Skye blinked. She’d never thought she’d hear Fiona sounding so…pragmatic.
“What happened to, ‘Thirty is the year when we finally become real women’?”
“It is, and as a real woman, I think I’d like to have some financial stability in my life.”
“What are you saying?” Skye’s head was starting to do the same bongo-drum thing it did when she drank too many margaritas. Or maybe that was part of the jungle-sounds CD.
“This probably isn’t a good time to spring this on you,” Fiona said as she began to rearrange the found objects on the coffee table. “But I’ve decided to leave Club Sunset and take that pharmaceutical sales job my dad found for me.”
Skye sat on the ottoman, her beleaguered brain ready to call it quits for the day. She’d thought she’d always have Fiona to be her fellow starving artist. And all through the years, even though she was five years older than Skye, Fiona was the one who’d never seemed to mind being a waitress and earning petty cash here and there on her collages. She’d seemed to relish her carefree lifestyle.
“You? In sales?”
She shrugged. “Just until I set the art world on fire.”
“But—”
“Please don’t look so disappointed. I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
Skye produced a shaky smile. “Sorry, I’m just a little shocked. But you’re right, you’d be a fool to pass up the money.”
“At least we know there’ll be an opening at Club Sunset,” Fiona said, and that was the final straw.
“Excuse me,” Skye said.
She stood up and hurried into the bathroom to wash her face, returned and grabbed her bag, then hurried toward the door before she could burst into tears again.
“Skye? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just need some fresh air,” she said, flashing a shaky smile at Fiona before she disappeared.
Outside, Nico was nowhere to be seen, and it was all for the best. She couldn’t have faced him now anyway without revealing herself as the basket case she actually was.
Skye drove on autopilot, her thoughts bouncing from one disastrous event to the next, tears prickling her eyes again as she navigated the road without thinking about it.
God, she’d turned into a caricature of a twenty-something. Job problems, guy problems, roommate problems…
She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she didn’t want to go anywhere she’d already been. A half hour later, she was miles down the freeway, taking the Malibu exit to Martin’s house.
Well, actually, to Nico’s house. Who knew if he was home, but it was her turn to stalk him, regardless.
NICO DIDN’T KNOW whether to be relieved or frustrated that now he had no excuse not to put Skye out of his thoughts. But of course, if it was as easy as all that, he’d have forgotten about her weeks ago.
He closed his front door, kicked off his shoes, and walked through the house to the living room, which mocked him with its emptiness. Why the hell had he come home, anyway?
Because the thought of going out to dinner alone, or picking up carry-out alone, or sitting in a bar alone, might have meant crossing the thin line between sane and crazy. He’d always relished his single status, until the accident. Since his recovery, he’d continued to date, but the women who’d once amused him simply by being hot and willing were now not so satisfying.
Getting a glimpse of his own mortality could do that to a guy.
That hadn’t stopped him from seeking the company of women, but lately, all the company had been strictly sexual. And none of them seemed to care one way or the other.
The light on his answering machine was flashing, and the LCD said he had three messages, so he hit the play button and listened.
“Hey, Nico, busy tonight?” a woman’s voice said. He didn’t recognize her right away. “It’s Lisa. Call me if you’d like some company.”
Lisa. Lisa who? He felt a little pang of disgust at himself for not knowing. Company was the word he did know though—it was the universal booty-call code word.
A second message began to play. “Nico, hi. It’s me, Dawn. Just wondering if you’d like some company tonight.”
There it was again. That word.
A third message. “Hi, Nico. It’s Misha—”
He stopped the recording before he had to hear it again.
And for the first time, he realized what was bothering him so much. He’d become one of those guys. A guy women didn’t want anything serious with—a guy they didn’t even want to talk to or go out to dinner with. A guy they just wanted to screw.
How the hell had that happened?
Sure, he’d expected retirement from racing to bring with it a fading of the limelight, but he hadn’t expected women to stop regarding him as an interesting human being outside of the bedroom.
He sank onto the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table, and grabbed the remote. With the press of a button, a sixty-inch plasma TV screen emerged from a console cabinet on the other side of the room, and with another press of a button, the sports channel was on, displaying scores from yesterday’s games.
He needed to order a pizza, do something for dinner, but the thought of eating alone… Best not to think about it again. Instead, he watched the sports news and tried really hard to give a damn about any of it. Tried to ignore his annoyance that he wasn’t making news anymore.
Thoughts of Skye invaded—a welcome distraction from the news. He closed his eyes and summoned an image of her at her desk at work. He’d never been big on office fantasies, but he could have thought of a few ways to liven up that cubicle of hers. He could have shown up after hours…found her working alone… propped her up on that desk…pressed himself between her legs. He imagined the silky feel of her, the way her thighs would clench around his hips, the way the flesh of her breasts would mold to his hands, the way her breath would feel tickling his neck as he pounded against her—
Then the doorbell rang and jarred him back to reality. He got up from the couch, adjusted his pants, and went to the door slowly, as if he didn’t care about having a visitor, not sure whether to be happy or disgusted that it was probably some unannounced booty call dropping by.
And when he saw Skye outside the foyer window standing on his front steps, it was the most welcome sight he’d beheld in a long time. An unexpected burst of joy surged in his chest. Again, Skye evoked in him emotions that he’d been afraid might be gone for good.
She was glaring at the door, not exactly looking happy to be there. Which was too bad. If she’d been on his doorstep looking for sex and nothing more, she was the one woman he’d be more than happy to oblige.
But more likely, his lure had worked. She wanted to know if he really knew where Martin was. He didn’t know, but he had a damn good idea.
He opened the door and smiled.
“You bastard, your showing up at my office set off the chain of events that got me fired, and you expect me to help you?”
“You got yourself fired. And hello to you, too.”
“I didn’t come here to chitchat. Are you going to let me in, or should I just stand out here until I blow away?”
Nico stepped aside, images of the first time he’d seen her struggling with her skirt filling his head, her tempting proximity causing his groin to stir again. “Downside of living on the ocean. The wind can be a bitch.”
She turned on him and shot him a screw-you glare. “How about