Austensibly Ordinary (15 page)

Judging by the swift turn of Ethan's head, there'd been no volume control on my savvy assessment of the situation. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I fibbed, plucking casually at the folds of my skirt. A minute ago, I'd been willing to use the journal as a springboard straight into Ethan's house, but the bounce had gone completely out of that idea under the weight of one little question. Which meant I needed to backpedal quickly and find another way in.

I honestly had no idea what I might find at Ethan's apartment that would commence the demystification, but the very fact that I'd never been there seemed sufficiently telling—and suspicious. Enough so to push my luck.

“We could watch an old movie—a black-and-white one. . . with dames and dramatic pauses.”

“What are you hiding?”

“What am
I
hiding?? Dude, you've seen me without makeup, and on occasion, without a bra. You get the lowdown on every guy I date and on every parent who inspires voodoo thoughts. What do I seriously know about you? You could be anyone—alien, witness protection enrollee, the teacher version of
Dexter. . . .”

He froze, just for a moment, and I could feel his defenses going up, and then he cut his eyes around at me. “Alien? Clearly I need to set the record straight.” His voice was friendly but tight.

“Agreed. And while you're at it, you could stand to host a playdate or two.”

I'd been thinking Scrabble when the words popped into my head, but as they popped out of my mouth, the board game had been replaced by other, considerably more nefarious, activities. Activities that had no business lodging themselves in my brain while I was on a favor date with Ethan. I bit my lip, thankful for the darkness and the distraction of navigating through downtown. Maybe Ethan wouldn't notice.

Judging by the little half smile that now played around his lips, he noticed. And was even now trying to craft his response to my perfect setup. I closed my eyes, slumped ever so slightly in defeat, and waited. It wasn't long in coming.

“You're right. It's definitely time to even the score. It's unlikely I'll be up for Scrabble tonight, but I suppose I could take a stab at convincing you I'm not a serial killer.” He turned to look at me, and the reflected twinkle in his eye from a passing streetlight was eerie. I felt vaguely as if I'd lost control of the conversation.

“Fine. Good,” I said with a conviction I was no longer feeling.

“Where is this wedding anyway?” I asked, needing to make a clean breast of things.

“Whole Foods.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “In a grocery store?”

“On the roof, actually.”

“Who's marrying them, the produce manager?”

“Actually it's the DJ, who earned his officiant credentials online. Rob and Jules thought the whole thing would be ‘humorously ironic.”' Judging by the look on his face, Ethan thought they were a couple of kooks. “Their perspective on the wedding itself is ‘git 'er done and git to partyin'.'”

“O-kaay. Is it BYOB, spirits conveniently available for purchase one floor down, right along with the beef jerky and barbecue? Remind me again how you know Rob.”

“I've known him for a long time—we used to work together.”

“Doing what?”

A pause. “Disposable jobs right out of college.”

“Like delivering strip-o-grams, that sort of thing?”

“Similar, but with fewer singles and more dignity.”

“Gotcha,” I said, nodding. One more question artfully dodged. I narrowed my eyes with determination. One day soon, I was going to blow this thing wide open. Maybe even tonight. Wouldn't that be humorously ironic.

I could suddenly feel the beat of my heart as if, in the soundtrack of my life, there'd been a transition to adventure music. I glanced down at myself and felt, suddenly and paradoxically, both underdressed and overdressed. I couldn't help but wonder if superheroes ever felt like that.

 

As I skimmed my toes—the heels had been slipped off long ago—through the seeded grass growing on the downtown rooftop of Whole Foods and slowly sipped a mango margarita, I had to admit that this was a lovely spot for a wedding reception. Crisp white linens, fairy lights, dainty pots of pansies, rosemary topiaries decorated with white pom-pom garlands, and tall outdoor heaters positioned as sentries, guarding against the early November chill. And above us, the glow of the city, reflected back against shimmery, opalescent clouds, the pinpricks of starlight shining like rhinestones in a violet sky.

A few couples were dancing, trying to keep up with the bride and groom, but I'd yet to be asked. Ethan was taking his best man job very seriously: mingling, taking care of things, being the responsible one. I couldn't help but think he needed an alter ego of his own. I'd give him five more minutes, and then I'd sidle up to him, lay my hand on his arm, and lean in to whisper in his ear. It would totally freak him out, which would be just as satisfying as the dancing, if not better.

“That's a plotting smile, I can tell. I wonder if I should be worried?”

I swiveled my head around in true distracted fashion and found myself staring up into the twinkling eyes of Jake Tielman, the sparkle of the Milky Way spread out above him.

I popped to my feet in surprise before it occurred to me that I needed to stay in character. I might have been waffling between Cate and Cat in one great big tease with Ethan, but right now, I needed to be Cat Kennedy, Woman of Mystery. I slipped slowly back into my heels and took my time in answering.

“I wouldn't if I were you. You've only just appeared. Give a girl some time.” I fought to hang on to the reins of my smile to keep it from going all delighted teeth and gums. Jake appeared unconcerned and flashed me a doozy.

“So what do you think—coincidence or fate? There must be some explanation for both of us showing up here on this particular Saturday night.”

A little tickle at the edge of my mind murmured,
“Or magic. . .”
Shooting Gypsy Jane a subliminal
thank you,
I smiled.

“Too soon to tell,” I murmured, turning to retrieve my drink from the table to sip delicately.

Another grin. “I lost track of Grace, but you knew that.” He tipped his head down with an endearing touch of bashfulness. “I chased another classy blonde, but couldn't get her to agree to be my date.” He took a sip of his own drink, which looked like it could be straight Scotch.

I peered up at him over the lip of my glass and tried to pin him down. It was clear that he didn't take himself too seriously, so I decided to follow his lead.

“Was she scared of birds. . . or heights?” I quizzed, wondering if he'd catch my Hitchcock references. “Because either could have been a problem up here.”

He got it, judging by the way he tucked his lower lip under his teeth and gazed off over the rooftop before answering. “Honestly? I don't think she's afraid of anything.” He lifted his glass in a private little toast.

I'd take that compliment! Evidently I had at least one man fooled. Meanwhile, Ethan was listing in and out, not entirely sure how to pin me down, and I was enjoying the hell out of it.

“Bride or groom?” I quizzed, wondering at the degrees of separation that had pulled me into his orbit tonight.

“Step-cousin of the bride,” he admitted. “It was a courtesy invite. But I wanted to see the city from up here. I tried to get a date, but luck didn't smile on me,” he said pointedly.

“That's too bad,” I agreed. “But
I
will.” And I did. It was showy—with teeth—and a little bit out of character for Cat, but I let it slide.

“Any chance we're kissin' cousins?”

The blush rose up my neck and flushed my cheeks with heat.

“Only if being a friend of a friend makes you a cousin.” I smiled apologetically.

He leaned into me, and I held very still. But it was a false alarm. He set his empty glass on the table behind me, and his hand grazed my bare arm under the fringe of my wrap. A trail of goose bumps cropped up in its wake, and I shivered. A good shiver.

“I'm guessing that means you're not here alone. Will your plus-one mind if I convince you to dance with me?”

I didn't even bother glancing around. At the moment I had no thoughts to spare for Ethan.

“I don't plan on asking him. That is, if you can convince
me.”

His grin was quick and cocky, and I braced myself for his attempt.

“You know I'm not above playing to your sympathies,” he said. “Cut a guy a break?” He opened his arms in a gesture of encouragement. “I'd consider it a kick-ass consolation prize.”

I stalled a moment and pretended to be considering before I set my own drink down and said saucily, “I suppose I could use a break from masterminding,” and then let him lead me to the dance floor.

As I slid into his arms, he murmured, “This way I can keep an eye on you. And the advantages of that, Ms. Kendall, are innumerable.”

A warm, melty feeling spread out over my body, and I relaxed into his hold, enjoying, for once, the feeling of having a little confidence in my own sex appeal. Sadly, it shot off almost instantaneously, like escaped air from a balloon, complete with mocking raspberry. And my heart screeched to a halt before double-timing it back to normal.

He'd just called me Ms. Kendall. . . not Ms. Kennedy, which was how, I was quite certain, I had introduced myself on Halloween. Had I somehow given away my true identity??
Shit.
That had, very specifically,
not
been a part of the plan.

I let my gaze shift slightly to look into Jake's face, to see if he had any clue what sort of havoc he was wreaking on my “sexy time.” His smile was warm. . . tempting, and I knew if I kept ogling it, I'd end up kissing him, real names or not. And I'd end up regretting it. I was, after all, here with Ethan—fake date or not—and it seemed a little tarty to kiss another guy. I was just going to have to make damn sure I got another chance.

At the precise moment I realized that Jake was referring to my make-believe stint as Hitchcock's Eve Kendall and not my—coincidentally matching—real name, I was subjected to another heart-stopping jolt.

Ethan suddenly loomed large right beside us. A minute ago he'd been MIA, and now, suddenly, the moment I'd started flirting with another man, he was Mr. Attentive, with a rather forbidding-looking jawline. Ethan spoke first, edging out all pleasantries with his brusque manner.

“May I?” His tone implied it wasn't a question, more a dismissal. His whole demeanor was very Darcy-esque—the arrogant, insufferable side of the character—and I wasn't at all impressed. Jake graciously gave way, and I offered him an apologetic smile.

“How do you know Jake Tielman?” Ethan asked, moving us determinedly across the dance floor.

“How do
you
know Jake Tielman?” I demanded. “And who cuts in?” I wondered in confusion. “My dance card has been empty all night, Chavez. Where have you been?”

“Let's just say I know him by reputation. And I'd prefer his name didn't come up over Sunday Scrabble.”

“So we'll pick a new topic,” I snapped. “Maybe we'll talk about
your
romantic conquests for once.”

“I'm serious, Cate.”

“Spell it out, Chavez. Are you forbidding me from dancing with him? Seeing him? Sleeping with him?
What?”
My jawline had tightened up nicely—now we were a matching set, with both our eyes flashing fire.

Ethan stared down at me, obviously debating whether to back off, and as I watched, the heat in his eyes was gradually banked. “I'm not forbidding you to do anything, Cate. I'm just suggesting—as a friend—” His hand tightened fractionally around my waist. “That he's a career charmer—all style, no substance.” And then he couldn't help himself. “Out of curiosity, did he get to meet Cate or Cat?”

I couldn't help myself either. “He was getting
re-
acquainted with Cat when you cut in.” I smiled, and it felt justifiably brittle, and then I looked away from him and gave myself permission to smolder a little with outraged anger. At times I'd wondered why Ethan and I had never made the leap from good friends to friends with benefits and beyond. Why we had never connected romantically. Thinking about it always felt strangely bittersweet, although honestly, I couldn't pinpoint why.

He wasn't exactly my dream guy. As a girl who'd grown up watching old movies, I was sort of partial to the charmers, to the men who understood that while life was serious, they didn't need to take themselves too seriously. Ethan was always serious, at least as far as I was concerned. He acted more like a big brother than a potential lover. Which was good. Every time I started looking curiously—even longingly—at Ethan's flexing biceps or really excellent ass, he put the kibosh on by launching into a discussion of income tax or hybrid cars. Which was a relief. I didn't want things between us feeling even vaguely incestuous. Which brought us back to Jake.

While Jake seemed to thrill in the mystery, Ethan went all Sherlock Holmes on me. And it was a real mood killer.

I tilted my head slightly to peek at Ethan from the corner of my eye. We'd be friends forever, I was absolutely certain, but it was obvious things would never go beyond that.

If I was here by myself, I might still be dancing with Jake. Or we might have decided to flirt over another drink. As risque as it seemed, I might have even let him seduce me. . . .