Waiting for a Girl Like You (3 page)

It gave her an excellent excuse to chicken out.

In the middle of clearing the table, she paused. Crap. She couldn’t go back to Angela’s straight away tonight. Not now that Finn had decided the time was right to have a second child and the necessary deed could not be executed with her in the other bedroom. He wouldn’t consider a little afternoon delight, either.

Potterville didn’t lack for options on Saturday night. The church was having a dance like always. Not with these feet. Robot wars were going on at the high school. Maybe. There was a play at the middle school. On the upside, it was
Midsummer Night’s Dream
. On the downside, it was performed by middle schoolers. The bus had already left for stargazing at Dolly Sods Wilderness Area, so that was out. The surprisingly good high school band and glee club were performing in the town square, but they would be hitting the finale about now. The movie showing at the elementary school would be half over by the time she left, leaving that out, too. The ice cream stand would be hopping until midnight, which would provide a wonderful opportunity to people watch. The one little town bar offered another people-watching opportunity. Whatever it was that drew thousands to this little burg, she didn’t know, but they didn’t lack for entertainment when they got here.

The bar offered a better opportunity for finding an eligible bachelor to keep her out all night and do something wild and crazy with a sexy stranger. Women did that. It wasn’t that pathetic. Or maybe it was, but since Marc hadn’t shown up, she deserved to do something pathetic.

She’d managed to turn him off in one night. Must be the whiff of Eau d’Desperation she kept wearing. It was possible that he had something or someone else to do tonight, but Paul and Ida both seemed really surprised that he hadn’t been in. Angela had been so sure Marc would return tonight that she’d volunteered to take Alex to the mall for shoes.

What if it was something she’d done last night? She’d been as attentive as possible in the context. That’s what men liked. A woman who would hang on their every word. Now she was an attentive woman in four-inch heels and a short skirt, but Marc hadn’t shown up. Though, most of her married customers had. Obviously, she could only attract married men. Tomorrow, despite the damage to her tips, it was a burqa. One of those blue ones like the women in Afghanistan wore with the netting over the eyes. That way she wouldn’t be responsible for any marital spats.

Alex took off the dratted shoes and carried them into the kitchen.

“Give up on them shoes?” Frankie asked.

“They’re hard to mop in.” She set the shoes on her purse. Both pinky toes were angry red and puffy to the point of being shiny, and she couldn’t even go home and soak them. Today was working out to be spectacular. Rejected. Looking stupid for wearing a short skirt and heels to wait tables and bearing the guilt of dozens of men, and at least one woman, who had lust in their hearts for her when they were supposed to be in committed long-term relationships with significant others, kids, and an SUV. There was a special place in hell for people like her.

Alex Perkins, the Typhoid Mary of marriage. Ruining unions left and right, but immune to Mr. Right herself.

The bell on the door jingled, reminding Alex that she hadn’t locked up, so she hurried out to the dining room before whoever it was seated themselves and decided what they wanted. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

“That’s okay. I’m pretty sure Ida won’t mind if I hang out until you’re finished.” Marc, in expensive jeans and another concert T-shirt, grinned at her.

Now he showed up. When her feet were the size of watermelons, her short skirt spotted with grease, ketchup, and who knew what else, and her makeup half worn off.

“I don’t know about that,” she told him.

“I do.”

Frankie came out carrying a bottlebrush. Great choice of weapons. Good thing they weren’t being held up. “Oh, hi, Marc. You want something to drink?”

“Nah. I’m good. How are you doing, Frankie?”

“Dishwasher’s broken. I gotta wash everything by hand.”

Marc glanced at Alex and then smiled at Frankie. “Let me take a look at it. In another life I used to do some repair work, and I’m not doing anything until Alex is ready to go.”

What the—? Never mind. She didn’t want to know. She stacked the plates from the last table and handed them to Marc on his way past. After all he’d put her through today, even if he didn’t know it, he might as well be useful.

Before she could mop the floor, she had to finish wiping the tables and put up the chairs. Marc’s arrival must mean that he was interested, now that she’d made a firm decision about her life. Firmish, at least. She wrung out her cloth. Damn, what to do?

She could walk away from this train wreck and go back home to lick her wounds, soak her feet, and consider joining a nunnery. She’d have to convert to Catholicism and there was probably a waiting period, but it would be worth it. Married to God, she’d never have to risk a broken heart. Oh, wait, she couldn’t go home because Finn and Angela were making babies.

Or she could stick to the plan, be his ideal woman, and play dumb about his fame. Not entirely fair to him, though. Pretending to be the girl of his dreams. She would be trading the guilt of being the Other Woman for the guilt of being a fake gold digger. Not the greatest solution, but this wasn’t a life-long relationship, and it could be a good learning experience.

Nope, that wasn’t sitting super well either.

What she needed was to go
home
home, but that entailed dealing with the parents who wanted to know all about the boyfriend she’d dated for five years, never brought home, and broken up with before they met him.
Hello, Mom and Dad. I’d like you to meet Roger, and here are pictures of Roger’s wife and son and new baby. Yeah, I’m a home wrecker. Aren’t you proud?
She needed to put in a call to the university library to see if they could use a little help over the summer again. Go back to the dorm. Wallow there in comfort and safety while dodging Roger. Maybe use her tips to get a nice hair shirt to wear for additional penance.

She’d only broken it off with Roger a couple months ago. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. It wasn’t fair to Marc to hoodwink him either.

Dumping the mop bucket, she said, “Hey Frankie, I’m headed out.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.” Frankie waved her off, consumed by the sight of the dishwasher gurgling away in front of him.

Marc frowned. “Where are you going?”

Alex held up her pointer fingers. “I’m finished cleaning up, so I’m leaving.” Using both hands, she pointed over her shoulders for emphasis. Just in case he didn’t get it.

His shirt was damp and sticking to an impressive six-pack. Sweet little sixteen would have been gaga. Not-so-sweet twenty-three was just a little tingly at the sight. Kind of the same reaction a hot guy on TV would get. Except that not-so-sweet twenty-three couldn’t stop staring, but was intent on charting denial.

It didn’t matter what either of them thought. Her walking away now was the best thing for everyone. Safer by far.

“Can’t you wait a few minutes? We’re testing it, and then I can go.”

“Since when did my leaving become contingent on your leaving?”

Marc blinked at her, frowning. “I thought I’d walk you home.”

“Did you now? How quaint of you. But I’m not going home so the point is moot.” She started to slide one foot into her shoe, but her screaming toe had to have been heard in North Carolina, so she stuffed the shoes into her heavy purse. The way things had been going, she’d step on glass in the dark and end up on crutches for the rest of the season.

“You have a date or something?”

“Alex? Have a date?” Frankie snorted. “Right.”

Alex glared at him. Stupid kid.

The dishwasher hissed to a stop, and Frankie lost interest in her love life in favor of the steam-belching machine. He pulled out one glass and inspected it in the light as he tossed it from one hand to the other to keep from burning himself. “Awesome, Marc. I’m gonna get out of here before dawn.”

Alex scanned the heaps of dirty dishes stacked on every available surface and doubted it. Then she turned and walked out of the kitchen. “You better lock this door after me,” she called over her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t run away.” Marc followed her through the serving area and Frankie came behind him.

“This is not running. Running is defined as something faster than this. I believe, technically, I should have a longer stride, and at certain points, both feet are off the ground.” Alex pushed through the door. If her stride got any longer, it could be defined as running. Whatever it was about this guy, she either wanted to run straight into his arms or far, far away.

“Okay then, walking real fucking fast.” He slid out the door behind her and stopped while she waited for Frankie to lock up. “Is there something about me you don’t like?”

Alex started to draw a breath and stopped. Yeah, there was something. It really was time to find the source of denial, and the source was Roger. Roger had pursued her. All the way through British Writers, Early and Modern. Two semesters he had courted her before she allowed herself to be captured. Before she finally bought the stories about how his wife didn’t understand him and how he was leaving her and so on and so forth.

She wasn’t running, or more accurately, hurrying away from Marc, but she
was
trying to get away from Roger, to prove that he could survive the summer, the rest of his life even, without her. Which was why she was in Potterville waiting tables and not working at the university library this summer. However, past experience did not always predict future results, and she knew for sure that this guy had an ex-wife, meaning he didn’t have a current wife. Most likely.

If this thing with Marc went somewhere, she might fall in love with him and he might hurt her.

But he might not. It would be nice not to be alone. Nice to be able go out in public with the man she was dating. Nice to have him pay for dinner. Nice to try a little peach eating of her own for once instead of just reading about it. Supposing, of course, that he wasn’t married. Because that was going to be a deal breaker. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Hell, no. I just earned my six year chip for abstaining from that institution.”

Alex finished the deep breath she’d been trying to draw earlier. He could be lying, but she’d asked. If he didn’t tell the truth, she couldn’t be blamed for his actions, or so she had been told. Hopefully. At least her profiling research this morning and last night wouldn’t go to waste. And the town wanted it. “I was headed for some ice cream. You interested?”

“I am.” He grinned.

Interested? Shit, he’d traded interested for burning desire when he’d caught sight of her mopping the floor. This woman made cleaning sexy. That long lean body and cap of black hair. Eyes like diamond drill bits. A mouth that went from lush to sarcastic in twenty seconds flat.

And so smart. So smart. She had a comeback for everything. He’d gotten so used to phoning it in with everybody around him except Sandy and Suzi, that finding somebody who could do a little verbal smack down was almost better than finding a hot chick hiding in Potterville. Cassie was never, ever going to let him live this down. If she found out.

“So, ice cream?” he asked.

“Perfect weather for it.”

“You don’t live in Potterville, do you? I’ve never seen you here before.” Marc fell into step beside her.

Alex frowned at him. They all seemed to think she was perfect for him, but she acted like he was barely worthy of consideration. “No, my cousin Angela said I could make a lot of money waiting tables over the summer, and I had driving reasons to get away from the university for a few months. Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

Shit, yes they had. No wonder she was looking at him like he was losing IQ points with every step. “Yeah, I was just trying to refresh on the details. So you’re in college.”

“Hence the need for money.”

“For school.” Interesting. Most of the college students he’d run into had been groupies buying time, letting Mommy and Daddy pay for school until they had to get a job. If her folks were paying for school, she wouldn’t need to be waiting tables to earn money. The expression on her face reminded him that his last comment was a shade on the stupid side. “I was just trying to figure out how old you are. So you’re in college. What are you…” Damn, what was that question college kids always asked? He hadn’t been to a uni party in decades. Too busy building a career. “What are you majoring in?”

“I’m working on a master’s in Brit Lit. What about you? Are you in school?”

“No, I—” What was he supposed to say?
No, I’m a professional rock star, and I’m nearly twice your age. Besides, I always thought college was a waste of time and money reserved for snotty rich kids who didn’t need to work for a living.
That would get her in bed. “I didn’t go to college.” Dear God, had he just admitted the truth?

“You didn’t?”

And now she was looking at him like a stranger from a strange land. “I went to work straight out of high school.” Bands through high school. Local guitar god by nineteen. Touchstone at twenty. Touring the world before his twenty-second birthday. Now at thirty-eight, he was a member of one of the top ten selling bands in history. It wasn’t like he was a total loser.

“What do you do?”

Damn it. Now he had to tell her, and she was going to go all gaga and that would be the end of any hope of…of anything real. Might as well get it over with. “I’m a musician. I play guitar for Touchstone.”

“Oh.”

Oh?
Oh?
She must live in a box in a cave under a bridge. “You sound like you don’t know who Touchstone is.”

“I know who Touchstone is in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, and I know there’s a popular band by that name, but beyond that no. I don’t follow modern music at all.”

Huh. Marc had thought there were only two or three people left in the world who didn’t know Touchstone, and one of them had married his drummer, so she knew now. Ida and Paul’s matchmaking was much better than he’d assumed. They hadn’t chucked the first attractive female who might suit; they had lined up a good candidate who didn’t have any predisposed ideas. Since Dez, every woman he’d gone out with had been in it for the fame and money and not him. Alex gave him a chance to find out what she thought of him without her basing any preconceptions on his branding. Awesome. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”