escaping air, so did he. In a way, he owed last night to Tracie and many nights to come. Somehow, though, he really didn’t want to talk about it with her.

He’d left Beth’s apartment, just as he’d been instructed to do, but shouldn’t he eventually call her? Tracie was going too far with that. Still, what she had prescribed had worked. And if he was honest with himself, he knew he didn’t actually want a relationship with Beth. So what was he going to do? Tell Beth he’d like to see her again just for sex? Lie to Tracie and pretend the sex hadn’t happened? Betray Beth and tell her it did?

Lauren, his assistant, stuck her head into the office. “George says he doesn’t have the time line ready,” she told him. Jon was out of the chair in a minute. “Goddamn it! How can we schedule each work step without the time line?” he asked. “We’re counting on it.”

Lauren shrugged. “He says he tried to call you but that he didn’t get you.”

“Well, he didn’t leave a message,” Jon said. What he didn’t say was that he had rigged his voice mail so that it would always say his
_p. 262
message box was full. Lauren shrugged again and disappeared. Shit, Jon thought. While he was getting laid, Parsifal was getting screwed.

He had to review his E-mail, get a copy of the database report, and check his new voice mail messages. Even though Tracie had told him to get rid of voice mail, he couldn’t do it at work. Since he was used to getting half a dozen phone calls at home from Micro/Con people, just aborting his home system was traumatic. And using the filled-mailbox ploy was dangerous. Look at what had happened with George and the time line. He got on the phone and began to listen, a pen ready. “You have twenty-seven new messages.” Jon groaned. It would take him until the meeting just to clear the messages.

The first message was from Tracie. “I called you at home, but you didn’t pick up. Are you depressed? How did it go? Call me.”

The second one was also from Tracie. “I’ve tried you about four times at home again. I’m dying to know how it went. Look, she’s not worth getting upset over. There will be others.”

Jon had to smile at that, though he felt a little guilty for not having called her. The third call was from his mother. “Hi, Jonathan. I know you must be working very hard, but I wanted to talk to you. It’s not very important, but if you have a spare moment, give me a call.”

_p. 263
Oooh. He hadn’t seen or talked to his mom since Mother’s Day. Of course, she thought he was busy with work, as he usually was. He told himself he’d call her back that evening.

The fourth call was also from Tracie, but it was from that morning. “Where are you?” she said. “Come on. Call me. I’m at work. I haven’t heard from Beth yet. I hope you didn’t murder her.” The next call was really breathy, and for a moment he thought it was Tracie again, fooling around. Then he realized it was Beth.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Last night was . . . well, you know what last night was. Where did you go? Thanks for leaving your number. Call me.” Jon hunched his shoulders guiltily. Tracie had been very clear that he shouldn’t reveal where he worked or give out his number, but when he’d snuck out of Beth’s bedroom, he’d felt so guilty that he had left his Micro/Con number and he’d rigged the phone so that anyone calling in wouldn’t necessarily know that it was Micro/Con. He sighed. This was all so much more complicated than he had imagined.

Jon repressed a grin and listened to the rest of his messages. There were four more from Tracie, each one making him feel more guilty, and two more from Beth. He wasn’t the only one who called over and over again. Obviously, women did it, too; it was just that they had never done it to him until now.

His other messages were from George and some of his own staff members. All the news
_p. 264
was bad. Jon was almost finished with the lot when there was a new woman’s voice on the phone. “Hi, this is Ruth. We met at REI. Remember?”

Jon’s eyes widened as he stared at the machine. How could I forget? he thought. “I hope you’re okay,” she was saying. “You know, I panicked on a climb myself. Anyway, if you’d like to get together and have a cup of coffee or something, I’d like to see you. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t leave my number. I’ll just call you back later.”

Holy shit! Jon was too shocked to listen to the rest of his messages. He couldn’t believe it. Tracie wasn’t just smart; she was the Goddess of Love. He would have to call her, despite his embarrassment, and he’d have to ask her what to do about Beth and Ruth. Maybe he didn’t have to see Beth again. He could just move on to Ruth. After all, she’d called him. That might make it even easier. Of course, he didn’t want to hurt Beth, but he figured he didn’t have much in common with a Seattle club girl. Not that there was going to be much in common between him and an REI mountain climber girl. But who knew?

Jon dialed Tracie, but her line was busy and he didn’t want to leave a message. What would he say? Mission accomplished? Lafayette, I was there? Best to see her in person, but when the beep sounded, he panicked and started rambling. “Tracie, I need to cancel our Sunday brunch. I’m swamped at work but I do have
_p. 265
a progress report to turn in. Can you see me Monday night after work?”

He hung up the phone and went over to his terminal, trying to pull the Parsifal project together. He was whipping up E-mails in a frenzy when Samantha appeared in the doorway behind him. He saw her reflection in the terminal.

“Jon, do you have a minute?”

Jon allowed himself to look up at her, but only for a moment. “Actually, not right now,” he said. “I’m kind of busy.” He bowed his head, trying to hide a little smile. Did a man’s luck just change completely with the roll of dice or a roll in the hay? It couldn’t be, could it?

“I . . . I just wanted to apologize again for that mix-up.”

“What mix-up would that be?” he asked. The phone rang. Yes! “Excuse me for a second, Sam.” He picked up the phone. When he heard the voice again, he felt it was too good to be true. “Oh, hi, Ruth. Sure. I remember you.” Unbelievable! How could he be so lucky? He could talk to Ruth while Sam watched. There
was
a God. “Well, actually, I haven’t been climbing since,” he told Ruth while he watched Sam’s reflection. “No. I’d like to. With you. That’d be great. See you then, Ruth.” He hung up the phone.

“Sorry,” he said, turning to Sam, but then remembered he wasn’t supposed to apologize for anything.

“That’s okay,” she said, and took a tentative step into his office. “Anyway, you know
_p. 266
that Saturday we were supposed to get together?”

“When was that?” he asked, vividly remembering the night he’d stood in the rain.

“Oh, it’s not important.” He thought she blushed. Was it possible? Had
he
made the beautiful Samantha, homecoming queen of the marketing group, blush? “Well, what I mean,” she continued, “is maybe we could get together tonight.”