Extreme Bachelor (14 page)

“I’ll give you a ride,” Michael offered.

Leah instantly straightened and shook her
head. “No, no, that’s okay. Brad will come and . . .” Her face
fell. “Oh,” she said softly. “Right, right, I forgot. No, it’s
okay. Really. Not a problem. I’ll get home. You go do your thing
and good luck. Okay, later,” she said, and clicked off her phone.
She tossed it into her backpack, then stood with her hands on her
hips, frowning at Michael.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to hide the
delight in his voice.

“Brad has a meeting with his agent he can’t
miss.”

“That means you’re stuck with me. Good
news.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hey, girl, I already said I’d give you a
ride. You don’t need to try and flatter me.”

“I’m not trying to—
Oh
!” she cried with
frustration and glared at her car. “Stupid,
stupid
car!” she exclaimed and then
glanced at Michael again. Then she suddenly whirled around,
scanning the cars that were left. “Isn’t there anyone else here?”
she cried. “One of the girls, maybe? All I need is a ride to a bus
stop—”

“Okay, now you’re just hurting my feelings,”
Michael said. “Leah, it’s just a ride. That’s it. I will take you
where you need to go, and you can call someone to come haul this
away while you’re working.”

“But how will I get to work?” she asked the
sky, arms fully extended. Before Michael could open his mouth to
offer, Leah lifted a finger. “Ha! I’ll call Trudy. She owes
me.”

“Okay, great. That’s settled. Shall we
proceed with said ride and get it over with?” She slanted a look at
him. He shrugged. “Just following your lead.”

Leah actually smiled a little. “Okay. Let’s
get it over with.”

“I’m just over there,” he said, and pointed
to his bronze T-bird convertible.

Leah turned to look where
he pointed, and her shoulders instantly sagged. “You drive a
T-bird
?” she exclaimed.
“
I
want a T-bird.
I have wanted the blue T-bird for at least a hundred years. How is
it fair that
you
have that car and I don’t?”

“Come check it out.”

Clearly defeated, she nodded. Michael picked
up her backpack, but she instantly took it from him, her fingers
brushing his, and shoved the pack over her shoulder. She pivoted
away from him and locked the driver’s door.

“Your passenger window is down,” he pointed
out.

“It’s broken.”

He didn’t see any point in locking the one
good door, but he said nothing.

They walked across the lot together—a good
two feet between them that felt like an ocean—to the passenger side
of his car. He’d left the top down, so Leah leaned over the door
like she was leaning over the ledge of a cliff and looked inside
the interior. “Wow,” she said reverently. “It’s even nicer than I
thought.”

“You’ll love the way it rides,” he said, and
opened the passenger door for her. Leah slipped into the seat, one
leg after the other, pushed her backpack to the floor between her
feet, and yanked at her skirt before folding her hands primly in
her lap.

That simple gesture
reminded him of another moment so long ago; the day she had found
out she’d been given a part in the play,
Marty’s Sister’s Lover.
She’d sat on
his couch, her smile brilliant, her hands clasped together in her
lap so tightly that he’d had the sense she was trying to contain
her absolute glee at having won the part.

“You’re excited,” he’d said.

“I’ve never been this excited in my life.
Well . . . except for Saturday night,” she’d added with a salacious
little wink.

With that memory in his mind’s eye, Michael
shut the passenger door and strode around to the driver’s side.

He started the ignition; 4 Doors Around, the
music on his MP3 started up, and he reached to turn it down.

“Hey!” Leah cried, stopping him with a hand
to his wrist. Michael froze, looked at the slender hand on his
wrist. “Is that 4 Doors Around?”

“Yeah—you know them?”

“Know them? I love them,” she said, looking
at him. “How did you know?”

Her question confused him for a moment, but
then he realized she thought he’d played it for her. He resisted
the urge to take full credit for doing exactly that—but there had
been enough lies between them. “I didn’t,” he answered honestly. “I
just happen to like them, too.”

“Oh.” She actually looked disappointed. Her
hand slid away from his wrist, back to her lap. “That’s really . .
. another very weird coincidence.”

“Not so weird,” he said quietly. “We always
liked the same music, remember?”

Leah looked straight ahead.

“Ramona Priest. Radioslave. Borrowed Time,”
he reminded her.

“The soundtrack to
The September Affair
,”
she added so softly he could barely hear her.

“Excuse me?”

“You remember? The movie you slept
through?”

“Like I could ever forget that,” he said
with a chuckle. “You played it nonstop for weeks to punish me.”

“I did not,” she said, lifting her head and
smiling at him. “It was just a couple of days. You’re
exaggerating.”

“I don’t exaggerate. It was at least a
week,” Michael said, and smiled as he reached across the console,
absently stroked the back of her hand with his finger. “Do you
still like martinis?”

Leah’s smile faded. “Michael . . .”

He removed his hand.
“Civil. I swear to God,
civil
. But where’s the harm in a
drink?” he asked quickly before she could refuse him. “That’s what
civil acquaintances do. They have drinks, they talk, they catch up
with each other.”

“Except that we’re not exactly civil
acquaintances,” she reminded him.

“We’re more than that,” he said, feeling,
strangely, a little desperate.

She shrugged.

“Come on, Leah. You’re just as curious about
me as I am about you, and don’t try to deny it. It’s written all
over your face.” He waited, hoping his ploy would work.

For some reason, of all the things he’d
said, that made Leah smile. “Okay, I won’t deny it. But just so
we’re clear here, Lucy is far more curious about you than I am, and
I have a duty to report.”

“Oh my God. Good ol’ Lucy, huh?”

“Yes,
Lucy
,” she responded, her voice full
of warning.

He remembered Leah’s best friend, a brash
and funny redhead who was totally into Leah’s business. Neck deep.
Michael chuckled and shook his head. “I swear I can’t win. So how
is the old girl?”

“About to get married, if you can believe
it,” Leah said with a funny shake of her head. “I never thought I’d
see the day Lucy got married.”

“Christ, me either,” Michael agreed as he
backed out of his spot. “I always had her pegged for the man-eating
type.”

“She is the man-eating type. So where are we
going? No place too dressy, okay? I don’t want to sit there feeling
more like a geek than I already do.”

Thank you
God
. That was one small victory that had
him feeling just one step away from dancing on the hood of his car.
But Michael played it cool as he put the car in drive. “There’s a
great place on Montana Avenue—very casual, very laid back,” he
said, and pointed the car in that direction.

LEAH had always suspected she had an
unnatural tolerance for suffering. One need only look at her
history to see it—foregoing the education her parents would have
given her and struggling to put herself through school. Collapsing
completely when Michael had dumped her. Subjecting herself to
auditions over and over again, only to be told she was too fat or
too tall or too blond. And now, hurtling up the 405 with the one
man on Planet Earth she never wanted to see or speak to again.

But dammit, he was so good-looking and so
earnest, and he smelled so good, just like she remembered, that it
had been impossible to say no. But she was on to him—whatever he
thought would come out of it, it would be nothing.

They chatted—civilly—about the film as they
drove, and while Leah was managing to answer his questions—yes, she
did scale the wall today, and no they hadn’t started blocking the
three battle scenes—all she could think of was how crazy she was,
how absolutely stupid to think anything good could come of this,
and how Lucy was going to absolutely howl when she told her. Only
Lucy would be howling with laughter. Leah just hoped she would be
able to howl along with her.

And what the hell was he doing in a T-bird,
the car she was supposed to have? She couldn’t help but imagine
that if they had managed to stay together back then, she’d be
living in some great place in Brentwood, driving the T-bird, owning
tons of great shoes, and hosting dinner parties for big-cheese
studio execs.

But they hadn’t managed to stay together,
which made this ride even more insane.

Then again, just to play devil’s
advocate—and because she was into suffering, remember—could it
really hurt so much to have a chat for old times’ sake? Because
really, once her mind and heart had gotten over the shock of seeing
him again and had absorbed the fact that she really was talking to
him after all these years, and that he had the T-bird and she
didn’t, it didn’t hurt as bad as it had way back then. Now, it was
more of a dull, vague ache than the open, gaping wound like the
days and weeks and months after he dumped her.

At the great place Michael knew, they sat
outside on cushy chairs and ordered martinis. The conversation was
a little stilted at first—he asked about her family, she said they
were fine. Then without thinking, she asked about his family, and
there was an awkward silence.

Then Michael asked her about Brad.

“My roommate,” Leah said. “We rent a house
in Venice Beach.”

“That’s great,” he said.

“No, not great,” she said with a half smile.
“It’s a bungalow that’s run down and falling apart, and as a
result, we rent it for dirt cheap.”

“Ah,” he said, and sipped his martini. One
strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. She had the urge to
brush that lock away from his eye like she used to. She sipped her
martini and looked around the room.

“So . . .” Michael said casually, “is there
anyone else besides Brad?”

“Nope. Just the two of us.”

“I mean a guy,” he said, sitting up and
bracing his elbows on the arms of his chair.

“What sort of guy?”

“A
guy
,” he said, smiling at her
obstinate response. “A significant other, a fiancé, a husband—that
sort of guy.”

Leah inadvertently snorted into her drink.
“Not at the moment.”

“Good.”

She smiled a little at how firmly he’d said
it. “I’d ask the same of you,” she said lightly, “but I think I
know the answer.”

“Oh yeah? So what’s the answer, Smarty
Pants?”

She shrugged, took a long
sip of her martini. “It’s not like it’s hard to figure out. Extreme
Bachelor—need I say more?”
Ha
! Michael actually colored a bit.
She hoped he was squirming in his chair. “Your reputation precedes
you,
Smarty Pants
.”

He laughed uneasily, but his eyes crinkled
in the corners, and his gaze, soft and deep and the color of warm
molasses, seeped into her. “That’s just talk,” he said. “I’ve dated
around, but it’s not like they make it out to be. The truth is,
there hasn’t been anyone serious in my life since you.”

The warm feeling sank a little deeper—but it
also infuriated her. No one since her? He had no idea what that
really meant. “Dated around,” she said breezily. “Sounds kind of
slutty.”

Michael almost choked on
his olive. “I didn’t say I was sleeping around. I said I
dated
around.”

“Oh. So you haven’t slept around?”

He sighed. “Obviously, I don’t know what I
am saying.”

Exactly
. Leah smiled pertly, but she was suddenly struck with an
image of him in bed, having sex with a woman. “So has it always
been that way?”

“What way?” he asked, his trepidation
evident.

“Did you ever get married?”

“No,” he said. “Did you?”

Oh yeah, right. Married, divorced, dating
around . . . Leah rolled her eyes. “No. So you didn’t marry an
Austrian woman?” she blurted, hating herself for even asking.

Michael seemed surprised
and considered her for a moment before answering, during which
time, Leah realized she was holding her breath. “I didn’t have a
wife or a girlfriend or a mistress in Austria,” he said quietly but
firmly. “I was never even
in
Austria—I just told you I was. I was never
unfaithful to you, Leah—at least not with another woman. I was
unfaithful to you with my job.”

Was that supposed to make her feel better?
She’d been dumped for a job? She suddenly felt very self-conscious
and glanced down, noticed she was almost out of martini.

“I’ll get you another one,” Michael said and
signaled for the waitress before she could respond. That was the
way he’d been—always knowing what she wanted or needed before she
did.

Ooo-kay, clearly she had
to stop this little trip down memory lane, because it was only
making her crazy, taking her to the precise place she didn’t want
to go.
Light and carefree,
she chastised herself.
Definitely disinterested. Be disinterested.
“Don’t try and get me drunk and take advantage of
me,” she said sternly.