Dates And Other Nuts (17 page)

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Dates And Other Nuts
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“You sure? It seems there are a lot of things left unsaid between us.”
“I'm sure.”
Now it was his turn to find the tabletop fascinating. “I've thought a lot about what happened that night in Houston.” Craig drew a deep breath. “If you want my opinion, it's been too long coming.”
Temple weighed the mixture of feelings inside her. Then, as if Grams were speaking to her audibly, she heard the words: Take a chance, Tootie.
“I'm scared of what happened, Craig.” She turned her water glass around, watching the rings it made on the tablecloth. “Lately...I have dreams. About you. And me.”
He smiled, letting that dimple wink in his cheek. “So? I've had the same dreams.”
She glanced up. “You have?”
“Temple, why does what happened between us bother you so much? Wasn't it good for you?”
Her face warmed with embarrassment. “Of course it was. It was ... wonderful, but things changed that night.”
“Nothing changed.”
“I don't want to lose what we have,” she said quietly.
His features were solemn. “Neither do I.”
She straightened her silverware; smoothed the napkin, making sure the hems were even.
“Craig, let's forget that night ever happened.” She made herself meet his gaze. Was there disappointment there? Or relief? “If we don't let it change things, then it won't. We can put this behind us. Forget it ever happened. Be ourselves again.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It's the only way to get back to normal.”
Craig sat quietly, thinking about the proposal. She drank water she didn't want.
“Craig.”
“Yes.”
“Even if I want things to be different, you understand it just can't be.”
His gaze held hers, and she felt herself weakening.
Okay, so Nancy's out of the way, and I'm still scared.
Picking up her glass, she worked at keeping her tone light. “To us, and to normalcy,” she toasted.
He hesitated, but finally touched his glass to hers. “To normalcy.”
They ate dinner and carried on a nearly regular conversation. He told her about his date with Celia, and she told him about the date with Brian and they managed to laugh together.
“Temple,” he said a while later, “I want your promise that you won't arrange any more dates for me. As of tonight, I'm officially off the dating circuit.”
She frowned. “Are you sure?”
“I've never been more sure of anything. Tomorrow, I'm serving notice to my friends that I'll find my own dates from now on. If I have another date from hell it'll be of my own choosing.”
“Yeah...well, I guess the same goes for me. The Ricky incident capped it off for me.”
“I should hope so.”
“I didn't want to go, but I let myself be persuaded. I should have paid attention to my intuition. From now on, I will.”
Lifting his glass, he toasted her. “To no more blind dates.”
“Hear, hear.”
“I have to admit you're a big improvement over my recent dates,” Craig said as he walked her to her truck later.
“Yeah. I'm glad we're back to normal.”
“So am I.” He leaned down and briefly touched his lips to hers.
“I'm glad we got this settled.”
“So am I.” Standing on tiptoe, she returned his kiss. Their lips touched once, twice, then came back together hungrily.
For a moment, the world faded as his lips explored hers. Murmuring his name incoherently, she pressed closer and closer, realizing this was hardly a friendly peck between friends.
His hands dropped to her hips and pulled her flush against him. She felt the devastating effect she was having on him. He was having the same effect on her, and she knew it had to stop now or there wouldn't be any stopping. She would drag him home to her bed like a cavewoman and he wouldn't see daylight for days.
“I have to go,” she whispered, breaking away abruptly.
He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Me, too.”
As she drove away, Temple knew nothing was back to normal. It never would be again.
13
T
HE SILVERADO SAT in its usual place every day the next week. Squarely on the line between the two parking places. Craig had to squeeze the Lincoln into his spot as best he could. At least that much was normal.
On Thursday, when they still hadn't had their usual race for the space, he squeezed out of his car. As he passed Temple's truck, he laid a hand on the hood. Cool. She'd been in for at least an hour. The truce they'd agreed to hadn't made any difference. She was still avoiding him.
Giving Flo the high sign as he passed the car rental booth, Craig strode quickly to the staff lounge. Scotty was already there, a cup of coffee, a checkbook and a pile of envelopes in front of him. Pouring himself some coffee, Craig observed dryly in his best “Twilight Zone” imitation, “For your consideration, Jim Scott, pilot. Checkbook. Pile of envelopes. Frown. It is... the first of the month.”
“Forget the ‘Twilight Zone.' This is more a David Copperfield thing,” Scotty retorted. “The trick is seeing how far the ole paycheck will stretch. This month, I don't think it's going to stretch far enough.”
Craig took a chair across from his copilot. “A wife, three kids, a mortgage, car payments. How do you do it?”
Scotty closed the checkbook and stuffed the envelopes into his jacket pocket. “It's not easy, but Steph and I think she needs to be home with the kids right now.”
Looking away, Craig's features clouded.
“Something bothering you?” Scotty asked.
“Not really.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Temple?”
Shrugging, Craig stared at the cup as if analyzing it.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No, not yet.”
Scotty briefly rested a hand on Craig's shoulder as he got up. “You know where I am. Shoulder's free.”
Scotty went to mail his monthly payments. Craig was staring at his cooling coffee and brooding when Temple walked in a few moments later.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Any plans for tonight?”
Surprised, he glanced up. “Tentative. You?”
“I'm filling in for Janeanne on a Chicago flight. Did Susan call you?”
The muscle in Craig's jaw thightened. “No more dates, Temple. That's gospel.”
“I know we agreed, but I'm in a bind,” she told him. “Susan cornered me yesterday. We'd talked some time ago about, well, setting up something with you. She kind of pinned me down for tonight.”
“No.”
Temple poured a half cup of coffee and sipped it hesitantly. “Is that a flat no, or a semi-flat no?”
Hell. What's the use, he thought. Obviously she wasn't really ready to let this thing between them, whatever it was, develop into anything.
“What's she look like?”
The question obviously took Temple by surprise. Apparently, she was expecting him to hold out, plead burnout, tell her to lay off.
That's the problem, he thought. We've always had this “best buddy” thing working, use each other for an excuse to get out of a date or to come to the rescue—like the Ricky Lawrence incident—and now she's taking me for granted. I'm always around when she needs me. I'm too available. As for the other night, who the hell knew what she was thinking.
Glancing at his watch, he stood. “It's getting late.”
“What do I tell Susan?”
He reached for his sunglasses and slid them on. “Tell her to wear a red dress if she has one.”
 
SUSAN WAS A KNOCKOUT. Tall, blond, sense of humor and legs that wouldn't quit.
Craig had to admit she tried hard to please. He couldn't seem to make the effort at small talk so she'd carried most of the conversation during dinner.
He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but failed. His thoughts were on Temple. Her flight to Chicago was predicted to hit some heavy snow in the Midwest. She was flying in an ATR twin-engine turboprop. The Frenchmade commuter had been experiencing problems with icing recently. A debate was ongoing whether or not to ground the plane during inclement weather.
Why worry, Stevens? She'll be down by midnight, the storm isn't due until closer to morning. The pilot's experienced. Since when did flying cause you reason for alarm?
“Dinner was wonderful. Is this a favorite place of yours?”
Craig pulled his thoughts back to Susan. She was beautiful, intelligent, worked for two of the city's prominent attorneys. The evening was turning out to be pleasant, so why was he finding it so hard to concentrate?
“The Bird's Nest? Actually, Temple found this restaurant. She's partial to their prime rib.”
Susan leaned forward, smiling, her inquisitive green eyes meeting his. “You've known Temple a long time?”
“A long time.” His gaze returned to the window to study the bank of low clouds moving in.
Stop worrying about her, Stevens. She's okay.
A couple of hours later, he paid the bar tab while Susan went to the rest room. The evening had gone smoothly. The first date in a month that hadn't been a disaster. The news should make Temple happy.
Susan had come in a cab so he'd offered to take her home. Afterward, he'd go work out at the gym.
When the valet brought the Lincoln around, Susan let out a squeal. “Ohhhh, a Lincoln!”
Startled, Craig turned to look at her and missed the door handle. They had just spent four-plus pleasant hours together. She hadn't giggled, snickered, prattled or yakked once.
But now she'd squealed. He'd heard it.
“Oh, I love it!” She ran a hand over the smooth finish on the fender. “May I drive it?”
The request caught him off guard. “Well—”
“Oh, thank you! I adore these big luxury cars. They're so cool to drive. Know what I mean?”
He didn't. Didn't have a clue, actually, but he acquiesced and climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled his seat belt.
As they pulled away from the curb, Susan deftly merged with the traffic and he relaxed. She seemed to know what she was doing. Maybe she just had a fetish for big cars.
She moved smoothly with the traffic flow, eventually drifting into the fast lane. The speedometer needle was on fifty when she suddenly drifted across the center line, heading straight for an oncoming car.
He lunged for the wheel, cursing. The car lurched sharply.
Righting himself, he looked over at her. “What are you doing?”
The RPM needle shot upward as she looked back at him.
When she didn't say anything, he grabbed her arm to get her attention and emphasize his words. “What are you doing? Keep your eyes on the road!” he yelled over the engine's zoar.
Shrugging, she appeared to concentrate, and he sat back in the seat again, eyeing her sourly.
“Sorry.”
“No problem,” he murmured. Mistakes happen. He thought of the synonym he could have used and deemed it more appropriate.
They had gone another five miles when she did it again. Quick reflexes were all that saved them from having a head-on with a semi.
The engine roared like a jet as they barreled down the highway, still straddling the center line.
“What are you doing?” he yelled.
She glanced at him idly. “What?”
“You're going to kill us both. Get in your lane!” He gestured to an emergency-stop area. “Pull over!” He'd had enough!
Calmly drifting back into her lane, she maneuvered through the traffic toward the ramp.
When the car stopped, he looked at her, shaken. “Why did you do that?”
“I don't know.” she shrugged. “I guess I wasn't thinking.”
“Drifting into the opposite lane—that's suicidal.”
She seemed nonplussed. “Sorry.”
“Do you want me to drive?”
“No,” she said, looking offended. “I can drive.”
“All right. But keep your mind on the road.”
Flipping down the visor to reveal a lighted mirror, she checked her lipstick. “Will you want to have sex?”
His mouth fell open and his mind went blank.
She glanced at him, still smoothing her lipstick. “Well?”
“Um, I hadn't thought about it.” He did now, and he didn't want it. Not with her.
“I'm agreeable.”
He glanced behind them and indicated for her to pull back into the traffic. “Keep driving.”
“I'm into handcuffs and chains,” she said.
“What?”
She flipped the visor back into place, checked the traffic, then drove onto the freeway. “Do you have any fetishes? Feet do anything for you?”
He began searching for the nearest exit.
“Pull off here.”
She whipped off the freeway and he managed to brace himself enough to avoid whiplash. They were approaching a traffic signal when he felt the car surge.
“The light's turning red!” he shouted.
“I can beat it.” She gunned through the intersection. As they passed beneath the signal, his entire life flashed before his eyes.
“Stop!”
She slammed on the brakes, which nearly propelled him through the windshield again. Ashen-faced, he gripped the dash with white knuckles. Sweat trickled down his temples. The fish he ate for dinner soured in his stomach.
He drew a deep breath, and struggled to control his voice. “What are you doing?”
She looked at him innocently. “You said ‘pull off here.”'
He leaned back, wiping sweat off his brow.
“Do you wear glasses?”
“Yes, but not when I drive,” she said crossly. She pulled back onto the road. “You should have said you're nervous in traffic. I would have slowed down. Here. Is this slow enough for you?”
By the time they reached her apartment building, she had slowed to the point that cars were honking and flashing lights as they swerved around them.
Driving two miles an hour, she carefully turned the car into the driveway of her apartment building. Spotting an empty parking space, she flipped on the blinker.
The blinker. Now she puts on the blinker, he thought crossly.
Susan stopped the car, judiciously eyeing the parking space.
Finally maneuvering the big car into the space, she failed to straighten the wheels.
Instead of turning off the engine, she rummaged through her purse, fishing out her keys.
She checked her makeup in the visor mirror again. His hands clenched into fists.
Reaching into the back seat for her coat, she rummaged in a pocket.
His nerves were raw.
“The...blinker... is...on,” he said, emphasizing each word.
“Hmm?”
He gritted his teeth. “You forgot to turn off the blinker.”
“Okay.” She flipped off the lights.
“The lights go off automatically.”
“Okay.” She flipped them back on. “So—want to come up?”
“I don't think so.”
“You sure?”
He was positive.
Unlocking his apartment door a half hour later, he tossed his keys onto the coffee table and noticed the message light on his answering machine blinking.
Pushing the play button, he listened to Scotty's message, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
“If you're there, Craig, pick up.” A momentary silence. “Look, uh, Temple's in trouble. You knew she took Janeanne's flight to Chicago. There's bad weather. It came in earlier than expected and they've run into trouble. Knew you'd want to know. I'm at the tower keeping an eye on things. Hope this is over by the time you get home, buddy.”
Craig turned on his heel, and headed back out the door, scooping up his keys on the way. Ten minutes later, he was speeding toward the airport.
Scotty met him at the door of the tower. Behind him Craig could see three men huddled around a table. A fourth was on the phone.
“What's going on?”
Scotty's voice was tight with tension. “Temple's ATR is hanging over Chicago. Heavy air traffic has put them in a holding pattern. There are a dozen planes they're trying to get down while they still can. The plane is experiencing heavy icing—”

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