Flirting With Forever (8 page)

“You don’t strike me as a honkey tonk kind of woman.”

“Well, I am,” I lied, wishing he’d pull out his phone and scroll through the itinerary again, maybe watch a little Hulu. Something “They even wrote a song about me.”

“Honkey Tonk Woman.” He was amused and even though it was the Rolling Stones, I was surprised he knew the song, since it was released five years before I was born.

The cab picked up speed, heading at a steady clip to LaGuardia airport. I was almost ready to take out those black shoes I knew Jake liked so well, but it was too late. He looked at me like he was done with the bullshit. “Tara, this is a really big deal, if there’s something up—with your marriage, you need to tell me so I can be ready to go on the offensive if I need to.”

I saw the sign that said the airport was six miles away. That wasn’t enough time to explain everything, but Jake was right. The way things were stacking up, it would be better to have him as a partner than pissed off at me again, especially if his job depended on making the tour a success. “I’ll tell you on the plane.”

He shook his head. “You might be overheard. We’ll talk tonight at the hotel.”

I watched the wheels turn in his pretty head the whole way to Atlanta. There was no playful banter, no reassuring smiles, but there wasn’t an
oh shit
look either. We talked about innocuous things like sales and Erin. Jake had checked in on her that morning and said she was going to be released from the hospital tomorrow and was going to work out of her house for the rest of the week. I didn’t mention that I’d called her that morning too and had gotten the same scoop.

We checked into a hotel within walking distance to his friend’s office. I don’t know if he asked for adjoining rooms, but that’s what we had. “Are you hungry?” he asked. I shook my head, and I guess he wasn’t either. “Then I’ll give you a few minutes to settle in. Call me when you’re done.” I nodded and swiped the room key through the electronic lock. “Let’s get this over with, Tara, so I’ll know how to deal with it.”

I didn’t call him. I couldn’t. How was I going to tell him that the next twenty-eight days were probably going to be hell for both of us? It was after ten o’clock and I was almost asleep on top of the covers when he knocked softly on the adjoining door. I felt like a teenager who had gotten caught stealing the family car.

“Can I come in?” He was barefooted, dressed in gray sweat pants and an ancient Wisconsin t-shirt. He sat down on the couch, but I stood at the door with my back to him, wishing I could make a run for it. “Close the door, Tara, and talk to me.”

How was I going to tell this godlike man that I’d been dumped by my fifty-five-year-old husband, abandoned after fifteen years of marriage without so much as a fuck-you letter? I shook my head and sat down across from him swiping at the tears. “I can’t do this.”

“You can. I’ve watched you these last few days, you can do anything,” he said softly. I shook my head. Full-blown sobbing. He pulled me onto the couch and wrapped his arms around me. “You can’t keep this inside. Let it out.”

I could tell by the way Jake looked at me, especially when he took me shopping, that he thought I was attractive, but I am not, nor have I ever been, a pretty crier. We’re talking awful noises because I refuse to cry, avoid it at all costs. So when it does come, it’s big and ugly. I don’t know how long I cried, but Jake never let go of me, except to get another box of tissues out of the bathroom.

“Better?” he asked when I finally came up for air. I nodded and snarfed, which made him laugh.

“You’re right, Jake. I should have told you from the beginning.”

“That your husband’s out of the picture?”

I nodded, remembering the Hispanic man with Jim’s cellphone whom I’d tortured a couple of weeks ago. “Or out of the country. I don’t know. He left me.”

“Because of the book?” I looked at him. “Don’t be shocked, it’s not the first time an author became successful and their spouse couldn’t handle it.”

“You’ve had this before?”

“Not with an author of a marriage self-help book, that’s a first.” He smiled. “But you’re good at this, Tara. The romances you wrote aren’t bad either, and if you want to know the truth, I think you’re doing what you were meant to do. The question is, how do we spin this?”

“No, Jake.” Being an overnight insignificant celebrity was enough to take in, and telling Jake my husband had left me was bad. But sharing that little tidbit with the world made me want to throw up. “Jim took everything and stuck me with two huge mortgages. I have to do this tour. If you tell the world, I’ll go broke.”

“So you want me to hide this? From the world? You do know we have something called the Internet, right? It’s going to get out.”

“Everything in my life right now depends on making this work. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, Jake.”

He threaded his hands together and pressed them into the back of his neck. “All right. We’ll play it your way, but if there’s anything else you need to tell me, do it now so I can be prepared.” I shook my head and then stopped. “What else, Tara?”

“My dog died.” I pointed to the coffin beside the bed and started to cry again.

‡

I
didn’t know
much about Jake Randall, but one thing I had learned over the past couple of days is he lived and breathed by his itinerary. He pretended he didn’t like what he lovingly called the fucking itinerary, that it was something he would love to blow off at any given moment. But it was kind of fun to see him ramrod straight, that little muscle above his eye pulsing when I asked to deviate from the schedule for a half hour.

First up this morning,
breakfast 7:00a.m
. At seven on the dot, he knocked on my door. Jake’s a tall guy, maybe six four, so he looked funny pushing a squatty little room service cart. But he was gorgeous. Well-worn jeans. The black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest made me think he’d been a swimmer at one time. He looked so good, maybe he still swam. He ran a hand through his dark chestnut hair that turned up at the nape of his neck and then pushed the cart to the bench at the foot of my bed.

“Good morning. Hope you’re hungry.”

Even up until I left for New York, I was very married. If Jim had come home, regardless of my career, I’d probably have canceled the tour and would be back in Charlotte, trying to make amends instead of ogling Jake Randall. But who in their right mind wouldn’t?

I was sure wherever Jim was, he was moving on, so why shouldn’t I? Of course there was no chance for me with a guy like Jake, not for anything lasting. But a fling with a younger guy? Could be just what I needed to move on too. Could I actually do it? With fantasy Jake? Definitely. With the real Jake? No chance.

I wasn’t twenty-five,
or even thirty like Jake. The surprise party Jim and Marsha threw for me before Christmas confirmed I was old. Lots of party decorations with the same tired jokes about how very old forty was. They’d slipped a Does This Shirt Make Me Look Forty t-shirt on me and crowned me with an Over the Hill tiara. Don’t get me wrong, it was a fun night, and being saluted by a crowd of Jim’s friends who were in their fifties and sixties, I still felt young.

But looking at Jake Randall? Yep, I might be officially old, but when he smiled at me, my heart reminded me I wasn’t dead. And when his eyes slid over me, every molecule inside me tingled.

“Morning, Jake. Thanks for breakfast. You get demoted to hotel staff?”

He grinned and pushed the cart over to the bench at the end of the bed. “Are you going to sit and eat or just run that smart mouth of yours?” Well, I didn’t expect that. Playful Jake. In my bedroom, dangerously close to my bed. He took the little silver dome off of my breakfast—eggs, grits, toast, bacon—with the exception of the grits, a duplicate of what I had at the café the morning I met him. He had the same thing, sans grits.

“I guessed on the grits.” He pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down across from me.

I picked up
the carafe before he could and poured our coffee. “You guessed right. Can’t imagine why y’all don’t eat them up North.”

“They do, with cream and sugar.” He was smirking so hard, he could hardly get the fork in his mouth. “You can find anything in the city.”

“They. But not you?” Still smirking. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ve been waiting for your southern to come out with me. You turn it on with Erin and when you’re at the signings, but you act like you have to hide it with me.”

“I beg your pardon. I most certainly do not.”

“Relax. I like your southern.”

Okay, now I was blushing, heart beating ninety miles an hour. “I’m not sure I trust anybody who doesn’t like grits. Have you actually tried them?”

“Once. On spring break in Florida when I ran out of money. I still have nightmares.”

“Florida has so many Yankees, does it qualify as the South? I don’t think so. Nope, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve never had
real
Southern grits.”

“If the southernmost state in the union isn’t the Southern enough for you, then no, I haven’t had real grits. But I hated them so much, they made eating my flip flops sound good. Really good.”

“Bet I could make you like them.”

“I bet you could too.” He leveled me with a look that was all heat and then grinned that my face was ten shades of red. “You seem good this morning. After last night, I was a little worried.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t fall apart again or embarrass you today. And I won’t come between you and your itinerary.”

“Have you been talking to Erin?”

“Not saying.”

“Women. Think you know everything.” He drained his coffee cup. I could feel him fighting off the urge to pick up his phone. “You like baseball?”

“Hate it. Why?”

“I thought we might catch a Braves game tonight.”

“Are they your favorite team?”

“Well, they were the Milwaukee Braves to begin with, but no. I’m a Red Sox fan.”

“That must be hard for you, living in New York.”

“Bite me,” he said, and I couldn’t help thinking how very nice that might be.

We entered a
sterile-looking lobby and the guy at the information desk made a call to announce we were there. “Fifth floor. Suite two,” he said and went back to his computer screen.

“So, you’ve known Lou for a while?”

“Yep.”

When we entered the suite, a gorgeous woman about my age floated toward us, decked out in designer clothes and a blond hair cut in a style that required too much maintenance for my taste. She kissed Jake on the side of the face, and he returned her kiss. “Tara, this is Lou.”

“Hi, Tara. Jake’s told me all about you.” I wondered just how much Jake had told her and hoped he hadn’t filled her in on my life since my breakdown last night. Smiling, she looked me over. “Well, I can see we have a lot of work to do. Let’s get started.” She grabbed Jake’s hand and led him toward a conference room.

A lot of work? We’ll see about that.

The mock audience
lobbed up questions and comments from the book, and I slapped the answers back with the force of a Venus Williams’ backhand. Lou halted the action whenever she saw a teachable moment, and while part of me took in every word she said, the cavewoman side of my brain hated the way she said Jake’s name, like he belonged to her. Hated the way she stood behind him while she coached me, sometimes with her hands on his shoulders. Once she slid her palm down until it rested on his chest.

After six hours with barely a lunch break, Jake shrugged at Lou. “I think she’s got it.”

Lou looked at Jake like he was a gorgeous but silly boy. “Honey, you know this isn’t something you can learn overnight. You need every moment you can spare with me, and even then I’m not so sure she’ll be ready. Especially if her husband shows up.”

“Jake?” My heart stopped, then kicked into overdrive. “You told her?”

“We need to be ready for anything, Tara.”

“There is no we, Jake. It’s me, just me. I’m the one putting myself out there.” I’m the one who has to make this work.”

“You should be thanking me, Tara. I’m trying to help you and so is Jake.” Lou put her hand on his damn shoulders again. “Get your head out of your ass and be realistic for five minutes. You wrote a ridiculous book that made your husband angry enough to leave you. I can promise you at some point he’ll come back and try to make you pay dearly for it.”

“I’m done here.” I grabbed my purse and started for the door.

“Tara, wait.”

“Let her go.”

“Shut up, Lou,” Jake barked.

I ran to the elevator, and I hate elevators because they are never there when you want them to swallow you up and take you away. “Tara, we are in this together, but you’re right about being ready.”

Finally the doors opened. I stepped in and stabbed the button. Who did that snide bitch think she was? She didn’t know me and she sure as hell didn’t know Jim. Unfortunately, it appeared that she had known Jake, and quite well. I watched the numbers count down, ready to sprint for the street.

The door opened and I took off, losing one flip flop and then the other. I sprinted down the Peachtree Street sidewalk. The hotel was in sight and the crossing light was flashing, I started off the curb when Jake pulled me back. “Damn it, Tara, stop.”