Erin McCarthy: It’s About Time

“I have no idea what that means except that it sounds vaguely sexual. If it is, donot explain any further. If it’s not, enlighten those of us who can’t follow military metaphors.”

Caleb grinned at the look on Trish’s face. He hadn’t meant to sound sexual, but now that she mentioned it…he wondered where Trish’s pin would be. What would set her off? Before he could stop himself, he glanced at her cleavage again. Trish had a fabulous body that he’d love to see more of.

“I mean April’s really insecure. She can’t make any decisions on her own, and she gets whacked-out upset if you don’t do everything exactly the way she thinks it’s supposed to be. For eight years I walked on eggshells, until I got tired of it.”

“But everybody loves April?”

“Yes. Because she’s so damn generous and sweet and unselfish.”

“Tricky bitch.” Trish’s mouth quirked up.

“Exactly.” Caleb fingered the lettuce on his plate, feeling a little better about the whole thing. “Harry’s sixty years old,” he added.

That was a little embarrassing, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it made his masculinity feel a little threatened, if he wanted to get all talk-show about it.

Trish’s lip twitched again. “Now we’re getting to the bottom of it. How old is April?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Huh. And loved by all.”

“Yep. My mother is acting as mother of the bride in the wedding tomorrow. My sister is one of her bridesmaids.”

Trish burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? Now that’s pretty damn funny.”

Caleb fingered the water bottle and found himself grinning. It was kind of funny. “And we still all go over to April’s house for holidays. Sometimes I think April wanted to marry my family more than she wanted me.”

Trish lifted her water bottle. “Here’s to Harry and April-may they live long and prosper.”

He lifted his own water. “Alright, I’ll drink to that.” He guessed he really was happy for April. Even if she was having sex and he wasn’t.

They clunked their plastic bottles together.

“You ever been married?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve never been convinced that it’s worth it in the end. That people can be selfless enough to stay together and in love forever.”

Caleb thought that was a cynical view. He still believed in marriage, despite his first mistake. “Who says you have to worry about forever? Can’t you enjoy one day at a time?”

“I don’t know. Have you ever been in love, Caleb?”

“I loved April way back when. I wouldn’t have married her if I hadn’t. But there are different kinds of love, and ours was based on friendship. What about you? Ever been in love?”

“No,” Trish said, her head shaking. “And I don’t think I ever will be, and that scares me. I don’t want to spend my whole life alone.”

Trish couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Neither could Caleb, given that his eyes had dilated and his jaw had slackened, hovering above the still-damp water spot on his T-shirt.

Afraid of what might come out of his mouth, and mortified that she’d acted so pathetic, she bit her lip hard and got her shit together. She was a successful career woman. It was what she’d always wanted and she was damn proud of herself. She wasn’t lonely, she was just horny. Big difference.

“So enough of Trish’s Deep Thoughts. Tell me about your ex.” Trish used a brisk, nonchalant voice that had Caleb narrowing his eyes in confusion.

She added to prod him along, “Short? Tall? Good at sports, what?”

Caleb didn’t say anything for a minute. When he did, he sounded distracted. “April’s small, delicate, sweet. Quiet voice, polite, loves to cook, to can preserves, to sew. She has honey-blond hair and wears those sweatshirts with things stuck on them. You know, cats and stuff.”

Oh, yikes. Caleb’s ex-wife sounded like Holly Hobbie sprung to life. Virtuous, demure, bad fashion sense.

The exact opposite of Trish.

She wasn’t the type who could get his engines revving. Pressing flowers and whipping up biscuits and gravy were not scheduled in her PDA for the near future. Not that she cared. She didn’twant him to be attracted to her.

Which did not explain why fantasies of climbing onto his broad lap were flitting through her head.

“She sounds perfect for a sixty-year-old guy.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t care one way or the other. “Yeah.” Then he turned, and reflected in his green eyes was something that resembled interest. Lust, even.

It had to be her imagination, a result of being stood up, a need to feel desired.

“I don’t want to talk about…that anymore,” Caleb said, and there was no mistaking where his gaze dropped. Right into her cleavage. “Tell me about you, Trish Jones.”

She’d tell him about Trish Jones, but that’s as far as the whole thing was going. No way was she going to be stupid enough to fall for the wounded animal act, and take this guy home and lick his wounds, also known as his ego. Nope, she wasn’t going to lick anything of his. She did not need that kind of entanglement in her life. Besides, she felt concern for him, that’s all. She did not have any interest in seeing if he was that huge everywhere.

Light. Fun. Witty. That’s all. “The quick breakdown of the facts is as follows. Trish Jones, prosecuting attorney, age twenty-eight. Raised in Rocky River, currently residing in the Clifton Boulevard area, with no pets, though considering a lizard. I bowl with my friends twice a month, work shockingly long hours, and have been credited with always being direct in both my personal and professional lives.”

She smiled at him, what she hoped was a confident, flirtatious smile. “How about you?”

“Caleb Vancouver.” He spoke slower than she did, which could be his temperament or the alcohol dulling his reflexes. “Thirty last June. Grew up in Lakewood, still live there, in a double on Cordova. My two brothers and I run our own construction business, but we focus mostly on concrete. And I already have a lizard, Spanky, who only moves at three A.M. when I’m trying to sleep and he’s screwing around with the rocks in his tank.”

“So I should rethink the lizard thing? I prefer to sleep at three A.M., not listen to an amorous lizard.”

Caleb laughed. “I didn’t say he was screwing the rocks, I said he’s screwingaround with the rocks.”

“So you think.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Trish switched her legs and took a sip of water, taking some weird pleasure in making Caleb laugh. This dogooder shit wasn’t all that hard.

And her interest had nothing to do with the fact that he was damn cute, with the hottest body she’d ever seen off the WWF circuit.

“We grew up practically neighbors then. When I wanted to be daring and pretend I was hip, I used to go to Lakewood.”

“Let me guess-you grew up in one of those lakefront houses with private beach privileges. And went to private high school.”

Damn. “Maybe.” It was fine for her to make assumptions about him, but having it turned back on her was annoying. Especially since he was right.

“You like to come here and slum after a day out sailing or dinner at some trendy restaurant?”

If he only knew how little she had fit in at her all-girls high school, how often she’d been reprimanded for breaking dress code with striped black-and-white socks, and how the administration had not appreciated her turning the school newspaper into a hotbed of debate on crime and punishment in America. No one was extending her an invitation to the yacht club, and her parents indulgently referred to her as their “driven” daughter.

“Sure, I get a cheap thrill from eating greasy food and gawking at the commoners.” Trish swatted him on the arm. “Come off it! I work with criminals all day long. I have no pretensions. I grew up in comfortable surroundings, but so what? I drive a crappy, ten-year-old Toyota, my favorite hangout is the bowling alley, and while I’ve never dated a guy who was technically blue collar, that was never intentional. It was more a convenience factor, but I’m rethinking that. The guys I know are all schleps, so a welder has to be a step up.”