In Love and War (8 page)

Quickly beating two more eggs, Ariela was just pouring them into the pan when she heard something odd behind her.
She turned and caught Jean shaking with the giggles so hard she was having trouble keeping egg on her fork.

Ariela scowled. “What the hell is up with you?”

Jean waved off the question and looked down, avoiding Ariela’s eyes, but her shoulders were bouncing violently when she succumbed to another fit of giggles.

“You’re really mean sometimes. Do you know that?” Ariela snapped.

“I can’t help it.” Jean said, apologetically, if not necessarily sincerely. “I think I need a napkin.”

Ariela thrust a paper towel at her. “Tell me what's so flipping funny.”

“All of us.” Jean seemed to be fighting to get herself under control. “It was like slow motion.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Were you able to finish?”

“Are you
insane
? You guys standing there in the doorway, staring, was a real mood killer. Dylan went home right after you left.”

“I’m sorry.” Finally—she looked it.

“Well, you didn’t screw up my climax, but poor Dylan was another story. I think it was pretty tough on him.”

“I can imagine.”

“Please don’t.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry.”

“So, you obviously like him
.” Jean was blatantly trolling for more details. Best friends were entitled.

Ariela turned off the pan and got a fresh plate out of the cabinet.
“It’s worse than that,” she admitted with a heavy sigh. “I'm actually starting to care about Dylan already. I’m out of my element here. No one has ever invaded my mental and physical space like he has. I can’t get him out of my head. This trip of his is going to be torture when all I can think about is being with him again. It’s good he’s leaving. I need to step back and get my emotions under control.”

Dropping into her
chair, Ariela stared at her plate. She could feel Jean silently studying her for a moment before she got up, squeezed Ariela's shoulder, and went to pour two glasses of orange juice. She set Ariela’s in front of her then returned to her own place at the table.

“Thanks,
” Ariela said softly.

Jean
allowed her to eat for a few minutes before her impatience burst. “Well? Are you going to tell me how good the sex was or not?”

Ariela looked up. “I didn’t know you expected me to.”

Jean kicked the leg of Ariela's chair.

Holding up her hands in surrender,
Ariela laughed. “Okay, okay.” She could feel her face flare. “It was so good, so right. We connected.” She looked at her friend expressively. “Really connected, on every level imaginable. It felt right—incredibly, deliciously right.”

“Oh my god!
You’re falling for him.” Jean stared, wide-eyed.

Ariela’s stomach gave a sickening lurch and she set her fork down and slid the plate away. “
Hardly,” she lied, hoping denial made it true. “No. I’m willing to admit I have a very intense crush on Dylan, but that’s it.”

Jean shook her slice of toast at her.
“A crush? You’re not thirteen anymore, Ariela.”

She picked up her juice, holding the glass in front of her heart like a shield.
“That’s my point. I’m not going to confuse my feelings for something else, something more now. That stupid trusting kid is long gone.”

They
looked at each other, both remembering how it felt to rush headlong into emotional confessions prematurely. It hurt, deeper than expected, when it didn’t turn out the way they’d hoped. Caution was a hard lesson to learn, even as a teen. It stayed with you.

Taking a much needed swallow,
Ariela set her glass down harder than intended. “Why am I driving myself crazy over him right now anyway? He’s going back to Iraq tomorrow morning. Nothing, I’m serious, nothing is happening between us until he’s stateside for good. I’m not going to put myself through that.”

Jean glanced up from spreading jelly on her toast with the back of a spoon.
“And he’s okay with your terms?”

“
He said this is his last trip.”

“
Then what are you so worried about?”

“
I wish I knew.”

Chapter 7

Ariela didn
’t expect Dylan to call her Sunday. He’d told her he’d be busy. Still, when he didn’t phone, she moped around the apartment. She’d never felt so unsettled, so restless and conflicted in her life. What was wrong with her? They’d seen each other twice! Three times if she stretched it to include the accident. Where was her backbone? Had she taken complete leave of her senses when she slept with him yesterday? That wasn’t her! She’d thrown all caution to the wind. Not good.

Deep in her gut, she knew it was wise to keep him at a distance. At least until he was working stateside permanently. He
’d been so cavalier about wearing flak jackets and dodging bullets when he’d talked about his job. Bullets! That conversation, right there, should have been his elimination round. Instead, she was depressed because he hadn’t called.

The funk of misery and self-pity hung heavy in the apartment. Jean suggested they go out to lunch
—her treat. Ariela declined then sulked over her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That was apparently the last straw for Jean. She left.

When Ariela finally went to bed, earlier than usual, she kept her phone close on the off
chance that Dylan might still call. She lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, arguing with herself. Of course, she knew she could have called him, but then she would have looked ridiculous. You can’t tell a guy he doesn’t have a shot with you then pursue him anyway!

Besides, there was something distasteful about chasing him, not to mention
her grandmother’s old rules died hard. Ariela wasn’t about to make a spectacle of herself. She wanted Dylan to miss her enough to make the effort. It would be incredibly reassuring if he did. If he didn’t, well, then she’d know where she stood so she could adjust her expectations accordingly.

It was surprising how exhausting disappointment could be. When Ariela finally gave in to the pull of sleep—and she’d fought it hard—it was so deep, she might have been drugged.

Ariela slogged her way back to consciousness hours later, her phone pressed against her cheek. It was the soft yet persistent sound coming out if it that finally roused her. She cracked an eye open and saw the clock. A quarter to six in the morning? Shifting the phone to her ear, she mumbled incoherently.

“Ariela, are you there yet? Come on, honey. Wake up.” There was chuckling on the other end of the line.

“Dylan?” she croaked, her first word of the day.

“Yeah, it’s me. I realize there are a lot better ways to wake a woman from a sound sleep, but this will have to do for now. I couldn’t leave without hearing your voice again.”

“Where are you?”

“At the airport.
I’m just about to board. Since this is the last chance I get to talk to you before international charges apply, I wanted to seize it.”

“I waited all yesterday for a call,” she whispered.

Dylan's tone softened with regret. “I’m sorry. I thought calling would be a mistake. I wanted to believe it was a good idea to slow things down a little, take a step back, and give us both time to breathe. It should have been easier not to call.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

She smiled sleepily and hugged her extra pillow to her chest. “Good.”

“Listen, they’re kicking the doorstops out of the way, so I have to go. I’ll send you an e-mail. Watch for it, if not late tomorrow, the next day.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

The phone went silent in her hand. Ariela set it on the bedside table and drifted back to sleep, feeling better now that they’d talked. Her relief didn't last. Less than ten minutes later she jerked awake with a cry of anguish, her heart hammering in her chest. She’d dreamed Dylan’s plane was hit by rocket fire and sent into a dizzying spin before it crashed into the runway at the Baghdad International Airport.

Sitting up against the headboard, she pulled the covers close and hugged herself
. It was no good. All she could think about were the daily reports of gunfire and suicide bombings wherever people gathered. She couldn’t stop herself from picturing Dylan waiting to be cleared through the busy checkpoints outside the International Green Zone when a bomber struck. She imagined him riding in a car en-route from the airport when another vehicle pulls alongside and gunmen open fire.

Weeping and rocking, she berated herself for her imagination, for her weakness where Dylan was concerned, and most of all, for not following her own rules. Idiot! This is why she’d sworn never to care for a man in a perilous occupation. On
ce was enough for one lifetime.

**
*

Down in their design studio several hours later, Jean closed the front door behind the deliveryman and hurried over to Ariela’s desk waving a large express envelope in the air. “Look, look.
Our new software is here. Should we install it now?”

Ariela set her paperwork aside. “Let’s see what’s involved first.”

Jean pulled the strip off the edge and shook the contents onto her desk. She picked up a plastic-wrapped disk and pamphlet.

“Do you know what this means?” asked Ariela.

Jean looked up from her reading. “What does
what
mean? What have you got there?”

“Nothing.
I just had a horrible thought. Mrs. Corley is going to want to revamp her kitchen yet again when she finds out what we can do with that.”

“Don’t tell her,” Jean said, scanning the pamphlet in her hands.

“There’s a thought. She doesn’t have to know, does she? Ugh, I’ve got to lock her down on something. She’s driving me crazy.”

“And we have bills to pay.”

“There’s that too.”

Jean looked up again
and caught Ariela pressing her thumbs into her temples. “Headache?” she asked.

“No, just
crampy and crabby. I’m just not into working today.”

“That’s right. Dylan left this morning.”

“Yeah.”

The way Ariela drooped back in her chair and met Jean’s eyes spoke volumes. Her unmistakable unhappiness brought on a rush of sympathy
in her friend. “Why don’t you take a field trip?” Jean suggested.

“A field trip?”

“You need something to take your mind off Dylan, for a little while, anyway. How about running to the office-supply store for us? We’ve got quite a list.”

“Can’t I just mope instead?” Ariela dropp
ed her cheek onto her hand.

Jean shook her head and smiled. “No. You moped all yesterday. Now you need to pull it together.”

Ariela groaned, but it didn’t change Jean’s mind.

“
Fine,” Ariela moodily agreed. “Where’s the list?” She rolled her chair back and stood, throwing out her limp arm. Jean stretched across her desk and slapped the notepad into Ariela’s open hand.

With her purse slung over her shoulder, Ariela headed
for the door, though she turned on her way out to say, “I’m going to kill a lot of time—a
lot
of time.”

“I hope so. Don’t come back with that dark cloud hanging over your head.”

***

Ariela managed to squander two hours before the guilt got to her. She decided to bring back a peace offering.

Jean peeked in the first bag and looked up at her. “Rum?”

“And strawberries
, and limes, and ice.”

“Oh my.
I see daiquiris in your future.” Jean pretended to read an imaginary crystal ball.

“I was hoping in
our
future. Sorry I’ve been such a pill.”

Jean came around the desk and threw her arm across Ariela’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “I understand. Trust me. I understand.”

“I’m not coping with this very well and it makes no sense at all.” Ariela dropped her head onto Jean’s shoulder and sighed as her friend rubbed her back.

“The rest of our afternoon is free. Why don’t we drag the groceries upstairs and dig out the
blender?”

Ariela lifted her head and nodded. “That sounds really good to me.”

“Me too.”

An hour later, t
hey were half in the bag when Ron tapped on the door and walked in with two bags of fast food.

“
Hey, babe,” Jean purred.

H
e grinned, then caught Ariela’s eye and looked away, clearly uncomfortable about walking in on her and Dylan the other night. Ariela found his deep blush hysterically funny. In all the years she’d known Ron, this was a first. Of course, had she been sober, there was no way she could have managed this face-off with such aplomb, but leave it to alcohol to relieve an awkward situation.

“Daiquiri, Ron?” she asked, offering her glass.

“I’d rather have a beer.” He set the bags on the coffee table and slipped into the kitchen.

Jean watched him go with a devious smile. “Will you excuse me a minute?”

“Sure.”

Jean went after him
while Ariela leaned forward to snoop through the bags. She grabbed a sandwich and was searching for sauce when a loud slap made her look up. Jean’s hands were firmly planted on Ron’s ass. She gave him a good squeeze as they enjoyed a long kiss. Ariela smiled wistfully and turned away. Ron was obviously spending the night.

They watched a little television while they ate. Afterwards, Ariela excused herself and ran down to the office to check the computer. Unfortunately, there was no message from Dylan yet.
It was obviously too soon.

It was doubly depressing to go back upstairs and find that the television was off and Jean’s bedroom door was closed. With nothing else to do, Ariela locked the door for the night and shut off the lights.

Sometime later, while she was reading quietly in bed, the pounding started. It took just a minute more before the entire house started shaking. The nightstand on her right began to creep across the hardwood floor, and the lamp sitting on top of it slowly rotated away from her, shining toward the closet.

“Damn it.” Ariela reached out and turned the lamp back around.

Jean’s waterbed had to go. Their poor old house couldn’t take the abuse. Honestly, just the weight of the damn thing was enough to worry Ariela, but when those two got the major wave action going, it was downright terrifying. Houses weren’t meant to be pounded sideways. Sometimes she pictured the entire structure collapsing on the lawn. Just folding up like a paper bag. How many studs had they cracked? How many nails had worked loose? Pretty tough to put those things out of your mind while watching your furniture parade around your room.

“
Wrap it up, already!” she yelled, pitching her book at the wall.

When she heard them laughing softly together, Ariela wasn
’t prepared for the wave of melancholy that swept through her. She loved them and envied them. Jean and Rob had each other and what did she have? A ridiculous crush on a guy she shouldn’t even be considering. She knew better and yet, she still missed Dylan. That realization, right there, frightened her more than the house collapsing in around her.

**
*

Her mood did not improve the next morning when she walked into the kitchen and found the refrigerator standing in the center of the room. Now she was even more adamant that the damn
bed had to go. This wasn’t the first time the appliance had crept across the floor, propelled along by the violent fucking on the other side of the wall. It was high time she had a chat with Jean.

One thing was certain—it was ridiculous to feel embarrassed about being caught in the act after this. At least she’d never moved major appliances to the very ends of their cords.

Because Ariela took the time to start a pot of coffee first, Ron beat her to the bathroom. That left her only enough time for an abbreviated shower. She had to forgo washing her hair and pulled it into a simple ponytail instead.

When she came out of the bathroom, Jean was standing in the kitchen wearing her short, terry robe and studying the refrigerator with amused detachment.

“Come on, together,” Ariela said. “You push low. I’ll push high.”

After they maneuvered the appliance back against the wall, Ariela broached the subject.
Not surprising, her roommate balked.

“Beds are expensive,” Jean countered.

Ariela threw her arm up at their refrigerator. “And the whole house coming down around us wouldn’t be?”

Jean laughed. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little paranoid?”

“Not when you’re moving furniture and major appliances.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “What furniture?”

“My nightstand for starters. I had to give up on reading because the lamp wouldn’t stay still.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ariela nodded.

“Huh.” Jean gradually smiled. “Ron’s kind of an animal.”

“I’m happy for you,” said Ariela flatly, not budging on this. “Maybe you could head over to Burbank’s a little early today and work something out with Lyle, since you’re going there to look at sofas for the Dreyer job anyway.”