Jennifer Greene - Ain’t Misbehaving

Neither gave him what he wanted.

He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t play it like a kid just starting out. He was a man, not a kid. He had a man’s need for a home and privacy, but the home had to express him, and none of the newer places he looked at fit the bill. He also had a man’s need for a woman at his side, the kind of woman he’d like to wake up to in the morning. He wanted more than just the quick encounters that were readily available.

Oh, he’d considered going to bed with them. An easy lay would have solved any number of problems-not the least of which was sheer overwhelming physical frustration. And with a stranger-well, if she guessed about his inexperience, it would hardly matter.

Mitch stepped back, viewing the half-finished wall with a critical eye. The plaster sucked in the paint, and minutes later the original color showed through. The cathedral ceiling had taken him an entire week to paint, and then another week to repaint.

Strangers hadn’t been an answer. Twice, he’d been close. But the scenes had reeked of two people taking advantage of each other so cold-bloodedly that he’d backed off, feeling like a bastard. The women might not care that they were being used, but he did. He’d had to fight for life too damn hard not to separate the gold from the dross. Nobody had time to waste on experiences with no value.

An image of Kay flickered in his mind. He blocked it, irritated. In the past two weeks, ever since he’d left her that Friday night after the poker game, he’d been carrying a mental picture of her around with him everywhere. Gold framed. Twenty-four-karat gold, because she was far softer than fourteen-karat.

He told himself he was completely over that first rush of overwhelming attraction for her. She had droves of men in her life already, lovers he couldn’t begin to compete with. And he wasn’t going to try. But he just couldn’t dismiss that resistant mental picture of the woman.

“So when are you going to tell me who the man is?” Susan asked. Plopping down three bulky parcels, she slid into the booth across from Kay. Hurriedly, she finger-combed a disordered set of bouncing blond curls in a characteristic gesture.

“What are you talking about?” Kay returned, as she nodded a thank-you to the waitress for delivering two steaming mugs of coffee. Unbuttoning her jacket, she wrapped her freezing hands around the warm mug.

“For openers, we’ve been shopping for two hours and you haven’t bought a single thing. On top of that, you’ve been crabby for two weeks. On top of that, you made a date for lunch with me last week, called an hour later to make the same date again and then forgot to show at all. I haven’t seen you in such bad shape since high school. So what’s his name?” Susan’s eyes danced over the rim of her mug.

“My car’s name is Bertha. And if I’ve been distracted, it’s only because she needs a new transmission,” Kay said wryly.

“That would explain the crabbiness,” Susan agreed, and added demurely, “Stix says that the man could be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands. He seems to have the terrible feeling you could get burned. Why do you have all the luck?”

“Is there nothing sacred in this town?” Kay wondered aloud, and took a small sip of the steaming brew. The coffee felt scalding on her tongue, but she welcomed it. After two hours of shopping on a frigid Saturday afternoon, she wasn’t absolutely certain her toes still existed. They were certainly numb.

“We’re waiting to hear a name,” Susan probed.

“So was Rumpelstiltskin,” Kay returned cheerfully. “How’s the new job going, anyway?”

“Kay.”

“If I really decide to redecorate my living room, do you think I should have the couch reupholstered?”

Susan, bless her, was diverted. Kay leaned back against the booth, savoring her hot drink. After a moment, she let her coat slide behind her. Her white angora sweater was tucked into maroon cords; both were new. Her hair had a center part, a style equally simple but otherwise different from the one she usually wore.

The white hat and white mittens were also new, and she’d sprayed a mist of expensive perfume between her breasts and in other places where no one would notice it on a Saturday spent shopping in a heavy coat.

Occasionally, a woman had to work herself out of a little depression. Change helped. Usually. But then, Kay wasn’t usually depressed.

“Well…” Susan set down her mug and reached for her coat. “I’m broke-I guess I’ll have to go home. Unless you want to do some more shopping?”

Kay shook her head. “I’ll probably hit the bookstore, but that’s it.”

Susan grimaced. “You’re going to buy more books for the kids at the hospital, aren’t you?”

“It’s almost Christmas,” Kay said defensively as she counted out change for the waitress.

“It’s only a week after Thanksgiving, and you spend half your salary on stuff for those kids. If you’d save a little, I could really do that living room up right for you.”

“Next year,” Kay promised.

“Bull.”

They both chuckled, and at the entrance to the little café parted ways. Kay started walking toward the bookstore, tugging the collar of her coat around her chin, jamming her mittened hands into her pockets. Shoppers milled around her, laden with packages. Moscow had put up its Christmas lights, and everyone seemed infected with the holiday spirit. As the small town’s main street had been closed to cars, people were free to wander to and fro, crisscrossing streets, hats bobbing, coats pulled tight against the whip of cold wind. Laughter and red cheeks seemed to surround her. She loved it. As much as she’d loved anything these past few weeks.

Ducking her head against a sudden burst of wind, Kay surged forward. There was no real reason for her to be depressed. She was never depressed. So he hadn’t called. So he’d grabbed a few kisses and split. She’d handed out a few kisses of her own and split more than once.

She’d thought they had something, that was all. Something she’d never had before, something she couldn’t quite define. Something that left her feeling ridiculously breathless when he was around, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Silly.

She pushed open the door to Bookpeople and felt an instant rush of warm air caress her freezing cheeks. She pulled off her mittens and sat cross-legged in the children’s section. The Little Engine That Could was a must. So was The Giving Tree. And she’d need a book for Robert, the new boy she’d met at the hospital that morning; she could tell at a glance he wasn’t the best of readers. Tugging The Rainbow Goblins off the shelf, she checked it for easy words. The pile of books next to her kept growing.

There were plenty of other fish in the sea. She didn’t need a mystery man with sad eyes who was stingy with his last name, who had to be coaxed into laughter, who played poker like a Las Vegas dealer and climbed fire towers.

Her book pile kept growing.

If he called tonight, she’d turn him down. She didn’t like games and never had. There were enough men who did call that she didn’t have to sit around waiting for Mitch whatever-his-name-is to be in touch.

“Kay, you have to be joking. Even for you,” said the cashier.

Kay raised her eyes above the pile of books, smiling faintly. “Um. You won’t cash my check before Monday, will you?”

“Monday night,” the cashier answered wryly.

“That’ll do.” Enough time to transfer some savings into checking, although the Lord knew what she was going to buy groceries with. She swung her purse strap to her shoulder and picked up the overstuffed plastic bag and held it in both arms. It was too heavy to carry in one hand.