Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (28 page)

A few times April had woken up in the middle of the night in a panic, pinned under his sleeping arm, tempted to prod him awake to discuss the looming issue.

They talked about the native plants of California as the wildflowers in the hills faded under the dry heat of impending summer, and she set aside her pastel drawings of sky-blue, cup-shaped
nemophila
to paint the increasingly golden hills.

They talked about her wardrobe, which had reverted back to her original unmatched, punky goodness, and how terrible she looked in khakis and twin-sets.

“So awful I lose my hard-on to even think of you wearing those clothes again,” he breathed into her ear one night as his hand played her like a virtuoso’s.

She laughed, not offended in the least. For one, she was about to come, and two, it was obviously untrue. He was always ready for her. He was like her first boyfriend in high school, except with self-control. Amazing self-control.

They talked about that, too—how great they were in bed together. That meant a lot to both of them. April had been with a lot of partners, which she knew could make some guys feel like they were auditioning for the role of Best Ever against a vast, faceless pool of masculine talent. And he’d lost Meg, the woman he’d chosen as his lifetime partner but who had died so young, and he was still mourning.

Which was another thing they didn’t talk about.

Maybe the perfection of their sex life was why they never talked about the future. Within seconds of experiencing the slightest uneasiness, they tore off each other’s clothes and spent another heavenly hour or three in bed, and the issue, whatever it was, forever unstated, was dropped.

Although she only spent the night at his condo a few times, and never had him overnight at the house, her mother guessed what she was doing and with whom.

“I haven’t seen you this happy since you were ten years old,” her mother said one afternoon as they gave Zeus, the male Chihuahua mix, a suppository.

With her pinkie finger gently probing the little rectum, April bit back a laugh. “You pick this moment to tell me?”

“Careful.” Her mother readjusted her hold on the dog’s little body. “He’s got a funny look on his face.”

“I bet he does.” April withdrew her finger. “There. I think it’ll stay up there this time.”

“Terrific,” her mother said. “You have a magic touch.”

April released Zeus onto the tile floor, where he danced around for a moment before scurrying out of the bathroom. “That’s a gift I could do without.” She snapped off the latex glove and went to the sink.

Her mother patted her on the arm. “And not only with animals, I think.”

April groaned. Her mother was just the type to ask her if she had ever done something similar with… “I need to get going. Zack and I are going hiking today. Got to see if I can find my boots.”

“I hope you know he’s welcome here anytime,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Thanks. But…”

“You like your privacy.”

“Yeah.”

“I can wear earplugs,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t hear the all the sex noises even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” She held up her fingers in a Scout oath.

April put her hands over her ears. “I wish I were wearing them right now. Don’t talk about listening to me have sex. Just. Don’t.”

“I swear, your generation sees and does all kinds of kinky things—which sounds like a value judgment, but it isn’t, I just don’t know what else to call some of the things I see on that computer—yet you’re still too prudish to have a little conversation. Like fifteen-year-old boys.”

April had heard this sort of comment before. “Less talk, more do,” she said. “I’d better get going. Zack will be here any minute.”

Her mother looked into the mirror over the sink, fluffing her short hair with her fingers. “I’m tempted to tell him myself that he’s welcome to stay here overnight. All that driving back and forth across the Bay Bridge in the dark isn’t easy on either one of you.”

Not wanting to subject Zack to that, April found her boots and hurried outside with Stool and her backpack, meeting Zack in the street just as he was signaling to turn into the driveway.

“Why the big backpack?” he asked, jumping out to help get Stool into the backseat of the ride-share Chevy Volt. “Will we be camping?” He gave her a wolfish grin. They were headed for one of Oakland’s vast, wooded regional parks not far from the house.

She clipped Stool’s leash to the seatbelt and settled her backpack next to him. She’d filled it with a few of her portfolios and sketchbooks and hadn’t yet decided if she was going to show them to him. “Just a few things. Water, energy bars, you know.”

Zack gave Stool a scratch behind the ears and her a long, lingering kiss before starting the car back up. “Cool.”

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later when they were starting their hike from the trailhead’s parking lot that she told him. “I brought some of my drawings, if you’re interested. But they’re kind of heavy. We should probably leave them in the car.”

He reached into the backseat and lifted the backpack. “They’re not heavy, they’re your art.” He kissed her on the nose. “No way I’m missing the show.”

“We could do it when we get back from the hike.”

“Nice try, but no.” He wriggled his arms into the pack, loosening the straps to fit his broad shoulders, and then gave her a longer kiss against the side of the car. “You smell like heaven. How do you do it?”

“Must be my shampoo,” she said, leaning into him. “I’m not wearing anything else.”

His hand found her breast and stroked her over the thin cotton of her T-shirt. “I wish.”

Eventually they broke apart and began their hike up a steep narrow trail into a cathedral of redwoods, and then up higher to a rocky, sunny ridge, where they collapsed onto fallen logs to catch their breath and have a drink.

“Let’s take a look,” he said, reaching past the water bottle in her pack to a charcoal-stained spiral notebook.

She shot out a hand to stop him. “Hold on, not that one.” She pulled out a larger vellum pad. “This.”

“Why’d you bring that one if you’re not going to show me?”

“A mistake.”

With a raised eyebrow, he accepted the vellum pad and opened it to see a series of pen-and-ink botanical studies—mostly California wildflowers. “You’ve showed me a few of these already.”

“No, these are older ones.”

Nodding, he looked at each page, offering his praise and asking a few questions about the plant names, until she turned her head to drink from her water bottle, at which time he lunged forward and pulled out the charcoal pad before she could stop him.

“No!” she cried, but it was too late. He was already staring at the page in his lap. The dry trail had coated his knees with caramel-colored dust, but his fingers were clean.

“Wow,” he said.

She leaned back and gazed at the sky. The fog had burned off in the east but lingered like white smoke in the west. “I was afraid you might be offended.”

“How could I be offended? You enlarged my penis to twice its actual size. You should write a note at the bottom warning people, like on a mirror.”

“Warning what people? Your other girlfriends?”

“Exactly. I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. Not every man was happy to have his girlfriend draw nude pictures of him, certainly not without his consent. “I should’ve asked you if it was all right,” she said. “Truth is, I couldn’t help myself.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Huge relief, let me tell you,” she said.

“Seriously, why didn’t you ask? Did you really think I’d mind?”

This was even more awkward. She glanced back at the sky. “Well, you see, I was relying on my imagination.”

“Well, sure, since I think I’d remember if you’d ever whipped out your notebook when we were in bed together.”

“Nooooooo,” she said, drawing it out as long as she could to buy time. She twisted the cap on her water bottle. “Not my memory. My
imagination
.”

He looked up at her, eyes wide. “You drew these before…
before
?”

“Mmm,” she said.

His playful expression faded. He looked at the drawing, falling silent.

Big mistake. She’d made a big mistake. “I’m really sorry. I think I’m sort of confessing here so I can rid myself of the guilt I’ve been carrying around. I never thought we’d actually get together. I… took what I could get.” Oh God, she was just making it worse. “Look, we can destroy them. I’ll burn them all in one of the barbecue pits near the car.” She reached forward to take the notebook back.

“Like hell you will,” he said, springing to his feet with the drawing pad under one arm. Wiping the sweat off his upper lip, he squinted in the distance. “We can get back to the car faster if we take the other trail.”

“You’re so angry you want to go home,” she said. “I understand.” With a sigh, she lifted the backpack.

“I’m so angry I want to go to the craft store,” he said. “And get this sucker framed ASAP.”

“No, you’re just humoring me. You’re horrified and disgusted with me.”

He pulled her against him, knocking the backpack to the ground, and spoke into her ear. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted you. And that’s saying something.”

“But—”

“Do you have any idea how badly I wanted you all winter? No. You couldn’t. I’ve
burned
for you, April. I’ve—I’ve abused myself, wanting you, you know what I’m saying?”

She grinned. “Really?”

“And to find out you thought I was, well, worth your talents… I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

“I’ve been using my talents on you for weeks,” she said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

He glanced around them before moving his hand over her ribs, down her belly, and between her legs, where he lifted the hem of her lightweight running shorts and slipped his finger under the elastic of her panties. Trailing kisses down her neck, he nibbled the tender skin, sending sparks down to her toes.

She rotated in his arms and jumped him, arms slung around his neck, legs clamped around his hips, her mouth open on his.

He grabbed her bottom and kissed her deeply, the strokes of his tongue synchronized with the motion of his hands.

She broke the kiss and said, her voice ragged, “I’d do you right there if it weren’t for the poison oak.” Then she glanced over his shoulder and saw two women with a dog approaching on the trail, which made her think of Stool. Her eyes found him rooting around in the undergrowth a few yards away without a leash. Reluctantly, she unclamped her legs from Zack’s hips.

He dropped his hands, letting her slide to the ground. His chest was heaving. “If only I’d rented a place on this side of the bay.”

She gazed to the west, where San Francisco twinkled in the distant sun. The two women, close enough now she could see the amusement on their faces, turned and disappeared down a different trail.

“It’s only—” She cut herself off.
 
It’s only for a few more weeks
, she was going to say. After that, then what? It wasn’t as if he was moving into the other house next door. A short drive across the bay was nothing compared to a cross-country flight.

“An hour is an eternity,” he said, kissing her loudly on the cheek. “Let’s head back. I’ll put a leash on the troublesome triped.”

While he chased after Stool, April slung the backpack over her shoulders, watching his handsome backside scramble around the wilderness, fearing that she was the one who couldn’t stay out of trouble.

Chapter 24

O
N
A
T
HURSDAY
MORNING
IN
early May, Zack held his weekly status meeting with Liam. Bev usually joined them, either on the phone or in person, but at the moment was too busy with the creative directors in preparation for her return to full-time work to join them.

Zack sat in a chair across from Liam at a conference room table, his palms sweaty, fidgeting with his pen. Liam hadn’t said a word about him and April. It had been weeks since Liam had seen him coming out of April’s hotel room. Had the Olympian decided to stay out of it, or was he waiting for the right moment to strike? Outright hostility would be easier to take than this polite chill.

Zack had finished the bulk of the surveillance work. He wouldn’t call it that out loud, of course, but others had pointed out his methods were similar to a secret agent’s on a mission, quietly collecting data from the shadows, avoiding involvement, averting violent conflicts.

Now his work was mostly analysis and communication—the final report, which he could do from home on his laptop.

“Sylvester Minguez called me up the other day,” Liam said. Their corporate baggage—their coffee, phones, laptops, bagels, and notepads—cluttered the table between them.

Sylly, the businessman behind Mark’s success from the wedding, owned a start-up in New Jersey, and had shown some interest in Zack’s consulting talents.

Since Liam hadn’t asked him a direct question, he just nodded. He didn’t know if Liam had a problem with him landing new clients with his family’s help. Not to mention landing a girlfriend with it.

“I told him you were easy to work with,” Liam continued, “but that we hadn’t received your final report or implemented your ideas, so we couldn’t say yet how the whole thing was going to pan out.”

“I understand,” Zack said. “It’s too soon. He should call the other names I gave him. Clients from a few years ago.”

“I’m sure he will. Sounded like he would.”

The rush of satisfaction Zack should’ve had was tempered by the new complexity of his personal life.

New Jersey. And Sylly had mentioned June 1 as a start date, less than three weeks away. The job was perfect—high-tech, just like he wanted—but there was so little time. A few weeks of sleeping together wasn’t enough time to pressure April to commit to anything. She probably wanted to keep it light, exciting, fun. If he told her he was chucking his clients on the East Coast and staying in San Francisco to be with her, she’d think he was crazy. She might refuse to see him again.