Joy Ride (7 page)

Until now. And I’ve probably screwed that up good and tight. Serves me right, I guess
.

“Not even me?”

He stood there clutching his coffee mug, a muscle working in his jaw, anger sparking in his eyes. It was hard for Emma not to make comparisons. Where Andrew was all smooth edges and precise, like the clean lines on an architectural drawing, Marc was…well…the joy ride. Excitement. Dark fantasies. Visceral emotions. Oh, yes, plenty of emotion.

“Emma?” Andrew’s voice was sharp.

She jerked back to reality. “Yes?”

“Where did you just go? We’re having a conversation here. Or at least
I’m
trying to.”

She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“You keep saying that. So let me try to make sense of this. The past two years have meant nothing to you, right?”

“Not true.” She had to leave him with some dignity. And it hadn’t all been bad. “I enjoyed your company, Andrew. It’s been very, um, pleasant.”

“Pleasant,” he repeated. “A word to make a man’s heart beat faster.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t know what else to say except I wish things could be different but they aren’t. I regret ending it this way.”

“I wish you hadn’t ended it at all,” he spat out. “There’s more to this than you’re saying. How about telling me where you went last night? I know you weren’t home.” He glared at her. “When you didn’t answer my calls, I drove over here. The house was dark and you didn’t answer the door. I knocked so loud I was afraid the neighbors would come out and chase me away.”

“I heard what you said on the answering machine. I suppose you were worried about me. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t think I was just going to sit around and wait for you to give me some kind of explanation, did you? Or did you think at all?”

No, she hadn’t, and that was one of the worst of her sins. She’d been thinking of no one but herself.

His anger still shimmered in the air along with a healthy dose of bruised ego. He wasn’t letting this go, and Emma just wanted it to be over. Done. So she could be alone and figure out what to tell her parents who were sure to be all over her like a plague of locusts.

“I don’t really want to discuss where I went or what I did. That’s my business now. I’m very sorry, Andrew, but it definitely
is
over. And it would be better for both of us if you would leave. Now.”

Andrew was gripping the coffee mug so hard Emma was afraid for a minute it might shatter. Then he set it deliberately on the table and walked out of the room, Emma on his heels. At the front door he turned toward her, resentment still outlining his features.

“Just so you know, I’m not giving up. Whatever little brain fart you had last night will work its way out and then life can get back to normal.” He opened the door. “And I’ll forgive you.”

Emma stared after him, open-mouthed.

He’d forgive her?

How truly magnanimous of him.

If the door hadn’t already been closed, she would have slammed it.

Finally, she went back into the kitchen and rinsed out the mugs. Too bad she’d already taken her shower. That was the place where she did some of her best thinking.

And where I can conjure up Marc again, pretend my hands on my body are his. Pretend—

Crap, Emma. Get a grip
.

***

Marc was jittery and unsettled. The episode at the grocery store had really put him off his game. After scarfing down a sandwich from the deli, he changed into old, faded jeans and a ratty T-shirt. Now he couldn’t figure out what to do with the rest of the day. He’d thought about going over to his parents’ house and immersing himself in the environment there. Being with his family always centered him. Maybe his brothers would be home from college for the weekend, and he could hang out with them. Sitting here alone was only driving him crazy.

He was aware most people didn’t think of rock musicians as having families. Someone once said to him, “I’m sure they just think we were hatched.” And truly, too many of the musicians he knew had no family support at all. Marc never took his for granted. They’d encouraged him with his music right from the beginning, and he always let them know how important they were to him.

But maybe today wasn’t such a good time to head over there. One of his brothers was sure to figure out why he was so fidgety, and he wasn’t at all ready to tell them about Music Lady. He didn’t even know her name, for God’s sake. Or have any idea how to find her. Get in touch with her.

Try explaining to my brothers I had mind-blowing sex with a woman who wouldn’t even tell me her name. And that the next day she acted as if she’d never met me. What’s that all about?

Why does her attitude hurt so badly? Why am I even thinking about her if she can blow me off this way, treat me like a stranger?

He didn’t like feeling unsettled. It had never happened to him with any other woman and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. One night with Music Lady and his emotions were all over the place.

He shook himself mentally, cursing himself for acting like an idiot. Finally, after wandering around his house, he thumped himself down on the couch. But try as he might, he couldn’t get his Music Lady out of his mind. Thinking about her now made his cock hard as a steel pole, and he shifted to a more comfortable position. When he closed his eyes, he could see her again gloriously naked in his bed, her satin, soft skin flushed with pleasure, eyes glazed, streaky blonde hair falling around her like a cape. His hands fisted convulsively remembering the feel of her breasts, the stiff pebbled nipples, the beat of her heart against his fingers.

He wished she were here, right next to him, so he could pull those luscious buds into his mouth again. Nip them with his teeth and soothe them with his tongue. Lick her body all over and plunge his tongue deep into her wet pussy. Taste that sweet pink flesh and suck the hot bud of her clit.

He wanted her to sit on his face and—

Marc jerked himself into awareness. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t sixteen anymore, having wet dreams about the cutest girl in class. No, he was thinking about a woman he’d probably never see again. He checked his watch. Four o’clock. Where the hell had the afternoon disappeared to while he’d been sitting here daydreaming like a fool?

It occurred to him that he’d spent most of the day alternately nursing his hurt feelings and dreaming erotic fantasies about a woman he’d spent one night with.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Yeah, but there’s something else at play here. Something I can’t put a name to. Yet.

He knew only one cure for what ailed him. Fishing a bottle of beer out of the fridge, he grabbed his acoustic guitar and carried everything out onto his back porch. Slouching into one of the Adirondack chairs he’d recently repainted, he took a healthy swallow of his beer, set the bottle down, and cradled the guitar in his lap. Maybe he could put all this energy into something constructive.

Like a new song.

About Music Lady.

***

“Coming, coming, coming. Hold your horses.”

Emma hit save on her computer and hurried to the front door. Someone was ringing the bell and not too patiently. If it was Andrew again, she’d have to do more than just tell him to get lost. The more she thought about him and his attitude, the more irritated she became. With herself as much as him, at the last two years she’d wasted in an oatmeal relationship.

The doorbell rang again and Emma jerked the door open, ready to read her erstwhile ex-boyfriend the riot act.
God! Did you call a man your ex-boyfriend when you’re almost thirty?
But she froze in place when she saw her mother standing there, hair perfectly upswept, tailored blouse and slacks perfectly creased.

A stray thought burrowed its way into her brain.
I wonder if the woman ever perspires
.

She sucked in a breath and dug out a smile. “Hi, Mom. What brings you around today?”

Angela Blake stepped across the threshold. “Can’t I stop by to visit my daughter without an invitation?”

Emma peered around her but saw only her mother’s car in the driveway. She was alone, thank heavens. Of worse yet, Andrew could be skulking in the bushes.

“Of course, of course. Come on into the kitchen. I made some sweet tea earlier.”

When they were settled at the kitchen table with filled glasses, Emma looked at her mother expectantly. She could feel a lecture coming, and there was nothing she could do but to get through it.

Angela trailed a finger down the sweating glass. “It occurred to me that you have your thirtieth birthday coming up in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s right.” Emma sipped tea and waited. With Angela that was the best course of action, something she’d learned well over the years.

“That’s an important event in a woman’s life. I was just thinking we could celebrate with a small birthday dinner. That might be a good time for you and Andrew to announce your engagement.”

Emma wanted to bang her head on the table. Her mother was so transparent. Before last night, she would have dutifully agreed with the woman and pulled a notepad to begin making a list. Maybe even confessed her sins, thrown herself on her parent’s mercy, and begged forgiveness before regressing into Andrew’s little mouse.

But not the new Emma
.

“You did?” She might have turned a corner in her personal life but her relationship with her parents wasn’t about to change that fast. “And should I ask if Andrew had anything to do with this suggestion?”

This was exactly the thing she was afraid of and it was so very Andrew—just like him to do an end run around her with her parents. Her mother often thought he should have been their son, and her, the odd woman out. He was perfectly suited for them. Emma laced her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling.

Angela touched her perfectly arranged hair and then took a ladylike sip of her tea. “He did happen to drop by and say he was a little worried about you.”

“Worried about me,” Emma repeated. Her stomach pitched at the thought of the discussion they probably had.

“He said the two of you had a little tiff last night, and he thought maybe if the two of you finally nailed down your plans, it would settle you down.”

“Settle me down.” Emma couldn’t stop herself from repeating everything, as if stuck in a bad rerun of parts of her life. She believed she and her mother had a good relationship, but it was all a sham. As long as she behaved like a clone of Angela Blake things were fine. But the minute she colored outside the lines, the disapproval rating was off the charts.

Oh, Mom, why can’t you listen to me? See me for who I am? Even more, for who I want to be
.

“Well, honey, you’ve been together for two years. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re going to be thirty before you blink your eyes.”

Exactly the thought that had pushed her to rebel.

“And thank you so much for reminding me.”

Emma stood up and wandered to the little bay window where she’d stood when Andrew had been there. Two birds were dipping into the tiny birdbath she’d set up. Watching them gave her the opportunity to center herself, gather her frayed thoughts, and some measure of courage.

“Emma, it’s just the truth. There’s no getting around it.”

Poor Emma. Thirty and unmarried and on the outs with her boyfriend
.

“Mom, what’s this really all about? I can’t remember the last time you
dropped in
on me to dig into my personal life.”

“That’s because your personal life has always been nicely predictable. And appropriate. As it should be.”

Predictable. Appropriate. Two of the very reasons I ran from Andrew’s house last night.

She searched for something to say.

“Emma.” She heard the clink as her mother set her glass on the table. “I don’t know what this disagreement you had with Andrew is about, but I’m sure it’s something that can be fixed. And then,” her voice brightened, “you can announce your engagement.”

Emma turned slowly, quaking inside. She was about to take another big leap in her life and she didn’t know which would be worse—saying the words or facing the wrath of her mother. She swallowed hard and wet her lips.

“I think this will probably come as a shock to you, but I’m not going to marry Andrew. Not this year. Not any year.”
Courage, Emma
. “If you want to know the truth, he bores me.”

If Angela’s jaw hadn’t been attached to her skull, Emma was sure it would have clunked on the table.

“Did I just hear you right? He
bores
you? Are you out of your mind?”

“No. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve probably just found it.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her heart was beating erratically with the knowledge she was taking another step off that unseen ledge, but she just couldn’t stop herself. The joy ride was just beginning but already she found it exhilarating. She wanted her mother to be happy for her but that may be a very long time coming. “As you were so kind to point out, I’m almost thirty and my life is predictable. Appropriate. I’ve never done one exciting thing in my life.”

Well, okay. One thing
.

“Exciting?”

“Yes.” She wanted to wring her hands. “Can’t you try to understand?” she pleaded. “I want something more than I have right now. Is that so hard for you to comprehend? Look at me, Mom. Really look at me and listen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Angela sounded truly bewildered. “What kind of exciting things do you want? You have a good job, a steady boyfriend. A settled life ahead of you. What is it you’re looking for?”

Emma could tell this whole conversation was pointless. There was no way she could explain what was happening with her when she was still coming to terms with it herself. She wanted empathy from her mother and instead she got platitudes. If she looked back over the years, she should have expected nothing else. Everything in Angela’s life had always been well-planned and well-ordered. It was her security. And she wanted the same thing for her daughter.