Can't Always Get What You Want (15 page)

“Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Brett Nicholson?”

Big-burly-guy smiles, and instantly reminds me of a teddy bear. Or a sweaty, Greek Santa Claus.

“He’s over there,” he says, pointing toward a cluster of men standing around a large hole in the ground. “He’s on the cat.”

“Oh, right. Thanks!”

What’s a cat?

Okay, this is fine, I can totally figure this out. I just need to brush off my deductive reasoning skills. Obviously it must refer to a certain piece of equipment. Easy peasy. Just need to narrow it down.

Crap. Everything has the word “CAT” written on it.

How am I supposed to know which piece of equipment he was referring to? And I’m not about to traipse in there in my wedge heels and summer dress. I may not know what a “cat” is, but I’m not a complete idiot. Perhaps I should go back to my car and call him. At least I’d have air-conditioning in there.

And that’s when I see him. Brett is sitting on the edge of the seat on some yellow machine, and seems to be giving instructions to the guys around him. Instructions given, they scatter and he returns to digging a hole.

Or something. I honestly have no idea what he’s trying to do.

But it looks hot.

He’s busy pulling levers and shifting gears. Mmm…I bet he’s good with his hands.

My dirty thoughts must send out some sort of signal, because after I fantasize a few seconds about the many ways he could “operate” me, he spots me and jumps down from his perch.

Brett jogs over through the stifling heat, grinning wildly. “Hey, baby,” he pants, and gives me a soft kiss. “Glad you could make it.”

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I say. “The dirt piles are very feng shui.”

“Exactly what Narayan and I were going for.”

I grin back at him.

He escorts me around the perimeter of the work site, a safe distance away from the action. He points out where a pond and a community garden will be, and tells me how they plan to combine solar and wind energy to power the houses.

“I have no idea of how you can keep all that straight,” I say. “I can’t wait to see how it looks when you’re finished.”

He gives me a shy smile. “Well, there’s a lot of work still. Anyway, that’s where we are at the moment.”

He takes my hand and we walk toward the parking lot.

“Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner,” he announces.

“I’d love that. You’re so dressed up, too,” I say, motioning to his dirty jeans and T-shirt.

He squeezes my hand. “We’ll stop at my place first so I can shower and change.”

“Cool,” I say calmly. Inwardly, I’m jumping up and down with joy. I haven’t seen his place yet, so naturally I’m curious about what it looks like. That, and my imagination is doing back flips over the thought of him being wet and naked.

“Should we stop in and see Nar?” I ask as we pass the portables.

“He’s out today. Balancing figures and whatnot, working out contract details. Office stuff,” he says dismissively. I gather that “office stuff” isn’t really Brett’s thing. He’d much rather be outside playing in the dirt. I kind of love that about him.

Although I imagine he cleans up really well when he wears a suit and tie. What will he wear tonight? Oh no…what if he’s taking me somewhere fancy?

“So, where do you want to have supper?” I ask casually, while glancing down at my plain summer dress.

He flashes that sexy half grin that makes my knees wobble. “Just follow me home first. We’ll sort the details out later.”

I get in my car and follow him on the half-hour drive to his house. He lives not far from me, actually. This could be convenient, in case I want to go for a visit.

At midnight.

Wearing a trench coat.

Only.

His neighborhood is a bit newer than mine, and the lots are smaller. Another good point to buying an older home, like mine. If we ever got serious, which house would we live in, his or mine? I guess that depends on how much I like his place. I’d hate to give up my backyard, and the beautiful home that I’ve worked so hard on.

Whoa—did I just think about him in the long term? I keep on surprising myself. A month ago, I would have rather stuck forks in my eyes than consider moving in with a serious boyfriend. And yet, in the past week, I’ve been so busy and high on love (or whatever this is with Brett) that I’ve barely even thought about Aaron.

Hmm. When should that conversation come up? Maybe now that we’re an official couple, I should tell Brett about Aaron.

No, no—don’t go there. This is my first time at his house. I don’t want to spoil the evening.

I park my car on the street and follow Brett up to his house.

“Home sweet home,” he says as he opens the front door.

It’s a bit bare, and needs a “woman’s touch,” but overall, it’s very nice. His house has a clean, masculine feel. A total man cave.

The entryway opens into a large living area, which is walled in by ceiling-to-floor windows, giving an unrestricted view of the backyard.

What catches my eye the most is the elegant spiral staircase to the right-hand side. Solid wood, with detailed scrollwork; the work of an expert carpenter.

“Did you make this?”

Brett nods. “Took me forever.”

He tours me around the house, and then settles me with a glass of water before heading off to the shower. Hmm…What would he do if I joined him?

I gulp down my glass of ice water. We haven’t even properly made out yet, for goodness’ sakes. Well, not that making out can ever be “proper.” I don’t think much propriety could ever exist in the realm of exploring someone’s mouth with your tongue.

Brett joins me in the living room a few minutes later, and finds me inspecting one of his many bookcases.

“That was fast,” I comment.

He’s wearing jeans and a plain, light blue T-shirt. The clothes are plain Jane, but he looks
anything
but plain. He does look a bit casual, though. We must not be going out anywhere fancy.

Just as well. I’m not dressed for anything classier than a food court.

“You ready for supper?” he calls over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

He looks up at me from behind the kitchen island. “We’re staying in. I decided that I’d rather cook and keep you all to myself.”

Gulp.

“You want to cook for me?”

I’ve never had a man cook for me before. Well, other than my dad. But his creative (aka disgusting) combinations, like tuna fish and banana sandwiches, don’t count.

“You can help,” he says playfully, passing me ingredients to make a salad.

We work side by side at the kitchen island, delicious electricity darting back and forth between us. The salad doesn’t take long, and we head outside to the backyard.

“Good week at work?” he asks as we walk through the living room toward the patio doors.

“Meh, about average,” I reply. I notice that my voice sounds tired at the very mention of work. Brett seems to notice too, and drops the subject.

The yard backs onto a golf course, and is bordered with tall, leafy trees. I settle into a comfortable lounger and watch him fire up the grill. It looks like the grill master is showing off his skills again. So long as he doesn’t pull out mice on skewers, we’re good.

I survey the yard a bit more. There aren’t any flowers, but it’s shaded and well maintained.

“Well, Nicholson, it’s got nothing on my backyard, but it has a certain manly charm.”

“Manly, huh?”

“Yes. Plain, but functional. It needs some flowers or something.”

Brett smiles and looks as if he’s about to say something, when the neighbors crank up some death metal songs to an earsplitting volume. Brett shoots an annoyed look over the fence. For a split second, he reminds me of someone, but I can’t place who. AHH!
That’s
who it is.

“Your frown just reminded me of Ravi Singh. He always seems to be scowling about something.”

“Is that a good thing? That I remind you of him?”

“Depends.” Ravi is really funny, even if he is a bit of a martyred grump. “Have you met Samira’s parents?”

“Once, briefly. They seem to bicker a lot.”

I laugh. “Sounds about right. They’ve had several fights going on for years.”

“Such as?” Brett asks. So I fill him in on the controversy regarding Samira’s name.

“Ha! Poor Sam.”

Our friends next door turn their “music” up another notch, and the muscles in Brett’s jaw start tightening rhythmically. I try to lighten the mood, though it’s a bit difficult to talk over the shouting and chaotic guitar solos.

“How did your parents choose your name?” I ask, still thinking about Nita and Ravi’s ongoing fight about Samira’s name.

He chuckles. “It was the eighties, and they came to a mutual agreement. My mom loved Bret Michaels from Poison, and my dad loved Bret ‘Hitman’ Hart.”

“As in the wrestler?”

“The very one.”

I’ll never understand why men like wrestling or fighting. It must be some kind of testosterone thing. There’s never,
ever
been a time when I wanted to grapple Samira to the ground and kick the crap out of her.

He walks over and straddles the end of the lounger I’m reclined in. He runs a finger along the curve of my calves.

Oh my…

“What about you, Soph?”

“What about me?”

He leans forward, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. I shiver, despite the sweltering July heat. “Your name. How did your parents choose it?”

“Oh, that. My dad named me, actually. My mom was going through a hippie phase, and if left to her own devices would have named me something weird, like Sunflower or Ocean. Dad wasn’t having any of it.”

“Sunflower Richards has a nice ring to it,” Brett says, and I playfully poke his chest.

I smile at him, and he smiles back. The same electricity that’s been buzzing between us all afternoon pulls us closer and closer, our lips tantalizingly close…and then a particularly obnoxious, screamy song rips apart our nearly tender moment.

He stands, pulling himself to full height, his jaw set. He marches through the house, and slams the front door.

Seconds later, the music is abruptly turned off, and Brett rejoins me outside.

“Aww, and I was just starting to enjoy it,” I tease.

He grumbles something under his breath before perching himself on the lounger with me again.

“Seems like it went well,” I point out.

He smirks. “I told them I had a nurse that would kill them in their sleep and make it look like natural causes if they didn’t cut it out.”

“You didn’t!” I shriek, rising to my feet.

Brett catches my waist and sits me back down. He’s laughing.

“No, nothing like that. Just a few strong, choice words. But could you really kill?” he asks, tickling my ribs. “I have a few people you could take care of.”

“Stop it!” I yell out, all at once delighted and wanting to get away. Brett stops tickling me, and we sit panting and grinning at each other.

He won’t stop staring at me.

“What?”

“You have the most beautiful green eyes,” Brett breathes out.

“Really? I’ve always wanted bright blue ones, like you.”

“Don’t wish that. You have the most amazing eyes.”

Unable to keep eye contact, I glance down and stare at the knotted fingers in my lap. A strong forefinger lifts my chin upward.

“I mean it, Sophie. You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the gorgeous one. Can you imagine the sort of babies we’d make?”

I slap my hand over my mouth.

Why did I bring up babies? The subject is like Kryptonite to men. I expect him to get up and bolt any minute now.

To my surprise, he remains seated, and looks at me thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry, that just came out of nowhere,” I stammer, my cheeks turning red. I glance quickly at the ground, looking for a glass of water or something, anything to distract myself. Damn it, where is a glass of wine when you need it?

“No need. I’ve already been told I have a sexy behind…” He trails off, smirking at me.

“I’ll just take it as another compliment,” he says. “Besides, you know that I’m not into casual dating. Well, not anymore. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t see a potential future.” He’s dead serious.

Meep.

This is what every girl wants to hear, right? Then why is a small fraction of my heart in panic mode? Shoving the panic aside and embracing the excitement, I lean forward and kiss him.

We continue making out on the lounger. The smell of burned chicken eventually brings us back to reality.

“Damn,” Brett grumbles, picking up the charred lumps from the grill. “Oh well, we can always order a pizza or something.”

I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Forget supper.”

Chapter 13

Sad Sad Sad

I need a cigarette.

Only, I don’t smoke. And, I have no idea what craving a cigarette feels like. But I’m so shaky and nerved up that I imagine it would calm me down. At least, that’s what I’ve seen on TV.

It’s an overcast July afternoon, and I’m walking as fast as my feet can carry me through the parking lot outside work.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s from Brett.

Hey baby <3 You free to hang out tonight?

My eyes well up. I’m feeling fragile, as if the slightest bump could break me.

Of course. Just catching a quick Starbucks with Samira, and then heading home.

As usual, he responds lightning-fast.

I haven’t converted you to Timmies yet?

What can I say? I’m incredibly loyal to overpriced sugary beverages. I’ll text you when I’m done with coffee and have had a chance to clean up at home.

Nice. Though what man doesn’t love a dirty nurse?

I laugh for the first time in hours.

Trust me. You wouldn’t like this kind of dirt.

Bad shift?

I sigh heavily.

Kind of. Will tell you later. oxoxo

I return my phone to my work bag and jog toward Starbucks. Samira is already there.