Stir Me (18 page)

She turns the coffee maker on. "Fine."

"You'll feel better if you meet Samantha."

Her eyes find mine. "I doubt that very much."

"So do it because you think I'm hot."

She stifles a laugh. "You play that card too often."

"I know." I lean against the counter next to her.

She looks up at me. Her eyes are full of need. "Fine. But I'd like the court record to reflect my official rejection."

"It's reflected."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The air outside is warm and dry. It's typical Southern California summer air, but something about it feels different today. It's heavy somehow.

I wait outside a fancy Italian restaurant on the other side of the marina. It was Samantha's suggestion. She's such a spoiled brat sometimes. She always wants the finer things. That's what she said when I asked her where she wanted to meet. "Someplace nice."

She should get it tattooed on her forehead. Someplace nice.

I swear, every time I've ever asked her where she wanted to go, she's said "someplace nice."

I wish she could get over her obsession with appearances. If she wasn't so determined to convince everyone she was strong, she might have gotten help sooner.

She arrives early. In her BMW. She's the picture of the educated, put-together lawyer--sheath dress, designer purse, black pumps, delicate jewelry. I wish I could say this isn't the Samantha I fell in love with, that I loved some earlier, less appearances-obsessed version of her. But she was like this back in law school. Even on the weekends it was designer jeans and designer shoes and eating at the nicest restaurants.

She hugs me hello. I could swear she lingers for a moment too long, but that can't be right.

"Alyssa here yet?" Samantha asks.

"She's coming straight from a meeting."

Samantha nods. She motions to the host stand inside. "Let's get a table. We can order a bottle of wine while we wait."

"Sure." There's no sense in trying to talk Samantha out of drinking wine.

She steps inside and talks to the hostess. There's something off about it, like she's trying too hard to impress the poor eighteen-year-old college student.

But the hostess leads us to a table by the window. It's overlooking a busy street, but the linen curtains block most of the view.

There's something so fake about this place. It has brick walls and soft lights, but it's manufactured. It's owned by a huge chain and its pasta sauce comes out of Costco jars, not from secret family recipes.

We take our seats. Samantha is giddy. Her first time back at some place nice, no doubt. She folds her hands together, practically sighing over the fake candle on the dark red tablecloth.

A dark red, no doubt, to hide the marinara stains.

"Luke?" Her voice is soft, but it's a demand for attention.

"Yeah?"

I peel my eyes away from the tablecloth, but it feels like the room is spinning. The air in here is heavy and the fans are so loud.

"Is everything okay?" It sounds sincere.

"Yeah. Fine."

She mumbles something. "I'm sure Alyssa is just running late. It's not like she'd ditch this dinner."

I take a deep breath and offer her my best hey-this-is-just-business smile. "Of course not."

Samantha sighs. "She sounds very nice."

"She is."

She folds her napkin in her lap. "I had another job interview today. They seemed receptive, but there are a few details to iron out."

"I thought you were going back to Edward's firm."

She shakes her head. "There's so much gossip. Everyone thinks I'm a home wrecker. Even though, well, I don't want to remind you about that..."

"I know my father was a widower. I was there when my mother died." I was the one the police told. I was the one who gave a shit about the funeral.

She pats her lipstick with her napkin. "Of course. But Edward didn't like to talk about that."

"No, what did he talk about..." when he and Samantha were fucking behind my back?

I shake my head. This isn't the time. Hell, it's never going to be the time.

"Where is the firm?"

"Right by the house," she says. "It's only a mile or two away from Lawrence and Knight, actually."

"And here I thought maybe Ryan hired you to replace me."

She smiles. "You couldn't pay me enough to do divorces all day. I don't know how you do it."

"There's something so magical about fostering a breakup. It's a beautiful thing."

She shakes her head. "Do you have a speech prepared?"

"It's hell to be stuck in a relationship you have no way out of."

Her eyes turn to the floor. "Like what?"

"Ryan and I, for example."

"Oh." She sighs in a deep, deep relief. "You know you're never going to outlast him. He was always the most stubborn person in our study group."

"It was a pretty close competition."

"Why stick around? If you're really serious about Alyssa... if you really do love her." She can barely get the words out.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was jealous.

Her attention shifts to the entrance. Her lips purse. Her eyes turn down.

I turn to where she's looking. Alyssa is standing at the entrance, and she looks divine. She's wearing a tight, black cocktail dress. Her hair and makeup are perfect.

There's no way she wore this to her meeting.

I smile. I never pegged Alyssa as the petty type, but there's something sweet about her getting dressed up. Like she's marking her turf.

She waves and walks over to us. No, she saunters.

"You look gorgeous," I say.

She smiles. "I know."

Samantha's jaw is hanging open. "Yes, you're much prettier than your pictures."

Alyssa turns to me. "You showed her pictures?"

I nod. "Before. We used to make fun of Ryan for bragging about his lovely girlfriend."

"Oh." Alyssa's smile fades. She takes a seat at the table and looks Samantha over. "What else did you make fun of?"

"It was Ryan we were mocking, not you," I say.

"I'm sure."

Samantha offers a smile. "That was a long time ago. And I admit I Googled you. I didn't expect to see Luke dating someone so... pretty."

Alyssa rolls her eyes. "Yes, well, that's my number one trait. The pretty actress with the great tits."

"Yes, Luke mentioned the great tits," Samantha says.

Alyssa looks at me. An of-course-you-did-you-braggart look. She turns back to Samantha. "I'd really rather not spend dinner discussing it. But, if you'd like to see for yourself, I'm sure Luke can recommend a few films where I'm topless."

Damn. She's on fire today. I should probably be concerned with her attitude, but I love that she's claiming me.

Samantha offers a forced smile. "I'll take his word for it." She opens her menu. "This place is really nice. The pasta is great."

Alyssa grimaces but shakes it off. She places her hands over her menu. "I'm not really a pasta person."

Samantha looks Alyssa over. It's some kind of judgment, something women do that I don't understand.

"The fish is also great," I say. Since we both know Alyssa is ordering grilled fish and steamed vegetables.

Alyssa taps her fingers against the menu. "I appreciate the suggestions, but I've got it covered. I've been to restaurants before."

A waiter takes our drink order and delivers garlic knots. Alyssa ignores them. It's not the same way she looked at the cookie. It's a casual thing, like she really doesn't care that they exist.

I'm not sure that I've seen her eat a piece of bread.

But I know better than to interfere with her recovery without a specific request otherwise. I push the basket of bread to Samantha's side of the table.

Samantha raises her eyebrows. She clears her throat. "Usually I'd ask how you two met, but I think I have a good idea of how that went. Luke doesn't give up when he wants something."

"I wanted it as much as he did."

Alyssa looks at me. Her eyes are on fire, but I don't know what to make of it. She did want to be with me as much as I wanted to be with her, but she was awfully hesitant about it.

"That isn't how I imagined it," Samantha says.

Alyssa pulls her gaze away from me. "Well, look at him. And the mouth on him. Jesus, he can talk some serious trash. Of course, he does back it up."

Samantha's jaw hits the floor. She struggles to compose herself. "Yes, he does. And he's very... handsome. But you were engaged to Ryan."

"You know what that's like, being with a man you don't love, trying to convince yourself you should love him, drifting through life like a zombie. Then you meet someone and you finally feel alive."

Samantha swallows hard. "But for Luke that was awfully cold. I mean, he knew you were engaged to his business partner and he still went after you."

"I'm sure he didn't mean for it to go that far."

"I'd hope," Samantha says.

"It's not like he owed Ryan anything. It's not like they're family."

Jesus Christ. She's flat-out challenging Samantha. Or maybe she's challenging me. I should be annoyed--Alyssa isn't playing nice--but truth be told, I like this side of her.

Samantha clears her throat. "Luke and Ryan never did get along. Back in law school, they argued all the time. And he was always complaining about that asshole who wouldn't stop sucking up to the teacher."

"It's a good business," I say.

"You could have started it on your own," Samantha said.

"Yes, well, you both know Ryan," I say. "He made a very compelling argument for starting the firm together. And I would have been a fool to leave a business partner who was willing to put in eighty hours a week."

Alyssa runs her fingers over her menu. "Nothing Ryan loves more than work."

Samantha offers a fake smile. Anyone can see how fake it is.

She shakes her head and looks at Alyssa. "I already know so much about this obnoxious man. I want to hear more about you. He's quite taken with you, you know."

Alyssa smiles. "Is he?"

"You should see the look he gets when you text him. And then he tries to hide it and apologize like I asked him not to have a life."

"Don't start," I say. It's true, technically, but it's only half the story. It's only the part where she pushes me away, not the part where she breaks down and asks me to stay, to spend the night holding her, apologizing again and again for how she ruined my life.

"I tried to tell him he should be spending his time with you. But you probably know how he is by now."

"I'm sure," Alyssa says.

"I do. But he doesn't listen. He's very stubborn."

She nods.

A silence falls over the table. These two might be dead set on derailing dinner, but I'm going to keep the conversation pleasant.

"Alyssa is an actress," I say.

Samantha struggles not to roll her eyes, but she manages. "I'm afraid I'm rather TV illiterate."

"She's also been in lots of films," I say.

"Not lots," Alyssa says.

"She's been nominated for an Independent Spirit Award."

"Luke, it's fine," Alyssa says. "I'm sure Samantha can brag plenty about her law career. We're both more than our jobs."

"No, I'm interested," Samantha says. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm the lead on this cable show. It's niche, but it's doing well."

"What show?"

"It's called
Model Citizen
," Alyssa says. "It's a silly premise. I'm an ex-model, and I have no self-control. Always going after something--trying to win a shopping spree, trying to scheme my ex-boyfriend out of his car, trying to sleep with the hot next-door neighbor."

"That sounds interesting," Samantha says.

She's usually better at pretending to be polite.

"It's work. I'm sure you do plenty of interesting work too."

"Not in particular."

"That's a shame," Alyssa says.

It's cold, even considering her distaste for Samantha. I can't blame her. Samantha isn't being quite as polite as she usually is.

I try to step in. "Alyssa is an avid reader. But she's mostly interested in fiction. None of that
Freakonomics
stuff you love so much."

Samantha looks at me. "Let me guess. You finally found someone else who adores John Grisham?"

"He's a best seller. Plenty of people adore him. I don't need my girlfriend to be one of them."

"But he's so overwrought. You're too smart for that bullshit," Samantha says.

The fucking snob, like she has any right to tell me about my taste in fiction. I know for a fact that she's a closet Dan Brown fan.

"Alyssa reads like an English major," I say.

Alyssa rolls her eyes, no doubt sick of me pointing that out. "I don't have anything to prove. I enjoy it."

Samantha nods like she doesn't believe this. "Let me guess. You force her to watch those shitty TV shows you like. Like
Law and Order.
"

"How dare you speak ill of Detective Lenny Briscoe."

"Which one is he?" Samantha asks.

Alyssa laughs. "He's the one with all the cheesy one-liners. And he's Luke's absolute favorite. So you better watch yourself McCoy."

"Huh?" Samantha screws up her face in confusion.

"Jack McCoy is the assistant district attorney. He's badass and he has fantastic eyebrows and gorgeous wrinkles. You know, the silver fox type." Alyssa folds her arms, smiling as she leans back in her chair.

Silver fox isn't the most subtle reminder that Samantha was fucking my father.

But it's effective. Samantha recoils. "Yes. I know the type. I'm just glad Luke found someone whose taste in TV is as bad as her taste in men."

It's too friendly. Too familiar. Alyssa keeps a smile on her face, but she's clearly uncomfortable. I catch her gaze. I mouth "are you okay?" She nods yes, and directs her attention back to Samantha.

There's something in Samantha's expression, something that shouldn't be there.

"Let's order," Alyssa says. "I'm starving."