Jaded (2 page)

“But here’s the deal—you don’t tell her.”

Luke paused, the grin disappearing completely from his face. He felt an excited silence settle over the group. He looked around at the guys, skeptical. “You serious?”

“We’re sick of the same ole, same ole,” Mark said. “Time to spice it up a little. Whaddya say?”

“And what if I don’t get her in bed?”

“You owe
us
a hundred bucks. And I mean each and every one of us. Plus we get to hold this over your head for at least a month afterward. And good luck with her...she might have seen her better days already, if you know what I mean.”

It was precisely that inexplicable allure that made his buddies invest in the game over and over again; each time they were thinking that
this time
would be the one time Luke couldn’t charm the girl. His luck had to run out sometime...right? It was the same mentality that led other men like them to the casino night after night; Luke was the dealer who kept them coming back for more.

And Luke wasn’t complaining about their dedication to the game. “In bed” meant exactly what the adolescent euphemism suggested—in the pants, all the way, home run, a long or short night of steamy sex. No matter the phrasing, it all meant one thing for Luke—a damn good time. His coworkers could tell when he scored too. He wasn’t sure how—maybe the sense of accomplishment or sexual satisfaction was something they could smell, something that clung to his hair and clothes like a too-strong cologne. And though they doubted him on this one, like other deals before it, he wasn’t afraid to admit if he lost. He played the game, but he didn’t play games.

Usually the deals were a no-brainer, and this one seemed to be too good to turn down. One hundred dollars from each member of his crew would be nice, but without telling her about it? An actual client? His stomach twisted at the thought, but the number of eyes scouring his face for a reaction incited him to answer fast. He’d been thinking about beefing up his car stereo, and the money would help nicely. If she was attracted to him, he could have her in bed by the end of the week. But if she wasn’t, he was suave enough to pull it off within a month. Besides, Luke never paid out; it wasn’t in his nature to lose.

He shook Mark’s hand. “You’re on.”

***

Isabella finally woke up around noon. Her head had ceased its throbbing and it seemed her powers of reasoning had much improved. In fact, when she stood out of bed, nothing was spinning and there was no stumbling involved. Yes, this might be a fine day after all. Then she spotted her reflection in the mirror across the room and noted the sinuous black mascara lines creeping down her cheeks. Not only that, her hair was alternately stringy and matted, something that looked like she had done it on purpose for the starring role in a horror film.

She started with a shower; it was halfway through her conditioning routine that she remembered that her house was crawling with construction workers. The thought brought her to a halt, hands arced above her head mid-lather. She couldn’t quite recall what was so piercing until it floated to the surface of her mind:
three month renovation project.

She flew through the shower, dried off, and threw on a tank top and tight black shorts before marching downstairs to find her cell phone.
Mother must be spoken to, and quickly.
She couldn’t believe this oversight.

Her damp hair hung heavy down her back, pieces sticking to the moist skin of the exposed part of her chest. She nearly ran into a worker in the front hall and realized her skimpy attire might not be the best for a house full of men, but she plunged forward regardless. It was her house, after all. In the kitchen, she spotted her cell phone on the breakfast table, sitting on a pile of her books.

Luke was bent over the table, examining some papers. She cleared her throat as she approached from behind. “Excuse me. I just need to get my—”

Luke stood and swiveled to face her. She couldn’t miss the look of surprise on his face. “Whoa. Hey. Sorry, I...excuse me.” He stepped away from the table as she reached for her phone. It felt like his eyes were glued to her. She bit her lip nervously, unsure what was happening, and then offered a smile.

“Thanks. That’s all I needed. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Don’t worry, you weren’t bothering me.”

Something in his tone caused her to stop in her tracks and turn back to him. He was watching her go, eyes sparkling. Something about the situation—a total stranger, checking her out in her own kitchen—rubbed her the wrong way. She couldn’t find any words, no matter how desperately she wanted to retort with something witty, so she said nothing. She walked away slowly, wondering whether she had imagined the incident. Perhaps he was being friendly, making her feel comfortable as her house was invaded by construction workers? No, that was rationalization and she knew it. He had definitely been checking her out and if she’d responded, he probably would have invited her to come “bother him” after work or something similar. She shuddered. Men.

She escaped to her office, her sacred spot and work zone. She shut the door, locked it for good measure, and immediately dialed her mother’s phone.

“Angela Moreno, how can I help you?”

She sighed. “Mom, you know it’s me, why do you still answer like that?”

“Darling, it’s a
habit
, I can’t just go changing them willy-nilly.”

“Well that brings up a good point. I need to talk to you about something...”

“Is this about David? You know, I
saw
him the other day...”

Her heart wrenched in her chest; however, she was happy to note it was no longer accompanied by the gut wrench like in prior times. “You...what? You did? No, this isn’t about David... I don’t care about him anymore, Mother, I really don’t.”

“Well, he was asking about you. I didn’t know if you’d care to hear that or not.”

“I don’t care to hear it, as a matter of fact.”

“Also, he gave me your key.”

“My
what?
”

“Your key. The key you had to his house. He said you might want it.”

Isabella was floored and could scarcely find words appropriate for the swell of different reactions. “I...I don’t understand. The key to
his
house? Why would I need that? I don’t speak to him, I don’t see him, he barely exists to me anymore. That is senseless.”

“Well, yes...”

“Throw it away. I don’t want it.” Once the words left her mouth, she felt a pang of accomplishment. She took a deep breath. “I called about something else.”

“Yes?”

“Can you think of anything you forgot to mention to me recently?”

Her mother paused for a moment on the other end of the phone. Her lilting voice hummed as she pondered the question. “No, not a thing.”

“What about...a house renovation?”

There was another pause. “Oh,
yes,
dear, I do believe I forgot to mention that to you, didn’t I?” She laughed heartily. “Well, you can hardly fault me for springing a surprise gift, now, can you?”

“This is some surprise gift,” Isabella said. “In fact, this is one gift I would have loved to know about in advance.”

“I apologize, Isabella, you know it just slipped my mind. Oh, with all the wedding preparations and the business with your father and the appearances for the label, it’s hard to know up from down these days. I hope you forgive me...and I hope you like it!”

Isabella sighed. Her younger sister, Kitty, was planning a wedding and the entire family was swept up in the preparations. Isabella had been recruited as the general copywriter and bridesmaid, and with the date only three months away, things were starting to get intense. Beyond that, her mother’s social responsibilities frequently came before other, more important things. This was precisely why Isabella and her sister had almost never received proper immunization during their formative years; their mother simply never remembered anything about doctor visits. Manicures and pedicures, on the other hand, were prescheduled for several months.

“I think it will look nice, once it’s done. But, that’s the thing...it’s a three-month renovation project.”

“Yes, that does seem like a long time...I hired the best company in town, but, well, you know what they say...good things come to those who wait!” Her mother’s laugh trickled through the phone.

The buzzing of a sander erupted from somewhere beyond the door of her sanctuary.
Is this how it is going to be for three months?
“Mother, I have a life. I use my home as my office and workspace. Couldn’t you have at least mentioned this to me beforehand so I could prepare, or arrange something else?”

“Darling, if you need someplace to stay while they’re working, you are more than welcome to come stay with me.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought. “I appreciate that, Mother, but I just can’t rationalize moving back in with the parents at my age.”

“Well, what do you want, then? A hotel? A cabana on the beach? What is it?”

Isabella sighed, still unsure how to resolve the problem. Her mother’s options weren’t sarcastic—those were all very feasible, should Isabella choose one. But she didn’t want that either. She needed her living space. She wasn’t prepared to just pack up and move out for three months. Damn it, life would continue as normal.

“I’ll figure something out,” she said. “But please, next time you run off with blueprints of my house and hire a team of beefy working men to essentially move in with me, can you let me know in advance?”

“Of course, dear.” Her mother was beginning to sound distracted and Isabella was sure that she was in the middle of ten different things. Her attention couldn’t be held for more than a few minutes at a time. “Darling, I have to go. I have a photo shoot in ten minutes. We’re putting on the final touches right now and I don’t want to powder my phone. I’ll call you later and we’ll chat more, okay? Love!”

The connection clicked off. Her mother was thoughtful, sure, but even the best gifts from her felt distant and rushed. She couldn’t very well reject it; work had already begun, judging by how loud that sander was getting. She hardly had a say in what her mother did with her possessions, even when Isabella was the sole inhabitant. She sighed and set her phone down, noticing the pile of papers on her desk related to her current column. That could come later...now, she needed breakfast.

She crept into the kitchen, wondering who she might find and what they’d be messing with. She was hesitant to run into the lead guy again. They’d exchanged barely twenty words but she felt like he needed to be avoided.
Luke.
He had the name of a lead character in a soap opera...and had the looks of one too.

The man was gorgeous—that had been evident even through the micro-slits of her eyes that morning. As she prepared the ingredients for an omelet, she glanced out the window overlooking the backyard. There he was, shirtless in the sunlight, looking at some blueprints and pointing to different parts of the house. He was impossibly sun-kissed with a broad chest and a flat, toned stomach. Her jaw dropped a little. Every time he pointed somewhere, a different muscle in his body flexed. Her heart thumped in her chest.

She forced herself to look down at her countertop. Even though he was a safe distance outside, the image of his broad shoulders flexing flashed tortuously in her mind. He almost looked like a model out there, and with his features, with that body, he might as well be plastered across the walls of every teenage girl’s bedroom. Suddenly, the image of him straddling a surfboard in the ocean sizzled in her head. She could see him wiping away his soft, blond hair, swim trunks clinging to muscled thighs as he paddled into the waves, and then turning slowly to beckon her nearer, to join him in the water, to rub her hands all over his abs and biceps...

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, scolding herself for the fantasy. In her mind’s eye, she grimaced at the imaginary Luke and walked toward an ice cream cone stand instead.

Besides, she decided she didn’t like him. When he walked, he strutted. No doubt he had a different girl on his arm every three days. With that jaw line and that body, it wouldn’t be hard. And beyond that, he looked like he had a rugged side—the type of loud-laughing, uncouth man who chewed with his mouth open, talked incessantly about sports, and went to the bars right after work. Definitely not the type of guy she was looking for: someone refined, gentle, and well-informed about worldly issues. But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t looking for a man, so none of that mattered. Getting into that mental habit would take time, she knew. She’d been so programmed by her upbringing to look for a man every time she was single that she could barely help the automatic hunt.

Suddenly, the back door slid open. She knew it was him without looking up; all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood at attention.

“Isabella. Hey, again. It’s gonna be a hot day today!”

She turned to look at him, preparing an unwavering, casual smile so that she wouldn’t betray her natural, womanly reaction to such male perfection. But she couldn’t suppress it. Once her eyes landed on his body, she was unable to remove her gaze from the tiny line of hairs below his belly button.

“You making breakfast?” He approached her; she noticed the glistening of sweat on his chest. She cleared her throat and turned to the eggs in front of her.

“Yeah, a late breakfast, but I gotta start my day sometime, right?” As soon as the words came out, she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. It was happening—girlish embarrassment in front of grown, gorgeous men, an impulse she could hardly control.

Luke leaned on the counter beside her, looking down at the ingredients. “Looks good.” After a moment of quiet, she could swear she felt him ogling not the eggs, but her own body. She looked over at him. He snapped his head up to meet her gaze. “You like to cook?”

“Sure,” she said, curious to see what this man might have to say for himself. “I know you guys bring your own food and all, but if you ever need to use the kitchen to make something, feel free. We’ll be sharing the same space for so long, after all.”