crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me what you find amusing?”
“I like your furniture.”
“Not what you’re used to, is it?” There was a defensive note in his voice that she had heard when he was near Avery. He’d never used it around her before now. It hurt her to hear it now, with her.
“Joe, I was being honest. I do like this.” She waved her hand around the room. “All of it.” A painting hung over the coach and she twisted around for a better look. A naked lady, tastefully done, she’d give him that, but still a nude. She pointed at the pouty raven-haired siren in the picture. “Except for that.”
Joe shrugged. “All the blondes hate her. It’s art.”
“Well, yes, but if you had other pictures…” She stopped and looked around the room. There were other pictures. Some landscapes, some portraits and one airplane. “You like art.”
“Sue me—” he stopped and held up one hand. “It’s only a figure of speech. I never dated a lawyer before. Jeez, I need to watch my mouth.”
Still shocked that he liked art, she wasn’t even mildly annoyed, only curious. “You don’t like lawyers, do you?”
“If I say ‘yes,’ you’ll take it personally, right?”
She nodded.
He thought for a minute, his fingers silently drumming on the chair arm. “Well, you’re okay, but you have to admit, most of the personal injury barracudas are annoying as all hell in the commercials.”
She agreed with that, but just like everything else, there were good lawyers and there were bad lawyers. She wanted to be one of the good ones. Heck, just two years out of law school and she was one of the good ones. “I’m one of the good guys. Truth, justice and corporate responsibility.”
“Yeah, but does the job ever get old?”
Sometimes she worried she worked too much. That she was missing something in her life, but her work was important. “Joe, people get hurt every day from things that aren’t supposed to hurt them. It’s my job to see that not only are people compensated, but more importantly, that corporations change their behavior and that nobody gets hurt anymore.”
He smiled. She liked his smile. It was never a grin, but a mere lifting of his lips at the corners. Very Joe. “You’re going to be on 60 Minutes someday, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to.” She stared at the airplane on the wall. It was an old picture. “It’d be nice to be known for making a mark.”
Joe went silent, and too late Amanda realized that she might have said the wrong thing. She changed the subject. “So I’m thinking Avery will show up at nine. What do you think?”
Joe looked silently relieved. “If he shows up, it won’t be until after E.R. It’ll take him twenty minutes to get over here, so 11:20.”
“Eleven-twenty? Avery’s too conscious of appearances to drop in that late, especially unannounced.”
His eyes were full of confidence. “Eleven-twenty. Trust me. You can really set your clock by Avery. I figured that you’d know that by now.”
“I’ve tried to live my life as Avery-free as possible.”
“Sorry about that. I’ve no choice in the matter. But he’s okay when you get to know him.”
Amanda traced the soft weave of the couch. “It’s really not awful. It’s not like Avery is a vile parasite. It’s just—” she struggled to explain something she didn’t understand herself “—I have to be me. Out of everybody, you should understand that best.”
He studied her over his bottle. “Who are you?”
Tough question. “I don’t know the answer to that yet, but I’m not happy with who I am now.”
He took a sip and swallowed. “Thought you’d be over the moon. Making the big bucks, an upstanding young doctor who wants to marry you, you’re smart and beautiful. What’s not to be happy about?”
“How did you learn to be happy with who you are?”
He did grin this time. “You mean, me, the poor airplane mechanic?”
Oh, right. “You’re not poor.”
“Maybe not poor, but I don’t make half the money you do, honey.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.
“Really?” She shook her head, not letting him divert her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why do you think I know the answer?” he shot back.
“Because you do. Aren’t you happy with who you are?”
Joe shrugged. “Most of the time.”
Most. Surprise number two. She leaned forward, wanting to pry, and he shook his head and picked up the tape. “So, are we really supposed to watch this?”
The easy contentment was back, that quiet peace that made her want to see if his heart was still beating, if his blood could still run so hot. “Unless there’s something else you want to do?” She looked at him, trying a sultry, provocative stare, but ended up blushing furiously. Darn. She did not blush well.
Joe watched her for a minute, and tension snapped in the air. Finally he stood and slipped the tape in the VCR. The clock on his VCR was not blinking. She was impressed.
“You sure you don’t want something to drink? Water, beer, cola.”
Amanda started to refuse, but then changed her mind. “Beer.” After all, the purpose of this exercise was to let her hair down a bit. She put a hand to the clip at the back of her head and pulled it free, trying to get eliminate that little bump you get with clip-hair.
Again Joe watched her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll get your beer.”
While he was gone, she kicked off her sandals, and curled up on the couch. Okay, this was neat. When she was a kid and lived in Queens, she could lie down on the couch. But that all changed after her Dad’s big promotion. Her parents now lived in an old renovated farmhouse in Vermont with antiques. No lying down on those things.
A few minutes later he appeared and placed the beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then looked rather determinedly at the television.
“Could you dim the lights a bit?” she asked.
He jerked his head in her direction, and she shrugged apologetically. “You know, in case Avery shows up.”
He stood, flipped the light switch, the room turning a deep shade of indigo, the last bit of sun long gone. Joe sat down, looked more determined than ever.
Progress. She crossed her legs at the ankles.
The movie was good. A great mystery, and some very steamy love scenes. She wasn’t brave enough to stare meaningfully at Joe during the intimate moments, but she did peek out of the corner of her eye. His jaw looked pretty tight, and there was a bead of sweat on his upper lip.
She shifted a little on the couch, and crossed her legs a little tighter.
When the intercom buzzed, they both jumped. Joe shut off the TV quickly and the room went dark.
Amanda looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty? Already? Gee, time flew when you were watching smut, um, art. “That’s Avery, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Joe answered.
Avery. Show time. Amanda looked at Joe, shirt untucked, chest untouched, and she glanced down at her own still-ironed look. Even the couch, with all its comfortableness, couldn’t lose the starch.
Great. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything.”
Joe cut his eyes towards her. “Usually women just get this look. Some