Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (15 page)

Fifteen years later Brooke up and started a
business. Woops. So long, fairytale. She hadn’t needed to
financially. Kept pretty busy in an easy life. Yet she went and did
it anyway. Why?

Millie frowned and sighed.

Next list, Jason. He worked in real estate
and never struggled through market changes. He came from a stable,
parents still married kind of family. He traveled a little, but
always with his business partner, Zeke, who was also his oldest
friend. Never showed any staying at the office late or other kinds
of indicators of affairs. His file was clean. Simple. Until the
divorce. Not long before losing Brooke, and it was definitely his
loss, Jason’s partner sold his half of their business and moved to
Sacramento. These days, Jason spent time at work and online. Chats.
No porn. Boring times twenty.

Elliott’s file was dense. The further she had
read, the more certain she became. He needed to exit stage left,
ASAP. Not only was he poisoning Millie’s opportunities to match
Jason and Brooke—twice already—but he was just plain wrong for
Brooke.

He’d been in and out of juvie until he hit
eighteen. He may or may not have dealt weed through his first two
undergrad years and, then the clincher, his father was a definitely
a felon, as in armed robbery. The last little tidbit might not be
officially in his file but Millie had fought AJ and won. It was
staying on the list. Right under Elliott’s age. Twenty-six years
old. The deciding factor.

“No guy that young, that good looking,
clearly rising above his background, is interested in a divorced
older woman. Not for more than sex,” Millie argued.

“Maybe that’s a good thing, not a minus, but
a plus.”

“Yeah, okay, only interested in sex could
work. Brooke could get an ego boost. Might help relax her a
little.” Man, Brooke was wound tight.

Millie just worried he wouldn’t lose interest
soon enough, as in today, instead of twenty nine days from now when
she’d have to kiss AJ goodbye. Mmmm. Kiss AJ. The focus of her
fantasies stood, hands on hips, staring down his office supplies.
Reckless good looks amplified by the ordinary and mundane. And he
really meant to help.

He wanted to keep her around, too.

If she did lose him, and she wouldn’t let
herself dwell on the idea, would she give in to her lust? Would she
strip down and beg him to make the world disappear? Lift her up,
tie her down, all her luscious fantasies all night long?

Millie’s throat tightened. “It’s getting
late.” If she didn’t get away from him soon she’d make a fool of
herself. “Can we pick up on this in the morning?”

“Sure,” he said. He flexed his shoulders. “If
you’re ready for bed.”

Oh, man, was she. But, she refused to let her
eyes eat him up. Her pulse had already quickened from watching him.
One more night falling asleep agitated. Ugh. Someday, she’d give
in. Someday. But not tonight.

With each step she reminded herself. Its just
chemicals. It’s not you. It’s him. The boy can’t help it. He does
it to all the girls.

“Millie?”

She turned around, hand on the door.
“Yeah?”

AJ stared at her a moment. What would she do
if he ever decided to really seduce her? Cave. That’s what. But,
she knew. He wouldn’t. He was more respectful than that.

“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “Sleep
tight.”

“You, too.” She locked the door behind her.
Not to keep him out. To try to keep herself in.

Chapter Twelve

Brooke recognized the noise that woke her. It
was her front door shutting. Elliott had left. She felt it, too.
She sat up. Awareness of her nudity washed over her, making her tug
the covers higher. Everything she’d done rushed through her mind.
Kissing Elliott on his desk, calling him, letting him in,
culminating in….

Oh no. She’d fallen asleep after that amazing
orgasm, hadn’t she?

Beautiful.

She didn’t know whether to speed dial and
apologize, or thank her lucky stars she didn’t have to face him
right now. She scanned the dark room for her phone and spotted it
on her nightstand. A folded sheaf of paper lay under it. Curious,
she picked up both and unfolded the note.

Brooke,

You fell asleep. Forget me.

-Elliott

She read the scrawl again, frowning. Forget
me? Yep, that’s what it said.
Forget him
. Uh-oh. Far worse
than awkward. She’d insulted him? Angry embarrassment flashed hot
over her, head to toe. And to think, she’d almost been relieved to
find herself alone. Now, she really had to call.

Either call and have the unnerving
conversation now or risk running into him on campus later. The
latter made her cringe inside. If he was mad, better to face it
over the phone where he couldn’t see how much it mattered.

She moved to dial, but another thought
paralyzed her. What would she say? Sorry I passed out? It wasn’t
you, it was me? What if he’d left because he had found her lacking?
What if he regretted ever buying her those books let alone making
love to her?

Brooke thumbed over the phone’s keypad. She
set it down. Forget it. She didn’t want to know what “Forget me”
meant. In the end, it didn’t matter. Clearly, he didn’t want to see
her again. Her eyes stung but she wouldn’t cry. There was no reason
to cry. Never seeing him again, forgetting him, was best. Sensible.
Brooke wasn’t ready for a first date let alone a long affair. A one
night stand had been a stretch.

He was too young for her.

This was a good thing.

Then why did she feel so awful? She just
needed to get some perspective and some sleep. Brooke laid back and
shut her eyes. Visions of his face between her thighs materialized.
She shoved them back. Plenty of time later to savor her secret
rendezvous, once the sting of rejection faded and the longing for
more eased.

Not now, not tonight. Decision firmly in
mind, she punched her pillow into shape, rolled over and exhaled.
Even Sampson had left her.

Three long, slow days later, she still lay in
bed, staring at daylight streaming in through the blinds. Sampson
crunching his lunch filtered from the kitchen. Her pajamas itched
her skin. Her mouth felt slightly furry.

Her house phone rang.

Probably a telemarketer. No one else called
her at home. Certainly, Elliott wouldn’t. He didn’t have her home
number. Neither had he called her cell phone. Brooke sighed. Nope,
no one else. Because it meant she could procrastinate showering for
five more minutes, on the fourth ring, she gave in and
answered.

“Hello? Brooke?”

She struggled to sit up. “Jason?” Sounding so
good and sweet and, God, but she’d actually missed him.

“The one and same,” Jason said.

“Hey, you,” she said. His voice answered a
prayer she didn’t realize she’d been making until now.
Please,
someone, care. Someone out there. Care.
She didn’t even mind if
he heard her relief. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Brooke. Really good.” He sighed
like a person does after a satisfying laugh. “We didn’t really get
to talk at the mall the other day. You looked great, by the way.
Really great. Can you believe how long it’s been?”

“I can’t. Can you?” Eight months since their
divorce. Eighteen since she had walked out.

“Hey, enough about all that. I’ve been
meaning to call you. My mom’s been nagging me to call you. It’s
Thanksgiving this Thursday.”

Brooke’s heart sank. “Yeah. I know,” she
said. Nice of him to point it out.

“My mom wants you to come over for dinner. I
mean, I do, too. I would like it if you came by for dinner. Unless
you already have plans.”

“No, I don’t, but….” Thanksgiving with
family, her old family? Her chest lifted. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Brooke, we had a good run of it
and like my mom says, you’re still family. We don’t have kids to
connect us. Not even a dog to fight over. But that doesn’t change
fifteen years. They miss you.”

Fifteen good years. She hugged her pillow
closer. “Alright.” No crying! Not yet. “When’s dinner?”

“You mean it? Oh, Mom’ll be so glad to hear
you’re coming. And,” he cleared his throat. “She also emphasized,
feel free to bring someone.”

Bring someone? Wow. Water must really be
under the bridge, then.

A little more chitchat—like old friends—and
Brooke sat staring at the receiver. She pressed the button to hang
up. A long sigh pulled out of her. Jason.

Family. She could spend Turkey Day in the
Munkle tradition of a house full of noise and banter and football.
Maybe it would be weird. Or maybe it would be wonderful.

All forgiven.

Her feet did a rapid sheet dance, then she
looked around her darkening room. Evening’s approach shoved off the
afternoon sun that woke her. Chance of snow. Even better, the
chance of her first shower in three days.

Whew, she stunk. Not that she’d spent every
day in bed. In the same pajamas, yes, but she had worked. Some of
the time. Studied, some of the time. Watched infomercials. Cried
salty tears into a tub of fudgy ice cream wondering why Elliott
hadn’t called her and what his jerkoff note meant, a lot of the
time.

She couldn’t bring herself to call.

Another wave of embarrassment crashed over
her. How could she face him on campus? What would she say? Would he
just want to walk the other way, too?

No. She stopped herself. No more.

Thursday, the Munkles would enfold her back
into their clan for another holiday. And she could bring someone.
As soon as she showered, she’d call Millie —guilt trip in hand— and
invite her.

~

Brooke held in her laughter, pulling the car
up to the curb.

“Are you sure about this?” Millie asked.

She’d never seen Millie fidget so much.
“Absolutely. You’ll see. There’ll be at least five other strays.
It’s tradition.”

“Is stray the official terminology, then?”
Millie scrunched up her nose. “Weird. No wonder you divorced
him.”

“It’s
not
weird.” Brooke exited the
vehicle and waited for Millie on the shoveled sidewalk. Soon,
Brooke should have enough nerve to tell Millie about the disastrous
night with Elliott. Or Brooke would bury the secret forever. It
could go either way. “It’s thoughtful. The party gets bigger, no
one spends the holiday alone. Jason’s mom can make pathetic
attempts to play matchmaker with strangers.”

Millie’s eyes bulged. “You’re screwing with
me. Tell me you’re screwing with me.”

Brooke’s supressed laughter tore free. “Maybe
a little.”

They crunched up the driveway where shovel
marks led a path to the front door. Tomorrow, every spare inch of
the navy and gray suburbia cutout would wink with Christmas lights.
“If you think I can face these people alone, Millie, you’re dead
wrong.”

“Why, because they’re weird?”

Brooke rang the bell. “I swear. They’re not
weird. They’re perfectly—.”

The door swung open. Nancy Munkle, her
patchwork apron clinging for dear life, gasped at the sight of
them. “Oh my lord, look at what the cat dragged in. Brooke, just
look at you!”

“Nancy, hi,” Brooke said and returned the
shorter woman’s hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“Come in, come in. Everyone’s here.” Nancy
rushed their coats off, introduced herself to Millie then herded
them to the living room. A football game roared in the background.
Curious faces turned their way. Brooke smiled, her nerves
tightening. Where was Jason? Ex or not, he anchored her to this
family. She needed him near.

No such luck. A round of hellos and
introductions later, Brooke took Millie on a small tour of the
north Sparks home. Millie tugged her sleeve. “Do I have to remember
all their names?”

Though Jason’s vacancy seemed to burn at her
side, she wasn’t alone here. She had Millie. “No,” Brooke said.
“Just remember Nancy.”

“Haleh-freakin-lujah. Now, where’s the booze
and the other strays?”

Brooke picked one of the three naked
artificial trees as their stand post, wine in hands, near the back
door.

“What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette,”
Millie grumbled. She peered out at the back porch.

“You smoke?”

“Not really. A lifetime ago I did but it
seems like a good habit to pick back up sometimes.”

A couple drags would do wonders for Brooke’s
nerves. Or make her sick. Seeing Jason would calm Brooke down.
Maybe that was what she was so worried about. Him not showing.
Nancy had said everyone was here. Yet, no Jason.

“Alright,” Millie said. “Give me the dirt on
all these charming folks before someone comes over to try and make
us feel included. Start with the brunette in there. The one who
needs to catch a Botox Anonymous meeting.”

“Rhonda Patron. Jason’s youngest brother’s
second wife.” Dirt? Hmmm. Outside of the total lack of facial
expression, Brooke wasn’t sure she had any dirt on Rhonda. “She’s
actually really nice. Drake’s first wife was a nightmare. Cheated
on him, had a baby that wasn’t his but swore it was. Really bad.
Poor Nancy was crushed.”

“Nothing, huh? Boring.” Millie wrinkled her
nose. “How about Nancy? Betty Crocker or Mommy Dearest?”

Brooke shook her head, amused. Millie was too
much. Jaded didn’t cover it. “No. She’s totally genuine. When Jason
and I first dated, I used to end up crying every time we left their
house. She was so affectionate and sweet and giving. My own mother
isn’t even that nurturing.”

A lump formed in her throat. Brooke had
missed them. All of them.

“I don’t buy it. Every family has skeletons.
You just see everything through rose colored glasses.”

“Maybe.” Brooke shrugged, scanning for Jason
again. “My own family definitely has its share of dirty laundry.
Unwed teen mom for a sister. Workaholic dad. But, far as I can
tell, other than a couple broken hearts mended, this family is
pretty normal.”